I tossed my hair dramatically. “Thanks. Waylay showed me a tutorial.”
“We’re the new generation of hot soccer moms,” Stef decided.
“I’ll drink to that,” Sloane agreed, hoisting her tumbler that said This is Definitely Not Wine.
“So where’s your hot soccer daddy?” Stef asked me.
“Thank God someone asked,” Sloane said, s
hifting in her chair. “Here are all the questions I’ve stored up. How good is the sex? Is he as grumpy immediately after orgasm as he is the rest of the time, or are there cracks in the stony facade that reveal the soft, teddy bear heart beating beneath?”
“Has he torn any clothing off your body?” Stef asked. “If so, I know a guy who makes entire wardrobes with Velcro closures.”
“Of course you do,” I said dryly.
Sloane leaned forward. “Is he a flowers and a cook-you-dinner kind of guy? Or is he more of a growl-at-any-man-who-dares-to-look-at-your-boobs dude?”
“Definitely a growler,” Stef decided.
“You guys! My parents and his grandmother are right there,” I hissed. “Besides, we’re at a children’s soccer game.”
“She’s going to tell us how inappropriate we’re being but what she doesn’t realize is how every conversation happening around this field is about sex,” he complained.
“They are not,” I insisted.
“Oh, believe me. They are. Chloe’s been playing since she was six. Those dads over there might look like they’re talking about power tools and lawn mowers, but they’re actually talking about vasectomies,” Sloane said, pointing at a group of dads huddled together next to the bleachers.
“I forget. Did you tell us why Knox isn’t here?” Stef said, feigning innocence.
I sighed. “He’s not here because I didn’t invite him.” What I didn’t tell them was I didn’t invite him because I didn’t think he’d come. Knox Morgan didn’t seem like the type of man who would willingly show up at a kid’s sporting event and make small talk for an hour.
He was the kind of man who pinned you down and made you come in positions that shouldn’t have been possible. Like last night when he’d pressed me flat on my stomach and entered me from behind—
My inner walls clenched involuntarily at the decadent memory.
“Why didn’t you invite him?” Sloane pressed, ignoring the game in favor of the sideline inquisition.
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know. Probably because he wouldn’t have come. And I don’t want Waylay to get too used to him being around.”
“Naomi, I say this with love. This is the first time since high school Knox has dated anyone in town. That’s huge. It means he sees something special about you that he hasn’t seen in anyone else.”
I felt like a fraud.
I wasn’t special. I hadn’t landed a never-falling-in-love bachelor. I’d gotten swept up in an admittedly scorching hot one-night stand, and he’d gotten caught in the consequences of banging a good girl.
“Is that Nash?” Stef asked, mercifully changing the subject.
I looked up and spotted him ambling slowly in my direction.
Sloane hummed. “Those Morgan brothers sure were built to catch the eye.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Nash Morgan looked every bit the wounded hero. I noticed quite a few of the moms and even one or two of the dads thinking the same thing. He was wearing worn jeans and a long-sleeved Henley. He had a baseball cap pulled down low, and I noticed he’d ditched the sling for his arm. He walked slowly, carefully. It looked casual, but I guessed the pace was dictated more by pain and exhaustion than by a desire to look cool.
“Mornin’,” he said when he arrived.
“Hey,” I said. “Want a seat?”