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As we share the frost-covered bench, huddled close to the man beside me, I can't help but feel my heart swell with a mix of relief and wonder. The snowflakes gently cascade around us, creating an enchanting moment.
Our foreheads press against each other as the kiss ends. My pointer finger traces my lips as a smirk plays on them at the same time.
“Brooke, as much as I want this, it’s complicated in ways that could hurt more than you and me.”
“I know. Are you willing… no, not willing. Do you want to have a relationship with me? A woman with a child? The daughter of your coach?”
My mouth is drier than the Vegas desert waiting for his response. Reed squeezes my hand.
“I’m sorry. No.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
REED
Her lip trembles. Her bright eyes shimmer, filling with tears, which wasn’t my intention.
“Let me finish.” I kiss her tenderly as she sucks in. “I want a relationship with Brooke Sweet. One that isn’t hiding who she is.”
“You want me?”
“Caleb’s your first priority, and he should be. I’ll understand if this is a case of right person, wrong time.”
She wraps her arms around my neck with tears waterfalling from her lids. Several minutes pass as I continue holding her delicate body tight. When I break the embrace, I stand, grab our cups, push the cork back in the bottle, and place them in the bag.
“Let’s go back to the room. I bought some bubble bath. You can soak and think about what you want. Not in this moment but for longer. I’ll go down to the fitness center and work out my feelings.” I cup her hand inside mine, and they feel like ice. “Do you want the gloves, or will my hand suffice?”
She clasps her hand in mine and lays her head on my arm. When we’re halfway back to the lodge, Brooke’s hand flies over her mouth. “What time is it?”
I check my Tag Heuer watch. “Almost nine.”
“We have to hurry. My dad booked a massage for me at nine.”
I lift a brow. She starts jogging and when we reach the lodge, she bends over, out of breath. I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder, and she chirps out a giggle, another arrow to the heart—I’ve been struck by fucking Cupid, and it’s not even Valentine’s Day.
I run up the stairs, holding her legs, and take the keycard out of her back pocket. An older couple smiles at us as they pass. They probably think we’re getting ready to have sex, and I’m not entirely opposed to the idea; last night was phenomenal.
“Four minutes to spare.” I plop her on the bed.
“Maybe you could relax me,” she teases me, biting her bottom lip. “And I won’t need a massage.”
Before I can respond, there’s a rap on the door. “In-room spa services.”
“I’ll get out of your way. This will make you feel good.”
“Stay.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. “Okay.” I let the massage therapist inside, and it’s a fucking man. I’m not sure how this will go over.
“Ms. Dulce? I’ll set up here.”
She nods.
He slides his table out of the bag to set it up, locking it in place. He takes a face cushion out and covers the table with a white sheet. “I’ll go into the bathroom while you undress. Lie on your back, then pull the top sheet over you.”
Turning her back to me, she pulls the fluffy sweater over her head. Her ponytail swings as I walk up behind her and say over the shell of her ear, “This is going to be interesting.”
“He could give you a massage too.”
