Page 43 of Married to the Scottish Player
“I’m tired,” he says quietly. “But I’m also wired—if that makes sense.”
Same. I am way too aware of him beside me, and then he makes it worse.
More thunder. It’s loud, causing the bedside tables to rattle.
“Would it be bad if I ask you to scoot closer?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, already an inch nearer.
My stomach does a pirouette. “You scared?” I ask.
He grunts, shifting again, the mattress dipping as his arm moves under his head and his massive body finds a new position. I scoot an inch toward the middle of the mattress, meeting him in the middle.
Fine, it’s more like two inches. Enough that the heat from his body begins to scorch my skin.
“This okay?” he whispers.
I nod, forgetting for a second that he can’t see me. “Yeah.” Sure.
Our knees touch. Our feet. Then traitorously our calves connect like magnets finally giving in.
My heart? A total backstabbing bitch! She’s pounding out “Kiss him kiss him kiss him” like a commandment carved into a tree trunk.
No.
No,We Are Not Kissing! We are not touching lips or tongues oranything else. There will be no swapping of bodily fluids on this bed, this mattress, this extremely warm battlefield of bad decisions.
But . . .
Itwouldkill time.
It would definitely take his mind off the storm.
And I haven’t had a man touch my boobs in literal weeks. Tim doesn’t count—he always seemed slightly annoyed I had them in the first place. Our relationship was mostly emotional. If you can calltalking about city council budgets and CrossFit macrosemotional.
I glance at where his face is. I can’t see him in the dark, but I know he’s watching me.
Waiting.
God, he smells so good ...
“Callum,” I whisper, testing out his real name again.
“Mmm?” His chest rumbles.
Um. “Just checking to see if you’re awake.”
A soft chuckle. “It’s been one minute.”
Oh.Right.
“I’m not kissing you,” I blurt, and then immediately slap a hand over my mouth like that’ll stuff the words back in. Jesus. Could I be more awkward?
There’s a beat. The kind of pause that says he’s fighting a grin.
“Okay,” he says smoothly.
My pulse kicks. “Unless the storm gets worse.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Copy that.”
