Chapter 12
MOLLY
We don’t finish the tacos. Jeff gets them packaged up, then hustles me back into his car.
“What’s your address?”
I think about telling him to take me back to the stadium, and I can drive home from there, but that’s too many words, and there’s a lump in my throat. So I give my address, and he plugs it into his NAV system.
Why the crapping crap did I feed him that piece of tomato? What was I thinking?
And how am I supposed to now forget what his lips feel like against my fingertips?
A shiver races up my spine.
“Are you cold?” He reaches for the AC knob and turns it down.
“N-no.”
“Really not beating the rumors,” he says.
I laugh despite myself. I stare out the window and try to find the right words that will feel honest but not reveal too much. “I think I’m just … overwhelmed.”
“Sure, of course. It’s been a long day.”
“Yep.”
There’s a beat of silence, then he clears his throat.
“I need to apologize for oversharing,” he says gruffly.
“What?” I twist violently in my seat and stare at him. “No, not at all.”
“You just said you’re overwhelmed.”
“But not by you.” There’s a fresh wave of a strong feeling he’s inspired in me before, wanting to take care of him. Wanting to soothe him. “I’m glad you shared honestly with me. I promise.”
He doesn’t reply Instead, he flicks on his turn signal and takes an exit.
With a start, I realize we’re almost to my apartment.
Crap.
What terrible timing I have.
Now there’s so much more I want to say. I know that we’re very … different. And it might seem like I’m junior to you, that we don’t have anything in common. But if nothing else, maybe sharing this weird story might mean that we could be friends, in a way?
Except that’s far too much to ask of someone in his position.
He slides into an empty visitor parking spot and cuts the engine.
Before I can thank him for the ride and dinner, he’s out of the driver’s seat. After he opens my door, he gestures to the walkway.
His intention is clear, he’s going to walk me to my door.
“Will you get annoyed about the age gap between us if I say that you’re a gentleman from another era?” I ask, knowing I’m teasing a little, knowing it’s pushing the boundaries.
But as the seconds rush by, our dinner rapidly coming to an end, I find myself wanting more. More teasing, more flirting, more of what we had at dinner.
“As long as you’re finding something to compliment about my age, I suppose I can’t complain.” He winks back at me as I stop in front of my door.
He frowns. “This is you?”
“Yep.”
“It’s not very secure.”
“I have a couple of deadbolts, don’t worry.”
His frown doesn’t lessen as I dig out my keys—and because I’m juggling the takeout bag of leftovers and I’m distracted by that divot between his furrowed brow, the keys go flying.
But not very far.
With lightning-quick reflexes, Jeff catches them midair.
“Impressive,” I say with a little laugh.
“I haven’t lost all of my skills.” He skims his palm up the back of my arm. “Here, let me get the door for you.”
Reaching past me, he puts my key in the lock, then turns the door handle.
I turn to say goodnight, and suddenly I’m in the circle of his arms.
His strong, muscular, solid arms.
I swallow audibly as I catch my hands on his shoulders.
“That wasn’t a move,” he says thickly. “I swear.”
I flatten my hands and smooth them down against his chest. His heart pounds against my fingertips. “I believe you.”
He groans and cups my face in his hand, his thumb brushing at the corner of my mouth. “Stop looking at me like that, Molly.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to kiss you.”
I blink up at him. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you not know?” He laughs gently and shakes his head. “You’re so …”
“So what?” I lick my lips.
He groans. “That, for example. You’re fucking lush. It’s hypnotic. It’s hard to believe that you don’t understand the impact you have on men. On me.”
My belly clenches at the rough edge on the last two words. They sound like a confession.
“I affect you?”
“Far more than I should allow you to.” His thumb presses with more intent now, tracing the shape of my mouth. “I shouldn’t tell you what I thought about this mouth the first time we met.”
“I think you should.”
“It’s hard to walk back from that kind of confession.”
