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Eventually I slip out of her and head to the restroom to get rid of the condom, and I stare at myself in the mirror for a minute before I head back out to her.

Something happened in there that has never happened to me before.

I’ve had all sorts of sex. Reverse Cowgirl, Doggy, Tabletop, Crisscross, Pretzel, Wheelbarrow…you name it, I’ve probably tried it.

But rarely do I fuck missionary style. There’s something too intimate, too close about it, which is why I’ve avoided it in the past. But with her…it allows me to look at her and kiss her and live in the moment with her.

I didn’t want that with the other women. I wanted pleasure, and once I got it, I was out.

With her, though, I want more.

The last time we did it, we were teetering back and forth between hate and need. But this time…this time it was all warmth. All affection. All love .

I made love to her.

That phrase always made me want to throw up, but tonight it’s appropriate. Maybe it made me feel sick before because that wasn’t what I was doing. I was performing an act with no feelings involved. But this was different.

This was intense and sexy and new, and it was packed full of all sorts of emotions I’m still not quite ready to explore. But knowing I can explore them with her makes me feel a little less anxious about it.

I head back out, and she uses the restroom next. I lay in bed while I wait for her to return, and she starts pulling her underwear back on when she gets back.

“That was…” she starts.

“Intense,” I finish.

She nods, and I get up and grab a t-shirt that’s way too big for her. She slips it on, and a white Vegas Aces shirt has never looked so sexy.

“Should we order some dinner?” I ask.

She glances down at her shirt. “I mean, I was sort of hoping for that date you promised, but I’m not really too eager to hop back into that dress.” She nods at the crumpled pile on the floor before stepping over and picking it up. She smooths it out and lays it on the chair beside my bed.

Then she tilts her head at the chair for a beat before she turns back to me. “Is this a sex chair?”

“Will be by the end of the night,” I deadpan, and she picks up the dress, moves it to my dresser, and offers a wink before she moves toward my doorway.

“You said something about dinner?” she reminds me, and I laugh.

We head downstairs and sit on the couch together—her in my shirt and her panties, me in just a pair of basketball shorts, and we agree to order from a Chinese place not too far away.

“Do you like true crime shows?” I ask.

“I’m partial to Netflix documentaries,” she admits.

I flatten my lips in disappointment. “I knew you were too good to be true.”

“What about a docuseries about a crime?” she suggests.

“Ooh, good compromise.”

We both laugh, and then we start something up while we wait for our food. When it gets here, I grab it and we pause the show to enjoy dinner and a drink together at my kitchen table.

Mm, the kitchen table. I’m thinking of another type of meal I’d like to spread out here.

Maybe for dessert.

“So Harper’s doing sleepovers every Thursday night?” she asks.

I chuckle. “That’s the plan for now. Evan and Trudy have been incredibly supportive. I didn’t want to let her go tonight after what happened last weekend, but I think she’s still a little mad at me for all that.”

“She doesn’t blame you,” she murmurs. “Nobody does.” She twirls some lo mein onto her fork.

“Except myself.”

“You’re way too hard on yourself, Trav,” she says, and she’s never called me Trav before even though she’s absolutely right. I beat myself up for shit all the damn time. I harp on it then bottle it up and let it eat away at me—anything from a missed catch to hiring the wrong babysitter, apparently. Maybe that’s another tick in the column of why I’ve carefully avoided letting anybody in. If I don’t let anyone get close, I don’t have anyone to let down.

I blow out a breath. I want to let her in on all that, but I can’t seem to make myself say all those complicated words. Instead, I just go with, “Yeah.”

“Your little girl loves you.”

I glance up at her, surprised by her words.

“She talks about you all the time,” she adds, and she shoves that forkful of noodles into her mouth.

“What does she say?” I ask.

She shrugs a little as she chews. After she swallows, she says, “All sorts of stuff, really. You’re her hero for getting those Imagine Dragons tickets, but it’s not just the material things, you know?” She squints at me a little. “She was showing me some of her drawings, and she said you designed special wallpaper for her bedroom out of something she drew. She thought that was about the neatest thing ever.”

