Page 66 of Tight End

He stops just a few feet from me, draping the towel around his neck, and tugs on the ends. It would be so simple to swat his hands away and grab the dang thing myself. To pull him toward me for another soul-shattering kiss, but I won’t. I can’t.

He crossed the line in front of his teammates—and most of Nashville. He completely ignored everything I said to him last night and doubled down when he should have been throwing in the towel. Sure, there’s a part of me, a very small part, that loves him getting all possessive over me, but the rest of me knows how dangerous that is. How much he could hurt me.

Which is why I should be crossing my arms and walking in the other direction, not thinking about pressing my lips to his and losing myself in his spiced scent.

I need to get out of his place and back in my apartment. Being so close to him scrambles the rational part of my brain.

That’s the only explanation.

“It’s not supposed to be fun.” I take a step back, trying to maintain some distance, some semblance of sanity. “Hot yoga is great for reducing stress, increasing your flexibility, burning calories, and really increasing your overall health. It’s hard work.”

He takes another step toward me, and I take a matching one in the opposite direction. “So I should be thanking you?”

“No thanks necessary. It’s my job to help your mind and body.”

His brow raises, and I take one more large step back. He obviously needs no help with his body, and I really shouldn’t have mentioned it, because now I can’t stop looking at it.

His T-shirt is damp, clinging to him for dear life, and I want nothing more than to peel it off. I want to run my hands along his slick muscles, and don’t ask me why, but I want to lick the sweat off him. That should be gross, right? So why is it the only thing I can think about?

“Where’s Oliver?”

“Huh?” I blink up at him. Wait. Up? When did he get closer? How did I not notice?

“Oliver.” His smirk grows, those dimples practically popping out of his face. “Our son. About this tall, loves dinosaurs, can’t be quiet during a movie, dark-brown hair, blue?—”

“I know what our son looks like.” I push past him, heading out of the main yoga room, swallowing down the embarrassment swirling around my gut. “He’s in my office.”

“It’s not too hot for him?”

“It’s air-conditioned.”

The second those words are out of my mouth, Ryan takes the lead, beelining for my office. As soon as he rips open the door, he throws himself onto the floor with a dramatic sigh.

Oliver and Colin, Kinsley’s younger brother, glance from him to me before returning to whatever game they’re playing on their iPads. Whatever it is, it must be more important than the overgrown man-child groaning on my carpet.

“You stink.” Oliver scrunches his nose, keeping his concentration on the tablet. “Mom, you need to make Dad take a shower.”

“Not sure I can make him ...” I close the door behind meand lean against it. Ryan is still on the floor, an arm tossed over his face. His shirt is sitting high on his abdomen, giving me an unobstructed view of his lower abs and the V that makes women—me in particular—stupid.

I can think of several ways to get him to take a shower, and none of them are appropriate. Nor are they going to happen.

Ryan clears his throat, and I force my gaze away from his body to his face, which of course is now arm free and trained right on me. “Who’s your friend, Oliver?”

He doesn’t answer right away, likely finishing up his game, and then after several seconds turns off the iPad and rests it in his lap. “Fis is Colin. He’s deaf, but he can read lips pretty good.”

“Colin is Kinsley’s younger brother,” I add, shoving a few things in my workout bag, and after Colin looks up, I ask if he’s ready. I don’t know a lot of sign language, but he and Kinsley have taught me the basics.

Oliver, however, knows a lot, and the two of them get into a conversation about his new dad and the football game we went to.

Ryan sits up, crossing his legs, and leans forward, his elbows resting on his bent knees. “Is he signing or am I so hot I’m hallucinating?”

I laugh, hiking my bag over my shoulder. “Colin and Kinsley taught him ASL. I know some, but Oli soaked it up like a sponge.”

“My son is a genius.”

“Just like his daddy.” Kinsley’s at the doorway, and I do my best to ignore her, especially when she fake coughs into her hand, murmuring “football daddy.” “I know we just met, but you are one of the best things to happen to me.”

Ryan laughs, and the husky sound and those dang dimples temporarily mesmerize me. “Thanks? Although I’m not sure what I did.”

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