Page 119 of Slapshot Baby

Sweet. Tangy. Spicy.

The mango is perfectly ripe and cold from the night air. The lime cuts through the sweetness and my entire body exhales.

A sound leaves my throat, close enough to a moan that Kai's brown eyes darken.

"Good?"

"If you ever leave me, I want custody of this mango."

His mouth curves. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me eat.

He doesn’t ask why I need mango at two in the morning. He doesn’t question the desperation or the specificity. He just drove across the city, brought his own cutting board, and now stands in my kitchen looking at me like feeding me is the only thing that matters.

If only he knew he was feeding his own child.

I eat the mango while pressure builds behind my eyes that I refuse to release. Biscuit sits at Kai's feet, chin on his shoe. He reaches down and scratches behind her ear without looking away from me.

"Come to bed," he says. "Bring the mango."

"You're staying?"

"I drove here with a cutting board at two in the morning. I'm not driving back."

I look at him, hand reaching for my hip, thumb finding the strip of bare skin between my sleep shirt and shorts. His warmth spreads into my side and settles somewhere deep.

I want him every night.

Greedy, I think. You're being greedy, Ava.

But I take his hand and lead him to my bedroom anyway.

He pulls me against his chest in the dark. His arm drapes across my waist. His breathing slows, deepens, steadies into the rhythm I've come to depend on.

And I lie awake, pressed against the warmth of him, my hand covering his where it rests on my stomach.

Right on the secret that can end everything.

20

KAI

The Girlfriend Play

The dream starts with Ava’s back arched off my mattress.

Her eyes are wide, lips parted, chest rising on shallow breaths that brush warm against my throat. Her legs tighten around my waist as she moans.

I know her body in this dream. The specific curve of her waist under my palm. The pitch of her voice when I hit the angle that makes her forget how to breathe. The way her fingers dig into my shoulders with a desperation that leaves marks.

"Keep your eyes open," I tell her.

She does. She watches me with a rawness that strips every defense I've ever built.

I feel her pulse hammering where our wrists press together, her heartbeat so fast it blurs into a single tremor beneath my thumb.

There’s an open condom wrapper on the nightstand.

She says something sharp and funny that I almost hear, her mouth curving even as her hips roll up to meet mine.