Page 45 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"Nothing specific. He's just been watching me more closely lately. Taking notes during my sessions, asking questions about my methods. It could be completely innocent."
"Or it could be him looking for reasons to dismiss you."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
The protective anger that flares in my chest is immediate and intense. The idea of Harrison trying to force Tessa out because of his outdated policies makes me want to march into his office and remind him exactly how much leverage the team's star players have when it comes to staff decisions.
"Hey," she says, squeezing my hand. "Don't do whatever you're thinking about doing."
"I'm not thinking about doing anything."
"You're thinking about defending my honor in some grand romantic gesture that would probably get us both fired."
She's not wrong. "Maybe."
"I appreciate the impulse, but I need to handle this myself. If Harrison is looking for a reason to let me go, you charging into his office like some kind of knight in shining hockey pads would give him exactly what he needs."
"So what do we do?"
"We be careful. Professional during work hours, no matter how much I want to grab you and kiss you senseless every time you look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're thinking about all the ways you could make me forget my own name."
The heat in her voice sends electricity straight through me. "Is that what you think I'm thinking about?"
"Isn't it?"
She's not wrong. I've been thinking about exactly that since the moment she opened the door. About pulling that sweatshirt over her head and discovering what she's wearing underneath. About whether those yoga pants feel as soft as they look and how quickly I can get them off her.
"Maybe," I admit, my voice getting rougher. "Among other things."
"What other things?"
"How you look in my apartment versus your apartment. How you fit perfectly against me when we're lying in bed. How I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep listening to you breathe every night."
Her breath catches slightly. "That's very domestic for someone who claims he doesn't do relationships."
"Maybe I’ve just been waiting for the right person."
"And you think I'm the right person?"
"I think you're the only person who's ever made me want to try."
We're staring at each other across the table, and the air between us is so charged I'm surprised we haven't set off the smoke detectors. She's got that look again—the one where her professional mask slips completely and I can see the woman underneath who wants things just as much as I do.
"We should sign these papers," she says quietly, but she's not looking at the documents. She's looking at my mouth.
"We should," I agree, not moving toward the papers either.
"Get the legal complications out of the way so we can focus on figuring out what we actually want."
"Makes sense."
"Very practical."
"Very mature."
