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Rose wears determination like a fucking second skin, but it’s the furthest thing from admirable. The more I’m seeing this woman, the more of a problem she’s becoming. Outside of the press room, we’re off limits. It’s an unwritten rule that the press follows, and I’m not impressed in the slightest that this new girl seems to lack the respect it takes to follow it.
“I don’t have anything else to say. If you want to ask more questions, come to our game in Arizona on Saturday,” I bark.
She doesn’t falter beneath my harsh tone. If anything, it seems to excite her. “Braxton Heights, I’m Rose Carpenter. I know your father.”
And there it is.
“Hi. Sports Weekly, right?”
“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Rose offers Braxton her hand, but Braxton reaches for my hand and links our fingers instead.
“You work for the site that published my father’s story, correct?”
“Yes. It was a big story for us,” Rose confirms.
“I see. Now, do you always publish such bogus stories, or did he simply make you an offer you couldn’t refuse? If it was money, I wonder how many zeros it took for you to write something so bold with no proof to back you up.”
I choke on air, staring at her with flashing hearts in my eyes.
“And coming up to players after they already spent forty minutes giving post-game interviews isn’t that admirable. I don’t spend much time around these types of things, but even I know that isn’t protocol,” she finishes, all sass and confidence.
My cock swells in my track pants, and I’m about thirty seconds away from being rock hard in the middle of this hallway, where damn near anybody could see. Suddenly desperate to get the hell out of here, I tug on Braxton’s hand and shift her to my front, letting her feel exactly what her words have done to me. Her sharp inhale is barely audible, but I catch it.
And when she pushes back against me ever so slightly, I bite my tongue to keep a groan from escaping.
“We’re leaving. I hope you got what you came here for,” I blurt out.
Then with rushed steps, we leave Rose standing there, neither of us looking back.
* * *
I parkthe truck and release the breath I’ve been holding for the past ten minutes.
My grip on Braxton’s thigh is tight, way too tight, but the heat against my pinky has me on the edge of losing control, and the handful of flesh is the only thing keeping me grounded. I don’t know how my hand travelled so high or how I’ve managed to spend most of the drive with my pinky tracing the seam of her jeans right over her goddamn pussy, but I am, and I can’t seem to pull back.
Neither of us spoke a single word on the way home, but we didn’t need to. The crackling tension around us spoke volumes.
There is no doubt in my mind that we’re thinking about the exact same thing. The thin fabric of my track pants does little to hide my throbbing cock, and I would have to be a blind man not to have caught her wandering eyes more than once during the drive.
Her breaths are as shaky as mine. As uneven and stressed. The flush on her neck and cheeks and even her ears has me wondering how pink and warm she is everywhere else.
Fuck.
I release my grip on the steering wheel and reach over to turn off the truck, still not removing my other hand from her thigh.
“You ready to go in?” My voice so fucking strained it sounds garbled.
She shivers, and it’s almost my undoing.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I need you to get out first.”
“What?” The word is so quiet I almost don’t hear it.
I glance at her and curse at how dark those blue eyes are as they watch me.
“Baby. I need you to open your door and step outside before I fuck you in the cab of this truck.”
