Page 36 of Hating On Riot

I shrug. “You love my Riot speak.”

“I do.” She peers at me through her long lashes from beneath the baseball cap.

This girl of mine needs more Vitamin D. She needs the sun to shine on her beautiful face. But I understand how intense the sun can be. I sweat, practice, and play hard in the unforgiving sun, and it’s stayed hotter longer this year than in past years.

By this time in September, the weather should be cooling, but it’s not.

Holding onto Arie, halfway out of the huge-ass field, I look her up and down. The previous water girl was let go for distracting the team with her skimpy shorts and tight T-shirts. Arie is modestly dressed in a loose, long-sleeve royal blue shirt that brings out the blue in her blue-black hair, khaki pants that ride up to show off her dainty ankles, one of which wears what she calls an anklet, and worn-out sneakers.

I furrow my brow. Why are the heels of her sneakers duct-taped?

“I liked riding in together too,” I admit, out of breath from her nearness rather than from carrying her.

We rode in together—no point taking two cars when our schedules were the same, and practice was afterward—and boy, it was nice to stop by the coffee stand together and get my favorite person her addiction of choice: a raspberry mocha with whipped cream, and a pastry that got me rock hard watching her sink her teeth into the cream-filled chocolate doughnut. Then we chatted about her classes, how she slept, and how nervous she was about her first day as the rugby team’s new water girl.

“I’m glad.” Her breath flutters over my skin like butterfly wings.

Or she’s fluttering her long lashes on the head of my cock before she takes my length and girth in her mouth. The mental image of her dark head of hair between my legs and her small hand fisting my boner as her head bobs up and down is so clear, I stumble over my feet.

Damn it. Being perpetually hard is messing with my A-game and my gait.

She tightens her grip around my neck. I catch myself before I do serious damage to us with a crash onto the ground. Her fingers toy with the strands curling at my nape. A groan starts in my chest and crawls up my throat. I clear my throat and tamp down the urge to clamp my mouth over hers. Now is not the time to kiss her like there’s no tomorrow. I aim to keep my word. I repeat the words in my head until my cock softens.

We exit the field. Thank fuck. I had half a mind to get in a quickie with Arie in the locker room, but what I’d do to her wouldn’t be quick. I’d worship her body and those amazing curves until she begged me to ease the ache in her core.

I jog us past the tennis courts and to my truck.

Halfway there, I reposition her so she’s holding on to me with her arms around my neck and her legs wrapped around my waist, like a koala. Her breasts press full-on against my chest. Her core is hot at the spot above the waistband of my mesh shorts. Her shallow breathing causes her chest to press then move away from mine in this enticing rhythm that engorges my cock.

Dizzy from blood rushing from my brain to my boner again, I hurriedly unlock the door, set her on the bench seat, then step back and cage her in with my body, bracing one hand on the top of the door.

“You good?” I ask, my voice sounding breathless to me.

“Are you?” She brazenly dips her head toward my erection, a thick outline beneath my shorts.

I let out a long sigh. “I’ve gotta be.” I jerk my chin toward my boner. “This is what you do to me, Arie. I’ve jacked off countless times since you moved in, and it’s only been three freaking days.” I throw my hands in the air.

She shakes her head, defeat in her eyes. “I don’t do it on purpose.” She stares at my chest.

I nudge her gaze up with my knuckle under her chin. “I know. That’s why you’re different from the other girls.” The ones who bait me with barely-there clothing, a teasing lilt in their voices, and come-hither looks.

How do I know girls can do what they do with their eyes to drive a guy crazy with desire? Again, from reading my mother’s romance novels.

“How about we grab an early dinner, rest up by watching funny reels on my phone, and then practice evasive maneuvers before sunset?”

She looks at me as if I’ve sprouted extra arms.

“You came up with that on your own? I don’t have to think at all?”

I must look confused.

She waves her hand. “It’s just that Coop always wants me to tell him what we should do.”

I smile wide.

Score one for me. Zero for Cooper.

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