Page 44 of Slapshot Bride

I find myself smiling before I register it.

She looks good. Too good to not be happy. Too good to be locked up and denied the beauty of the life she wants.

Fierce rage hits me, and my palms ball into fist.

But I’m caught off-guard when she stretches, revealing her curvy toned legs, and when she raises her arms, the tee slips off one shoulder, showing off the smooth creamy skin.

I’m instantly lost in the sight.

My throat bobs, and I’m tossed into the moment for the umpteenth time since it happened. The way her hands had rounded my neck to pull me closer, my nostrils flooded by her sweet floral scent.

I’m still lost in my fantasy when she looks up. Our eyes lock.

She pulls one earbud out.

“Hi…” the loveliest smile follows.

Okay. So maybe she hasn’t spent every waking second obsessing over that kiss the way I have.

Good.

That’s good.

Exactly how it should be.

I’m relieved.

“Hi.”

She sees me hovering by the door and waves me in.

“How long have you been there?”

My eyes roam her entire being, subconsciously.

“Just a few minutes.”

She takes off the second headphone. “Sorry, about this. Found them in the drawer and wanted to escape reality for a bit.”

I’m sitting beside her now, our shoulders a mere inch apart.

“You good?”

She closes the book over a finger. “Much better.”

She looks up at me, and that radiant smile appears again, bright enough to warm the entire room.

A minute later, it fades.

Something flickers in her eyes. Not regret exactly. Something softer. More complicated. An emotion I can't quite identify before she looks away.

“I’m making dinner,” I announce, suddenly needing to steer us toward safer territory.

One eyebrow lifts. “You can cook?”

“I can grill chicken without poisoning anyone.” I shrug. “Mostly.”

“That’s right.” Her mouth twitches. “Remind me to keep 911 on speed dial.”