Page 122 of The Third Baseman

“Nope, I draw the line at spreadsheets. I only tolerated them for our study sessions, but if that’s what you’re talking about, hop up on the desk right now.” He patted the space in front of him, right between his legs. His eyes darkened instantaneously.

Visceral. Absolutely visceral. The memory of our study sessions slapped me hard in my drooling vagina.

“I can’t, I have to work.” I tried to keep the whine out of my voice, but I knew it was there somewhere.

“Okay…” he went back to his phone.

I looked at the clock; I’d give him sixty seconds before he started talking again. I reached for my laptop, opening my email to find the one from my old colleague, Jorg. I shot off a reply to set up a conference call with him and Beulah, then dropped a note to Beulah updating her on who Jorg was. All that took five minutes, and Jupiter still hadn’t said a word.

He was still staring at his phone.

“What are you looking at?”

From his expression I could see he was either up to no good or up to something he didn’t want to share, so obviously I wanted to know about it, immediately.

I moved over to where he was sitting, only for him to pull me into his lap. I held my hand out, and he placed his phone in my palm.

“Pinterest?” My face screwed up at the screen, and then up at him. “How do you know about Pinterest?”

“Hey! I know about stuff!” He held my hand and swiped his phone screen, bringing up a board filled with houses, textiles, and interior design inspirations. “When I built my house in Malibu, my architect showed me Pinterest. It helped me find exactly what I wanted by taking bits from lots of different places. It turned out perfectly.” He looked up and smiled. “I can’t wait to take you there. It’s right on the cliff above the beach.”

“What were you looking at just now?”

He tapped the screen and moved to a new board, one that looked more countryside than beachy. “I’ve been making one for our new place.”

I scrolled through the images; there were hundreds.Hundreds.Farmhouses, English gardens, wooden beams, roll-top bathtubs, tiling, theater rooms, and… planetariums.

That middle of the night feeling began scratching at my gut. I handed the phone back to him.

“I’ll share this with you, and then you can look through and delete anything you don’t like, and add anything you do. We’ll build our dream house, Marn.” He leaned up and kissed me, his tongue swiping across my lips before I could stop it. Lifting me off his lap, he stood me back on the floor, pocketing a roll of LifeSavers I’d already opened and started for the door. “Okay, I have to go for a meeting with my third base coach. I’ll call you when I’m done. Love you.”

He stopped. I stopped. Time might have also stopped. His hand was hovering halfway to the door handle. I’m not sure I blinked.

His eyes widened, and a broad grin broke through his shock as he walked straight back to me. Warm hands cupped my face, and I could feel the calluses on his thumb as it brushed over my cheeks. “I should have been a bit cooler with that, but hey, you already knew. I love you, Marn. I love you so fucking much, and getting you back...”

His tongue did the rest of the talking with more than a swipe across my lips. It sunk deep into my mouth, caressing mine, twisting together, hot and soft. Every swipe filled with emotion, and I returned it a hundred fold, especially when I could feel him smiling against my lips.

This man, this fucking man.

He was going to be the death of me.

Again.

I pushed him gently. “Go, you’re going to get in trouble if you’re late.”

“Okay,” he winked. “I’ll see you later.” He stole one last kiss and ran out of the door.

I walked to close it, peering down the hallway until I knew he was really gone, only then did I shut it and slump onto my desk. My head fell forward, cushioned by my arms.

The sex, the hand-holding, the winks, the laughter, the present…

I could do those. I could manage that.

The girlfriend-thing, the house, the Pinterest board planning, the future…

My heart was pumping so hard that it felt like I’d taken a weightlifter’s pre-workout shake. An Olympic weightlifter sized one. I sat up and rubbed my chest. It made things hard to concentrate when it felt like your heart was about to give way any second.

Either that or crack a rib.

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