He glanced over at her profile. No makeup. He loved it. “What about guy friends?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, they care more about my knowledge of hockey facts, I guess. It was easier in my twenties, when I could hang out at a pub on a Saturday with a bunch of guy friends. But the older we all got, the more they started to drop off. Get married. They sort of quit coming out for all-day sports benders, you know?”

He did know. She was all alone.

Just like him.

Well, not just like him. To be fair, she had a point about it being easier for him than her to hang with the guys.

He could see all too well why her pool of guy friends had dried up. Penelope wouldn’t have thought of herself as a threat to all those wives and girlfriends, but there was something appealing about a woman you could be yourself with; someone who wouldn’t tune you out when you talked about RBIs and penalty flags. He was betting all of her guy friends’ significant others had known it.

Cole knew Penelope thought that her “one of the guys” vibe detracted from her appeal but she was dead wrong on that. He didn’t know a single other woman in his acquaintance who’d be so satisfied—so thrilled—to be spending Sunday in front of a potential double no-hitter.

It was pretty fantastic.

As though determined to prove his point, Penelope glanced over at him during the next commercial. “I was going to order pizza tonight. You wanna stay for dinner?”

Say no. Don’t intrude on her privacy. Don’t get too used to this.

“Sure,” he said, keeping his voice easy.

She reached for her cell on the table. “What do you like?”

“Whatever you’re getting is fine.”

“I’m boring. Pepperoni and olives?”

“Perfect,” he said.

The double no-hitter came to an end two innings later, but their disappointment was tempered by the fact that the pizza arrived at the exact same time.

Cole paid for the pizza as Penelope fetched them more beers.

“Switch to the Yankees?” she asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said.

“It’s going to be a wipeout,” she said, reaching into the box and pulling out a slice. She took an enormous bite as she dug around in the couch cushions for the remote.

“Those are the best kind,” he said.

Penelope had a string of cheese on her chin, and he wiped at it with his napkin and she grunted a thank-you before holding up the remote in triumph.

It wasn’t a sexy moment. Not in the least romantic, her happily chewing pizza while she found his sports team on TV.

I could do this, he thought. I could do this every damn day.

She glanced over, pausing in her chewing as she saw the look on his face. “What’s wrong? You’re not going to tell me now that you don’t like olives, are you?”

He shook his head, reaching into the box for a slice of pizza as he tried to clear his head.

This was just comfortable, that was all. And a little bit unusual. That didn’t mean that it was special.

That was a path he didn’t even want to explore.

The next couple of hours passed in a contented blur, as they shared the pizza, drank beer, and alternated between arguing about close calls and agreeing that the home-plate ump had a definite bias against inside fastballs.

As the ninth inning approached (Penelope had been right, a total wipeout, with the Yankees up 7–1), Cole realized that it was perhaps the most enjoyable sports-watching experience he’d had in years.

And almost immediately on the heels of this realization was a stab of disappointment that it was already over. It was one thing for two sports editors to watch a game together, but what happened after the game was over?

He couldn’t stay. They weren’t dating. Weren’t sleeping together.

And judging from the way Penelope was eating yet another piece of pizza, he highly doubted that she was planning or anticipating a seduction.

Not that he was thinking that either, it was just…

He watched as she tugged a piece of pepperoni off the slice and ate it in little nibbles. It was both weird and cute.

He wanted her.

Don’t do it, Sharpe.

He did it.

He sat up and quietly plucked her beer and pizza out of her hand, setting them both on the coffee table.

She looked at him in surprise at the same moment his thumb and forefinger found her chin and tilted her face to his.

And then he kissed her.

Chapter 15

Penelope hadn’t seen the kiss coming. She’d been more focused, on, well…pizza. And baseball.

Had she been a little hyperaware of Cole?

Maybe.

Okay, fine, yes, of course she’d been hyperaware of him.

The man smelled like man in the best way possible. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the slightest edge of vulnerability on his face when she’d opened the door. He hadn’t been himself, and the fact that he’d come to her meant more than she wanted to admit.

But she’d been doing a damn good job of keeping things casual. Of not letting him become more important to her than he already was. Those walls he’d referred to—they were firmly in place.

Right up until the moment his lips landed on hers.

Now those walls were crumbling fast.

Cole’s tongue swiped across her bottom lip and she moaned.

Except…

Her hands found his shoulders, ready to push him back.

“Kiss me back,” he said against her mouth. “Kiss me back, Penelope. Please.”

It was the desperation in his voice that did her in. There was a need there, beneath all Cole’s sexy confidence, that she couldn’t say no to.

She inched forward on the couch, placing her lips against his and kissing him softly. His groan sent an odd little thrill through her. She tried it again, letting her lips tangle with his, her hand inching up to cup his cheek.

He let her control the kiss, his hand moving over her back in soothing motions as she learned his taste. Learned the scratch of his stubble against her lips. Learned the way his big hands made her feel even smaller than usual as they ran over her back and hips in long, lingering strokes.

The kiss grew ever more urgent, and she felt gentle pressure as Cole tried to coax her onto his lap.

Penelope’s newfound confidence evaporated instantly, and she pulled back.

His eyes were dark with arousal as he lifted his eyebrows in question.

She pressed her lips together. They tingled. In a good way.

“You should know…I’m not very good at this,” she said. You’re going to be disappointed.

He smiled and ran a finger over her lower lip. “Don’t worry. Because I’m very good at this.”

And then he proved it, wrapping his hands around her hips and easily lifting her on top of him so that she was straddling him on the couch.

“Oh,” she said softly.

He smiled wickedly, wrapped his hand around the back of her head, and pulled her face down to his, his tongue sliding against hers in one hot, delicious stroke.

Yes. Yes, he was good at this.

If their earlier kisses had made her hot, this kiss set her on fire. His lips and tongue were everywhere. His hands touching every part of her that he could reach.

His hands cupped her butt, tugging her firmly against his erection and rocking upward. She moaned, her hips moving of their own accord now as she ground against him.

It was good, but not enough. Not nearly enough. There were still layers separating them, and Penelope had never hated clothes as much as she did in that moment.

As though reading her mind, Cole’s hands slid up under her shirt, his palms touching the bare skin of her back for the first time, and that simple, skin-to-skin contact made a moan escape her lips.