Page 40 of Unforgettable Player

“He wasn’t,” Connor agrees. “I was just being oversensitive because of everything that happened at Harvard.” He sighs. “Even before the academic probation thing and getting dropped by Colorado, I was buried in the fourth line most of the time. I blamed the coach for not liking me or some shit, but it was me. I wasn’t good enough. I just couldn’t face it at the time.” He squares his shoulders, looking at me finally. “But I pivoted. That's one thing I am good at. I’m not gonna sit around and cry over missed opportunities.”

“Connor …” My voice is small. I don’t know what I’m going to say. He’s watching me, waiting. “You don’t always have to … pivot. I mean …” I fiddle with the corner of a cushion. “I failed a class last semester. Scout says I should just drop it, but I can’t. I know I can pass. I just have to try harder.”

Connor swallows so loudly I can hear it. “I was kind of surprised you failed a class. What’s going on, Eli?”

My eyes are trained on the cushion as my face gets hot. “It’s Ancient Philosophy.”

Before I can explain, Connor says, “Your mom’s field.”

I nod, head down. “I can’t stop thinking about the fact I can’t ever talk to her about that stuff again….”

A lump forms in my throat and I push it down.

“Elliot, you’re allowed to cry.”

I shake my head. “I’ve cried enough.”

Connor sighs, moving close enough to put his arm around me. I stiffen at first, telling myself I shouldn’t allow him to get too close. The kiss was wrong. We shouldn’t repeat it. But his smell is overwhelming and the comfort it brings far too tempting to resist. I let myself melt against his wide chest as his arms come around me, bundling me up, making me all warm and safe.

“It’s okay,” he says, rubbing my back.

“How did we end up with you comforting me?”

When he laughs, the sound rumbles through his chest. I haven’t been comforted by a man like this since before my dad checked out.

“I’m tired,” I say, thinking about the effort it takes to worry about my dad, pass my classes, and miss my mom.

“I know.” When he says I know, I believe him. Truly believe him. His heart is beating loudly against my cheek. It forces heat to rush through me. Makes my eyelids flutter with pleasure.

I pull away enough to look up at him. His fingertips brush my cheek as he cups my face. I lean into his touch and rub my face against his huge palm, feeling the calluses on his fingertips and across the crease where he grips his hockey stick.

I turn my face enough to brush my lips across his hand and he sighs. He’s staring at me like he’s scared.

I open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but he cuts me off by pressing his lips against mine.

The relief of his kiss is overwhelming. It makes me forget everything else, just for a moment. When he’s kissing me like this, the only thing that exists is his mouth and his scent.

He pulls me into his lap, his arms wrapping around me so tightly that his hands are in my hair. We breathe into each other’s mouths as we kiss, hard and rough.

I rock against him, feeling his cock hardening through his pants as he grinds his hips up to meet mine. I whimper into his mouth when he brings his hands around and under my shirt. His warm, callused palms spread across my stomach and chest. I pull away from the kiss enough to look at him and am treated to the sight of his eyelids fluttering as I rut against him. He slides his hands down to my waist and grips me tightly.

I’m wearing a stupid, oversize Blondie t-shirt and ratty sleep shorts, but he’s looking at me like I just stepped out of an underwear ad. When he dips his mouth to my neck and starts lavishing open-mouthed kisses on me, I have to bite my lip to hold in a moan.

I drape my arms over his shoulders and tilt my head back, sighing as his lips arouse every erogenous zone that exists on the neck.

“Fuck,” his voice is muffled against my skin, making it sound even sexier.

When he slips his hands into the back of my shorts and grabs my ass, I almost lose it. I tangle my fingers in his hair and hold on tight, fully prepared to come in my shorts. Every scrap of logic and decency evaporated the second Connor put his mouth on me.

But before I can lose it, he comes up for air, brushing my hair off my face.

He presses his forehead to mine before scooting to the edge of the couch with me still in his lap. I’m clinging on like a koala, unwilling to let go. I bury my face in his neck and cling to him.

After sliding us to the edge of the couch, he groans and tightens his grip before loosening it. He’s pushing me off him, depositing me on the couch. But before I can complain, he’s sliding down to the floor between my legs and lifting my shirt up so he can get better access to my chest.

“Connor.”

“Shh.”