Page 49 of Trust Me With Forever

Me:That Wolfe brother will get pissed, though, when he finds out about it.

Katie:Maybe. But we’re all going to have to get along, so if I have to knock some heads together until West recognizes Rafe is family twice over, I will. I’ll send the details soon, and I won’t take no for an answer.

The next morning, I debated showering and getting ready before heading downstairs, but said screw it. I was going to spend the day at home, working on my computer and making plans for the tutoring center, and my pajamas were comfy.

So, a little before seven, I headed downstairs in my shirt and shorts, and heard some sports game blaring from the kitchen. After one last deep breath, I entered and stopped, watching as Rafe shouted, “What the fuck was that?”

I glanced at the tablet next to him on the counter and smiled as he continued to mutter not very nice things about the referee. I walked closer, saw it was a soccer game—probably in Europe, given how it said live and the time difference—and asked, “You still enjoy the game, even though you don’t play any longer?”

He turned off the tablet screen and turned around, his mouth open, but he stood silent. My cheeks heated as he took in my pajamas, lingering on my legs, before he cleared his throat and replied, “Yes. Aren’t you cold? It’s February.”

“No, I’m always warm when I wake up. I need lots of blankets to fall asleep, but I like cooling down in the morning.” I walked over to him and peered at the stove. “You’re making pancakes?”

I stood right next to him, close enough to feel his body heat and smell the purely masculine scent that was Rafael Mendoza, but somehow restrained myself from pressing up against his side.

He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “Pancakes aren’t rocket science. If I can’t stir together the pancake mix and water, then I have some issues.”

I snorted. “Zach would struggle. That man can burn toast in a toaster.”

“I can cook breakfast, at least. It was usually the only meal I was home for.” He gestured toward the kitchen island. “Sit down and I’ll make you some coffee.”

“Extra strong,” I said as I rubbed my eyes. I’d had trouble sleeping, my brain replaying Rafe’s mouth and how he’d made me come so hard.

Not wanting to go down that train of thought again, I asked, “Are you going to start an older guy soccer league in the area?”

“Older guy?”

“You know what I mean. For men not in their teens.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to play again, though, but I could maybe coach.”

“Wait, what? Was your injury truly that bad?”

He fell silent, and I wondered if he’d answer. I probably should’ve waited until we were more comfortable around each other, but it’d just popped out.

Eventually he said, “It’s not just the last injury, to be honest. I’m thirty-six years old and my body has taken a lot of abuse over the course of my career. My physical therapist says if I take it easy for at least the next six months, I might be able to play for fun. But I knew the instant I hurt my knee this last time, it was over.”

“How are you coping? Are you okay? I mean, soccer was your life for nearly as long as I can remember.”

He flipped the pancakes before saying, “Yes and no. I love the game, and always will. But being a professional athlete is brutal, what with all the training and games and more training. The seasons are long for soccer, especially when you include all the championships, and it’ll be nice to slow down a little.”

“I sense a but.”

He sighed. “But I miss having a team, a purpose, and the sense of working toward a single goal.” He turned around and met my gaze. “It’s why I started a business instead of just retiring and living a life of leisure for the rest of my days.”

“I’d never really thought about that, retiring so young. I’m not sure I could do it, either.”

“Good, because that means I get to have a certain amazing teacher I know help me with the tutoring center. If I keep giving you raises, I have a chance of keeping you forever.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if he’d still want me around after the year was up, but he went to the espresso machine to make me a latte and I clammed up.

As soon as he finished and placed it in front of me, I noticed the chocolate cat design on top and laughed. “Did you already have that one, or did you get one for me?”

“I could be all smooth and say I went out at the crack of dawn to find it. But, no, it was part of a pack. It didn’t have horses, or I would’ve done that for you.”

At the mention of horses, my heart squeezed. As a kid, I’d loved them so much, to the point my parents had thought I might train them for a living.

But after my mom died, it’d been too painful. While my dad had been the one to teach me to ride, to show me how to pick out the best horse, and how to care for them and treat them with respect, I’d ridden the most with my mom.

---