Page 58 of Tempt

“I don’t.”

This weekend she went to Fall Ball with her friends, and except for a glimpse of her in a floor-length dress looking gorgeous, I didn’t see much of her.

Now, it’s another school week and I can’t fall asleep without imagining her on the other side of the wall, wondering if she’s thinking of me too.

“If you’re going to make a move, you have to be sure. I pressured Liv when I shouldn’t have. I will always regret that.” His dark eyes cloud.

“She kissed me first.”

“Who?” Zander leans over.

Great.

I’m not looking to advertise my moral failings, nor the amount of insanity happening under my roof.

But these guys are there for me. Sawyer and I go back, and the other two have been friends since I moved back to town a few years ago.

“My nanny,” I admit. “Who also happens to be a student. Not my student, I’m not that depraved. No offense.”

“None taken,” Sawyer replies cheerfully.

“It’s not happening. I’m not sleeping with her.”

“But you kissed her back.”

I rub a hand over my face. “Yes.”

“This is the first since your wife?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s going to feel weird no matter what. She could be your nanny or some chick from Bumble.”

“But she’s not some woman from Bumble,” I emphasize. “She’s good with Andy. He’s happier with her around. She’s in my home for my son, not for me.”

“What you don’t need to do is feel guilty about it,” Ric weighs in. “My wife and I have talked about that. If something happened to one of us, we’d want the other to be happy. Including getting laid.”

Maybe Ric’s right. Attraction is natural.

I want her. She wants me.

We can be mature grownups about this.

And tonight when I get home, I’ll prove it.

* * *

The Russell team scorches the competition.

It’s hard not to get caught up in the enthusiasm, especially when my friends are hollering alongside it.

The beer helps too.

We say our goodbyes with a promise to catch up again soon, and I head home.

The walk is crisp and head-clearing. A perfect late-September evening. I’m whistling as I head up to the door. I let myself in and step inside, kicking off my shoes before padding down the hallway.

I plan to take a hot shower and crash, but when I get to the living room, Kat’s curled up on the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in her lap. She’s wearing a tank top and shorts and some kind of bandage on her nose, her gaze riveted on the TV.

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