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“Well, he sounded serious when he said it.”
His eyes grew dark, serious, and he stood in front of me, almost over me. He leaned one hand against the wall beside me, rested his other on the other side of my head. Then, leaning in, he paused right before me and murmured, “You look delicious as hell wearing that jersey.”
I smiled, reaching up for him and cupped the side of his face. “Shut up, and kiss me, Styles.”
He did just that.
Two hours later, we were in my room, on my bed. The roommates had headed out, and Cruz was spending too much time on a certain part of my boob. I lifted my head to look, then moved his head off me. “Hey! What are you doing? A hickey?”
He peeled over, laughing. “Took you long enough to notice.”
I sighed, inspecting it more. We had sex in the shower, ordered food, and after we ate, we’d been lounging on the bed and messing around. A hockey game was on the television, but Cruz was paying more attention to me and I’d been enjoying the touches, caresses, and kisses. Now I was seeing that he was trying to put a hickey on my breast that looked the size of Texas.
“Seriously?”
He rose back up, kneeling over me, and touched my forehead, pushing me down. “It’s like my signature. Let me finish.” He bent back down, but I put a finger to his forehead and lifted his head up. “Your signature?” I narrowed my eyes. “How many other girls have you done this to?”
He shrugged, biting back a grin. “A few, but none since you.”
Well, that felt nice to hear. When he started ‘working’ again, I let him. I was kinda savoring the attention. And when I looked again, he’d somehow turned it into a lopsided crown. It was Texas, but with little points at the top.
I loved it.
He gave me a grin, his eyes soft, and smoothed his hand down to my hip. “You like?”
I hated to say it, but nodded.
His grin widened. “Score.”
His phone began buzzing after that, and he groaned after checking the screen. His forehead went to my stomach. His hands were on my hips. “I have to go.”
I raked a hand through his hair. “Stay.”
His hands tightened on my hips, and he said against my tummy, “I can’t. Curfew.” He lifted his head, the struggle evident in his eyes. He was gazing at my mouth. “Fuck. I’d like to stay. When do your roommates come back?”
“They’re partying.”
“Where?”
I shrugged. “Other hotel rooms? I’m sure there’s a ton on campus, or they could’ve gone to a bar too.”
“And you stayed with me?” His eyes sparked, mischievous.
My eyes narrowed again, but I knew they looked soft cause that’s how I was feeling. All warm, and soft, and happy. Another day and that feeling might’ve sent me running. Not this day. “Like I’m going to turn down a night of messing around with my boyfriend.”
“That’s right. Your boyfriend.” He rose back up, his knees settling on either side of my legs, and he stared down at me. His gaze was going dark, serious. Lust-filled. He glanced at his phone. “You think your roommates will be gone for the next twenty minutes?”
I was already reaching for his neck as I murmured, “Only twenty?”
His mouth met mine. “Make that thirty. I’m going to take real good care of my girl.”
His girl. My boyfriend. That had my pulse soaring.
It was later, after I was in bed, and after Cruz left, that I remembered.
I forgot to mention the blog article.
And I forgot to look earlier, but heaved a sigh of relief. There were no new texts from an unknown number. I checked my calls.
Blocked calls (0)
46
CRUZ
At the team breakfast, Atwater asked Labrowski, “How’s Angela doing?”
He’d been going over to her place every day, and sometimes not coming back until the next morning. He’d shower, change, and head back out for practice or classes, or whatever we were doing. He dropped down in the seat across from me with his plate of food, bags under his eyes. He looked haggard, and he shook his head, propping his elbow on the table and raking a hand through his hair.
His hand left his hair, lifting in a frustrated motion. “I have no clue. She’s wrecked and I think–” He glanced my way quick. “She’s remembering other stuff. She just texted me that she wants to call that same detective because she has more she wants to tell him.”
“Man. I’m sorry.”
“That sucks.” Atwater leaned over his own plate.
The rest of the guys were filtering in. We had our own eating area set up in the hotel, away from everyone else. Less distraction. More team focus time, or that’s what Coach always said.
“Please. Tell me about it.” Labrowski glared at Atwater, whose head reared back.
