Chapter 26
Theo
Fable: Things you left at the A-frame:
I’m walking out of an exam room when the text appears, and I swipe it open without thinking. When the photo of Fable brightens my screen, my feet stumble over each other. A choked oh, fuck slips out as I step inside my office and shut my door to fully soak in what I’m seeing.
She’s standing in front a full-length mirror in nothing but maroon lace.
It barely covers her tits, her rosy nipples visible through the fabric.
Thin straps—the ones I almost ripped off her the other night—sit high on her hip bones, right over a tattoo I’ve never seen before.
A cascade of flowers down her side and upper thigh.
My mouth falls open. I want to bite her right there. Leave fingerprints on her skin. Trace the dark lines with my tongue.
I zoom in, shamelessly trying to absorb every detail. That freckle in the swell of her breast. The exact curve of her bare shoulder. Smooth line of her collarbone. Honey-blond hair in wild waves around her head, like she’s just woken up looking this perfect.
Her expression is smug. She knew exactly what she was doing by sending this to me at nine in the morning on a random fucking Wednesday.
Theo: Is this how you kill me? Because I think I’m dying.
I can still hear every stuttered breath from Saturday night. Her soft whimpers. Her husky voice moaning Theo as she came.
A text appears at the top of the screen.
Fable: See you at soccer later. ??
A soft knock rattles against my office door, and I click off my phone and shove it in my pocket. “Come in!” My voice sounds hoarse and too high at the same time.
Garrett pushes the door open. “Have a second?”
“Of course. What’s up?” I scoot closer to my desk, trying to hide how Fable in lacy lingerie has left me with a semi in the middle of my workday. My flustered brain scours the office for any sign of the photo. I didn’t accidently print ten copies and hang them on my wall, right?
With a smile, Garrett takes a seat across from me. “Wanted to see if we could have an impromptu check-in about the adopt-a-thon. Only two more weeks,” he says excitedly.
“Absolutely.” I bring up my email, scanning through them until I find one from yesterday. “I did get a reply from Havenbrook, and as of right now, they’re coming with eight dogs and three cats.”
“That’s great. And any word from that rescue in Juniper?”
“They’ll be here too.”
“Perfect.”
“I did get an email that the Robinsons won’t be able to make it.
And they were bringing most of the animals from the Paws Out rescue, so I’m a little worried we’re going to need more volunteers.
With the number of animals we potentially have, we may have to scavenge for more help.
” I tap my fingers on my desk, trying to think of where we could find them.
“Also, I’m concerned about food,” Garrett adds. “The taco truck will already be at the event, but I think we need to organize lunches from somewhere else for our volunteers. I want Carlos to get to concentrate on orders from the public. So we should place an order with someone else.”
“I can work on that,” I offer.
Arthur appears in the doorway, a half-eaten glazed donut in his hand. He shuffles in, sneakers squeaking on the buffed floors. “Sounds like you two are working well together.”
Mentally tracking back through the last few minutes, I rehash everything we talked about.
From what I remember it was all fine, but I feel slimy even worrying about it.
I hate lying and being on edge, and I wish I didn’t have to overanalyze everything around Arthur.
I wish he just trusted me enough without this whole performance.
Garrett chuckles. “We make a great team.”
“Everything ready to go?” Arthur asks, taking a bite of donut and looking to me for an answer.
I sit up straighter. “We’ve run into a couple small issues, but we’ve got it figured out.”
“Good, good.” Arthur nods in acknowledgment, licking glaze from his thumb. “And will we be seeing Fable at the event?”
A hint of nausea rolls through my stomach. “Yep. We’ll be there together,” I assure them, even though I’m just digging my nails in further with the lie.
“Yes!” Fable shouts, giving Priya a high five. “That was a great kick!”
I jog around the goal to grab the ball she just kicked hard enough that it went flying to the other field, and when I punt it back to Fable, she catches it easily and lines it up for the next player.
Despite the dreary skies and drizzly spring rain, she’s shining bright.
It’s almost like someone turned up the saturation on her over the last few weeks.
The same woman who was sitting on the sidelines for most of our first practice is now running around in her unicorn T-shirt, mud splattered on the fabric and a huge smile on her face.
And those little girls are obsessed with it. Obsessed with her.
I can’t blame them.
“Goalie ready?” she calls to me.
