Page 38

THE GAME PLAN

Tyler

After I return from the bathroom, I fiddle with the condom wrapper left on the nightstand. I didn’t notice it before, but the packaging says, Put some protection on that erection.

As I sit down on Sabrina’s bed, I arch a brow, waggling it her way. “This is…interesting.”

A splash of pink colors her cheeks. She’s still stretched out on the bed, all loose and languid, skin glowing, hair a perfect mess. “Trevyn gave it to me. Turn it to the other side.”

I flip it over and snort. The words Large are written on the back, then in small print: Just tell him it’s X-Large, sweetheart. He’ll love a good ego stroke, among other strokes .

I laugh. “Way to knock me down a peg,” I say.

She gives a faux pout. “Aww, did I hurt your feelings with the novelty condom?”

Novelty. That word sends a zip of worry down my spine. “They work like regular condoms though? ”

She sits up. “Yes! They’re just in fun packaging. And I’m on protection too.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to get pregnant,” she says.

And damn, we are racing right into the serious conversations faster than I’d expected. I drag a hand through my hair, hoping to reset. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make a thing of it.”

She sits up and sets a hand on my arm. “I’ll be right back.”

She rushes out of the bedroom, and I can’t help it—I watch her go, admiring her heart-shaped ass for the first time ever. I let out a low moan of appreciation at her fading form, then take a deep breath, looking around her room.

There’s a notebook and a pen on the nightstand. A couple books. Some necklaces on her bureau. And a few framed photos of her and her friends.

That ought to make me smile—all this normalcy.

But my chest tightens, and I rub my sternum to try to loosen the tension.

What the hell happens next? Where do we go from here?

No idea. Since I’ve disposed of the used condom already, I grab my boxer briefs and pull them on, then my pants.

Seems presumptuous to just lounge around in the buff, and honestly, I haven’t thought beyond this point.

Well, I didn’t think beyond immediate gratification when I banged on her door. And now that the lights are on and the deed is done, I’d better think fast.

Sabrina turns the corner back into her room, eyes me up and down quickly, then hustles to grab a long T-shirt from the bureau and fish out a pair of panties. In no time, she’s covered up too.

I’m standing here stupidly, thanks to a novelty condom wrapper, unsure what to say. But I can read her body language loud and clear. She thinks I’m going, so I sit down and pat the bed. “Come here. ”

She walks toward me, but apprehensively, like a small dog who doesn’t trust me yet.

When she sits, I reach for her hand. She takes mine, and we thread our fingers together. My heart settles a bit. Just a bit though. I study our clasped hands for a beat. “Hey,” I begin.

She closes her eyes, her shoulders sinking. “Just say it.”

“Say what?”

When she opens her eyes, she looks tough, resolute as she says, “Pretend it didn’t happen.”

But I can hear the pain in her voice. I squeeze her hand tighter. “I’m not going to say that,” I try to reassure her. “I’m just not…good at this. This is all…like learning to ride a bike again.”

A small smile shifts her lips. “News flash: you’re a quick re-learner.”

I don’t mean the sex though. I mean the post-sex.

Sorting my thoughts, I rub my thumb along her fingers.

It’s such a privilege to touch her like this.

“What I’m trying to say is—” I stop, make sure I’m meeting her eyes.

“I meant it when I said it earlier. I mean it now. I won’t pretend this didn't happen.”

And then, maybe because I’m better with physical things, I tug her onto my lap, then flop down on the bed with her, sliding under the covers together, pulling the quilt to my waist—and hers too.

“Tell me more about this condom gift,” I say, finding my way back to intimacy like that. “When did he give it to you?”

Her lips quirk up, then she admits, “A few weeks ago.”

I feel like I’m in on a secret, but then I wonder—was it because her friends were encouraging her to date again?

Does she even still want to date? I didn’t come in here asking her out to dinner.

I stormed in here wanting to take her to bed, so how the hell do I reconcile the two?

“Any reason in particular?” I ask, fishing for intel.

“If you must know, he said it was because he knew I would never be that presumptuous, but he wanted to be presumptuous for both of us,” she says, gesturing from her to me. “And then he said he wanted to be helpful for both of us. And then he basically said he was trying to manifest it for us.”

Her grin makes me grin. “So he was the wingman I didn’t even know I had?”

She laughs. “Evidently. He manifested tonight, it seems.”

“Fucking love that guy,” I say. “Can he manifest a Cup for me too?”

