Page 77 of Scoring Chance

But then Stan pauses, looking between Des and me like he’s working out a puzzle.

"You two have been so polite tonight," Stan says, smoothing down his sleeves. "Almost too polite. You didn’t even…" He gestures vaguely between us, a wry smile curling his lips.

“Kiss?” I ask.

"You’re not holding back just to keep an old man comfortable, are you?"

My stomach dips. Des stiffens beside me. I can practically hear the PR machine spinning in his head, trying to spin this moment.

Stan chuckles softly. "Listen, I’ve been in love, I’ve been married a long time. I know when people care about each other. And I also know when they’re holding back."

Des glances at me, something unspoken passing between us—panic, maybe, or…something else.

Stan waves a hand. "Don’t be shy on my account. I’d hate to think my old-fashioned ass scared you two into acting like roommates."

There’s a beat where neither of us moves.

And then Des surprises the hell out of me—he steps closer, hand curling gently around the back of my neck, tilting my face toward his.

His eyes search mine for a split second, like he's asking permission—and I give it, leaning in.

The kiss starts soft. Careful.

But somewhere in the space between Stan's chuckle and Des’s grip, it deepens. Des’s lips mold to mine, firm, steady, like this isn’t fake at all. Like this has been years in the making.

And maybe… it has.

We break apart slowly. My pulse is hammering in my ears.

"That better?" Des asks Stan, his voice a little lower than usual, his thumb brushing along the edge of my jaw. “Are you still an ally?”

Stan laughs, satisfied. “Des, I’m impressed at how quickly you can go from a romantic to a sarcastic son of a bitch. Night, you two.”

There’s plenty of dinner for everyone, but naturally, the kids mostly filled up on cocktail snacks. By the time we wrangle the kids to bed, put away all the dinner leftovers in Tupperware, and stumble into our room, I can still feel the ghost of that kiss lingering.

Des untucks and unbuttons his shirt, avoiding my gaze in a way that’s distinctly not like him.

I climb onto the bed, stretching out, watching him. "That kiss…" I start.

He hums noncommittally, pulling off his watch, eyes fixed anywhere but me.

"It was good," I say carefully. "Really good. Better than good."

“We sure sold it to Stan.”

“Yeah,” I say, though Stan was the last guy I was thinking of currently.

We get into bed. I cuddle close to him. It’s our new routine, and my body craves his touch.

"Can we…" I swallow, pushing past the nerves. "Could we maybe…pick up where we left off the other night?"

His shoulders tense. I’ve known Des long enough to sense slight shifts in his demeanor. He seems just a touch too stiff. Perhaps he’s still coming down from the stress of dinner.

“I’ve been thinking lately…about what it would feel like to have sex with you. To feel you inside me.” My breath hitches as these images flash in my head.

Here is the part where Des would hold me in his arms, or say something incredibly charming about how badly he wants that, too.

But instead, I’m met with silence.