Page 37 of The Overtime Kiss

When I’m nearly out the door, she calls, “Tyler?”

I turn back, wishing she weren’t so fucking pretty.

“The deal is the same, right?”

“What deal? You mean what I’m paying you? Of course. I’d never go back on that,” I say, a little shocked she’s asking.

“No, I mean the Night of a 1000 Confessions. We’re still not talking about it, right? Even though we kind of did today.”

Do I detect a note of mischief in her voice, as if she likes breaking the rules?

Well, I sure as hell fucking do.

I scratch my jaw and adopt a quizzical look. “Was it just one thousand, though? Almost seemed like it might’ve been one thousand and one.”

Her smile is too much, teasing and self-deprecating at once. “Please. It was one thousand and two.”

“So many confessions, Sabrina,” I say, even though I shouldn’t keep talking about it. But the look in her blue eyes, the tilt in her lips, the ease in her body—all relaxed. It’s hard not to keep going.

“I blame the margaritas,” she says, but then straightens her shoulders. “But it won’t happen again. I promise.”

Once more, I pick up what she’s putting down. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I say, in a tone that makes it clear that once again I will play along.

“I don’t either,” she says.

And I wish she didn’t need to forget about it. I wish I didn’t, too, though it’s for the best for both of us.

But as I head upstairs, I’m flooded by memories. By herwords. By the sound of her voice telling me how much she wants me.

I have this whole fantasy that starts with your beard. I keep thinking about how it’d feel. I keep wondering, too, about those arms. How you could pin me down…

Heat roars in me. Desire grips me too tightly. At the top of the steps, I grab the railing and close my eyes, as if I can will away the images.

But they come faster, like the words we said to each other in the hotel room as we inched dangerously closer. Like what I said when she told me about her ex and his mouth.I bet you’d enjoy it done properly.

Her reply?I bet I would too.

I breathe out roughly, fighting off my fantasies of the nanny.

Get it together, I tell myself before heading into my home, which feels far too close to hers.

11

TELL ME WHAT TO DO

Sabrina

“I deserve a gold star for that feat of strength,” I tell Trevyn as we finish dragging boxes into my bedroom. We leave the other items in the living room. I’ll sort through them later, though I’m grateful to have had his help today.

“You and me both,” he says.

Barbara-dor lifts her snout and pants.

“And her too,” I add, stroking her soft head.

“Definitely. Hot Dad was something else, wasn’t he, girl?” Trevyn says to his mutt.

I roll my eyes. “Stop making it worse for me.”

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