Page 21 of The Overtime Kiss

But what’d be the point? I’d just be some parent of one of her students pushing my team’s merchandise on her. Not cool.

“This is really thoughtful of you,” I say, keeping my tone friendly. “Honestly, I love the mug. But I swear, you didn’t have to do this.”

She winces, frowning. “But I did,” she insists. “You were a total gentleman, and I threw myself at you. You’re the father of one of my students, and…I’m so embarrassed, Tyler,” she says, her lip quivering briefly before she steels herself with a deep breath.

A fueling one, it seems, because she continues on, her voice stronger now. “I just want you to know it was the margaritas talking. The tequila, and…and all the emotional trauma of that day. I just…I feel awful, and I wanted to reassure you that I’d love to keep teaching Luna.”

Her words hit like a slap shot to the chest. Any hope I had of a date? So far gone they’re sailing out into the ocean. My shoulders sink, but I force a small, tight smile. “Sabrina, you’re a fantastic teacher. My daughter adores you. You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable at all.” Then, I pause, girding myself to say the harder thing, but the damn necessary thing. “If we can just pretend that night never happened, everything will be fine.”

Relief washes over her face, and she presses a hand to her chest. “Thank you,” she breathes, her pink workout jacket hugging her frame in a way I shouldn’t notice. Shouldn’t like. Shouldn’t fucking think about.

But my mind is whirling through what might have been. What I wanted to say.

I want to cross that line with you right now. I want to take you out, and take you home, and take your real virginity like you offered, and then do it the next night and the next, screw the consequences.

But clearly, it was all the tequila talking that evening, nothing more. She has no idea she handed me my greatest fantasy.

No idea.

That repeats in my head.

And really, isn’t it best if she keeps having no idea? I glance toward the arcade in the rink where Luna’s playing Ms. Pac-Man. Yep.No ideais my new mantra.

“We’re all good,” I say, my voice even and reassuring since that’s what Sabrina needs right now. “You don’t need to worry.”

Her smile turns playful, her mischievous sparkle returning. “What happened?” she asks innocently, tilting her head.

I force a chuckle, scratching my jaw. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

She laughs softly, her relief palpable. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” I say, lying—bald-faced lying—but this is the way things have to be. Especially as Luna runs up to us, announcing she’s nailed a high score.

I focus on Luna, on what matters. My kids. My career. That’s it.

But dating? No thanks. Not anymore.

6

THE SUMMER I MELTED AND REGREW

Sabrina

I’m sweating buckets. No, seriously—enough to fill a literal bucket. They could mop the floors at the baseball stadium with my sweat. But no one will ever know because I can’t let on that I’m a walking inferno inside this cougar costume, sprinting around the bases during the sixth inning of a sweltering baseball game.

I think that’s second base up ahead. Hard to say with this furry head obscuring most of my vision. But I know what I’m supposed to do: slide butt-first into the base, then pop back up like I’m the most agile mascot to ever grace a diamond.

Here goes nothing—wham!My giant paw hits first, then my fluffy rear. I’m back up in a flash, waving to the crowd at the ballpark. I clown around some more, hamming it up with the grounds crew during a break between innings. I even pretend to help rake the field, but really, I just create a bigger mess.

Seems fitting for my life right now while I drip inside this suit.

Why is July so aggressively July-ish, even in San Francisco? Mark Twain lied when he said the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in this city. Then again, we didn’t have climate change back then, so I forgive him.

I can’t afford to let my mind wander too much in here, but it drifts anyway—to Tyler. Clearing the air with him last month was harder than I’d expected. Facing him after blurting out every dirty dream I’d wanted him to fulfill—and then asking if we could just move on—was more awkward than I’d imagined. And as much as I’ve told myself it was for the best, I can’t help but wonder sometimes…what if?

What if we’d tried something? What if I’d let myself have one reckless, ridiculous moment? A fling, maybe. Or something more, though I can’t picture what that would even look like.

But then I remember the state of my life: a micro-studio that barely fits a few books, no shower of my own, and a skating business still struggling to take off. Tyler deserves more than someone whose existence feels like it’s held together with duct tape.

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