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I can tell the second she’s coming, the contractions strangling my fingers the way I wish they were squeezing my cock. Fuck, I miss sex. I went through a self-pity spiral after everything went down in Seattle, but I haven’t been with a woman since I got to Germany. Not only because of Shawn’s rules or fear that history will repeat itself somehow, but also because I’m trying to be different. Be better.
Aside from the muffled blare of a horn, Sophia’s heavy breathing is the only sound in the room. I pull my hand free from the boxer’s band, sucking on the two fingers I just had inside of her. Sweet and a little salty. It sort of makes me wish I had offered my tongue.
She moves beside me, tugging the sheets up higher and flopping one hand above her head. “I can’t believe you did that.” Her tone is breathless and a little bit awed, and fuck if I don’t find it immensely satisfying. That’d better have been the best she’s ever had.
“You’re welcome,” I say, acting like it was no big deal. Because it shouldn’t be. I’ve gone further with strangers on a club dance floor. I just…touched her. Basically the same as holding her hand or something.
The same as holding her hand? I’m an idiot.
I scowl at the darkness, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut and my hands to myself.
“I’m grabbing some water,” I say. “Do you want anything?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
I roll out of bed, padding into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. I chug most of it, then head into the bathroom to take a piss, which is hard as fuck to do while I’m…well, hard as fuck. I think of depressing shit—my career is over; my apartment is empty with an ugly wall—in an attempt to get rid of my erection. It sort of works. At least it’s dark enough that Sophia can’t tell as I return to bed.
She says nothing until I’m lying back down beside her.
“Is it weird? Or do you always go get water after?”
I chuckle at the emphasis. “It’s not weird. Go to sleep now that you’ve gotten your sleep, uh, aid.”
Sophia scoffs. Then asks, “What about you?”
“I’m good.”
If she touches me, I’ll end up fucking her. And I absolutely cannot fuck her. That would not be crossing the line; that would be obliterating it. Had I known who Cassandra Owens was that night, I never would have touched her. I know who Sophia Beck is, and I still touched her. I’ve already done a fantastic job of intentionally blowing up my soccer career. If the rest gets destroyed, it won’t be from self-sabotage.
“That’s a first,” she tells me.
I scowl into the darkness, thoroughly ticked off at the thought of Sophia sucking some faceless guy’s dick. Whoever he was—or will be—he’s not good enough for her.
“Night, Sophia.”
I roll over, punch the pillow, and try to fall asleep. At some point, I actually do.
FOURTEEN
WILL
Ihave to hide my shock when Sophia pulls up outside my apartment building in a sleek black coupe. The rearing horse insignia on the hood is impossible to miss.
It says a lot about how attracted I am to Sophia that I don’t immediately focus on the sleek interior of the expensive car when I climb inside.
She’s wearing a cropped tank top and a pair of high-waisted shorts today, her long blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail. The silky strands slide across her shoulder as she leans over to tap something on the massive screen that takes up most of the dashboard.
I imagine touching her hair. Tangling my fingers in those silky strands. Tugging.
She’s Adler Beck’s sister, I remind myself. Fucking ridiculous how many times I’ve had to tell myself that. Around the same number of times I’ve jerked off to thoughts of her coming on my fingers in my bed.
“Nice ride,” I say, banning all images of her riding me from my mind.
“Well, it’s no motorcycle,” she replies, shifting back into drive.
“You got a thing for Ferraris?”
“Not really. It was a gift.”
