Page 15 of Against the Clock

All the humor in me dies at the thought of it. Fucking her. Tasting her. Seeing if those brown eyes get as wide and full of wonder when I’m making her come.

We’re both staring at each other, and I don’t know what to say. All I know is that I want her so fucking bad it hurts.

“That’s not what I meant,” I finally manage. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself because I didn’t do a good job of taking you out on our first date.”

She sighs, then holds out the bag with our food. I take it, unsure of what she’s planning.

“I’m not sure if this qualifies as funny business or not,” she says, a mock-serious expression on her face. At least, I sure as shit hope it is mock-serious.

I hold both hands up, the effect ruined by the bag of sandwiches in one hand. “Cross my heart.”

“You sure you can carry me?”

“Why do women always feel the need to ask that? Of course I can carry you. It would be my honor to hold you.”

She inhales sharply, and I realize I’ve come on too strong.

I don’t break eye contact. It’s true.

“It would be,” I add, softer now.

“Okay,” she says, her voice so quiet I have to strain to hear her.

Carefully, she scoots across the seat and I reach for her, letting her lead the way. Her hands wrap around my neck and she huffs a laugh when she stops.

“What do you want me to do? Hop and you’ll catch me?” Her tone is playful, but her voice is slightly strained.

“I’d love to catch you,” I answer, my voice ragged.

“Three, two—” She jumps, and I can’t help laughing at the shocked expression on her face as I easily grab onto her.

My laughter dies as she smiles up at me, my body responding to the weight of her body, to the soft curve of her hip against my waist.

Jesus.

Maybe I should have let her walk through my yard barefoot.

“Well?” she asks, her voice lower, huskier now. My eyes half close at it, because if she keeps talking to me like that, I’m going to kiss her. And that was not the plan for tonight.

A hope, yeah, a wish, sure, but not the plan.

I need this woman like I need air.

I’m not going to scare her off by rushing things.

A good quarterback knows when to rush, and when to take their time.

I’ve learned enough to know the best things in life are worth waiting for, and I’m pretty sure Kelsey Cole is one of those things.

CHAPTER 8

KELSEY

Daniel’s home is… magical.

He carries me into his garden like some knight in a fairytale, simply so I don’t manage to sprain an ankle in my work heels. The garden itself is fenced with ornate wrought iron, and late autumn roses crawl up an arched gate. I inhale deeply, trying to relax into his arms, trying not to overthink the way his body feels against mine.

Trying not to do anything hasty.

---