Page 26 of Playing It Forward

“I’d never narc on you!”

Nolan smiles at me. “This island is fun.”

His words set me off. Fun? All we are to him is a bit of entertainment. Nothing serious.

“You aren’t a pirate prick. You’re the leader of the pirate pricks.”

“I am the quarterback.”

The quarterback? As if being the quarterback gives him the right to mess with people’s feelings. I stomp toward him and poke him in the shoulder. He flinches.

“You— Hold on. Did you flinch?”

He motions to the treatment room. “Why do you think I was visiting Hazel?”

“To flirt with her.”

He grunts. “I wish.”

My brow wrinkles. “You wish? You aren’t making any sense.”

He nudges me toward an alcove. “I prefer not to talk about this in the open.”

“Talk about what?” I groan. “Oh god. Please don’t tell me you’re seeing a physical therapist for some weird side effect of an STD.”

He rears back. “What kind of weird side effect?”

I throw my arms in the air. “I don’t know. You’re the one with an STD.”

“I don’t have an STD. I have a fucked up shoulder.”

“A fucked up shoulder? But you’re the quarterback. You need your shoulder.”

He purses his lips. “I’m painfully aware.”

“And you lifted me up and pressed me…” I trail off. I don’t need to give him a step-by-step reminder of what happened in the closet. He was there. “Did what we did aggravate your injury? Sweet suffering seahorses. Did I hurt you?”

I gulp. He’s not the selfish one. I am. Here I’ve been yelling at him for only thinking about himself when I’m the one who’s only concerned with myself.

He grasps my hands and I let him. It feels too good to have his skin touching mine again to pull away.

“You didn’t hurt me. Trust me. I was feeling no pain in the closet. Only pleasure. Unbelievable pleasure. Pleasure I’ve never experienced before.”

I gasp. Is he serious?

“Why do you think I’ve been trailing after you like a lost puppy? I want what only you can give me.”

My mouth gapes open, but I manage to ask, “What only I can give you?”

“Relief from worrying about this injury. A break from the stress of being the quarterback on a team determined to win the Super Bowl this season.”

My brow wrinkles. “I’m a distraction?”

He drops my hands to cup my chin. “No. You’re the bright star in an otherwise bleak life.”

“Bleak life? Your life isn’t bleak.”

“My shoulder’s injured, and I’m a quarterback.” He shrugs.