Page 88 of A Wild Card Kiss
I feel woozy, too, almost like I’ve been knocked hard out of bounds.
But I like this feeling. It’s new and different, but it’s all good. And I want more of it. “I was looking forward to spending more time with you,” I say softly. “I wanted all of it. The sex and the dates and just…you. I still do. I like you so much.”
My heart slams against my rib cage. I’m dangerously close to dropping this red basket on the floor, shoving her against the yogurt and eggs, and kissing the breath out of her, no matter what it brings.
For all our flirting, all our teasing, all of this red-hot sizzle, she’s on to something—the reason our first kiss went to my head. Hell, I can still remember how it felt to taste her lips for the first time.
Spectacular.
I like this woman.
I like her so damn much.
The last few weeks have fueled those feelings. The time with hernotkissing,nottouching,andnotfucking has only fanned the flames.
Even though I can’t touch her, Icanuse my words like she just did. “Katie Madigan, I’m so into you, it’s kind of crazy.”
Her smile is one I want to remember for a long time. Here, by the organic eggs in the grocery store a few blocks from my home, she smiles like I’ve made her happy.
Just happy.
And isn’t that what a man should aim to do for the woman he wants? Treat her right and make her feel good? It’s that simple.
But whatever is happening between us isn’t simple. It’s complicated by downward dogs and deals with the team. A tryst would be risky, but much more for her than me. Whether I finish football now or in a few years, I’m at the end of my days. I’ve achieved the greatest highs in the game. Her career trajectory is rising, shooting higher every day.
I’d just be another jock who messed around with a trainer, a teacher, a woman stretching him. Though not the way I want to cap off a career, I’d be forgiven in a heartbeat.
She’d be the woman who slept with a client, and I don’t want that for her.
So she has to stay off-limits, and I have to stay hands-off.
She sighs wistfully. “So now what?”
That’s a good question.
I drag my hand along the back of my neck, then shoot her a rueful grin. “Want to go prep the monkey bread supplies?”
“I do,” she says.
We check out and head to my place. As we head up the steps, I’m keenly aware this isn’t the first time Katie has stepped into my home. The first was on her non-wedding night, when I brought her here to sleep with her.
But now she’s stepping inside playing a different role in my life.
A colleague of sorts? A teacher? A partner?
None of those terms feel right.
She’s coming into my home as a friend. Yes! That’s why I invited her over today. Katie’s a friend at the moment, and that’s why it feels like the perfect time for her to meet my daughter.
Bags in my hand, I unlock the door and hold it open for her. “After you,” I say in my best Southern gentleman voice.
“Why, thank you, sir,” she says in her Texas twang.
Once the door closes, we head straight for the kitchen.
“Tunes?” I ask as I unload the groceries.
“If it’s Ed Sheeran, Dolly Parton, and Adele, we’re golden.”
