Have a one-night stand with a sexy stranger.
Overcome a fear (take a class you can’t prepare for, baby! Psst—improv class time!)
Make a friend who’s nothing like you. You learn the most from them.
Eat dessert for breakfast.
I cross off the fourth one. And the thing is—I feel a little like a scofflaw. A lot like a rule-breaker. And it’s seriously fun. After I put down the pen, I hold up the flaky treat, dusted in sugar and spice, take another bite, then chew. When I’m done, I sigh the most satisfied sigh. “And I don’t feel guilty.”
“That’s good too.”
But I feel a little guilty about touching her. Especially because I don’t want to stop even though I know I should. Setting down the pastry, I reach for her. “Josie,” I say, my tone serious as I cup her shoulders.
With a rueful smile, she nods. “I know. We shouldn’t do that again.”
“We really shouldn’t,” I say, hating myself for saying it but knowing I have to.
But an hour later after we’ve cleaned up, I’m at the door, saying goodbye, and all the shouldn’ts can’t stop me from hauling her close and kissing her hard—a kiss I want her to feel for the rest of the day.
No. I amend that. I want her to feel it the entire time I’m gone. And that is a problem I don’t know how to fix.
She hands me a huge Tupperware container full of dessert for breakfast. “For the team.”
I take it. “Thank you.”
“And good luck in New York,” she says, since our road trip ends there, against my former team. “Your first time playing them since you were traded?”
Damn. How does she keep doing this? Knowing the little bits of intel and what they might mean. My heart slams harder against my chest. All these little details make it impossible not to feel…all the things. “Yeah, it is.”
“You’d better kick their ass then,” she says.
“I plan to,” I say, then take one more kiss and go, knowing I’m not going to stop thinking about her at all while we’re apart.
Maybe that’s the real problem.
25
A FUCKING PAGE-TURNER
Wesley
Note to self: Never bring baked goods on the team plane again. I’ve gotten nothing but grief since I cracked open the container and passed it around. And there are no signs of stopping.
“We’re gonna call you Muffin Man now,” Asher decides after he polishes off a treat in record time. We’ve barely reached our cruising altitude and he’s wiping crumbs off his mitts.