Page 73 of The Player's Obsession

He chuckles and pours it black, the way I always drink it. When I reach for it, our fingertips brush, and I can’t deny the fact that I want him again.

“I ordered a few things from room service. I figured the buffet downstairs would be crowded. Travis and Darrel have already booked spa treatments. I’ll walk there with you.”

“What do I wear?” I ask as I sit on the couch and grab a croissant. It smells heavenly.

“Clothes.”

I give him an eye roll and bite into the buttery layers of flaky bread—my mouth waters.

“Do you have loungewear? Sneakers? Wear something low-key, you’ll only get naked and spend hours in a bathrobe anyway.”

“Really?”

“Yes, don’t you watch reality shows?”

“Um. I guess, but this is real, and I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“You’ll get whatever treatments the other girls are getting, sip cucumber-infused water, hang out, take pictures and text them to Lucinda. It’s simple.”

“And what are you guys doing?”

“The same thing and sending pictures to the guys who couldn’t make it, not Lucinda.”

I snicker. “I better check in with her before she sends a search party.”

“Nothing terrible happens here, it’s winter in Maine. I’m surprised our cars don’t refuse to run in this weather. I would object if I were one.”

I look at him like he’s nuts. “Now you’re comparing yourself to a car. I think you should stick to being a fake fiancé.” I take my last bite of the pastry and want more, trying not to look hungry.

“Eat, there’s protein under those lids. We didn’t eat a proper dinner last night. You must be starving. I was,” he says and nods toward two plates littered with the remaining sausage and gravy. From the bits of leftover egg, he must have eaten an omelet—or two.

“Hungry much?” I ask as I sip the hot coffee and note a hint of chocolate flavor.

“Yes.” He pulls his broad shoulders back and puffs out his chest. The stretchy Dri-Fit fabric pulls across his chest like a rubber band.

What could he have ordered? I lift a lid. To my delight, I find scrambled eggs and strips of bacon. The sweet aroma of bacon smothered in maple syrup fills my nose. Knowing I'd eat an entire pound, I’ve never cooked it for myself.

“You outdid yourself,” I murmur as I load a plate with eggs and bacon.

Oliver sits beside me and helps himself to more coffee and refills my cup.

“Is that chocolate in the coffee?”

“Yes, I should have asked if you were allergic.”

“The only allergic reaction I’ll have is when you take it away from me.”

I pretend I’m a predator and growl aggressively as I grab my cup from him.

He chuckles.

“You’re adorable. I can see you as a mother, protective, like a lioness with her cubs, but fun and loving.”

“One would think all mothers would be that way,” I quip to deflect from the fact my mother was no role model. I swore I’d be a better parent than her. I’ll be more giving of myself, which is easy. I swoon over every baby I see because they are so adorable.

“You’re right. Not every mother is a good mother, but you’re not your mother,” he murmurs as he lifts the hot coffee cup to his lips.

“How do you know?”

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