25. A Sex Schedule #2
“Does that mean you stink at golf too?” I feign innocence, as if I don’t know that I’m pushing his buttons, but I’m secretly eating up these details about Tyler’s life outside of hockey.
“Hey, watch it,” he says with a smile that tells me he likes my teasing.
“Do you guys need to start a club for pro athletes who flounder on the links?”
“Damn, woman, you pull no punches.”
“And you wouldn’t want it any other way,” I say, feeling bold. Because he likes my style of bold.
Briefly, though, I wonder—am I doing such a good job at being a super nanny? Does a super nanny flirt with her boss like this?
But then I shove those thoughts away. I’m not nannying right now, and we’re just having fun.
Just in case, I shift gears when there’s a break in the action. “Do you go there a lot to see your friends?” I ask.
“I do, yeah. Holden lives there with his kids. Some of my other dad friends do too,” he adds. “We get together whenever we can for bocce ball and other lawn games.”
“A single dads club?”
He seems to give that some thought. “You know…maybe it is.”
I lean closer. “Cheeseball.”
“Watch it, Snow,” he warns, but he’s still squeezing my hand. He shoots me a look—the kind that lingers just a second too long. The kind that feels like it should’ve happened months ago.
And this? This feels perfect in a new way.
Like a perfect date.
Especially when the Renegades pull out a win, and as we make our way out of the packed stadium—along with the spilled popcorn, the beers, and the happy fans—Tyler asks if I want to meet Holden.
“Sure, but what if I think he’s cuter than you?” I ask, all innocent.
His eyes darken, and he tugs me toward him. “I’ll have to spank you for that.”
“Promise?”
His expression turns feral.
And we’re not heading toward the authorized personnel area any longer.
* * *
It takes forever to get out of the stadium lot, and once we do, there’s a whole city to traverse. But as we go, Tyler keeps one hand on the wheel, the other on my thigh.
Sliding it up and down, up and down.
And I had no idea I’d be ready to climb him just from his hand on my leg. But I am. I’m a hot, wet mess.
“Are you trying to break our schedule?” I ask.
“Been thinking about that sex schedule,” he says as we near the house, and right now, I wouldn’t mind if he threw it out. I really wouldn’t.
“What about it?”
We reach his home, and he lets go of my leg to open the garage. “We never said we couldn’t do…” As soon as he parks the car and cuts the engine, he grabs my face and says, “this,” before he pulls me in for a hot, searing kiss.
My brain pops. My senses fry. And I melt in the car. Then I heat up when he tugs on my lower lip with a growl.
He kisses me harder, recklessly, the kind of quick make-out in the front seat that feels like it could lead to more.
But even as he kisses me like I’m his new guilty pleasure, I can feel his restraint too. It’s in his arms, his muscles coiled. It’s in his stance—close but not too close. And it’s in the clock, ticking in my mind.
The kids will be home soon.
Elle will be dropping them off.
I don’t want to be a disheveled mess in front of her.
But I also really want this man to kiss me some more. So I grab his face, running my fingers through his beard, and I turn the table, kissing him hungrily. Then I can barely take the distance between us, so I take my chances, swiftly moving into his lap.
Then I smile at him. “We’re not having sex.”
“So we’re not breaking our schedule,” he replies as he curls his big hands over my ass and grinds me up and down.
I glance back at the clock.
They’ll be home soon.
Any minute, really.
I should stop.
But I keep rubbing myself on him, and he keeps working me up and down on his dick, his breathing growing more staggered with every passing thrust.
“Fuck, baby,” he grits out. “This is hard to stick to.”
“I know,” I breathe out.
And I’m nearly ready to throw in the towel this early. I dip my face closer, seeking out a hot, messy kiss that’ll blow my mind, but instead…he grips me tighter—then gently moves me off him, setting me back in my seat with a clear intention.
“I’m sorry, but I need to get a grip because all I want right now is to fuck all that sass right out of you,” he says. “And I also do not want to answer the door with a raging boner, so I’d better go inside and think about…I don’t know, kittens or Frozen tunes.”
A laugh bursts from me at the image of this man trying to hide the flagpole in his pants, but inside I'm dying. The ache between my legs won’t abate, and my whole body is screaming at me to climb back onto him.
“I can answer it,” I offer, grateful to be helpful again. To play Super Nanny. “I can hide my lady boner.”
And now it’s Tyler’s turn to crack up. “Would you do that for me? I don’t think I can deflate that quickly.”
Is it weird that I love that he’s asked me to help on this count? If it’s weird, I don’t want to be normal.
Less than four minutes later, I’ve smoothed out my hair, dusted powder against my flushed cheeks, and I’m swinging open the door, pushing our sex schedule out of my head as fast as I can.
“Sabrina!” Luna shouts. “Mom took us to the wildlife sanctuary in Darling Springs. They had foxes. Foxes! Like on your bag! There was a fox who was injured, and he can’t live in the wild anymore, so the sanctuary helps him.
And we learned that foxes eat rabbits and birds and stuff, but they eat berries and fruit too—like us,” she says, without taking a breath.
And wow. “That’s a whole lot of fox facts,” I say.
“Don’t forget they can see in the dark. They have a layer in their eyes…what’s it called, Mom?” Parker asks, turning back to Elle in the doorway.
“The tapetum lucidum,” she says. “It reflects light back through the eye.”
“You should be a vet, Mom. That’d be cooler than a doctor,” Luna says, skipping inside and dropping her bag.
“No problem. I’ll just see if I can switch from treating humans to animals,” Elle deadpans as the kids rush past me toward—I presume—the kitchen.
Elle looks at me with a pleasant smile. “How’s everything with you? How was the football game?”
Great. I rode your ex-husband’s huge cock in the front seat of his car. I’m still on edge with the way I want him. And I’m totally not thinking about the fact that you’re his ex-wife at all right now.
“So fun,” I squeak out.
“And the Renegades won, I heard. But I was not forced to hear about it,” she says, sounding relieved. “Did he go on and on about all the bad calls?”
I bristle for a second. Just enough for it to feel irrational. Why does it bother me that she knows he does that?
Because I like when he does it with me? Because I want to be the only one who knows the way he rants about refs, the way his voice gets all low and grumbly, the way he throws his hands in the air when he’s really fired up?
Or because I’ll never be the only one who knows him?