Page 127 of The Overtime Kiss

I free his cock, take him in my mouth, and drive him wild as Drama curls up at last under his arm.

After he comes hard and loud, and I wipe a hand across my mouth, I say with a pleased shrug of my shoulder, “Told you I like practice.”

He reaches for me, tugs me to his other side, and traces my mouth with his finger. “Practice anytime.”

It sounds like he means it—theanytime.It sounds like an open invitation for us to come together.

Which is what tonight is dangerously starting to feel like—like a night without an end. And that scares me a little. I don’t want to get hurt. I’ve been there, done that, and rearranged my life last summer because of it. I went fullgarlic to make it on my own, and I don’t want to backtrack, especially as I’m finding my footing.

But when Tyler pats the pillow and urges me to sink closer to him, I stop thinking about what might hurt, and I give in, like the cat. I could learn a thing or two from her about embracing the moment.

“So, tell me about your lessons,” Tyler says, returning at last to the question he asked earlier.

Funny. I’d expected him to forget his question. To be distracted by sex and orgasms. To notice the ticking of the clock and rush out of my place, hell-bent on returning to his own room two floors and a lock away. But with Drama resting her little furry face in the crook of his arm and purring loudly enough to shake the bed, Tyler seems to be staying put too. “You said you had a new student today?” he adds.

He really does pay attention. But then again, he always has. This is the man who bought me yoga gear and sheets and towels and a NutRageous bar.

“Yes,” I say. “A girl with curly hair, a bright smile, and ADHD. It was the first thing she said when she showed up to the lesson. She stuck out her hand and said,I’m Tiffany and I have ADHD. And honestly, it was cute how much she wanted me to know.”

Tyler nods. “That’s pretty good of her, owning it.”

“I thought that too. Well, her mom had actually told me in advance over email, which was helpful because I googled it and did some research. I read some articles on how exercise can help a lot with mood and focus in people who have ADHD.”

His eyes spark. “Really? How so?”

I tell him more about the research I did and what I learned about how physical activity often improves concentration in people with ADHD.

“That’s impressive, that you put all that work into it,” he says.

“Former perfectionist here,” I say, owning it. “I really need to do something with all that energy, so it works well in that regard—research, that is.”

“I’m glad you have that knowledge about yourself,” he says. “Is coaching fulfilling you?”

That’s a good question. I mull it over for a beat before I answer with the truth. “It is. It feels natural. I love figure skating, but I did get pretty obsessed with it when I was younger. And when I tried out for the Olympics, I was at the peak of my obsession. I didn’t make it,” I add, but he probably knows.

His eyes hold mine with not quite sympathy, but empathy. The empathy of someone who understands what it’s like to chase a goal and not always reach it. “Was that hard for you?”

I sigh, remembering with excruciating clarity the shattering disappointment when I didn’t make it past the Olympic trials. “It was devastating. But in some ways it was also a relief. I don’t think I realized at the time that it was. It was only after going to therapy for a while that I learned all that perfectionism and pursuit of excellence had been taking a toll on me. It was affecting my mind and my emotions. I obsessed over every second I spent prepping, exercising, practicing. It was all I could think about. I had to learn to let go of it—all that order. All that list-making and tracking. And then finally, when I did, I was able to skate again—for fun.”

A soft smile crosses his lips. “In your videos, I can see the joy that you feel. It’s in your eyes.”

That warms my heart in a brand-new way. “I’m glad you can see it.”

“That’s one of the reasons I love watching them,” he admits, then gives me a sheepish look. “Not just because I have this thing for figure skating—well, now for one skater inparticular.” He stops to drop a kiss to my forehead, and it feels like it spreads through my body, down to my toes. When he pulls back, he says, “But also because it’s so clear you’re having a good time.”

“I am. I truly am.”

He runs a hand along my hair, touching me absently through our pillow talk. “Is that how you teach? I mean, I see you with Luna, and she’s always having fun and so are you. But is that your goal—to help students feel that joy too?”

It’s just a little thing, but he seems to understand me so well already, and I don’t think it’s simply because he’s been privy to my lessons as a parental spectator. “I think so. I hope so. I want to help them with their goals and meet them where they are—if they’re ambitious, if they’re competitive. But also to help them just have fun, too, if that’s what they want.”

He exhales softly, then tries to fight off a yawn. He’s unsuccessful. The yawn shakes his whole body. I laugh. He must be so tired. I rub his shoulder, perhaps a subtle way of letting him know he’s free to go if he wants to. I’m not going to hold him back. “You played a hockey game today, went on a feline shopping spree, hung out with your friends, drove back down here, fucked me with your fingers—you must be exhausted. You should go to bed.”

Tyler sinks deeper into the pillows, his eyes floating closed. “Yeah, I should…get to sleep early.” He doesn’t make a move to leave. “We should skate together sometime.”

I blink, a little taken aback. “Skate together?” I want to make sure I actually heard him right.

“At a rink. For fun. You know, for the joy of it,” he says, his voice getting a little slurry at the end.

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