Page 32 of Kiss Me Tonight

Jaw clenched tight, I ask, “Why are you telling me this?”

She swallows her bite before washing it down with water. “You hate small talk. Figured we could go straight to a heart-to-heart.”

“If you think we’re gonna start braiding each other’s hair now that you’ve opened up . . .”

“Dom—can I call you Dom?”

I reach for my water bottle. “If it works for you.”

“Dom, then.”

She leaves her empty plate on the bar and, hips swinging with confidence, closes the gap between us. With me on the stool and her standing, we’re finally eye to eye. Close enough for me to spot the flecks of gray in her dark blue eyes. Close enough for me to see that her upper lip is perfectly imperfect with the faintest hairline scar piercing the bow.

If my aura was a bubble, it’d burst from her intrusion.

Pop.

Just. Like. That.

“Being a coach is nothing like playing the game.” Her hand lands on the counter, off to the side of my abandoned plate. “You hate small talk? Better get used to it because parents are going to expect it. You don’t feel comfortable with displays of vulnerability? Guess what.Everykid on your team is going to come to you with a problem.” She gets in my face, her slender shoulders heaving with a heavy, frustrated breath. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in high school. Emotions are all over the place. Those kids still don’t know what they want out of life. They’re fighting for thisdreamand they expect to be led by someone who gives a damn about whether or not they achieve it.”

She’s not the only one feeling frustrated. And that little test she just put me through? The small-talk ploy? The ‘give a little piece of herself because she wanted to see how I’d respond’—all so she can damn me for not giving the answer she wants to hear?

Fuck this.

My body sways forward, utilizing my size—even though I’m still seated—to intimidate. With my anger leashed like a rabid dog collared to a junk yard, I grit out, “You don’t know me, Levi. One night at a pub and a day of practice doesn’t give you nearly enough time to learn what I give a damn about.”

Her chin hikes up defiantly. “I know enough.”

“From what?” I laugh, the sound so much harsher than the one from a few minutes ago. This one sounds likeme. Cynical. Bitter. My hand closes into a fist that I press to my thigh. “Tabloid magazines? Rumors in a league that you have no connections to?”

“Rick Clarke.”

Surprise jerks my head back. “Pittsburgh’s GM?”

An emotion I can’t even begin to define sweeps over her delicate features. “My ex-husband.”

My gaze flicks to her ring finger. It’s bare. Probably should have been bare from the start, if I’m going for honesty here. I may not have the best history with women—uncomplicated one-night stands have always been my preferred level of non-commitment—but even I find Rick Clarke’s inability to keep his dick out of women who aren’t his wife completely revolting.

I knew he was married—but toLevi?

The pizza suddenly sits like toxic lead in my stomach.

I can’t even recall seeing a picture of her with Clarke at any time over the years. Then again, I’m not too surprised. Pittsburgh’s GM has long kept his family out of the limelight, actively touting his reasoning as a matter of separating business from personal. One time, not long after I retired from the NFL, he even flew to Sports 24/7 for an exclusive, sit-down interview about the toll the game of football has on its families, and how the rush of the celebrity-like lifestyle does more damage than good.

I know I’m not the only one who chalked up Clarke’s silver-tongued speech about “putting family first” to be nothing but bullshit.

Clarke’s extramarital affairs weren’t a secret to anyone in the league, even to those of us who played for different teams. But knowing that he spouted all that nonsense while his wife wasLevi? It’s a tough fucking pill to swallow.

Aspen Clarke,not Levi.

While it’s possible I’ve come across her married name before, it’s not as though I make it a habit to hang out with scumbags like her ex-husband.

One look at her face now reveals nothing. No sign of vulnerability for miles around.

Temper held in check, I lower my voice. “I’m nothing like your ex.”

Clarke and I exist on two different planes. The man might be a beneficial asset to the Steelers, but he lacks all human decency. The team keeps him around because he brings results. Women flock to him because he dotes on them with elaborate gifts and cars, all in exchange for getting his dick wet.

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