Page 110 of Against The Rules

He huffs a laugh, and I do too, just so damn happy to have him in my kitchen. We stare at each other for a few seconds too long, all the unsaid things sitting heavy between us.

The box makes a scraping sound as he pushes it towards me. “I picked up some cookies from one of those all-night places.”

“Hell yeah.” I fling the box open, then frown.

“What?” He’s watching me carefully, his eyes narrowed as he pulls off his shirt. “I’ve never seen someone look at a double chocolate chip cookie like it killed their best friend.”

“Oh, you know. Just thinking about weigh-in on Thursday.”

“One cookie won’t hurt.” He pulls off his pants too, and I bite the inside of my cheek, putting my face closer to the box to inhale deeply. Butter. Sugar. Chocolate. The holy trinity. Angels sing.

“They do smell better than you.”

“Is that what I need to do to get you to wear that expression on your face all the time? Lather myself in cookie dough?”

“Gross. Go shower.”

He pulls his briefs off, and I try to laugh at a naked Tyler Matthews in my kitchen at half-past midnight, but it sticks in my throat.

He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were coming with me.”

“Where?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“To shower.”

“Not all of us have huge walk-in showers. I’ll be surprised if you fit in mine at all.”

“Oh?” He quirks an eyebrow, his dimples showing as he grins down at me. “You’re worried about me fitting?”

“Shut up.” I laugh, swatting at his ass. “Go clean up. You stink.”

“If you lived with me, you could have a huge walk-in shower, too.” He tilts his head, and even though he said it like a joke, I don’t think he’s kidding.

“Tyler,” I say slowly.

“Fine. Eat a cookie, grouchy.”

“I’m not grouchy.” I’m still laughing as I put his reeking clothes in the washing machine, adding some baking soda just in case regular detergent isn’t enough to get the stink out.

Of all the things Tyler has done for me, between the desk and the flowers and the damn computer, these moments with him are my favorite. Cookies at midnight in the kitchen, giggling as I start the washing machine, taste-testing chicken with him and cutting up carrots.

Normal things.

He wants me to live with him. The smile fades, and I stare at my top-loader, his clothes spinning round and round inside, less turbulent than my thoughts.

We went into this thing knowing it would end in a divorce.

What if it doesn’t, though?

What if it ends with me living with Tyler, a life full of midnight laughter and team poker nights?

CHAPTER 47

TYLER

I can’t believe I said it out loud. Shit. No matter how often I tell myself I’m going to play it cool around Savannah, and not put everything on the line, I fucking make a drive for the end zone.

It doesn’t help that I’m worried about her. It’s only been three weeks since I last saw her, but she looks… thinner. There are dark circles around her eyes. If I had known she was going to be so skinny, I would have brought her a whole damn meal, not a half-dozen cookies.

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