Page 163 of On His Team

That gets him moving. He reaches for my phone.

I pull it against my chest. “Don’t.”

“Delete it.”

“Make me.”

He stops.

The energy changes. The room suddenly feels smaller. Rowan is half over me with one hand braced beside my hip. His eyes drop to my mouth. Mine go to his. I swallow.

“Make me,” I say again, quieter.

He kisses me.

I knew he would.

I still make a sound into his mouth when he does it.

His hand slides around the side of my neck, and mine go underneath his shirt. The kiss deepens fast.

Rowan pulls back just enough to breathe. “You’re trouble.”

He kisses me again.

I end up underneath him on the couch, which is objectively a terrible couch for anything like this. It’s too small. Rowan is too large. My knee is trapped against the back cushion, and one of his elbows keeps hitting a throw pillow Lucy bought because she thought the room needed color.

I start laughing. “What?”

“This couch.”

He looks around like he’s only just noticed where we are. “Your couch sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you buy it?”

I touch his stomach with crawling fingers. “It was cheap.”

“It’s twelve inches wide.”

“That is not true.”

He shifts his knee and almost falls off.

I laugh harder. “Okay.”

“Exactly.”

He sits back. I look toward the hallway. Then back at him.

Lucy is at Hawthorne.

We both know it. Neither of us says anything for a second.

Rowan’s expression changes first.

I sit up. “Bedroom?”