Page 53 of Body Check

nineteen

. . .

Jason

Here’s the thing: when you’re at the Thanksgiving table the day after the best sex of your life, surrounded by her friends and family, things get… messy. And confusing.

Because my night with Amelia blows every other experience I’ve had out of the water. Every past partner, even my ex-wife… none of them hold a candle to her.

And I don’t know if that’s because it can’t happen again, or if we really are that explosive together, but either way, we can’t do it again. It pisses me the fuck off. I spent years being miserable in a dead-end marriage. Years telling myself I would see my commitments through, no matter how they made me feel.

Then Harper served me with divorce papers. She had the courage to take the step I couldn’t. And I’m so fucking grateful for that, every single day.

But I can’t keep putting my life on hold.

I want Amelia. She wants me. Why can’t we make a go of this? Why should a little thing like our jobs get in the way of us being happy together?

Tyler invited me for the holiday in good faith. He probably didn’t expect me to go and sleep with his sister. But the connection we shared… It’s worth the awkwardness today.

Amelia snuck out of my bed around dawn. She wasn’t trying to wake me, but I’m a light sleeper, and when I lost the warmth against my back was gone, it startled me. I’m not sure how we got into that position again, with me as the little spoon, considering we fell asleep in the other direction, but I have to admit I liked it.

We don’t know each other well, but I feel safe with her. I trust her.

From the safety of my bed, I watched as she entered her own room. She waved, undressed, and climbed into bed. I fell back asleep with a smile on my face.

When I woke up again, her room was empty, and there was a single text on my phone. Don’t make this weird. The same thing she said before she got in the car. Before she came home with me and irrevocably changed my life.

I’m doing my fucking best.

She’s wearing a simple red dress, the material clinging to her curves. Her dark hair is pulled back with a white sequined bow. It should look silly, like a little girl playing dress up, but there’s no denying Amelia is all woman. There’s nothing innocent about her, especially not after last night.

When I show up at her door, she blinks, but lets me in without questioning my presence.

Inside, Andrews is on the sofa across from Brandon and another man. Austin Anderson. He’s a pitcher for the Bulldogs, and a damn good one, too. We met two or three previous times at a charity function or golf tournament.

Over the next hour, two more baseball players arrived with their partners. Holcomb I’ve met before, Jackson I haven’t. I’m the lone hockey player, but I don’t feel left out. Andrews and I are polite, maybe even friendly, and Brandon is nothing but welcoming.

As we sit at the table, I maneuver my way casually through the crowd until I can sit next to Amelia.

But I didn’t think about how torturous it would be to sit beside her all afternoon while not being able to touch her.

Tyler sits at the head of the table, Brandon beside him, and Ainsley in a high chair between them. She’s too young for solids, but she can sit with us.

There’s no blessing over the food, and we don’t go around the table forcing people to say what they’re thankful for. That’s always my least favorite part of the day. It never feels genuine; it’s always coerced, especially given the origination of the holiday.

Tyler outdid himself. The turkey is beautiful, carved to perfection, and the table is groaning under the weight of the sides.

Beside me, Amelia sets her hand on my arm. “Jase—” She snaps her mouth shut.

Andrews blinks at her. “What did you just say?”

She shakes her head. “McKittrick. Will you pass the potatoes?”

“No. You were about to call him something else.” His eyes narrow. “Since when are you two on a first-name basis?”

I doubt he’d like the real answer.

But I pass her the potatoes, holding the bowl as she scoops some onto her plate.