Page 31 of Run for the Money

She’s quiet for a while. We’re on her street, nearly at her house when she finally answers with a whispered, “I know.”

I pull into her driveway—paved in regular concrete, leading to a perfectly normal house—and put the truck in park. I don’t shut off the engine, though. It’s cold, and I get the sense she’s not quite ready to be alone.

“They’re not bad people,” she says. “We’ve just never had the same priorities. I spent my whole childhood living out their priorities. Sometimes I wish they’d at least bother to find out what mine are.”

“Priorities like kicking ass at this weekend’s competition?” I ask, almost certain of her answer but nervous to hear it anyway.

She nods. “Something like that.”

I unclip her seatbelt and shut the truck off. “Then I’d better walk you to your door so you can get some sleep. We leave early tomorrow.”

“I still have to pack,” she says with a grimace. “You should see the state of my room. Total disaster.”

Contrary to what the meatball believes, I absolutely should not see her room, so I get out of the truck before I say something stupid. The cold air braces me, and by the time I open Melanie’s door to help her climb down, I’ve tamped down the urge to tell her something intense and forward, like she’s my priority now, to hell with everything else.

She takes my offered hand, and doesn’t let it go, even when she’s safely on the ground. I walk her up to the front door, and pause, reluctant to leave.

“You weren’t kidding—there are some manners buried in there,” she says, tapping her free hand against my chest.

I shrug. “Told ya so. I wasn’t going to let you down. Seemed like tonight was important to you.”

She smiles at me, then before I know how to react she crashes into my chest. I give the meatball this tiny win, and wrap my arms around her. She slots into my embrace perfectly, her head resting on my shoulder. Her hair is soft under my cheek, and with her cocooned in my jacket like this, I’m afraid it’s going to take a crowbar to peel me off of her.

“Why can’t you always be this nice to me?” she whispers.

It’s so quiet, I’m not sure she meant for me to hear. I ease my hold on her and take a step back. She meets my gaze, and the answer to her question slips out before I can catch it.

“Maybe I like it when you bite back, Miss Manners,” I whisper just as softly.

Her cheeks go pink again, and I know I’ve got to leave before I pull her back into my arms, drag her inside, and unzip her dress with my teeth. I should say goodnight, then walk away. There aren’t that many hours until I’m supposed to be back here to pick her up. If my brain were in charge, I’d get back in my truck and go.

There’s a strand of hair stuck to her lipstick. The hug gave the meatball too much power, so I can’t help it. I tuck the hair behind her ear, letting my fingertips skim over her cheek. Her breath stutters, and I think I might die if I don’t kiss her. So I do.

It’s beyond fireworks. It’s like I’ve lived my whole life under water and this kiss has flung me into a bonfire. She tastes like raspberries and heat. Every reason why I shouldn’t be kissing her turns to smoke and I decide that it’s my new life’s mission to never stop kissing her. What starts as a soft, slow press of her lips against mine burns into something hungrier with every passing second. I’m not sure why I ever thought this was a bad idea.

Melanie seems just as eager. Her hands clutch at the back of my shirt and I sink my fingers into her hair, mussing up her curls. The sigh that slips out of her when I tug her bottom lip between my teeth is the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard. She arches against me while her tongue finds mine. My cock is hard against her stomach, and everything between us feels inevitable.

She breathes out my name, the air fluttering against my lips. I kiss her again, and back her against the front door. She melts against me, and I slide my leg between hers so I can get closer. So close,in fact, that she gasps when my phone buzzes in my pocket, right against her inner thigh.

“Sorry—hang on,” I say, digging out the phone with every intention of stashing it in a different pocket before throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her inside to continue devouring her. But before I can do any of that, I see what made the phone buzz—a text from Edwin.

How’d the meeting with Paul go?

Paul’s name is cold water dumped on my head. I step back from Melanie, disentangling myself from her completely.

What the fuck am I doing?

Nothing is different than it was this morning. Melanie might have fought with her parents, but that didn’t magically make me good enough for her. It didn’t wipe away the last traces of her heartbreak—a crushing heartbreak, according to her parting shot at her parents. It certainly didn’t change the fact that I’m her coach.

Melanie’s sad and vulnerable and—critically—I’m still using her for my own gain. If she weren’t quite so sad, she’d probably remember that. She wouldn’t let me smudge up her lipstick or worm my way between her thighs under normal circumstances. We have a nearly nine-hour drive tomorrow, followed by a massive competition that she’s just told me is a priority for her. I can’t be swooping in and distracting her. She hasn’t packed. She needs to sleep! I’ve got no business bursting into her house and keeping her up and naked all night.

“Everything okay?” she asks. “You look a little sick.”

She sounds nervous again. Fuck. I look from her to the phone and back. Bringing Paul up isn’t going to make her feel better.

“Uh, yeah. I just…” I stammer, hunting for a decent explanation for why we’re not still making out. “It’s just Edwin. Nothing you—”

She scoffs. “Nothing I need to worry about. Got it.”

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