My chest gets all warm at her words. “She did?” Harper didn’t really say much to me about it, but to hear she appreciated the gesture means the world to me. I guess I spend half my time wondering what I can do to get her to like me and feel adjusted here and the other half of my time wondering if she’s okay.

Either way, she’s somehow managed to consume my entire world when before her, it was only about me.

She nods. “I know it’s new and different for you both, but you’re her rock in the chaos.”

“I feel like the same could be said about you.”

“That it’s new and different?” she asks.

I shake my head. “That you’re her rock.”

She presses her lips together and glances down. “I um…” She pauses, and then she sets her fork down and draws in a deep breath. “I don’t want to jump the gun or anything, but you mentioned you were looking for someone to help out with her during the season, and I’d love to help. I’ve been scouring apartment listings and I found one with two bedrooms that is actually in my price range—”

I hold up a hand to stop her right there, and her brows dip.

“Oh shit. I knew it. I’m jumping the gun,” she says.

I shake my head. “No, you’re not. But before you go renting some apartment that fits your budget rather than moving into the castle you deserve, I’d like to note that I, too, have been looking for places, and I happened to find the perfect house.”

I pull up the listing on my phone and slide it over to her.

“Whoa. You’re handing me your phone? You must really trust me.”

“I’ve got my messages on lockdown, don’t worry,” I say dryly, although it’s true. I don’t want Harper’s innocent eyes falling upon a message from a former lady friend looking to score.

She studies the web page I have pulled up, and then she scrolls the photos. “Whoa,” she murmurs.

It’s pretty fucking sweet, if I do say so myself. It’s got a pool that rivals the best resorts around here, and it has five bedrooms, one of which is located in a casita—in this case, an attached separate residence with its own kitchen, family room, and private entrance. So she’d be essentially living in her own apartment attached to my house, and she can either leave the door that attaches to the house open or closed depending on what level of privacy she wants.

It's a win-win situation. She gets a place of her own, and she’s not exactly living with me since it’s early days to be deciding shit like that…but she’s also living with me.

“So you were serious about moving…” she murmurs as she slides the phone back across the table to me.

“It’s a few minutes longer in the car to school than from Mandy’s place, but I’m thinking about putting in an offer…but only if you’d be interested in living in the casita and helping out with Harper when I’m in season.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could afford something like that,” she says.

My brows dip. “Don’t be ridiculous. The rent would be included in the compensation package for helping out with my kid.”

She flattens her lips as she draws in a breath. “Maybe you’re the one jumping the gun now.”

I shrug. “Maybe. But I have yet to meet someone I trust with Harper the way I trust you. I don’t know what we’re starting here, but we’re starting something , and I can’t go into a new season in a couple months worrying about whether you’ve found the right apartment to live in or whatever.”

“So you’re just going to shell out six million bucks and buy a place when you don’t even know if you’re going to stay in Vegas after next season?” she asks.

I press my lips together and nod. “Yep. That pretty much sums it up.”

“Wow.” She arches her brows and lets them fall, and I can’t tell if she’s impressed or annoyed by that.

I suddenly feel a little defensive. “Look, I get a nice paycheck for what I do, and I put my body through hell every week to do it. If I can provide a stable home for my daughter that also happens to have a kickass pool, then so be it.” My tone is gruff.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. That’s not what my wow meant. I’m just…I guess I’m constantly awed by you, Travis. You’re putting down roots for her. You moved into this modest rental when you came to town, and you had a plan. But life dealt you a hand you weren’t expecting, and here you are, readjusting again and again and doing right by that little girl.” She pats her heart. “It’s incredible. You are incredible.”

“Is that your way of saying yes, I’d love to move in with you and basically be a live-in nanny for your daughter while also finding time to tap that ass ?”

