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When Willow releases a satiated sigh, her lashes resting closed like she’s savoring the moment, the corner of my mouth hitches.

Maybe—just maybe—there’s a possibility that my wife could fall for me too.

Forty minutes later, I’m losing miserably at skee-ball, and my mood has drastically soured.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I say, frowning at the ball in my hand.

It’s roughly the size of a baseball, albeit heavier. There’s no good reason that someone who makes his living throwing a ball should be this terrible at a simple arcade game.

Willow laughs, picking up the token cup to feed her machine. “You’re throwing too hard. The goal isn’t to get it from the outfield to home. It’s a gentle movement—with finesse.”

She demonstrates again, sinking her ball into the one-hundred-point pocket like she’s tossing a gum wrapper into a dumpster. The machine flashes in delight, and I get it. Anytime Willow directs her attention at me, I feel lit from within too.

“I have finesse,” I grumble, lobbing another ball at the machine.

It crashes into the backboard and ricochets back at me.

Even though I’m severely annoyed, Willow’s giggle feels like champagne bubbles tickling up my spine.

“You’re still being too strong with it. You need to be gentle, like you were with the kittens yesterday. Here, let me show you.”

She crowds behind me, putting her hand over mine and swinging my arm gently back and forth. “It’s a loose motion. The ball is only going a few feet.”

“I’m a professional athlete,” I remind her—or maybe myself?

“I know.” She gives the sleeve of my black Henley a patronizing pat.

I noticed that Willow likes these shirts, especially if I undo the top button. Today, I unbuttoned two. With the way my wife’s attention keeps stalling at the hollow of my throat, my quiet flirtation tactic is paying off.

Glancing over my shoulder, I find Willow’s gaze isn’t on the skee-ball targets; it’s zeroed in on me.

The corner of her mouth tilts into a devastating grin. “Sink it in the ten-point pocket, and I’ll let you kiss me.”

My abs clench so hard I almost wheeze.

“Only one kiss?” I ask with a roguish smirk. “Can’t I negotiate?”

Willow releases a skittered breath, her focus dropping to my mouth. Looks like my wife wasn’t prepared for me to flirt back. My smile deepens as I shift until we’re standing chest to chest.

“Fifty-point pocket, and we get takeout from Saigon Kitchen and build a pillow fort in the living room.”

Willow gasps. “Really?”

I nod.

She tilts her head to the side, giving me a skeptical look. “What about your kiss?”

My shoulders bounce. “Once you’ve seen my superior fort-building skills, you won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

Willow shakes her head in disbelief before reaching out and pinching my bicep.

“What was that for?” I growl.

My surly response dials her smile up to maximum brightness. “Just making sure you’re still my husband and not a bodysnatching imposter.”

I grunt, crossing my arms, even though hearing my husband from Willow’s lips without an audience present feels better than denying a home run by robbing it at the wall.

Willow stifles a squeal but can’t stop herself from bouncing slightly. The action is so adorable it takes everything in me not to wrap one arm around her and crush my mouth to hers.