Positioning myself in front of the net, I give a thumbs-up. “Come on, Emmy! Can you get it past me?” So far, the balls are either not making it to me or missing the goal entirely. I think I’m getting more exercise here than anyone, with all the running I’m doing to fetch balls. But we’ll get there.
Emmy steps to the front of the line, pushes her bangs back, and kicks as hard as she can, letting out a feral scream. But the ball rolls to a stop about five feet in front of me. Her bottom lip pokes out in a pout.
Fable gives her a hug. “That’s okay. You’ll get him next time.”
I kick the ball back to her and she catches it under her foot, waving the next player forward.
But Emmy pauses and stares in my direction. “Can you get him, Coach Fable?”
Fable’s eyes tighten playfully. “Oh, heck yeah.”
“Betcha can’t,” I taunt, crossing my arms to goad her.
Her tongue presses into her cheek. She nudges the ball a few inches, positioning herself.
“Nuh-uh.” I wave toward the middle of the field. “You have to kick from back there, Coach.”
With a cocky grin, Fable leans over and whispers something to the girls. They squeal and giggle as Fable walks to centerfield.
Once she’s lined herself up, the Unicorns start chanting.
Coach Fable. Coach Fable. And I’m not going to lie—my nerves ratchet up a few notches.
She shimmies her shoulders to the beat of their chant, and I don’t even have time to realize she’s pulling her leg back before the ball is flying forward and whooshing into the tiny goal behind me.
I dove too low and didn’t even touch it.
By the time I look up, the girls are tackling her to the ground, everyone whooping and hollering with delight.
It’s the morale boost everyone needed, because for the rest of practice, the girls are full steam ahead on trying to get the ball past me, and even if someone misses, they cheer enthusiastically.
When our hour ends and the girls are on their way home—mud-stained and exhausted—Fable helps me pack up. We’re the only people left at the soccer fields, and the misty rain is amping up a few notches as we carry the gear bags to the storage room behind the concession stand.
“You didn’t even see that soccer ball coming,” she teases, bumping her shoulder into me.
“Psh. I let that ball go through,” I lie, unlocking the door and flicking on the dim overhead light. “Didn’t want you to embarrass yourself.”
She laughs, dropping the bag of soccer balls in the corner. “You never stood a chance.”
“Rematch next time?” I ask, turning to find her waiting by the door.
She’s in baggy shorts and dirty sneakers.
Little stray pieces of blond hair have fallen out of her ponytail and are curling around her cheeks.
There’s a splatter of mud on the side of her neck and a green tinge on her shirt from when she got tackled to the grass.
She’s messy and happy and so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“You’re doing that look again,” she points out, licking her lips.
“What look?” I ask, even though I know. It’s the look of a man who’s slowly becoming obsessed with the woman he’s only temporarily allowed to have. I’m playing with borrowed time at this point but fuck if I know how to stop it.
“Like you want something,” she replies.
I let out a low hum, stepping closer. “Oh, I want all right.” Her breath hitches. “I want to slide my hand down these shorts. Feel that lace you teased me with.” I bring my lips to her ear. “That picture got me so damn hard I should punish you for it.”
She shivers. “I . . . that sounds . . . nice.” She steps back, her shoulders bumping against the door to shut it.
“Nice? I don’t know if nice is the right word to describe what I want.”
Her eyes spark with flames as she reaches for the waistband of my shorts, tucking the tips of her fingers inside to pull me closer. “That’s okay. I can handle not nice.”
I follow the tug, my hands curving around her waist, my head dipping to her neck.
I don’t think I’ll ever be over knowing her like this.
The exact curve of her hip. How her pillowy soft lips feel against mine.
That breathy sound of pleasure she makes.
All the tiny intimate details of Fable are going to be tattooed on my brain permanently.
“Can I touch you, Theo?” she whispers, and that—that will also be tattooed there.
“Yes.” I move my hand under the hem of her shirt to feel her soft skin against my palm. “Can I touch you?”
“Please,” she begs. Her teeth graze my throat, biting lightly, and I. Lose. My. Damn. Mind.
I lean to the side so I can slide my hand against her stomach and into her shorts. “Is this the same set you had on in that picture?”
“It is,” she says, a whimper chasing the words as I tease her through the lace.
“Oh, sweetheart.” I groan when I reach the soaked fabric. “You need it, don’t you?”