Finally finding my voice, I say, “Hold back from what?”

His thumb runs over my lip and he lowers his forehead to mine. His hands shake against my cheek, and it hits me like a ton of bricks, something I never expected from Maddox. He’s . . . nervous.

His hesitancy, the unsteadiness of his voice, the shake in his grip. He’s nervous, which means . . . does he want to make a move but doesn’t know how to?

Hell, I want to say all the signs are pointing in that direction. The touching, the way he’s been treating me, the cuddling. Does he want more?

“Maddox?”

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“Do you want to”—I swallow hard—“kiss me?”

He steadily pulls away and looks me in the eyes. For a moment, I fear I read him wrong, but then his eyes flash down to my lips. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

I almost don’t hear him over the noisy cadence of my thumping heart, but when my brain finally clears through the fog and makes sense of his answer, I find the nerve to say, “Then kiss me.”

He tilts my mouth up with his hands and lowers down, pauses, and takes a deep breath, as if he’s soaking in this moment right before his lips fall on mine. It’s a light press at first—as if getting used to the idea that we’re kissing—but then he becomes firmer with his grip, his lips part, and the kiss turns into the kind of kiss that melts every bone in your body.

One of his hands slides to the back of my neck and then tangles in my hair, holding me in place as he turns his head ever so slightly for a deeper, different angle. It shoots stars through my eyes and all my limbs, making me feel like I’m floating and if I don’t hold on to tight enough, I could take off right into the abyss.

His lips work mine, his tongue barely peeking out, just for a tiny slide here and there. It’s what causes me to moan, causes me to lose all my senses as we kiss in the middle of my workplace. The intensity of his grip and the smell of his cologne mixes with a fierce lust that’s driving through my veins, attaching me to the man I’ve always thought of as a rock in my life, never a love interest. But now that he’s here, holding me in his arms, his lips pressed against mine, I know for damn certain, no one will ever match up to Maddox Paige.

Ever.

Finally, he pulls away and then rests his forehead on mine. Both of his hands fall to my neck as he breathes heavily.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I hope that was okay, because I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“You have?” I ask, just as we hear feet coming our way. As if it’s my mother who’s going to catch us, I spring off Maddox and wipe at my mouth. He stares at me, a smile passing over his lips.

“There you are,” Marcy says, turning the corner. “You will never believe this, but we have gained over two thousand followers on Instagram since these wonderful gentlemen showed up.”

“Seriously?” I ask, still amazed that this is happening.

“Yes, and they keep coming. I don’t think I could thank you guys enough for being here.”

Lincoln looks toward the lobby and says, “I would love to stay and learn more, but we’re on borrowed time right now before fans swarm the shelter looking for us, and that’s not what I want this to be about. We should bounce, man.”

Maddox nods. “And these boys have to get to the field to warm up.”

“Sure, yeah.” I hold up the envelope. “Thank you, this . . .” I start to get teary-eyed again and Maddox gives me a quick hug before whispering in my ear.

“I’ll call you later, Kinny.”

I nod against his chest and then wave to Jason and Lincoln, watching as they barely fit down the hall together and retreat out the front door.

Marcy turns toward me, hand on her heart as she says, “I think I had a heart attack back there when Lincoln gave me a hug. Sweet Lord, that man is attractive.”

I nod and stare out toward the lobby while I hand Marcy the envelope.

She opens it and the gasp that falls past her lips when she sees the number on the check will forever be imprinted in my brain. It’s a life-changing gasp, just like that was a life-changing kiss.

Do you know what sucks about baseball? The schedule.

I can see how players’ significant others get frustrated very quickly, because the players spend long hours at the field, come home late, and then leave just when things start to get good . . .

I’m sitting in the couch, cross-legged, Herman’s head resting on my leg, and I’m watching Our Planet on Netflix, still trying to recover from watching the walruses falling off the edge of a rocky cliff, because there wasn’t enough room for all of them thanks to climate change. I sobbed watching them bounce down the cliffs to their death. Poor Herman thought I was having a mental breakdown, but I’ve manage to gain control of myself and even my emotions, despite the war raging inside of me . . . and not from the dying walruses, but from the man who decided to kiss me unlike any man has ever before and then take off for the West Coast.

It’s past ten my time and I’m dying for my phone to ring, to see his face, to ask him what the hell that was about at the shelter, if he planned on doing it again, or if it was just a one-time thing.

I really hope it wasn’t a one-time thing because his lips are perfection.

Soft, not too wet and slippery, but just enough so that I could easily slide across them. He was firm with his pressure, intense with his hold, and I was stunned by how his body vibrated with need. For me. Truly, unlike any kiss I’ve ever experienced. I’m wondering if it was because the kiss was with Maddox, or if it was because of the friendship we’ve had for so long.

Probably a combination of both.

“Why isn’t he calling?” I ask Herman. “He should be there by now, right?” A horrible thought creeps into my head. Maybe he’s there and doesn’t want to call me, because he doesn’t want to disappoint me. Oh God, what if he thought I was a bad kisser and he’s trying to figure out a way to let me down easily? I mean, I know he did most of the work, but that’s because I was so caught off guard, in shock from what happened. “I can kiss better than that, I know I can,” I mutter defiantly. I lift up Herman’s large floppy ear and talk into it. “Do you think that’s what happened?” He pulls his head away and then rests against my leg again. “A lot of help you are. Don’t you have a secret man bond with him? He calls you old man. Do you share secrets? Can you tell me any of them? I’m the one who brought you here. He might be the final say if you stay—which I hope you do—but I’m still the one who made the initial step and brought you here. Sooo . . . anything you want to divulge? I’ll give you a—”

My phone rings and I nearly leap off the couch to answer it. Maddox’s face appears on the screen and I gleefully shriek right before I answer the FaceTime call. Please don’t let this be a bad call, please don’t let this be a bad call.

I accept the call and before I even say hello, I say, “I’m a better kisser than that. Way better, like worlds better. I was just nervous and jittery, and oh my God, you kissed me.” I press my hand to my forehead and try to hold back my smile, but I can’t. “You kissed me, Maddox.”

He chuckles, the deep sound so rich on my ears that it makes me want to melt into the couch and become one with the cushion. “I know.”

“You kissed me and left.”

“I know.”

I look down at my lap and ask, “If you were here right now, would you want to kiss me again?”

“I would want to do a hell of a lot more than just kiss you, Kinsley.”

My head snaps up, and I can’t help but read into the dark sultry look of his eyes. From the angle of him, I can see that he’s shirtless, his hair is disheveled, and he’s drawing something in his sketchbook.

My teeth pull on my bottom lip as my mouth turns up in a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“So my kiss was—”

“Was a mistake on my end.” My heart sinks faster than a thirty-thousand-pound anchor. “Because I can’t kiss you again until I get back in a week.” With the hand that’s not holding the phone, but instead holding a pen, he pushes it through his thick hair and he sighs. “Fuck, I hate that I got a small taste of you and now have to be tortured from afar, knowing what it’s like to have your lips on mine but not have them for a whole week.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling stupid for having a flash of vulnerability. “So you liked the kiss?”

“A lot.”

“And you would do it again?”

“Yes,” he answers, his breathing picking up.

“And you would do more than just kiss me? You would do more things . . . like move your hands all over my body.”

“Yes,” he says, his voice growing darker.

I nod. “Would you let me touch you?”