I’d answer him if I could. It’s a pity the roll of his hips didn’t just steal my words. It pinched my morals as well. “I doubt you can tell it’s truly effective with only three pumps. Maybe you should add a few more to the mix.”
I throw my head back and grunt when he does as requested not even two seconds later. He grinds against me, the movements of his hips anything but innocent. He knows he has me at his mercy, and if my needy moans don’t shut the hell up, so will the rest of his team.
“E, we shouldn’t,” I mutter in a breathless moan when his lips arrow toward mine. “I don’t want to break the rules.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have called me ‘E.’”
He’s right. I’d lie on a bed of nails if it guaranteed our kiss would occur. Thankfully, Elvis doesn’t require that level of commitment for his mouth to continue its expedition to mine. He lowers them slowly, his pace as tempting and as devilish as the half-smirk he’s wearing. I’m so caught up in memorizing how delicious his mouth tastes, I don’t realize we have company until it is too late.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I was looking for the washroom.”
A blonde lady quickly retreats, but she’s not quick enough for me not to put a face to her designer pants, unruffled hair, and the tension her voice caused to Elvis. He stiffened even faster than he did when I landed on top of him with a bang. Fortunately, none of the stiffness was to his lower regions. This must be Lillian.
“It’s okay. There’s a washroom in the far right corner.” I point in the direction I’m referencing. I doubt the tiny facilities will be up to her standards, but when it’s the only bathroom that guarantees a lowered lid, you take what you can get.
When she heads for the washroom, I stand to my feet. “I’ll send a message to your weight trainer on my way home.”
“Will—”
“It’s okay,” I assure Elvis, more than eager not to be stuck between two battling powerhouses. “This gives me the opportunity to get a head start on practice tomorrow.”
More than a niggle in his back echoes in his voice when he mutters, “I don’t want to talk to her.”
“Then tell her that.” I squeeze his hand in support before snagging my backpack from behind my desk and ambling toward the locker room.
I’m barely halfway across the room when Elvis shouts, “Wait up! I’ll give you a ride.”
When he stops at my side, I raise my eyes to his. “Running from your problems won’t solve anything.”
“Who said I’m running from trouble?” He slings his arm around my shoulder and tugs me into his side. “Maybe I’m striving to tackle the storm head on this time around. Wasn’t it you who said I should be able to both give and receive tackles? Figured I should give it a shot.”
“I was talking out of my ass, but I guess when you’re a guy who does nothing but dribble shit all day, that’s the equivalent of liquid gold.”
Elvis laughs. It is such a beautiful thing to hear when my stomach is twisted up in a tight, jealous ball. I thought I had a handle on my neurosis. I took Skylar’s numerous proclamations that she’s moments away from bedding the “King of Quarterbacks” like a champ, and I didn’t even ruffle a feather when a group of female fans wanted Elvis to sign more than a jersey at the end of his game, but this, I’m struggling with this. Danny has mentioned a Lillian a handful of times the past six weeks, but Elvis quickly shut his comments down.
It doesn’t take a genius to realize Elvis and Lillian have a past; I’m just unsure how deep their ties run. Skylar and Elvis’s many fans can dream of being with him, but the chances of their wishes coming true are basically non-existent. Lillian doesn’t have to clutch at the same skerrick of hope as them. I’m confident she’s already had her wish granted, and I’m even more confident her resurrection in Elvis’s life at this very moment isn’t a coincidence. The hype around him at the moment is mammoth; so much so, I really hope he doesn’t see my attention as mooching. I almost kissed him because I like him, not because of what he could bring to my life.
“I’m going to catch a cab. It’s late, and I don’t want you going out of your way to take me home.”
Elvis’s words trap in his throat when I briefly press my lips to his mouth before making a beeline for an idling taxi. The drivers always hang out at this entrance of the stadium with the hope of driving one of the idols home. My driver’s face lights up like a Christmas tree when he notices me approaching. His excitement doesn’t linger for long when I slide into the back seat before slamming the door shut, leaving his preferred passenger at the private entrance of the stadium looking as dumbfounded as I feel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Presley
Iwait until Willow’s taxi blurs into a sea of many before kicking the steel trash can in front of me. The high of a win is being quickly overshadowed by a low, and I can’t even blame the woman evading me for the drop of my mood. It’s the one I’m trying to avoid like the plague. The one watching me right now like a hawk, hiding in the shadows like she never would during our relationship. She always wanted to be the center of attention, at the front of every campaign. My victories were her victories, no matter what they were.
“What do you want, Lillian? Is the penthouse getting too dated for you and you’re in need of an upgrade? Or has that hideous pink Barbie doll car you drive around gotten too many miles on the odometer?”
I hear Lillian swallow before she steps out of the shadows. She doesn’t speak a word, but I don’t need to hear them to know what they are. She’s about to run with the same excuse she used on me earlier tonight. The ones where she pledged she can’t live without me, and that she’s never stopped loving me.
She stops wordlessly pleading with me when I swipe my hand through the air. “As I said earlier, I know why you’re here, and I’ve learned from my mistakes. We’re not going down that road again, Lillian. I’ve moved on. It’s time for you to do the same.” I try to hold in the rest of my scorn, but Willow’s eagerness to leave me stranded on the sidewalk weakens my campaign. “Oh, that’s right—too late. You moved on months before me.” My brows furrow. “Or was it years? I can’t remember all the details.”
“Everything I did was to help you and your career.”
Over her using the same pathetic excuses, I curse into the cool night air before pushing off my feet. I’ve got as much knowledge of these streets as a taxi driver but more enthusiasm than one hoping to fleece a student of money she doesn’t have by taking her the long way home.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” I can’t see Lillian, but I’m certain she’s pointing in the direction Willow’s taxi just went.
