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The next morning, Shane proves to be a man of his word.
When Beckett enters the kitchen and spots me at the counter, he arches a brow. “Didn’t realize we were having a sex marathon last night.”
Then his phone dings and he dips his head to read the incoming text. Chuckling to himself, he taps out what appears to be a long message in response.
Shane observes him from the other end of the counter, where he’s chopping vegetables for our omelets. “Who the hell are you texting so early?”
Beck slides the phone in his pocket. “Nobody.”
“Because that’s not suspicious,” Shane says.
“Relax. It’s just a girl. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you dodging the subject, Ryder.” He walks past me and opens the fridge. “So, sex marathon. I would’ve invited someone over myself if I’d known that’s what we were doing.”
“I didn’t have anyone over,” I lie.
“Bullshit. Someone was getting fucked good last night. What time did we get home?” he asks Shane. “Ten thirty? Started hearing the sex noises around then.”
Christ. They were home for nearly four hours before I even noticed? Uneasiness washes over me. I don’t think I’ve ever lost my head over a woman like that.
Ever.
I turn to grab a loaf of bread from the pantry. Stalling.
“Dude,” Shane tells Beckett. “That was me.”
“Really? I thought you got a BJ from that chick at the concert. You booty-called someone after we got home?”
“No. Porn, dude.” He rolls his eyes as if it’s obvious.
“Those sex noises were going on for like four hours.” Beckett gapes at him. “You were jerking it for that long? How is your dick still attached?”
“I was doing this, ah, edging thing I keep hearing about.”
“Right. I hear that’s popular in the porn community,” Beck says solemnly.
Shane gives him the finger. “Whatever. I’m young. I can do whatever I want with my dick. Mind your business.”
“Then keep the volume down next time. There’s this thing called earbuds. Invest in them.”
Chuckling, Beckett goes to the stove and grabs a pan for the eggs.
Shane winks at me as I pass him, lightly punching my arm.
“You owe me,” he murmurs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
RYDER
Communication hiccups
THE NIGHT OF OUR SEASON OPENER HOME GAME, I DRIVE TO THE Graham Center with Beckett and Shane. Sitting in the back seat of Shane’s Mercedes, I type on my phone and send the usual text message to our Eastwood group chat, a superstition that started last year and now we’re stuck with. During the drive, a dozen notifications blast the same message.
In the locker room, Beckett attempts to defend some movie he tried forcing Shane to watch last night.
“You don’t get it. The hero wasn’t in the same timeline as the brother—”
“Like I told you last night, it made zero sense and I don’t care to discuss it.”
“And like I told you, you have to watch it at least three times before it makes sense—”
“What kind of time do you think I have?” Shane interrupts. “I barely have time to watch one movie once, let alone the same fucking movie three times.”
“Funny coming from the bloke who watched porn for four hours straight last weekend. Loudly.” Beckett turns toward our Eastwood buddies. “Four hours, no joke. Although, I will say, he picked something good. I’ll give you that, Lindley. Not sure if it was the same chick moaning in all the clips, but she was amazing. Nice tone and pitch. She sounded really hot.”
She was. She was pure fire and my body still feels the heat of her on me.
And like an ass, I haven’t called her since that night.
I just…can’t.
Something happened that night. I love sex as much as the next guy, but Gigi came over before the sun set and left in the wee hours of the morning. We didn’t even eat, for chrissake. Just pounded water and each other. Longest session of my life, and it still wasn’t enough by the time she left. And then, all those moments in between, where we lay there talking. Well, she did most of the talking. But I wanted to listen. I asked questions. I initiated.
Needless to say, this behavior cannot be repeated.
Before we hooked up, I made it clear to Gigi that all I wanted was sex. Yet, somehow, I’m the one who forgot that.
Until I can make sense of whatever the hell’s happening in my head, I can’t risk the temptation of seeing her again.
“Don’t bloke me,” Shane grumbles at Beckett, bending forward to stretch out his back. “This ain’t Australia, matey.”
I notice Will Larsen chuckling during their exchange, but he stops when he notices Colson frowning at him.
Once everyone is suited up, Coach Jensen comes in for his first pep talk of the season.
“Go out there and deliver.” He nods, then turns toward the door.
“Wait, that’s it?” Patrick blurts out.
Jensen turns around. “What? What else do you want? Do you want me to do a little dance for you?”
