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“Thanks.” I tip the drink back and swallow down a long pull, deliriously wondering what a kiss from her would taste like. Sweet, probably. Like wicked, indulgent sin, too. “This one is strong, though. If you want more, just drink slowly.”
“Looking out for me?” Maven teases, and color creeps up my cheeks. “Who’s looking out for you? I’m not sure you showing up to the field hungover is the best life decision you’ve ever made.”
“I’ve done far worse shit in my playing career than have a couple of glasses of alcohol two nights before a game.”
“Is that so? How about I pour myself a drink and we can play a game of Truth or Truth?” she asks, and I’m warm all over.
I give her a casual shrug. “Okay. But only if you go first.”
“Deal.”
She grins and hurries to the cabinet. I watch her stand on her toes and try to reach a glass on the top shelf. Her shirt rides up. The cotton inches higher and higher up her spine, and I get a peek of skin that does more damage to my mental capacity than I care to admit.
When she turns her head and smiles at me over her shoulder with twinkling eyes, I think I go weak in the knees.
“Struggling there, sunshine?” I ask.
“Sunshine?”
“If you’re going to call me lone star, I need a nickname for you.”
“What made you settle on that one?”
“I don’t know.” I gesture to her hair then up and down her legs. “The blonde. The happiness. Just… all of you.”
“I don’t hate it.” She dips her chin and bites her bottom lip. “Could you help me, tall and great football player?”
“Yes ma’am.” I walk across the room and position myself behind her. My arm brushes against her cheek as I lean forward and easily grab an empty glass for her to use. “Didn’t realize you were so short, half pint,” I say in her ear, and her hair tickles my nose.
“It’s a good thing I have you.” She takes a step backward to give me room and ends up with her back pressed against my chest. “To reach everything I need.”
“And what do I get?” I ask, and she spins around to face me.
“What do you want?”
You.
It hits me like a bolt of lightning, and it’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to think of her as something more than a friend. As something that’s not platonic, that’s not my nanny or coworker, and I can’t remember what it was like when I considered her something less.
It was silly to ever think I stood a chance against how goddamn perfect she is.
It’s dangerous, this territory I’ve edged myself toward. Everything is hazy and fuzzy here, and every warning I’ve been listening to that says I need to stay away seems to disappear.
When she tips her head back and our gazes lock, that twinkle in her eye is gone. There’s only heat now, and I know I should walk away. I know I should pull back and put some distance between us. I know I should find some space to clear my head.
But I don’t want to, so I linger longer than I should.
I sink into thoughts of all the ways I’d have her.
How I’d fuck her, how I’d kiss her, how I’d admit how often she’s on my mind. What she’d look like naked in my bed andwhat she sounds like when she comes. How I could get her to say my name—a prayer, a fucking plea as she begged me for more.
I haven’t been with a woman in years. My inspiration when I’ve jerked off has become nondescript; some combination of people I’ve seen. A vague outline of someone with generic features. Now, though, there’s a crystal-clear picture in my head.
Her.
Every-fucking-where.
Her legs spread wide and a thigh hooked over my shoulder as I drive into her, again and again. The bounce of her tits and the pleased curve of her smile as she tells meperfect. Right there. Don’t stop.
