ALEX.
I hated the way my body reacted to him. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t logical, and definitely wasn’t professional. Every time Niko’s hand brushed mine during the kids’ game, every accidental graze, my chest tightened and with every shared glance, my breath hitched, something hot coiling low in my stomach. And I wasn’t supposed to be feeling any of it. I was supposed to be mad at him.
I was mad at him. Or at least, I had been. But anger was hard to hold onto when the person who irritated you also happened to be the same man whose mouth had made you lose your mind two nights earlier.
By the time his fingers “accidentally” slid over my wrist again, I had had enough. I stood abruptly, muttered some excuse, and walked out of the game room before I did something stupid, like lean into him.
I
