Page 43 of The Rebound Plan

It’s like all the normal social bounds I’ve taught myself over the last eight years are falling away at lightspeed this weekend.

Once he’s gone, I focus on the hot, still air and the buzz of insects where the vegetation meets the edge of the lake. I close my eyes and I push away every single thought that threatens to intrude.

Freckles and big hands and thoughtful, careful watching.

He has a girlfriend.

It’s a major red flag that I care more about that than the fact that I have a husband.

But even more unsettling is how unbothered I am when that same husband appears not five minutes later, holding a smoothie.

“Emery says that you're feeling a bit hungover. She wanted me to bring you this,” he says.

I squint and take it from him. “Thanks.”

“Where are your sunglasses?” He glances about, and spies them still sitting on the dock.

I wait for a guilty lurch when I realize they aren’t alone. Russ’s sunglasses are with them, very close together. Touching, as if they were put down at the same time. Max frowns. Leaning over, he picks them both up and wordlessly hands mine over.

He doesn’t ask who the other pair belongs to.

I don’t volunteer the information.

“Maybe don’t drink that much again tonight, hmm?”

“Yeah.” I take another fortifying sip of smoothie. It’s delicious. I need to ask Emery for the recipe.

“Shan—”

“Don’t scold me, Max.” I stand up. I know that’s the main reason he agreed to bring the smoothie to me. I’m not being social enough. He’s paranoid I’m going to reflect badly on him somehow. That, and he never passes up an opportunity to impress a pretty girl who isn’t his wife. “We got a little carried away last night because we were bringing Emery into the fold. As Russ’s new girlfriend, there was a lot to discuss. The bonding was worth the headache, and now that I’ve had a good swim, and this delicious smoothie, that’s fading.”

I refuse to be chided. I haven’t done anything wrong.

Or at least, the mistakes I’ve made aren’t the things my husband wants to chastise me for.

He looks like he wants to say something else, but thinks better of it. We walk up to the house together in silence. The kitchen is quiet now, people upstairs and in their various corners. The house sounds busy, though, and when I see the pile of hockey bags at the front door, I remember that the plan was to go into town for the afternoon.

The real reason Max doesn’t want me to be hungover is that I’m expected to be a cheerleader today.

CHAPTER 16

RUSS

I lean my forehead against the tile in my shower, slowly stroking my cock—one of the more masochistic decisions I’ve made in a bittersweet weekend of self-inflicted pain.

Without spelling out the specifics, I asked Shannon if I should get over her for the good of the team, and she happily agreed. Zero hesitation. There wasn’t an answer that would have made me happy, but having the woman I need to get over telling me that yes, I should definitely do that is more brutal than I imagined.

And still I’m hard.

Still I’m thinking about how it felt to have Shannon plastered against me in the water.

Focus on what you need right now.

At this exact moment, I need to know what her goosebumps taste like. What soft little sounds she might make if I chased her shivering reaction all the way down her torso.

I can still feel her in the circle of my arms, tensing muscle under soft flesh.

I can still see the lush bounce of her ass as she dives off the floating dock next door.

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