Page 62 of The Shake Off

My heart leapt into my throat.

My belly sank.

And my pussy throbbed.

It was all very confusing, nor did I have time to think about it, because the next voice on the intercom was his.

“Good morning, Babycakes. Let me up, will you? I have a present.”

I couldn’t decide whether the giggle of the receptionist made this situation worse, or if I’d already hit rock bottom.

“What are you doing here?”

“Told you, I have a present.”

“Ace, I’m at work. You can’t just show up here.” I didn’t know why I was bothering to explain, because even if I said no, he’d somehow still make it up to my office within the next five minutes.

Another giggle from the receptionist told me as much.

“Too late,” he replied, and I knew if I could see him, he’d be wearing that shit-eating grin again, the one he’d worn two nights ago when he’d pitched the fifth inning against the Braves without any of the three batters making it to first base. He’d walked off the field with a swagger he could have only learned from Jupiter Reeves. It was almost like the first few weeks of the season hadn’t existed.

Except,except,I knew they had.

If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be so distracted all the time – even more so than usual.

If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be falling asleep every night in an Ace Watson fantasy induced post-orgasmic haze, based on very real-life experiences.

And if they hadn’t, then I wouldn’t have approximately seven hundred tabs open on my computer screen, all trying to find new snippets of news about his performance during the Lions away series. All of them were saying the same thing – that Ace had turned around his game overnight, and was on his way back to playing like he had done last season, and whatever had caused his blip seemed to be well and truly over.

I’d tried not to think about me being the blip; both causing it and being the solution, or – worse – whether he’d been practicing his new techniques with other women; the girls that followed them on tour, the ones that waited outside his hotel and made sleeping with them as convenient as possible.

It was ridiculous. Why should I care in the slightest whether he’d been with anyone else? It was none of my business, it was what I told him to do. It was what I wanted… and I certainly didn’t like the twisting in my belly at the thought of it.

“Payton?” he tried again. “Are you gonna let me up, or am I going to have to figure out another way to see you?”

I was almost tempted to see what he’d try, but I knew it would probably cause me more hassle in the long run. Not to mention Giggles would likely stick the news of his visit on the building’s Slack channel the second she let him through the barriers.

“You’ve got five minutes,” I sighed, ignoring every alarm bell ringing in my head, least of all the one that sounded like Kit betting me I’d sleep with him again.

The second I heard him whoop I grabbed my purse, rummaging around for the hand mirror to check out the current state of my face. Thank God I’d washed my hair this morning. I tidied up the stack of manuscripts I’d been reading through and slipped my feet back into my heels.

I got up and perched on the edge of my desk – no, that looks too sexy secretary…

I ran back around and sat down in my chair. Better. Now there was furniture between us, which lessened the likelihood I’d throw myself at him.

Holy crap. What was wrong with me?

I didn’t have time to debate that because in the next breath, he was standing in my doorway. It was the last breath I took for a while.

The last time I’d seen him, he’d been wrapped in my comforter, and now he was once more clad entirely in black. Lions black. Over the past week I’d been watching the games and wondering if he was growing his beard out, and now with him standing here smiling his perfect smile, it was almost impossible to imagine him without it.

It was like he’d aged overnight, like a fine wine. Or grown another three inches, tall and wide.

My office wasn’t big, but as Ace strode across to my desk and took the seat opposite, it felt almost suffocating. Like the ventilation had been cut off and the oxygen was slowly being sucked out. He filled the chair, his huge shoulders taking up all the space as his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Hello,” he said, placing a small turquoise and white striped bag in front of me.

My focus, which had been entirely on him, and how, again, I seemed to have forgotten quite how good-looking he was, suddenly switched allegiances. Sugar and Bean was my favorite coffee shop in New York. Even seeing the store bags had a Pavlovian response on my taste buds.

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