Page 77 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“You ask that a lot. Hopefully at some point you’ll realize that I don’t say things I don’t mean.” I lift our joined hands and kiss the back of hers. “Being here with you”—feels righter than being on the football field lately—“is the only place I want to be. And to be honest, it doesn’t feel like it was a choice. It feels like it’s where I’m supposed to be. Like I not only wanted to be with you but needed to be with you. I’ve never felt this way before, and I couldn’t let you throw us away.”

Her expression warms. “In that case, I’ll admit that I’m really glad you’re here.”

“The orgasm didn’t pull that out of you, but my honesty did?”

“Shh.” She looks around us as we turn onto the main drag, but she’s smiling hard.

I pull her closer. “It’s not like I’m announcing that you’re not wearing panties.”

She glowers at me, and I resist kissing her again.

“I am glad you’re here, although we have to work on your verbal discretion.” She smiles. “I’m sorry work is so busy. I wish I could take today off.”

“I know how important your work is. That’s why I’m here, making myself available when you have time.”

“Don’t let this go to your head or anything, but you’re pretty great for showing up for me.”

“I know,” I tease, earning an eye roll.

As we make our way to her office, she says, “Would you mind if we stopped for a latte at the corner café? I usually get one before work.”

“Sure, but I think I saw a coffee shop around the corner yesterday.”

“You did, but I like the way they make lattes better at the café.”

“Small-town hidden gems. I love it.”

We head into the café and get in line. A portly redheaded waitress is rushing from one table to another, taking orders and clearing plates, while a slim brunette hurries between the register and helping customers sitting at the counter. An adorable little girl with curly brown pigtails sits at the counter on a stool to the left of the register, coloring and watching the woman behind the counter rush around.

“Smells good in here,” I say. “It reminds me of the café where we had breakfast in Paris.”

“That place was delicious.”

My mind sneaks down memory lane, bringing naked images of Pepper.

“What’s that grin for?” she asks.

I whisper in her ear, “I was remembering the hours before, when I had you for breakfast.”

She squirms, looking imploringly at me. “Now is not a good time for me to think about that.”

I chuckle. “Sorry.”

“You are not.”

I hug her and kiss her temple. “I wasn’t trying to get you hot and bothered, but now that you are—”

She shoots me a death glare.

The line moves quickly, and when we reach the register, the woman behind it says, “I’ll be right with you,” and hurries to a pass-through to the kitchen to pick up an order.

As she delivers the plates to customers at the other end of the counter, the little girl looks up from her coloring book and says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Pepper and I say in unison.

The little girl flashes a toothy grin. “There’s no school today. The teachers have meetings.”

“Aren’t you lucky.” I glance at the couple beside her, wondering if she’s their daughter, but they don’t seem to notice or care that she’s talking with us.