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Maybe I was a glutton for punishment.
That was just over three months ago.
And here I was.
Lightning cracked in the sky but all I pictured was her face. Pouty, full lips parted on a sigh. Eyes bright with a hint of sadness and steely determination I recognized all too well. Innocent but tinged with the things that told me she had lived through something that almost took her out.
I leaned back and flipped up the visor on my helmet, feet resting on the pavement. Bike rumbling beneath me.
The need to know how she looked when I made her cum shot through me before I could even form a coherent thought.
Fuck. The light changed, and I shook my head to clear it before driving in the direction of the place the Carolina Fury, my new team and most likely my last, arranged for me until I found a more permanent residence. But the look on her face burned itself into my memory.
The rain fell at an annoyingly steady pace as I neared the townhouse, which thankfully had a garage I could park my bike in that was more the size of a toolshed, but at least it was out of the elements. The truck the team arranged to pick up my boxes and furniture arrived this morning, and after stopping at my new team’s training facility, I was ready to do something other than sit on my ass.
The headlines in Cleveland after the news broke about my status with the team were more than enough for me to want to flip the bird, but the fans in that town were diehard, to say the least. And they liked me at one point, until they realized I wasn’t going to be the one to turn the city’s luck around.
Then it was like I kicked a fucking puppy.
But the team had been bought by a new owner, and he, along with the other investors, were determined to restructure the entire organization, from the bottom up.
How I fit into that equation, I still didn’t get. Key in the lock of the front door to my new place as I glared at the front door, I bit back a groan when I heard a voice from behind me.
“Hey, asshole.”
Without missing a beat, I turned the key and walked into the foyer, Ty tight on my heels. “Miss me, sweetheart?”
“You are a fucking piece of work, Lockwood.”
“Tell me something I didn’t know,” I muttered, tossing my keys onto the counter in the kitchen and ignoring Ty as he whistled low. “Then get the fuck out.”
“After everything I’ve done for you? You could at least offer me a drink before screwing me over.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked over to the couch in the middle of the room and sat down, elbows on his knees.
I went to the fridge and grabbed out a water bottle. That and five ready-made meals packed in containers I had deliveredearlier this morning were the only things in there, but for now, it was all I needed. And who knew how long I’d be here.
Less to clean out later. I grabbed another bottle and tossed it to Ty, who caught it easily.
“Make yourself at home, Simmons,” I muttered.
Silence permeated the air until he cleared his throat. “Maybe try not to be such a dick with the guys.”
I scoffed. “And change? I thought you loved me just the way I am?”
“Fuck, Lockwood. I know you’re not a total asshole.”
“Really? I thought that was your favorite nickname for me?”
He flipped me the bird before downing the entire bottle.
“See?”
“You’d be confused if I didn’t give you shit, QB,” he retorted.
He was right. Even when we’d practice in silence, we fell into a rhythm and only threw a few colorful yet well intended insults. “Why are you stalking me? Can’t find anyone your own age to bother? Or are you just lonely?”
“Listen, old man, the only lonely guy here is you. I took pity on you.”
“Fucker,” I muttered under my breath. Ty was ten years younger than me, but I could still keep up with him. Every practice, we pushed each other even if no one was there to see it in Cleveland.
