Page 57 of Scoring Chance

“Yeah,” I say softly. “It was.”

He watches me in the dark. I can’t read his expression. Not fully. I grab a washcloth from the bathroom to wipe us off—the icky part of sex that somehow only adds to the intimacy between us. The clean up doesn’t break the spell we’re under.

“We should probably talk about this,” he says.

“We will,” I promise.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I pull the blanket up over us and settle into the silence again. It’s not empty this time. It’s full of something else.

Something real.

Something more.

17

TANNER

Iwake up to the smell of coffee and the feel of my boxers tightening all over again.

Des is already out of bed, which I should’ve expected. He’s not the type to linger in messy moments. Especially ones that involve…whatever that was last night.

We made a glorious mess. I’ve never come that hard, as if Des reached inside me and pulled the orgasm out with his bare hands. I’ve gotten by with my own hand for the past two years, but nothing compares to the touch of another person, especially one who cares about you as they’re giving you pleasure.

I stare at the ceiling, my chest heavy in a way I can’t quite name. It wasn’t just a blow job, or a hand job, or kissing. Oh God, the kissing. I always suspected Des was a good kisser. Girls would gossip about it in school. And the ladies were right. Those full lips were forceful but generous. Des took lead but made sure it was good for both of us.

Flashes of last night cut into my vision. It was Des—my best friend—touching me like I was something delicate and important. His hands were careful. His mouth reverent. And I⁠—

I liked it too much.

And that’s the problem.

Because I know Des. He doesn’t want this. Not this. He doesn’t want four kids and school drop-offs and PTA meetings. He wants martinis, award-winning ad campaigns, and expensive decor. He wants space, freedom. Control.

I’m the opposite of control. I’m junk drawers and noisy dinners and couches with food stains. I’m exhaustion and compromise and still trying to figure out who packed the wrong lunch into the wrong backpack this morning.

Des isn’t built for this life. And he’s made it clear, over and over again, that he never wanted it.

Which means last night…was a blip. A lapse. A one-time thing. The thought of being Des’s husband is becoming less of a farce and more of a dream scenario to me. But if I tell Des that I have these feelings for him, that each second I see him with my kids and each time he flashes me his confident smile my stomach flips like a hammock, he’ll panic. Because that’s not what he wants. I don’t want to lose him.

I push the thought down and get out of bed. In the shower, I run through the hot footage of last night and jerk off as fast as I can before one of my kids starts looking for me.

I get dressed and check my phone. It’s quieter now. No more frantic work emails and Slack messages. An email from an old coworker Rodrigo who was also laid off. He informs me there’s a job fair happening today. Oh, right. On top of fighting through feelings for my best friend, I’m also trying to get a job so my kids don’t go hungry.

Downstairs, Des pulls waffles from the toaster and distributes them to plates for the kids. Dean helps Lulu butter toast, while Lena and Davy cut up fruit. Des wears an apron over his black sweatshirt and jeans, a casual Saturday outfit that his aura still manages to make seem chic. I want to kiss him so badly.

“Waffle?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’ll take two.”

“I have to go into the office for a few hours today to work on that Silq Cosmetics pitch with my team. I’ll be back by the afternoon.” Des drizzles syrup over waffles and hands them to Dean.

“My coworker emailed me about this job fair today. I don’t know if I should go.” I shuffle to the coffeemaker and pour myself a mug.

“You should. When I get back today, I’ll watch the kids and make them dinner. I actually found a recipe for slow cooker tacos I’m curious about trying.” His eyes go to the slow cooker sitting atop the fridge amid half-empty boxes of water and juice and old art class projects from the kids.

“You know how to use a slow cooker?” I ask.