“I can ask,” she says, settling into the pillows now, perhaps believing that I’m not going to take off and shut this down. “He was wing-manning you from day one.”

I turn toward her, still holding her hand. “Good. This thing with us feels a little inevitable, doesn’t it?”

“Well, considering I threw myself at you on my wedding night, I’d say you read the room pretty well.”

A laugh bursts from me. “I suppose I did. And I was a perfect gentleman back then.”

“Don’t remind me,” she grumbles.

“But I don’t have to be one now,” I say, dropping my voice as I slide a hand down her stomach.

“Thank god,” she says.

Which brings us to the point of this moment. “I want this,” I say, even though we haven’t defined what this is. “But it also could get messy.”

She sighs. “It could.”

I flash back to last summer when I swallowed down my wishes. Not the night of her wedding, but at the ice-skating lesson, when she brought me the sweatshirt and the mug as a thank you.

I held back then. I didn’t ask her out on the date I wanted to. And I’m not sure I really can ask her out on a date now. I can at least tell her the truth of that day though .

I push up a little higher in bed. She follows suit. I clear my throat. “You remember that day, a week after your wedding? When you came to the ice-skating rink and asked to talk to me after a lesson?”

She nods immediately. “Yes, of course.”

“I was going to ask you out on a date.” I lay it all out there.

“You were?” she asks, fighting off a smile.

“I was so damn ready,” I admit. “I was going to ask you to go to a baseball game and debate the umpires. I was going to see if you wanted to play mini golf—and then ask if I could make you scream in pleasure. I had a whole plan. Anything to spend a little more time with you.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asks.

“The sweatshirt,” I say like that makes everything crystal clear.

“The sweatshirt I returned?”

“Yup. It felt like a sign. You were returning it. You were apologizing. You were blaming the spicy margaritas. Didn’t take a genius to know it wasn’t the right time.”

And wow—my shoulders feel lighter. Was this a burden I was carrying? Not exactly. But it was definitely a secret. It’s one I’ve held onto for a while.

“News flash, Tyler.” She gives me a teasing look. “I would have said yes.”

I mutter a thousand curses under my breath. Fuck. I should have asked her then. “Let me put that on a list of things I regret.”

“But,” she adds wistfully, “I also wasn’t in a good place.”

And that raises the question: What exactly kind of place are we in tonight? “What about now?” I ask.

Slowly, she pulls her gaze back, giving me a very quizzical look. “Are you asking me if we can date?” It’s like she wants to be absolutely certain of the score .

I’m going to sound like a giant ass if I say we can’t. But I don’t have to because she beats me to it.

“I think that would be…really complicated, wouldn’t it? The kids and all.”

Relief floods me. I’m so glad she’s the one who said those words. “Yeah. I think it would be…but,” I say, my mind leaping ahead, trying to find a loophole, an answer, when I flash back on tonight’s hockey game.

It was messy because I didn’t follow the game plan Coach laid out. I took stupid chances. I acted on my emotions, letting them get the better of me. If I’d stuck to the plan, maybe we’d have won.

“When things get messy in a game, I always find it’s best to go back to the plan,” I say, tentatively, but strategically too.

Her eyes sparkle with curiosity. “Same for me. When I’ve made mistakes on the ice, I need to return to the program. The choreography. Go on.”

“What if we had a game plan,” I say, gesturing from her to me.

“A way to keep things from spiraling into something we’re not prepared for?”

“Yes, like a quid pro quo.”

She laughs. “I mean, I like your quid. I think you like my quo.”

I grin, running my fingers along the soft skin of her stomach under her shirt. “I definitely like your quid and your quo.” Then I frown. “Actually, I have no idea what either one of those means.”

But I know this much—I fucking loved fucking her. And I think she’s fantastic. If she still wants all those things she asked for this summer, I really, really want to be the man to give them to her.

My gut churns. I’m going to sound like an ass, but this whole dating thing has to be addressed. “But I also know you were looking into dating. And I just don’t want to be the guy to stand in your way…even though I came in here tonight and said I don’t want you to date.”

She tilts her head. “You’re kind of sending mixed messages. Do you want me to date or not?”

“No,” I say instantly, emphatically. “I really don’t.”

And then—fuck it. I wrap my arm around her waist and jerk her against me, facing her as I hold her. I run my hand from her shoulder down to her wrist, watching as goosebumps rise on her skin. “I want you all to myself.”