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“You’re gonna burn those eggs, baby,” Tucker said from behind me before reaching around and snatching the spatula from my hand to give the eggs—which were definitely about to burn—a swift stir.
The warm weight of him pressed against my back, and I couldn’t help but lean into it. Every time we met up, it was harder and harder to leave, took me longer to make the shift from my private life back into my public one. Currently, we were at Lake Tahoe, where some of the Rush guys were spending a long weekend hanging out on the lake before training camp started. Tucker dipped out most mornings after breakfast to join up with them while I’d remained at the huge, secluded house he’d rented, hiking, kayaking, and swimming until he returned each afternoon.
“What are you thinking about so hard, hmm?” His lips skimmed my neck, and he flipped off the burner, pushing the pan of eggs onto the cool eye at the back of the stove.
“The Grand Canyon,” I said, twisting around to face him.
He grinned. “Yeah, that was pretty badass.”
“I wish I could’ve seen your face when you first walked up to the edge.” I was getting greedy. The sex, us indulging in each other’s bodies, our talks about football, the things we saw each day, it had all sustained me for a while. At first, there’d been the pleasure of just being together. But it sucked sometimes not being able to experience the world outside together—a feeling I’d never thought I’d have with another person in my life, much less Malik Tucker.
“How about a reenactment?” Tucker pulled a face, letting his mouth fall open and widening his eyes dramatically. “It looked like this. Then I screamed. Want me to do that part, too?”
I laughed. “Only if you take a few steps back. Still need to be able to hear when the play is called. Did you really scream?” I arched a skeptical brow, even though I could sort of picture it in my mind.
“It was more of a whoop.” Tucker stepped back, cupped his hands around his mouth, and made a noise that sounded like a cross between a bird call and a hyena that had me busting up. “Don’t fucking judge.” He shot me a warning look. “The guide said we’d hear our own echo. I wanted mine to be distinctive.”
“You end up with a bunch of buzzards following you around the rest of the time?”
“How’d you know?” He feigned shock before cracking up. “Nah, no buzzards. Just some football dude who wouldn’t stop trying to suck my dick when I got back to my room.” He waggled his brows pointedly.
“Sounds like a real pest. I’ll bet that football dude would really appreciate getting his dick sucked after the breakfast he labored so diligently over.”
“Mm, yeah. It’s thirsty work cracking eggs into a pan and stirring them around with absolutely no finesse. Probably deserves the same kind of blowjob. Extra sloppy. Like these eggs.”
I knew Tucker was joking, but extra sloppy sounded pretty damn hot to me, and it must have shown on my face because he closed the distance between us, hands skimming up my waist as he brushed his lips over mine. “I’ll give you what you want if you sit that tight ass on my dick after.”
That would’ve happened regardless, but I pretended to think for a second before letting the backs of my knuckles glide down his bare chest to the bulge in his boxers.
Afterward, we lay tangled in the rumpled mess of covers, the ceiling fan above us on high and cooling the sweat layered over our bodies. His fingers drifted through the damp ends of my hair in a soothing, hypnotic drawl. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t think he did either. We were about to start preseason and then regular season, and the amount of time we had to get away with each other would collapse into almost nothing at all.
“I meant what I said earlier. About the Grand Canyon. I wish I could’ve been there with you.”
Tucker canted his head toward me, a half-smile playing on his lips. “This is the part where I say you were there in spirit. Or some romantic shit like that.” I flipped him off, and he sobered. “I wish you could’ve, too.”
“We’re never gonna have that, though. We can’t.”
He sucked on his lower lip, nodding slowly. “I guess not, no. We’ll just have to make the best of what we have. Maybe—”
He cut himself off and, when I prompted him with a look, shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t know. Would you rather not do this at all anymore? Like, we leave today and cut it off? I wouldn’t like it, but I’d do it.”
“It’s not. I’ll take this over nothing at all.” Because I wasn’t going to be able to cut it off. I couldn’t, even as I suspected I wanted so much more than we would ever be able to give each other.
“Me too.” Tucker rolled fully toward me. “Hey, serious question.” The playful glint in his eye said it was anything but. “Are you gonna be a supportive boyfriend when the Rush takes the Super Bowl this year?”
I rolled my eyes with a grin. “Never gonna happen ’cause we’re taking it. We’ve got Parker now and Ronson.” I whistled low as I mentioned a seasoned guard who had been traded from Tennessee and our rookie wide receiver. “We’re unstoppable.”
“Psht. Parker is, like, eighty-two years old, and Ronson is an untested rookie. You should see G and Cullen. I’ve been working out with them, and we’re gonna run circles around y’all. Yeah.” He poked me. “Even you, Mr. Lightfoot.”
I chuckled as we devolved into smack talk, one of our favorite pastimes.
Just before we crawled out of bed and showered so we could catch our flights home, Tucker yanked me back toward him, nose grazing over my jawline. “I would be happy for you if the Royals took the bowl, you know.” I knew he meant it, too. “It’s just never gonna happen, baby.”
* * *
Coach Grant flippedoff the flat-screen TV and dropped into the chair next to it, facing me and the Royals’ key defense. We’d been in the film room for the last hour, going over the preseason game we’d played against San Francisco earlier in the week.
“I’m going to level with you, fellas. I think we’ve got the best shot at the Bowl that we’ve ever had.”
