She should just push that voice away, but it kept bugging her.
Did she even know who this Thatcher person was? He said he was an athlete and she saw some framed football jerseys on his walls in the short amount of time she was able to check out his apartment between their sessions.
And did it even matter who Thatcher really was? She knew who he was right now, which was the practically naked man sleeping next to her who promised her more to come.
It wouldn't hurt to look him up though, right? Maybe just a basic search on her phone real quick to make sure he was a normal guy or something. There wasn't any harm in that.
She grabbed her phone off of his nightstand where she had left it when she first got here. There was a text from her friend Anna about getting brunch tomorrow morning. Willow would just ignore it and explain the whole thing later. Anna would probably be happy for her too after constantly annoying Willow about enjoying being single more.
Willow pulled up the browser on her phone and started typing Thatcher's name in. The sound of the letters clicking on her phone made him stir against her and she paused for a moment as he quieted down again before turning off the noise.
Then she decided to search for something vague as if she was sabotaging this search so she couldn't find anything. Something really basic like "Thatcher athlete Chicago." Seriously, that could turn up anything.
The first thing she saw was Thatcher's face staring at her from the screen. It was a headshot and he was wearing a jersey that she recognized.
Oh fuck. He was Thatcher Kent.
The man who had taken her for all she had twice played professional football for the Chicago Stealth.
Except he didn't just play it. He was one of the stars of the team.
Willow recognized his name now. She had read it before when she checked out the Chicago Tribune's website each morning for local news. She had heard it in the cafeteria at work a few weeks ago when some guys at the next table were talking about the Stealth missing the playoffs.
"Kent was working his ass off and had no support," one of them said. "They need to pick up some pieces in the offseason to help him out."
"I hope so. That defense screwed my fantasy playoff team," another said.
Willow started scrolling down the page in her web browser, her breath speeding up with each new photo of Thatcher in his uniform or each story about Thatcher playing football.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, becoming more aware of his hand on his skin.
Don't open your eyes, she thought.Just keep them close and don't look at him.
But she couldn't listen to that voice in her head. She took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes.
Thatcher was still there. The same face that was on the screen of her phone. The face of a professional football player who picked her up at a restaurant and fucked her twice. The face of a man who made her promise she wouldn't leave and would be here when he woke up.
She was trying so hard not to freak out right now, but she was really freaking out. There was no way this man would want someone like her, especially when he found out she really was just some nerdy finance girl.
Willow couldn't keep this charade going. There was just no way. Not when she knew that Thatcher was Thatcher Kent.
She took a deep breath to calm herself down and then slipped out of that warm bed under his grasp. Thatcher moved a little, sighed, and went still again.
Willow started looking around in the dark and easily found her leggings and underwear on his floor with the light from the window.
The window? Oh crap, they did all that with the curtains wide open. Someone could've seen her. She was going to be all over gossip sites as a jock chaser or something. What was the football version of a puck bunny? How the hell did she even know what a puck bunny was when she didn't evenwatch hockey? Hell, she didn't watch football either and yet she somehow ended up here.
Willow couldn't think about that now. She had a task to do. Leggings on as quickly and quietly as possible so she wouldn't wake Thatcher. Her shirt was… somewhere. It was just one of those basic long-sleeve shirts she got cheap somewhere. She just needed to leave it behind.
But leaving it behind was a completely stupid idea in the winter in Chicago.
Then she remembered that she was wearing his hoodie. Maybe she could just return it to his doorman later and never speak of him again.
Sure, great. Good idea. Keep moving.
Willow quietly walked out to his living room where she found her socks, winter boots, and coat exactly where she had left them. They were in a messy pile right by the door because she wasn't all that concerned about dropping them wherever when Thatcher started kissing her as soon as he walked in the door.
She sat down on the floor and pulled her socks on, got her boots on without tying the laces, and grabbed her coat.
