Page 162 of Offside Angle

Progress.

The second I start the engine, Matteo reaches for the controls and rolls both windows halfway down. Cold night air immediately rushes through the car.

I glance at him. “Really?”

“You said I’d stink up the car,” he mutters, already resting his head against the seat with his eyes closed. “I’m being considerate.”

“That’s very mature of you.”

“I’m growing.”

“Terrifying.”

The corner of his mouth moves, and I pull out of the garage before he can come up with a response.

The drive to his place is quiet after that, but not uncomfortable. Matteo keeps his eyes closed for most of it, one hand resting loosely over his stomach while the cold air moves through the car. By the time we get home, some of the tension has finally gone out of his face.

I point him toward the bedroom to finish getting undressed and head for the bathroom.

He keeps muscle soak under the sink, so I add some while the tub fills and let the water run hotter than usual without making it unbearable. After the noise of the arena and the locker room, the steady rush of water feels almost absurdly peaceful.

I’m testing the temperature with one hand when Matteo appears behind me.

He’s stripped down to his underwear, which gives me a much better view of how badly tonight treated him. I’m still cataloguing bruises when he steps up behind me and wraps both arms around my waist. His mouth settles against the side of my neck.

“So,” he murmurs, sounding suspiciously more alive than he did ten minutes ago. “Summer plans.”

I leave my hand in the water. “You have summer plans already?”

“I’m thinking beach. No pads. No morning skates. No Damian threatening my livelihood before breakfast.”

“Very ambitious.”

“Just you, me…” His mouth moves higher along my neck. “And an unreasonable amount of time spent horizontal.”

There it is.

One of his hands slips beneath my shirt while the other drifts lower along my hip, and I lean back against him slightly, mostly because stopping him would require motivation I do not currently possess.

“Horizontal?”

“Extremely horizontal,” he confirms, catching my ear lightly between his teeth. “Possibly starting with this bath. Then the bed. Maybe the couch after that.”

I turn enough to look at him over my shoulder.

“You’ve given this considerable thought.”

“I’m very thorough when I plan.”

His eyes are still red around the edges, and there’s exhaustion all over his face if I look past the smirk. He’s trying to drag himself back toward something familiar, toward us, and I understand the impulse well enough not to call attention to it.

Instead, I turn fully in his arms and touch my thumb gently beneath the cut near his mouth again. “Get in the water, cariño.”

Matteo’s smirk deepens. “Bossy.”

“You like bossy.”

“That wasn’t a complaint.”