Chapter 25

Kali

Max pulls up outside my house and I jump out of his Range Rover as fast as I can. It's been a long day, all I want to do is have a shower, and go to bed. I grab my new high-top sneakers I bought in Eagles colors and push my purse over my shoulder.

"See you Friday. Pick me up around seven. Is that okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." Saluting me from the driver's seat, he confirms the booking.

"Thanks, Max."

"Goodnight, Ms. Roth." Unless we are at an event, I always make him wait inside the car. I don't need escorting into my house.

My heels click clack down the path to my front door.

Pulling Max's sports jacket around me, a shiver runs down my spine from the icy weather. It's November. I don't want to, but I really must swap out my summer wardrobe to accommodate the dropping temperature.

Humming to myself, I lift my phone to unlock the door when a deep, dark voice punctures the air. "Did you enjoy your date?"

So many things happen at once. A small scream splinters my throat; I jump in alarm, dropping my phone and sneakers in the process and my heart pole-vaults into a dark place as I fear for my life.

"It's me," the voice says, and I swivel on the balls of my feet to face the man who almost gave me a heart attack.

"Wade, what the hell?" I yell, my exasperated voice echoes through the street and between the trees behind the houses.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Shoulders pulled up to his ears to protect him from the cold, hands shoved into his dress pants, he looks weary and sad. "Did you enjoy your date?" he asks again and my lips ache to kiss his handsome face and make whatever is bothering him go away.

But I don't and enjoy the view instead. He looks so handsome and smart in his suit he wears before and after every game. Having had Emmanuel drop off five new Tom Ford suits for him, this one fits him to perfection. He looks even sexier than usual.

My former teenage heart swoons over the black Converse he's wearing with it.

He really is delicious.

I want to eat him.

Again.

But I can't let him distract me. I've been doing my best since Monday to avoid being alone with him.

Because of how he makes me feel.

Like now.

Because I might rip his clothes off in the cold if he's not careful.

I need to unlock my door. Pronto.

I bend down, gather up my sneakers and phone off the front door mat. It's lucky it was there, or I would have smashed my screen. "Did you really drive all this way out here to ask me that?" Why does he care? "And where is your truck?"

"Parked it up the street."

"What? Why?" I roll my eyes in annoyance. I wouldn't have run away from him; I would most likely do the opposite of that. But I shouldn't. "Are you spying on me, creeping around to see who I was out on a date with?"

"Maybe," he mutters.

Definitely.

"Are you jealous?"

"No." His answer is indignant.

"You are." I love his possessiveness and want him to demand that I don't go with another man. I wouldn't when all I can think about is him.

"I'm not, I don't care."

"So, why are you here?"

Silence rolls into more of the same.

I can't take the tension that's growing faster than a bamboo shoot and finally kill his curiosity. "If you must know it's Waffle Wednesday Date Night, the night of the week I take my niece, Bonnie, to Maple." Spending time with family is so precious, I may have missed most of her baby years but I'm desperately trying to make up for it and it's the one night of the week she gets to stay up late; for a nine-year-old, nine o'clock is late, but it's fun and she loves it. "But I did that last night. Tonight, I met Joy and Ellis instead because the game finished so late." Far too late for Bonnie and I haven't seen my friends for weeks. Plus waffles two nights in a row was much needed. I"ve been working my ass off. My phone is permanently attached to my hand or my ear.

Shoulders deflating, as if they're on a hydraulic lift keeping them upright, he instantly drops them from his ears.

"Go home, Wade."

"I'm not leaving." He steps forward slowly, setting off what feels like a million butterflies dancing in my heart.

"You should go." Before I do something really stupid, like kiss him, and then it will be the beginning of the end.

I feel it—his annoyance, body quivering with irritation. But there's an undercurrent of something else flowing between us… desire, uncertainty… I can't read the room.

"I hate you," he grits out through his teeth, surprising me and the mood shifts, my arousal replaced with disappointment.

"Hate me?" Well, that stings.

"I hate how you make me feel."

Oh.

Another small step toward me, blood begins rushing in my ears, and I edge back, only to find I have nowhere to go, because my door is still locked, and while part of me should run, the other part of me wants to stay and see what happens next, because if I stay here, I know he'll have my clothes off in minutes and I want that, been wanting it for what feels like forever.

"I hate that I will never be good enough for you."

"That's not true," I say softly.

He ignores me. "I hate how much I want to change to be a better man." He stalks forward. "For you."

If we jump into this together, I'm going to get burned. He's going to obliterate me and ruin me for any other man. I just know it. And as messed up as that is, maybe I want that. Want him.

I can't keep denying how I feel. And ignoring him isn't working.

My flesh tingles, sparks flying, desire bouncing off our bodies.

"I hate how much I know I should stay away from you, but can't stop myself." One final step has his nose touching mine. "I hate how much I want to kiss you."

Oh God.

"We can't just be friends." He keeps sharing.

"You made me feel cheap and used the other day," I confess.

His eyes lock onto mine. "That was never my intention. I'm sorry. You gave me the best blow job of my life." He gulps. "I can't stop thinking about you."

"Then don't." My voice is full of confidence, hope blossoming in my chest.

"I hate that all I've thought about is what your mouth would feel like on mine." I can't look away when he presses me hard up against the door with his solid body. "And what it would feel like to lose myself inside of you." I gasp at his words. "I'm tired of denying how I feel about you."

His rough, calloused hands find my waist. I inhale a sharp breath, not from the coldness of his touch, but from the way my body burns for him.

I'm desperate. It's an unshakeable feeling, no matter how hard I've tried to wriggle away from it.

"You scare me." It's my honest confession.

"You scare me more."

"Then, let's be scared together, Wade."