Page 34 of Going Deep

“Nah. They’re fine with me swimming there anytime I’d like. Besides, Colt knows.” He licked up a drop of beer from the corner of his mouth. “I reckon he’s steaming over my brass balls at asking to use his family’s swimming hole right now.”

That made her think of what she’d wondered earlier. Did Drake have feelings for Colt? Yet another question. If she didn’t start getting some answers soon, she was going to explode.

Hopefully she’d also explode in other ways tonight.

“If you’re sure it’s okay,” she said, shocked she was agreeing so easily. Amazing sex must’ve warped her brain.

Flashing a grin, he squeezed her hand on the bar. “Oh, it’ll be more than okay. Trust me.”

6

Colt grumbled all the way to Coach’s. Even the music blasting loud in his truck couldn’t soothe his bad mood. And the worst of it was that he’d caused the whole damn situation himself.

Well, not entirely. The threesome hadn’t been his idea. The kiss on the side of the road that had led to Drake reopening the sharing box, okay, fine, his doing. Adrenaline and moonlight and the highs and lows of Wade’s wedding day had obviously created some kind of crazy surge of lust inside him, because he’d never lusted after Paige before that night.

Liar. You just refused to acknowledge it.

Even so, if he’d felt the occasional niggle in her direction when she tipped back her head and laughed that full-bodied laugh of hers, or when she bent over to pick up a bag of feed and a little too much cleavage spilled over her top, or even when she teased him about stupid stuff and got a grin out of him no matter his mood—that had been manageable. With effort, he’d been able to direct his thoughts away from her, because where Paige went, Char wasn’t far behind.

He’d just never, ever wanted to go down that road. Out of respect for his ex, and for Paige. He didn’t want anything to disrupt their friendship, even momentarily. Definitely didn’t want anyone wondering if he was using Paige as some kind of revenge for Char marrying Wade. He really and truly was over Char and wished her and Wade the best. But in case tongues waggled, he’d wanted to stay out of the hot-topic seat for a while.

Until last Saturday night, when everything had changed. For that one night, he hadn’t cared about anything but Paige and Drake.

Now he couldn’t breathe without smelling her damn flowery perfume. Couldn’t swallow without imagining the sweetness of her pussy on his tongue. He hadn’t gotten to taste it last weekend, and his imagination was filling in the blanks. There was so much he hadn’t gotten to do with her.

With them.

Unbidden, an image of Drake stroking his cock popped into his head and he gripped the wheel and shut his eyes, swerving back into his lane at the blare of a horn.

Jesus. What was wrong with him? This was why he’d stopped things last year. Sharing had become just a little too comfortable for them. So much so that when Drake had leaned over the woman they were with and brushed his fingers over Colt’s dick, he hadn’t stopped him. The woman, Beth, had been jerking him off, and Drake had simply joined in. And he’d liked it.

Fuck, he’d loved it—and he’d wanted more. Not just from Beth, but from Drake too. With her, and maybe even when they were alone.

He didn’t know what that meant. Or if it meant anything at all, except he was a messed-up motherfucker because he’d let one inexplicable night come between him and his buddy. For the past year, there had been awkward silences where there had been none before. Times when he’d known he needed to step up and say something. The elephant in the room was sitting on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Then last weekend had happened, and everything had gone back to normal for that one night. They’d been in sync again in more ways than just in running their business. If only he’d managed not to screw the whole thing up by not oversleeping…or when he had, by not running from the situation like some pansy jerk.

He didn’t want to be that guy anymore, the one who couldn’t be trusted to keep his pants on for more than ten minutes at a stretch. Those rumors had dogged him throughout his marriage to Char. Being part of an ongoing threesome would only convince people in town that not only had he not changed, he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. He was wearing his horndog status proudly.

But how in the sweet fuck was he supposed to stand by, knowing Drake would likely be sinking into Paige’s delicious body tonight? That she would be touching him, and sucking him off, and they’d be laughing together. Without him.

Everyone was pairing off and moving on, leaving him on the sidelines. The same place he’d been since he’d been tossed ass-first out of the NFL.

“You gonna get out of that truck, boy, or you working on getting carbon monoxide poisoning?”

Colt glanced at the closed driver’s window, realizing he’d driven the rest of the way to Coach’s and parked without even noticing. He needed to get his head in the game.

“I’m not in the garage, am I?” he said over the engine, turning off the truck and pocketing the keys. “Can’t get carbon monoxide poisoning sitting out in the driveway.”

“No, but you can’t afford to lose any more brain cells.” Coach grinned while he said it, and Colt grinned back, but the fact was, right then it nagged at him just like wanting Paige did. Except in a whole different way.

He’d once been the golden boy, the one who could do no wrong. Growing up had put the kibosh on that. Now people probably saw him as a has-been. A once-was, in spite of his successful business with Drake. He’d gotten divorced early and had taken on his player-without-a-conscience role with zeal. Too bad he’d grown out of it some time ago.

With age came wisdom—sometimes. He could accept that football hadn’t ended up being for him. He could accept his marriage hadn’t been a good fit. He just couldn’t accept that there was something wrong with him and Paige and Drake having fun. There was nothing wrong with them growing closer. Char was remarried, for God’s sake, and what he did with Paige behind closed doors shouldn’t affect anyone but them.

Damn guilt wouldn’t shut up, though. So he’d let Drake head out after her, while he sat there brooding like a dumbass.

“Hey there, what’s eating you?”

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