Page 47 of Her Game Plan

I have to get out of this pickup, or I’m going to jump the man’s bones. I don’t know if he’s ever pulled the vehicle in this slowly. I swear seven years have passed since we turned onto the driveway. I need to—

The pickup stops, and I’ve got my door open before Callan even shifts it into park. I cannot be responsible for my actions if I’m near him any longer.

“Thanks for the ride!” I call as he slowly climbs out of his seat.

“Not a problem,” he replies. I swear my hormones must be fucking with my hearing because I’ve never heard his voice sound as sinful.

Oh my God. I’ve got to get out of here before I beg him to help me relieve the ache building in my core, making my clit throb with need.

“Charlotte, are you—”

“Night, Callan!” I yell to stop the conversation. It’s a high-pitched squeak that probably has all the mice in the area unsuccessfully trying to answer the call of their brethren.

I’m practically sprinting as I make my way to my room and start rummaging through my half-unpacked boxes. Having refrained from masturbating the entire time I’ve been here, I haven’t gotten around to unpacking my favorite toy. But tonight, that all ends. Holy fuck. The combination of alcohol and Callan is wrecking any self-control I have, and even I can admit I’m not starting at the world’s highest level.

Callan is moving around in the kitchen, probably getting a glass of water for bed like he does every night. Hydration is important. I cannot find the right box, and all I can hear is that Callan is still awake. That he’s still— There it is! I grab the handle of the deep-purple dildo and let out an audible sigh.

It’s all going to be okay.

I quickly shuck my clothes off, throwing them into a pile on the floor. The bed has never looked cozier. I slip into my blue chemise, groaning as the soft fabric flows over my peaked nipples. It’s like I’m about to combust.

Callan is still making noises in the kitchen, so while I’ll have to be quiet, there’s no possible way I can wait. Relief is almost more necessary than oxygen at this point.

I slip my finger between my legs, using the moisture already there to coat myself. Moving slowly, I start to ease the ache that’s been building since the day I moved in with my fake boyfriend.

Chapter 19

Callan

“Oh, yes.”

I pause outside Charlotte’s door on my way to my bedroom. After that fucking conversation in the car when I not only learned that Charlotte is horny, but that she sleeps in a nightie that almost made my mouth water at the thought of it, I made the responsible choice to stay as far away from her as possible. I responded to a few messages from my agent. I reviewed a contract agreement for a sponsorship deal. I presumed emails and a fucking contract would be boring enough to make my dick give it a rest.

It was not.

And now, I’m standing outside of her door, my dick begging to go join her as she clearly gets herself off with some kind of toy. I shouldn’t be listening to the sweet moans she makes, barely audible over the buzz of a vibrator. Shouldn’t be imagining fucking her with a sparkly pink dildo. Shit. I would give anything to be in there right now.

Instead, I listen. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I lean closer, all the while trying to convince myself that I should leave. That I shouldn’t be doing this. But a rock forms in my stomach as I think about the fact that I’ve never seen her like this. That there are men in the world—hell, other athletes in this fucking city—who have gotten to be with Charlotte, and I haven’t. Jealousy threatens to overwhelm my judgment, but I fist my hands, pulling myself under control.

“Ugh.” Her frustration comes through the door like a beacon, calling me in. “This is why I like doing this with other people,” Charlotte mutters.

If I hadn’t had my ear practically pressed against her door, I wouldn’t have heard it, but now that I have? I can’t help the smile that splits my face. I can help. Just help. I can be other people. Especially since she cannot have other people.

Even though I know it’s an invasion of privacy, I quietly open the door, promising myself that I won’t take anything from her. That I will simply give her what she needs. I stop at the sight in front of me.

Charlotte is on the bed, the light from the window enough to make out the scene in front of me. Her comforter covers her waist as she lifts her hips, the toy she’s using on herself out of view. Her hair is fanned out across her pillow as her—fuck, the blue chemise I haven’t been able to stop envisioning since she mentioned it in the car—pools below her breasts.

“Callan?” she gasps, her eyes going wide as I shut the door behind me.

I swallow hard. I didn’t think this through. It’s so inappropriate to walk in on someone when you know they’re masturbating. But also, fuck. There is nowhere else I’d rather be. And her face… it looks far more interested than it does alarmed or scandalized.

“Need a hand?”

The faint buzzing continues, though Charlotte is completely still as her eyes search my face. I can see a million words try to make their way out of her mouth, but she simply says, “Yes.”

“Thank God.” I climb onto the bed next to her, noting that she sleeps on the opposite side of the bed from me. It makes me unreasonably happy. Not that I’ve ever been in a relationship before that required us to designate sides of the bed—they’ve always been more fall into sex comas wherever you finish kind of couplings—but the fact that neither of us would have to change seems like a good fucking omen.

I spread out on my side, my head propped on my left hand as I reach out and gently stroke the skin on her exposed shoulder. “What do you need?”