Page 42 of Second Shot

“Trust me, sweetheart. If you were in my bed, you’d be waking up every morning with a smile on yourface.”

I roll my eyes, but there goes my stomach again with the stupidbutterflies.

“Don’t you have a practice or somewhere tobe?”

“Coach gave us the dayoff.”

I wince at the mention of myfather.

“Speaking ofCoach-”

“No.”

“So, you’re never planning on telling him? He’s going to findout.”

I shrug, turning to fill the mugs with coffee. “Haven’t spoken to him since the funeral. Even before that, we barely talked. Me having a kid doesn’t changethat.”

Kane takes the mug from my hand, frowning, before taking a sip. “I’m not hiding this from him. Not hiding my son from the world like he’s something to be ashamedof.”

“That’s not what I’mdoing.”

“No? You sure about that?” He puts his cup down, the muscles in his arms and chesttense.

I have to look away, the familiar ache warming mycore.

“I’m not ashamed ofNoah.”

“No. But you’re ashamed of who his fatheris.”

I glance back at him, and swallow hard when I see the hurt reflected in his hard gaze. I don’t deny it, even though I can see he wants me to, even though I know I should. But he’s right, in a way. I don’t want people to know what happened betweenus.

I don’t want them to know how weak I am when he touches me. Or how my knees tremble when he says my name. And I don’t want them to know that, despite how much I’ve tried to hate the man, my heart has only ever belonged tohim.

“Just give me a few weeks. Let’s just deal with this for now. See if it’s even going to work out before we let the world in on oursecret.”

His nostrils flare as he exhales, but he gives a curt nod. “Fine. For now, we’ll do it your way. Two weeks. Then, we tell yourfather.”

“Three.”

“Two. And I’ll be the one to tell him. Unless you want to bethere.”

“Fine. And no, I reallydon’t.”

“You’re so much like him it’s scary. No wonder the two of you buttheads.”

“I amnothinglike myfather.”

He chuckles, pushing off the counter and taking a step towards me, not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, see every detailed muscle in his arms. The way his abs bunch tighter when my gaze drops. The soft brown hairs that sprinkle across his chest, down his stomach, growing darker as they near the waist of his joggingpants.

I swallowhard.

“So damn stubborn,” he says, fingers clenching and unclenching like it’s taking all his willpower not to touchme.

I know, because I feel thesame.

“You say it like it’s a weakness.” I jut my chin out defiantly. I hate that he thinks he knowsme.

“It is when it stops you from taking what youwant.”

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