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Chapters (48)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR ALEXA MARTIN’S PLAYBOOK SERIES
  3. Titles by Alexa Martin
  4. Dedication
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. Prologue
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-one
  28. Twenty-two
  29. Twenty-three
  30. Twenty-four
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. Thirty-four
  41. Thirty-five
  42. Thirty-six
  43. Thirty-seven
  44. Thirty-eight
  45. Epilogue
  46. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  47. About the Author
  48. What’s next onyour reading list?

As if my decision wasn’t impossible enough already, I had to go and have the best sex of my entire life with him. I’m not one to think sex means love. Not at all. But maybe in this case, it does? Nobody has ever known what my body needs the way he did. And not just my body, but he’s always one step ahead of me emotionally too.

How did I let this happen and what the hell am I going to do now?

Thirty-three

If someone would’ve told me that after my dad passed away, I wouldn’t be completely dreading my first Thanksgiving without him, I would’ve laughed in their face and asked them to share whatever they’d been smoking. Yet here I am.

Of course, there is still a gray cloud hanging over my day. A looming sadness that I don’t even try to shake. A reminder that the most important person in my life will never share this day with me again. But instead of crumbling like I thought I would, I’m standing in front of my building, soaking in the sun on this surprisingly warm November day, watching as Quinton’s sparkling blue BMW that he still insists on taking to the carwash glides into the empty parking spot in front of me.

“Happy Thanksgiving.” I climb in and he meets me in the middle for a quick kiss.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you,” he returns and glances at the clock. “I hope you weren’t waiting long, I would’ve come sooner.”

“I know you would’ve.” I buckle my seat belt and settle in as he reverses out of the spot. “My place just felt too quiet and it’s beautiful out. I figured I’d enjoy it before the weather switches up on us again.”

He forces out a laugh. “This Colorado weather is giving me whiplash. It is a nice day outside, though.”

Weather small talk? I thought we were beyond this. But as I look at the rigid lines in his shoulder and his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, it’s obvious something is off. I wrack my brain, trying to think of anything that could’ve happened to make today so awkward, but I can’t think of anything. He dropped me off at my place on Sunday morning before driving to the facility to meet the team and didn’t get back into town until early Tuesday morning. We had dinner on Tuesday, but missed each other yesterday.

“Everything okay?” Maybe he’s regretting giving his entire day over to me? We did just start seeing each other. This does feel like something a more serious couple would do. I wonder if he’s afraid he’s giving me the wrong idea?