Page 41 of Kiss Me Tonight

I make a show of welcoming Levi to the faux stage, wrapping my arms around her tall frame. Her shoulders twitch when I make skin-to-skin contact, like she’s either uncomfortable with me hugging her or she’s fully prepared for me to turn the tables around and putherin the hot seat.

If I promised a group of people the chance to see her in nothing but nipple pasties and panties made of candy, I’d have a lawsuit on my hands.

Something she must realize because her mouth finds my ear—she’s risen up on her tiptoes—and whispers, “It’s a big misunderstanding, I promise.”

“Nah, Coach,” I return, my voice low and my nose grazing the curve of her jaw, “you sold me out.”

12

Aspen

Tonight, Dominic smells like sandalwood, aftershave, and pissed-off man.

Full confession: I don’t blame him for the latter.

I’m late.

I left him to the wolves.

And I . . .feel so friggin’ guilty.

He’s been mingling like a champ over the last thirty minutes, ever since I showed up and announced in no uncertain terms that a naked calendar wouldneverbe up for discussion. There was some grumbling of disappointment before more common fundraiser ideas were thrown into the mix: a bake sale, a car wash, and someone even suggesting a dog-walking stint on the weekends.

I smiled and laughed and took down names for whoever might be willing to help with what, but never once did I forget about the man beside me. Oh, Dominic chuckled right along with me and he certainly kept the conversation moving when a few of the parents shouted out rowdy suggestions. But we were standing elbow to elbow, only inches apart from each other, and it was impossible to ignore how he studiously ignoredme.

The moment we were done, he was out in the crowd, shaking hands and even doling out hugs to those who asked for one.

He’s sans baseball hat tonight, which means, whenever the moonlight slants across his face, I’m given full access to his austere features. Narrowed eyes. Flatline mouth. Hard jaw—hard enough that when hedoeslaugh, I half expect it to shatter into a million little pieces.

My phone vibrates with the fourth incoming text since I made it to the Golden Fleece.

Willow. Again.

I last all of five seconds before unzipping my purse and grabbing the phone from the depth of my bag.

Willow: I’m sorry.

Willow: Like, when I say I’m sorry, I REALLY, REALLY AM.

Willow: Love me?

Willow: Okay, I screwed up. How was I supposed to remember Topher needed me to pick him up from a friend’s house when I had Mr. McHotPants down MY pants??? Take pity, sis. One of us needs to be getting laid, and I’m MORE than happy to be the one to make the sacrifice.

I let out an undignified snort. This is a serious case of Classic Willow.

I can count on both hands the number of times Willow has actually shown up when I’ve needed her. My sister’s track record is abysmal, and I spent most of my early life cleaning up her messes.

Until I moved to Pittsburgh with Rick and left her to fend for herself.

In the time that I’ve been gone, she’s been married twice and divorced the same number of times. She’s gone on to work in at least three different industries, and only settled on selling real estate in the last few years. Okay, I guess I can’t be all that annoyed about her latest job change. If it weren’t for her tendency to be extremely nosey and up in everyone’s business, I wouldn’t have bought my house fully furnished the day it was put on the market.

Despite the fact that my sister is a flaky serial dater, who drives a pink car with a license plate reading EXWIFEY, I love her dearly.

Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have known better than to ask her to pick up Topher for me. But she’s been begging me to let her spend more time with him, considering how she only saw him maybe once or twice a year until earlier this month, and I figured this would be a good first step.

Pick up Topher.

Bring him home.

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