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Daphne’s roommatecame home just as the mini-marshmallow men came to life on the shelf of the grocery store, and she made us rewind the movie to the beginning, appalled that they’d watch the new Ghostbusters without her. It was funny and definitely nostalgic. But as I sit on the couch with Daphne’s bare legs draped over mine, forcing my hands to remain as PG-13 as the rating of the movie, I wish we were anywhere but here. I’ve skimmed my fingers up her soft thighs, occasionally dipping under her shorts enough to know she’s not wearing panties, but nothing further.
Her cat keeps rubbing itself up against my leg, like it’s trying to mark its territory and claim me as hers, the way I wish her owner would.
But not with one of my players sitting with his feet propped up on the other side of the sectional, throwing pissed-off glances our way.
He wants her.
It’s obvious to anyone with eyes.
But I think Daphne is oblivious.
Brandon Dixon has played for the Philadelphia Kings since we drafted him out of Kroydon University five years ago. He’s a great center. A beast on the field. He and our quarterback, Declan Sinclair, have a shorthand most centers only dream of having with their QB, and they’ve won us back-to-back championships.
And I fucking hate him.
At least right now.
Maybe not hate him.
But I hate that she lives here with him. I hate that Daphne’s in that thin, little red tank top with her creamy breasts spilling over the top and shorts that will definitely give you a show if she bends over. And I hate that he’s here to see it. That he’s been seeing it for weeks before I did.
These aren’t feelings I should have about someone I’m in a casual relationship with.
But there’s very little that’s casual about the feelings she stirs in me.
And even less casual is the way I’ve had to fight the urge to bend her over my office desk all week. Or my desire to cover her skin, so Brandon Dixon doesn’t get the chance to see it. I’ve never been possessive about a woman before, but Daphne’s different. And apparently, I’m a jealous asshole because I hate the fact that while I was trying to stay away from her at the office all week, he got to spend time with her every night.
And I dislike this little revelation even more because I don’t do jealousy.
It’s pointless.
If someone wants to be with you, they should be.
If they’d rather be somewhere else, they were never yours to start with.
I learned that lesson the hard way in college, like most idiots do. I was eighteen and away from home. I went to a West Coast college to escape the notoriety that comes with my family. And I did. At least, I thought I did. I also thought I was in love with a beautiful, sweet girl. Until I found out she was only in it in hopes of landing a Kingston and all the money she thought would come with that. Turns out, she was screwing my fraternity brother the entire time. He told me everything one night in a drunken stupor after she ditched both of us for some English duke.
But where the fuck does all this lead me?
Because this woman sure as fuck isn’t supposed to be mine.
We both said casual.
Mutually beneficial.
Can’t offer you more.
These were my words. My idea. I have no right to be possessive of this incredible woman, who was late to work the other day because one of the dogs at the shelter where she volunteers got loose and she just had to help get him back in his cage. Her heart’s as big as her brain. And her brain seems pretty damn big. Between helping me search for a new assistant, she’s been updating me daily on her progress with Start A Revolution, and it’s nothing short of amazing.
I have no claim to her, yet the pride I feel for what she’s accomplishing is immense.
Basically, I’m screwed.
And by the time the original Ghostbusters show up on the screen, I’m hornier than a teenager who just fingered his first girl. Probably because the last time I sat and watched a movie with a raging hard-on, I was a teenager fingering his first girlfriend.
When the movie ends, Dixon stands and quickly says goodnight without sparing us a glance. He must have spared them all during the movie. His sister grabs the bowl of popcorn from the table and stands too. “I’ve got to teach baby ballerinas all day tomorrow, so I’m also out. Night, guys. Good to see you again, Max.”
“You too.” Two down.
