Page 34 of The Do-Over Girl

She sighs. “Because I wanted children, at least someday, and Brad…” She waves a hand. “He’s history.”

“Tough as nails.”

She snorts a laugh. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw me at the time. I was a mess. Nikki saved me with this job.”

“You quit your job because of a breakup?”

She shakes her head. “He was my boss, the owner of the company. He fired me. In front of everyone in the office.”

My tension goes from zero to a hundred in one heartbeat. My muscles coil like I’m about to hit someone in the corner, and I want to do damage. Because, right now, I want to do damage to whoever this shithead Brad is.

“What’s his last name, and where does he live?” I’m barely kidding. My teeth are gritted.

She does a double-take because she isn’t sure, before she laughs and pats my thigh—as if to calm me down. Of course, it does the opposite because my thigh is connected very closely to my dick, and the proximity of her touch sets a fire in me, turning my dick into petrified stone.

“You’re nuts.” She smiles. “But in a good way. Thank you for your outrage on my behalf.”

“Any time.”

She clears her throat. “So now you know all the dirty details of why I’m here. How about you? You announced your retirement at the end of the season, and Archie called you…?”

“No. My coach sent me here. He said Andrews Point Academy needed a hockey coach and insisted I try coaching for a season while I clear my head. Said it would keep me on a regular schedule and get me a hockey fix in the meantime.”

She smiles her big, shiny smile that hits me in the heart because I swear she looks like she’s still seventeen, no matter how many years have passed. That smile could do some damage right now if I let it. But I won’t.

“And he said it would keep me from doing anything rash or stupid.” I wonder if he was wrong about that. Maybe he sent me to the one place where my stupid, rash decision-making would be most extremely tested.

She nods. “How did your coach know about Andrews Point Academy?”

“Apparently, Archie called my coach to see if he could convince me to do a favor for him and Andrews Point Academy. I’m not sure why he didn’t call me himself.”

She scoffs. “I know why. You’re intimidating as hell when you lose—or when you’re hurting. You tend to lash out.” She pauses. “Sorry about your fiancée.”

“Sorry about yours. Yours sounds like a loser, though, so I’m not really sorry.”

She laughs with abandon, and my chest clenches with the sight and sound. It gets to me so well, causing the same swell of need and desire to rise in me every time now, like the last seventeen years never happened, like we’ve gone back in time to how we were—before that last dance.

Maybe we can forget. Maybe I can, whether I should or not, or whether she would. She still holds that night against me as if it was all my fault.

I lean in and put a hand to her face, caressing the soft skin of her cheek, feeling the tremble of anticipation. I breathe her in, letting all that desire wrap around me as I lower my mouth to hers slowly. When my lips touch hers, I taste her and savor the intimacy of the kiss, the melting together of our mouths and tongues, and all the sensations mixing with my complex emotions, deep and feral, good and bad, all grey and blurry. All best left unidentifiable, a mass of thundering confusion.

The sudden glare of the porch light pops on, and it’s a lot brighter than I remember it. Kali pulls from my arms, sitting back, and I let my arms fall from her. Mrs. Pike appears at the front door, looking at us through the screen. I wonder how long she was there and what she saw. Not that it matters. I smile at her.

“About time you two got home. Remember, no hanky-panky.” She shakes a finger at us and opens the door. “And that includes kissing.” She glares at me for a beat, but if I’m not mistaken, there’s a twinkle in her eye.

“It was all my fault, Mrs. Pike. It won’t happen again.” Dipping my head to Kali’s ear, I whisper, “Why do I feel like a teenager?”

I enjoy the pretty pink blush I thought I’d never see again, rising up Kali’s neck. And I never thought I’d feel the effects so fucking hard and fast that I turn away from her. I move away from her to give my dick a break and cover my lap with my hand. The last thing I need is for her—or Mrs. Pike—to know the extreme effect she has on me.

But then, after the night where we banged against the wall, so to speak, maybe that train’s left the station.

We go inside, and Mrs. Pike watches us walk up the stairs.

“Good night, Charline.”

“Good night, Kali. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” The old woman flicks a gaze at me, and I swear I see a flicker of mischief in the corner of her mouth, a tiny lift there like she’s suppressing a smile.

I grin at her and don’t say a word because I don’t trust myself not to laugh like a co-conspirator. Because fuck, that’s exactly what she is. I have no idea why and no idea what we’re conspiring to do exactly—besides have some hanky-panky, otherwise known as hot as fuck sex.