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“Good. I’m glad.”
“Do you regret it? It cost you Tobias and Xander, and I know how close you were. I’ve never stopped feeling guilty for that.”
“I miss them sometimes. Still feel it when I play against them and see them on the sidelines. But even if I had another chance, I’d still make a lot of the same choices. Don’t feel guilty.” His hands coast their way down my back, massaging slowly along my spine. When he gets to the base of it, he spreads them out, curving around my hips and then down onto my thighs.
“Hard not to.”
“For then or now?” The question hangs heavy between us. I should feel guilty. Would absolutely if A.J. and I were a realthing. His hands curl over the insides of my thighs and then make their way up along the inseam. I grab his wrists at the last possible moment and pause the motion.
“Both.” I close my eyes and run my teeth over the inside of my cheek before I speak. “I should go home.” Even though I don’t want to.
He’s quiet for a moment but his hands retreat, freeing me to stand, so I do. I grab my phone where it’s fallen to the carpet and start to walk away. I can’t look at him right now. I’ll cave if I do.
“That gnawing ache won’t go away on its own,” he calls after me.
“Luckily I’m good at taking care of myself.”
“My hands or yours, it’s still me you’re thinking of.”
“Good thing you’re not the least bit vain.”
“Not vain to know what’s mine.” I stop at the door and turn to look back at him, and he’s closed the distance between us.
“I’m not yours.” I straighten my shoulders and glare at him now that I can see he’s worked his magic.
“Not yet. But the way you come tonight—that’s mine.”
“You wish.” I hurry out the door and into the hallway, making my way to the elevator. Because honestly—I wish. I want. Ineed.And this torture by my sexy, gorgeous, football-playing, smart-mouthed ex is going to kill me. Or wear out my favorite toy. One or the other.
“Goodnight, Madison,” he yells down the hall, laughing to himself as he closes the door.
When I get homethat night, I practically make a beeline for my vibrator. I need something to take the edge off because the more time I spend around him the more time I can only think about Quentin fucking me. Him lifting me off the ground,pressing me against a wall, and slamming into me until I come, screaming preferably.
Except I absolutely, one hundred percent, cannot let that happen. So I have to settle for a poor imitation. Not that my vibrator doesn’t do the job. But he’s missing so many of the things I like about Quentin. And Quentin is right. It’s him I’m going to be thinking of tonight.
I’m just starting to feel the building swell of my orgasm when my phone rings loudly. I could fucking scream. Can’t a girl get off in peace? I look over, and it’s him.
I hesitate to answer it. I have no idea what he could want right now, and some discussion about the list or what he needs to get done is going to take me straight out of the mood. Then again hearing his deep husky voice on the line might be the little push I need. I turn the vibrator off, and hit the answer button, putting it on speaker.
“Yes?”
“Not even a hello?”
“What do you need, Quentin?”
“You didn’t tell me what I need to wear tomorrow. My tux is at the dry cleaner.”
“You don’t need a tux. A good suit will do.” Fuck. I haven’t seen him in a suit yet. At least not outside the photographs I’ve found online. That’s going to kick my crush on him up another notch.
“I’ve got a few. I’m not sure which one you’d consider good.”
“I’ll come early, and we can pick one out together, okay?”
“Okay. I have OTAs again tomorrow though.”
“I know.”
“You sound like you’re in a rush.”