I’m emboldened by the accuracy of my assessment. “We’re married, Coach. It’s okay to tell your wife dirty secrets.”
“Jesus Christ.” He crushes his mouth to mine, giving me an unexpected kiss instead of whatever story I thought I could pull from him.
He tastes like lime and sugar, and his cheek still has a faint whiff of a deeply masculine aftershave. Combined with the deeply confident tease of his tongue at the seam of my lips, and it’s a deadly combination.
I moan into his mouth, parting fully for him, and he takes control, backing me up against the door all the way, using our kissing, tangled bodies to push it open until we’re in the shadows of the open doorway and I’m wrapped around him.
He presses me firmly between him and the door at my back, making me feel small and safe and precious as he kisses me over and over again.
My head spins and my pulse pounds. Nothing has ever felt as good or right as his tongue stroking deep against mine, flooding all of my senses with an overload of sensation.
His hard muscles strain against my hands, his hot mouth tastes indescribably good, his skin is this incredible combination of clean and smooth and then also bristly rough in surprisingly right ways.
I think he shaved after the game, and he already has some stubble.
It makes my thighs shake to think about what that would feel like somewhere else. Anywhere else. Everywhere else.
I whimper into his mouth, and my leg climbs up to his hip, shamelessly rubbing myself against him by instinct as his hands scoop down to my ass, pulling—
And then freezing.
His breath ragged, he yanks his mouth from mine and presses his forehead to mine. “Stop, Molly.”
I stop.
Shame spirals through me, hot and fast, equal to the desire that spiked like mercury a moment earlier.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“Never be sorry,” he whispers back.
The shame dissolves.
He holds me so tightly, but he doesn’t kiss me again. He just breathes, in and out, in and out. Silent and aching.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are dark and intense in the dim light. “That shouldn’t have happened. But I won’t pretend I didn’t want it.”
“Why shouldn’t …?”
“Because you work for the team. Because you’re half my age. Because I’m supposed to be helping you fix a mistake, not—” He stops, and I can feel the frustration vibrating through his body.
“Not what?” I press.
“Not fucking kissing you like I’m so damn eager to add another mistake on top of it all.”
“Well, if you’re so sure it would be a mistake,” I manage to say, mostly lightly, although my voice does crack. I pat his chest.
“Molly, I’m fifty years old. I should know better than to—” He cuts himself off again.
Except I don’t want him to know better. I want more of those kisses. He said he liked it when I licked my lips, so I do that again.
“Don’t.” His voice is rough.
“Come on, Coach.”
He laughs and it sounds tortured. “And don’t say my name like that when I’m trying to be good here.”
My heart hammers in my chest. “Who said I want you to be good?”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His gaze falls to my mouth and holds there.
“That first day, when you walked in? I wasn’t prepared for you.
” His voice drops lower. “The way you looked at everyone in that room like we were the ones who should be nervous, not you. The way you winked at me when I was being an asshole. The way you laughed when I tried to intimidate you. I think it’s important you know all of that before I tell you what I thought about your mouth, specifically.
Because you impressed the hell out of me, Molly.
But at the same time, I was thinking about your lip gloss.
It was the color of raspberries, and I immediately had thoughts about you that would get me fired if I said them out loud. ”
Heat pools low in my stomach. “I’m not going to get you fired.”
“No?” There’s something dangerous in his voice now. “What if I told you that I wanted you on your knees? That I’ve thought about your mouth every day since?”
“Are you trying to scare me off? Because that’s hot.”
“Molly.” It’s a warning.
I tighten my fingers on his shirt, emboldened by the confession, by the darkness, by the way he’s looking at me. I fist the cotton in my hand, and I tug him into the darkness of my apartment.
With one hand, he grabs the door before it swings shut, and with the other, he catches my wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. “If we do this, there’s no going back.”
“I don’t want to go back.”
He lets the apartment door shut, and we’re plunged into freeing, amazing darkness.