Page 16 of All In: The Price We Pay

“I will.” He walks back, and I scan the rest of the outfits on the sofa. They’re not bad. Next, I’ll suggest he pick one of those. He needs to be comfortable.

A few minutes later, he’s back wearing my favorite outfit. The slacks hug the powerful curve of his hockey-player’s butt and show it off perfectly. The gray shirt clings to his sides and falls loosely over his hips. He can wear practically anything with it. A jacket, a cardigan, or the blazer from a moment ago.

He smiles slightly. “What do you think?”

I better not say anything. It might be NC-17. “I think it’s perfect. It has the right amount of elegance, and you seem comfortable.”

Evan nods and runs his hand over the pants. “Isn’t this too casual? They’re as comfortable as sweatpants. The lining is super soft, and the shirt wears as if it is seamless.”

So his tactile hypersensitivity is as pronounced as it was eight years ago. That’s why he prefers to wear synthetic sportswear. “Yeah, I made sure the fabrics would feel good to you. Carly knows a few great stores that specialize in that.”

Evans’s gaze seeks mine. “You remember.”

I shrug. It’s not just that I remember. It’s hard for me to forget. “Let me guess: your sheets are still satin.”

He shakes his head.

“Oh. I guess my assumptions are quite off.”

He smiles. “These days, I treat myself to silk.”

Laughing, I walk over to him and smooth out his clothes. “I still wonder how you put up with those hockey outfits. Aren’t they uncomfortable? Scratchy and bulky?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks, and over time I’ve found ways to make some things more comfortable. And of course, I’ve trained myself to put up with certain things. Scoring goals is a great distraction from any discomfort in my shoulder.”

“If you say so.” I walk around him, letting my gaze linger on his butt for a moment too long, and finally come to a stop in front of him.

A puff of air brushes against me. We’re standing way too close to each other. His scent is everywhere—in my nose, in my brain.

“I knew it was a good idea to invite you. Thanks for thinking about my hypersensitivity.”

“You could have told anyone else, too.”

“As you know, I’m not one for telling people things.”

I laugh softly. Maybe he’s right, and the best solution is for me to take care of his case. Because everything he says is true.

Why don’t I take a step away from him?

Why is Evan moving even closer to me?

His hands wrap around my fingers. He slowly strokes my forearms.

This is a bad idea and unethical. He’s a client. And it’s Evan.

His fingers reach my shoulders; they trace the skin on my neck.

No matter how hard I try, my resolutions have flown out the window and across Central Park.

It’s happening, something I believed—just a few days ago—would never ever happen again. Evan and I are standing face-to-face. So close that his breath, his warmth is touching me. I place my hands on his hips.

Have his muscles gotten even harder?

“Parker.” Hearing my name whispered from Evan’s lips finally makes me forget everything. Evan steps closer to me, leaning toward me. “Can I . . . ”

I don’t let him finish but reach out to him instead. Our lips meet, and my knees go weak. No memory does justice to his real kisses.

I open my mouth wider, and Evan doesn’t hesitate.