She howls out a laugh, and I can’t help but give her a goofy grin even though my heart is racing as I wait for her answer.

My heart shouldn’t be racing. I’m simply offering a potential nanny a place to stay while she cares for Harper.

But my heart is involved, and that’s terrifying. Before my theme song might’ve been Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do with It” but it’s turning into something else entirely. Maybe Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” Or UB40’s version.

I can’t help but fill the space as I wait for her answer with words. “I know things might get complicated and confusing, so I’d like to keep whatever it is we’re doing from Harper for the time being, whatever your answer is. What is your answer, by the way?”

She smiles softly. “I wish I could say yes. I’d love to help out with Harper. I’d love to find secret time for nookie. And I’m excited to explore whatever this is because I agree. It’s definitely something. But—”

“But?” I interrupt. “But you’ve been looking for a place to live, and I’m offering a solution.”

“I know. I guess I just need some time to think it over. Because it’s not just helping out with Harper. It’s also developing this,” she says, motioning between the two of us, “and the thought of moving in with you before we’ve defined anything is terrifying.”

“But you wouldn’t be moving in with me,” I say, that old defensiveness back in my tone. “You’d be moving into a casita attached to my house. And that goes for any nanny I hire, all potential boinking aside. I don’t want Harper being bounced around from my house to someone else’s depending on when I’m able to be home with her. She needs a stable environment, and with me gone, the only stability she’ll have is her home…and you, regardless of whether you choose to do this or not.”

She nods. “I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re right—we’re starting something we’re going to have to hide from her, and what if it goes south? We already know how thin that line is between hate and whatever it’s shifted to now. But what if it shifts back? How can I live in a house attached to yours if we’re constantly fighting with each other? How is that stable for Harper?”

“Do you always do that?” I ask.

“What?” she asks, and she looks supremely offended.

“Make up potential problems before they even arise.”

She holds up both hands. “I’m not doing that. I’m just trying to be realistic. And like I said, I’m not comfortable doing this without knowing what we’re doing here.”

“Like a label? We’re fucking.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Fine. Will you be my girlfriend?” I ask, using Harper’s advice.

Her eyes flick up to mine. “Are you serious?”

I shrug. “You want a label, there’s your label.”

“Whoa. Are you really committing to just one woman?” she asks.

“I don’t know if I’d use the word committing since it terrifies me, but I’m not interested in seeing anybody else. Are you?”

She shakes her head.

“Okay. You have a definition then. You’re my girlfriend, and I’m your boyfriend. What if we give it a shot and see how it goes?” I suggest.

“You’re willing to gamble six million dollars away on giving it a shot ?”

“As if I’m buying that house simply for you? The ego on you,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“On me ? How about Mr. I Make Enough Money to Buy a Six Million Dollar House in Vegas? And you think my ego is big?”

I glare at her for a beat. I’m out of things to say because she’s right. I know she’s not being egotistical. I know she’s being realistic. But I refuse to admit that to her.

“God, you’re hot when you get all worked up.”

“Shut up,” she says, and she picks her fork back up and digs it into her lo mein.

“I’m serious. It’s sexy.”

“Well I’m not done eating, so you can watch me enjoy my noodles while you get all worked up over there.”

“Say yes,” I whisper.

She draws in a deep breath and closes her eyes, and then she shoves a forkful of noodles in. She opens her eyes and studies me for a beat, and then she finally says. “Okay.” She nods. “But I have a serious list of ground rules.”

“Yes? Did you really just say yes?” I ask, a wide grin pulling my lips.

She giggles. “Yes. Well, no. I didn’t say yes . I said okay , but I meant yes.”

I get out of my chair and race across to her side of the table, and I lift her out of her chair. I swing her around, and then I press my lips to hers.

“You’re never going to want to leave,” I say softly.

“We’ll see.” Her answer is dry, but I have a good feeling about this.

And I can’t wait to tell Harper that her favorite person in the whole world is going to be moving in with us…and that we’re moving to a house that has a pool once my offer is accepted.