Page 39 of The Wedding Deal
“Too bad.”
It was. The world could use more guys like him, but so could the low-income kids he and his buddies would be doing the camp for.
Lance unfastened his cufflinks, tossed them on the coffee table with aclink, and then rolled up his sleeves. “How’d sorting through the résumés go? Any potentials there?”
“Good. I scribbled notes all over them, and there were a couple that sounded promising.” She reached for the pile on the other side of her and handed him the ones she’d gone through.
He began flipping through them, and she sank farther into the cushions, fighting off a yawn. Her head felt too heavy for her neck, too. Was it always so freaking heavy?
That’s better, she thought when her head hit the top of the couch. Just a minute or two to rest and she’d finish up the last of the résumés.
The next thing she knew, she was diagonal, her cheek braced against something solid yet surprisingly comfortable. The scent of Lance’s cologne invaded her senses as her sloggy mind tried to work out where she was. Her eyelids didn’t want to open, but they fluttered enough to see that yes, yes she was leaning on Lance’s shoulder.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize,” she said, starting to push herself up.
He curled up his arm, placed his hand on the side of her face, and guided her cheek back to his shoulder. “Relax. You’ve been working nonstop all day, and I need you here in case I have any questions about your notes. It’s not against the rules to use me as a pillow.”
“Pretty sure it is,” she mumbled, but with that firm, warm shoulder underneath her, she was having trouble convincing her head to lift. The drag of his fingers across her cheekbone and jaw made it even more difficult to fight the tug of sleep.
And suddenly she couldn’t recall why she was fighting it in the first place.
…
Lance skimmed to the end of the final résumé and finished reading the last of Charlotte’s notes. Her stats, her comments—they were all spot-on. Just as he was wondering about something, she had a note about it, as if she were in his brain, already aware of exactly what he wanted.
Her silky hair brushed his jaw as he glanced down at her, so calm now that she’d drifted to sleep. It often felt like she was holding back, only occasionally letting her walls slip. Usually that was when she fled.
This evening she’d been too exhausted, and while he felt bad about that and knew it was partly on him, he couldn’t help taking a second to enjoy the moment.
Affection stitched its way through his chest, a thread tethering him to her, and he wanted to place a kiss on her forehead. Unfortunately, that’d be against the rules, and not something he’d do unless she was awake enough to consent to it. For now, he’d simply enjoy her soft breaths and the scent of her shampoo or perfume or whatever she used that made her smell so damn good.
Gradually his eyelids began to droop as well, his mind and body hitting the wall. Today had been a blur of calls and so, so many photos. Then the mess with the crybaby coach. If only another team would snatch him up and help pay off the rest of a contract he never deserved. Unfortunately, the crap timing meant most coaches had been swapped or secured about three months ago.
Lance relaxed into the comfort of the couch, wrapping his arm around Charlotte’s shoulders and tucking her closer without thinking. Her hand slipped down, falling high on his thigh, and desire coursed through his veins, bringing the reality of the situation to the surface.
He forced himself to jerk awake and lift his arm from her shoulders to the back of the couch. If they slept here they’d both be sore, and she’d be sore at him, too.
“Charlotte.” He gently squeezed her knee. “Let’s get you to your room.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a smile that he felt deep in his gut. Then dawning crossed her features, her eyes going wide. She moved to sit up, but her hand drifted higher on his thigh and then pressed right into his crotch.
He grunted, automatically curling in on himself.
“Oh shit,” she said, and he’d point out she was the one swearing now if she didn’t look so distraught.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not! My hand just violated section three of the handbook!”
“Accidental brushes happen.”
Her cheeks flushed deeper as she shook her head. “It was embarrassing enough to fall asleep on you. Now I’m grabbing your crotch.”
He doubted replying that he was okay with her grabbing his crotch would make her feel any better. He’d rather she be gentler next time, but—Yeah, don’t go there.
“We should fill out a form.” She stood and glanced around, as if she expected one to appear out of thin air. “I’ll print one out tomorrow and we can get it on the record, and…yeah.”
Like he wanted that on the record.
