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“Anytime.”
I jerk my head into a nod before slipping unsteadily from the car. It’s only when I slam the door closed that I’m able to draw in a breath and rush toward the building. It takes everything I have inside not to throw a glance over my shoulder. Even though I resist the urge, I know he’s there, watching me. I can practically feel the heat of his stare burning holes into my flesh.
It's only when the elevator doors close that my knees weaken, and I almost collapse against the wall. For just a sliver of a moment, it had felt as if Crosby might kiss me.
And even more damning than that?
I’d wanted it.
A gurgle of disbelief bubbles up in my throat as I squeeze my eyes tightly closed. What I need is to make more of an effort to stay as far from the dark-haired football player as I can get.
Otherwise…
I’m afraid to think about what could happen.
15
BROOKE
I slam the bedroom door closed before slipping my phone from the bag and setting it on my desk. I’ve been looking forward to calling Chris and talking with him all day. After what almost happened with Crosby, it now feels more important than ever. I drop to the bed before hitting his contact info. A moment later, his phone rings. On the third one, he picks up, his deep voice coming over the line.
“Hey, beautiful.”
Everything inside me loosens as I push Crosby from my brain and focus on Chris. It’s not like I’m messed up or am confused about them. Chris is the guy I’m interested in. So what if I’m physically attracted to someone else?
It doesn’t mean anything.
“Hi. I missed talking with you.”
“Yeah, me too,” he says as a car door slams. “Today’s been busy.”
A huff of breath escapes as I fall onto my back and stare at the ceiling. “Is this a bad time?”
“Nope. I’m just getting home.”
Relief floods through me. This is exactly what I’ve looked forward to all day. Just hearing his deep voice is enough to settle me.
For the next hour or so, we delve more into our pasts and what we hope will happen in the future. We debate our favorite movies—he’s all about Marvel and I prefer Harry Potter— along with our favorite alt rock music—he’s into Royal Blood and I like Billie Eilish.
“You’re so easy to talk to,” I finally sigh. Other than Sasha, there’s no one else I’ve ever shared so much of myself with. “I feel like we could hang on the phone for hours.”
“I think we have,” he says with a chuckle.
A smile curves my lips. He’s right. Our longest marathon session lasted four hours.
It’s kind of surprising that we never run out of stuff to say. At least, we haven’t yet.
I squeeze my eyes tight and force the question from my lips. “Do you ever think about me during the day?” It feels like I obsess about him all the time. It’s only been a few weeks and already I’m in deep. It’s like quicksand. If he doesn’t feel the same, then I need to find a way to pump the brakes.
“All the damn time,” he says, voice dipping and turning rough.
Relief rushes through me. “I think about you a lot, too.”
“Oh, yeah? What exactly goes through your brain when I pop into it?”
My teeth sink into my lower lip before I admit, “Just that I want to see you. Reach out and touch you.” I should stop now before revealing too much, but the words escape before I can stop them. “Kiss you.”
My eyes widen at the beat of silence that follows. I’m sure my neediness will have him running for the hills.
“I’d like to do more than that,” he says gruffly.
“What do you wish we could do?” I ask, curling onto my side and holding the phone firmly against my ear so I don’t miss a single syllable.
He releases a slow breath, and it’s as if I can feel the warmth of it ghosting across the delicate flesh of my face.
“If I were there with you now, I’d pull you into my arms until I could feel every inch of you pressed against me. You’re so gorgeous, and I love your curves. I’d take my sweet damn time worshipping every single one of them.”
A shaky exhalation leaves my lips as my belly hollows out. The low timbre of his voice along with what he’s saying are like the strike of a match. That’s all it takes to ignite a firestorm of need deep inside me. I shift against the sheets and clench my thighs. We’re not even in the same room, and I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been before.
“Tell me what you like,” he encourages.
My heartbeat thunders almost painfully against my breast. I’ve never talked about my desires with anyone. Andrew never asked or cared about what I liked. Everything in our relationship revolved around him. Especially sex. It’s like he knew that he could get it anywhere from any number of girls. He’d drop little comments that made me feel like I needed to perform to keep him satisfied.
