The Game Changer

by Lana Ferguson

“You remembered my drink?” His brow arches, looking even more confused. Like I’m the silly one for thinking him remembering something as arbitrary as a disgustingly sweet drink I used to indulge in once a week over a decade ago is unfathomable. “I…yeah?” I actually feel my heart beat faster. That’s when I realize I’m in real fucking trouble.

“Well, go on,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Talk French to me.” I say it as a joke, mostly, which means I could never anticipate the way my pulse quickens when she opens her mouth, sounding every bit a native to the French tongue in my very limited experience as her soft tone shapes softer words. “Tu es mignon avec tes longs cheveux.” Jesus. My fucking dick twitches. Twitches. Because Lila Baker just said God knows what to me in French. What the hell is that about?

The man is sex on legs. Always has been, really. The years have only made him better. Ian Chase ages like Gouda, and I love me some fucking cheese.

“If they saw you now? Would it be too late?” Her lip is trembling, but her eyes…Her eyes are fucking shining. “I think…you know the answer to that too.” “I see you, Lila,” I tell her quietly. Her hand trembles in mine. “Took you long enough.”

“Let me be clear,” he says firmly. “I have been thinking about this for a lot longer than I probably should have. Fuck, since the moment you waltzed back into my life. Do you know how shocked I was that day in the studio? That the girl I cared for so much growing up turned into this gorgeous woman I suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about? Because I haven’t, Lila. I don’t know what it means, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you for weeks now. And I can’t think of a single fucking thing I want more than to know what your mouth tastes like.”

“You like that, sweet girl?” Oh wow. My imagination should be fired for never offering up that little gem.

“Mieux vaut tard que jamais,”