Page 54 of Scoring Chance

“He’s going to crush it,” I say confidently. The kid works hard.

The bed stares back at me. Just as I was getting used to sharing it with Tanner, I now feel nerves tangle in my stomach at the thought of being so close to him. I couldn’t keep my damn hands off him tonight. I loved the tickle of his hair under my fingers, of his warm skin. Tonight, I made holes in the dam keeping my non-friendship feelings at bay. If I don’t watch myself, the whole thing could blow.

Tanner scratches his stomach, showing off its flatness. I may need to do something I haven’t done since high school: masturbate in the shower.

But isn’t it just as bad if I think about him while jerking off?

“Des? You coming to bed?” Tanner asks as he slides under the covers.

We get into bed without talking much more. I figure the less I talk, the less awkward I can keep things.

“Good night,” I say.

I roll onto my side, back to him. I close my eyes, but the sleep doesn’t come. My mind is racing with no chance of slowing down. There are those nights when I know instantly I won’t be sleeping. Tonight is one of them. (Sadly, they’ve gotten more frequent in my forties. Is insomnia part of the aging process?)

I turn onto my back, close my eyes again, and do all my mental tricks to fall asleep. I count sheep. I count backward. I imagine myself on a beach sipping blended cocktails. Anything that can help me forget about the man next to me, my fake husband who I can’t help but imagine being my actual husband. Even though I told myself I never wanted a husband.

Tanner rolls to my direction. His eyes are closed, lips slightly parted. He looks peaceful. At least one of us will sleep tonight. He can get up with the kids tomorrow and make them breakfast. God, I’m already thinking like a parent.

I have my hands on my chest, but as a touch of sleep hits me, my hand falls to the side…and brushes against a part of Tanner that is most definitely not asleep.

I shift my hand closer to him to confirm what I felt.

Yep. My man is rock fucking hard.

His eyes bolt open, causing me to jolt back and gasp out a silent scream.

“Sorry,” he says. “I can’t sleep.”

I should’ve realized his eyes were squeezed shut too tight.

“Same. And, uh, sorry.” I nod southward. “My hand fell by accident.”

Tanner shuffles back. “Sorry. That, uh, happens sometimes. Some guys get morning wood. I get evening wood. Or both.”

“So you’re just horny all the time.” I’m impressed he can feel horny after managing four kids.

“Maybe?” Tanner isn’t as frank about sex as I am, so the fact he’s even admitting this is a big deal. And Tanner talking about being horny is making me horny. My silk pajama bottoms begin to tent.

“Tanner, can I ask you something? When was the last time you got laid?”

“If we’re being honest…”

That’s never a good sign.

“It was my wife.”

“Your late wife? Who died two years ago?”

He sheepishly nods yes.

“Tanner, you’re telling me you haven’t had sex in two years?”

“Maybe a little bit more.”

“Tanner!” I whisper-yell. I sit up in bed. “Buddy, that’s a medical condition.”

“I do masturbate. But…”