Page 101 of Offside Devil

“Oh my God,” she groans. “That book makes me sob every single time. I refuse to read it anymore.”

“I’ll count myself lucky I missed it, then. Today was enough of a roller coaster.”

She nods in agreement and we slip into a long silence. Suddenly, Mira blurts, “I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“This morning. While you were—The shower, you know?” Her face flushes the same shade of red it did when she was standing in my bathroom doorway.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I really thought I heard you say my name, and I was just so worried about that CPS agent and Aiden. I wanted you there with me.”

I want her with me now. Later.

I think about Mira the way I used to think about getting high. I was always looking for the next hit, the next rush. Now, I’m always thinking about Mira.

If she’s not with me, I wonder when she will be. When we are together, I’m thinking about getting closer. Maybe if I let myself have a taste, it’ll stop. Maybe it will finally clear my head.

Either that, or it’ll open up a depth of addiction I’ve never known before.

“You did so great with that asshole, though,” Mira continues, oblivious to the purgatory I’m in. “You’re such a good dad and there’s no way he doesn’t see that. There’s no way he doesn’t see how good you are together.”

Is there any way Mira doesn’t see how good we could be together? Is there any way she doesn’t feel this?

I want to brush her dark hair off of her shoulder. I want to kiss the soft slope of her throat. But touching Mira might swallow me whole. There won’t be any coming back from it.

She turns to me, brows pinched in a frown. “Zane?”

And suddenly, just like that, I don’t care anymore.

I close the gap between us in a single stride, take her face in my hands, and kiss her.

41

MIRA

Kissing isn’t supposed to be like this.

There are sloppy makeouts in the back of a bar or on a dance floor. Classic, if underwhelming and largely forgettable.

Then there are the kind of perfunctory kisses that are like knocking on a door—once someone answers, you move on to other things. No need to linger or draw it out.

Zane Whitaker has apparently never heard of those kinds of kisses.

Because this…

This is decadent.

His mouth is soft and warm against mine, gentler than a man his size has any right to be. And I’m almost too stunned to enjoy it.

Almost. Because I am still alive, after all. And Zane has me pinned against the sink while his tongue slides over mine, coaxing it deeper into his own mouth. It makes me wonder what else his tongue could do if I gave it free rein over the rest of me.

His thumb brushes the column of my throat and his other hand drifts over my shoulder, sliding the strap of my sundress free. I don’t think he even meant to—but that’s the problem.

What is this?

What does this mean?

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