Page 73 of Tackle

He sat on the bed next to her, peeking at the open page of the book. “Junior high.” He tipped the cover up to see the year. “Eighth grade.”

“Don’t change the subject. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I am. Better now that I know my mom’s okay.”

Her gaze searched his. “You haven’t said much about your dad since you found out.”

Shrugging, he let out a small huff. “I kind of feel like my mom does. I did my mourning for him when he left us. It happened a long time ago. It’s lost the ability to hurt me.”

Her eyes softened, concern etching her features. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

He conceded, “I’ll admit, it stung a little to find out he had another family, but that’s not anything I can change and it’s certainly not Nora’s fault he chose her over me. She never knew I existed until a few months ago.” He reached over, cupping her cheek. “I can see you’re worried, and that makes me love you all the more, but I promise you, I truly am fine.”

Not wanting to dwell on it anymore—as far as he was concerned his father was a closed chapter in his life—he plucked the book from her fingers and tossed it to the floor. Rolling her to her back, he hovered over her, slipping a hand under the hem of her shirt and sliding it up over the smooth skin of her ribcage.

“You’re changing the subject again.”

He raised his brows. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“And what are they saying?”

“That you want to have sex.”

He grinned. “How astute my actions are.”

She slapped his shoulder. “We are not having sex with your mother right down the hall.”

“We can be quiet as church mice.”

“No.”

“I’ve never had sex with a girl in my room before.”

Her brows flew up. “Not even in high school?”

“Contrary to popular belief, not all jocks score.” He smirked. “Pun intended.”

“Well, this jock,” she jabbed him in the chest, “will not be scoring now, either.”

“Are you really going to deny me my childhood fantasy?”

She giggled. “Yes.”

He gave a brief nod. “I thought that’s what you were going to say.”

He slipped his hand out from under her shirt, but instead of backing away, his fingers found the button on her jeans and unfastened it.

“What are you doing?”

His lips quirked. “Trying to change your mind.”

“That’s not going to work.” She made a feeble attempt to bat at his hands but gave up once he slid her zipper down and his fingers found her. She moaned, arching her hips a little. “No fair. You know what button to push. Literally.”

He chuckled but then turned serious, lapping at the velvety soft skin under her navel. Her jeans were a nuisance he wanted to be rid of. Grabbing them at the waist, he yanked them over her hips and down her legs, taking her panties with them. His fingers found her. Soaked.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he ripped at the button fly on his jeans, his dick springing free. He fisted it and gave it a few good strokes. Eyes trained on his hand, Emerson sat up, pulling her shirt over her head.

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