Romancing the Running Back (15 page)

How did she stay practical when he said crap like that? She shot him another big smile, hoping none of the worry showed, and they walked down the short hallway to the open living room. “Let’s brew some coffee,” she said. “A swank
place like this probably has a kick-ass coffeemaker.”

“It probably does, but I ordered up some breakfast.”

“You ordered up breakfast?”

He shrugged and pointed toward the rolling tray by the couch. “They happened to have the brand of coffee I prefer, so I ordered a cup for myself, then a latte for you.”

Oh, a latte. He’d paid attention when they’d taken a pit stop for coffee during one of their wedding-errand sprees. She picked up the glass mug of frothy coffee, took a sip, and made a sound of pleasure. “You remembered I liked hazelnut.”

He shrugged and took a drink from his own plain white mug.

“Isn’t coffee, like, a major rain-forest killer?” she teased, sitting down on the couch. He sat beside her, not across, and she took that as a good sign.

“Hence the brand. It’s a sustainable label. At the end of the day, if I’m dying and I need a hit of caffeine and all I can get is the normal stuff, I’ll drink it. But when I’ve got a choice, I’ll make the sustainable one.”

“Reasonable,” she commented, letting the latte work on her mind and her body, giving her a boost. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Oatmeal and scrambled eggs for me, bacon and eggs for you, with toast for both. I didn’t know if you wanted jam, or what flavor, so they just sent up all they had.”

She stared at the platter set out on the rolling tray, then on impulse leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you.”

He kissed her again, as if to silently say,
You’re welcome.
Then he offered her a fork. “Let’s do this.”

“You’re a genius,” Trey told Josiah over the phone. “The blogs have figured out there was ‘some kind of party’ but they can’t nail down what it was, and the hotel staff isn’t talking because they don’t know much of anything. Without photos, and without anyone inside who could explain more, they don’t know if it was a bachelor party, a bridal shower, or if we freaking got married in there.”

“The bulk of the party planning went to Anya,” Josiah reminded his friend as he sat down on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. Anya, he remembered, didn’t have a coffee table to prop her feet up on.

A freaking coffee table made him think about her. His mind was fully and totally occupied with all things Anastasia Fisher.

“But the idea to have everyone agree not to post photos on social media was
your
brain child. That everyone agreed and followed through was a miracle, although Matt and Michael both took a photo in the limo on the way home. Just no hint of where they’d been or where they were going. I suppose that was close enough.”

“Hmm” was all he said. He looked at the bike sitting by his front door and debated going for an afternoon ride. He had more energy to burn than normal on a Sunday afternoon, and no game to expel it with.

He hung up with Trey a few minutes later, then fell asleep on the couch in a self-serving afternoon nap. He woke to a pounding on the door. He straightened, debated ignoring it, then sighed when the pounding continued. There went the nap he’d decided to take on the fly.

“Coming,” he grouched, rolling up and walking to the door. “Coming!” he shouted just before he opened it.

Anya stood on the other side, looking fresh and not at all groggy. Her brows rose as she gave him a head-to-toe scan. “Someone’s looking a little rough this afternoon.”

“Someone didn’t sleep as much as usual, and woke up early to get out of a hotel room.” He took her arm and led her inside, closing the door behind her. “How are you so chipper?”

“Ran home, took a shower, untangled my hair—which took forever, as expected,” she added, flipping her braid over her shoulder and giving the ends a nasty look. “And now I’m up. I’m not a morning person, and getting me out of bed before ten is rough work. But once I’m going, I’m going.”

He grunted and walked farther into the apartment, heading for the kitchen and the pitcher of iced tea in his refrigerator. He pulled out two tumblers and filled them with ice before pouring the tea. Only a moment after he filled the second one did he remember. “You don’t like iced tea. Sorry, uh, I might have juice or—”

“It’s okay. Is it sweet tea?” she asked, reaching out for the tumbler. He shot her a look that said
Was that a real question?
“Right, sorry. Southern gentleman. Of course it’s sweet tea. I can handle the sweet tea better than unsweetened.”

He picked up his own glass and ran it over his forehead, hoping the cool contact would snap him out of his fuzzy funk.
“How’d you find out where I lived?”

“Cassie,” she said simply. “Told her we had stuff to go over.” She nibbled her lip. “I didn’t say anything about . . . you know. I didn’t know where you stood on the whole thing so I figured better to keep it quiet at first.”

He hadn’t been entirely sure, either. His bike ride later was going to be dedicated to thinking of exactly that subject. But when she stood there looking so adorable, so kissable with her anxious face on, he knew the answer. Instinct served him well when deciding whether to zig or zag on the field, so he decided to go with his instinct again.

He zagged.

“I’m not going to forget last night.” He took a quick drink out of his glass, watching her over the rim. “I don’t want to. And I don’t want you to. I also don’t want that to be all we have.”

She circled the rim of the glass with one fingertip, not meeting his eyes. “We have a wedding to help plan,” she said softly.

“We have a relationship,” he said firmly. That snapped her eyes up. “Yup. I’m not doing the same thing Cassie and Trey did, sneaking around and trying to be all discreet about things. We slept together. That could have been enough if you were a different person. But you’re not.”

“You can’t stand me,” she retorted. “And you annoy me.”

“Great. We’re already having a better marriage than half of America,” he shot back.

She snorted.

“That shit is past. I don’t have to understand your job to understand you. You don’t have to get sucked into my hobbies and passions to get sucked into me.” He waggled his brows to add a little humor to the topic.

“Gross,” she said, playing into the joke.

“You didn’t think it was gross this morning,” he pointed out. She rolled her eyes and took a tiny sip of tea. “I want to spend time with you, just doing things because we want to. Not because Cassie needs help picking out hair things or Trey wants me to find special socks or whatever.”

That made her lips twitch, but she fought to keep them firm.

“Anya.” He set his tea down on the counter and gripped her hips. Then he kissed her gently. Her lips were cool, a little wet from the tea, crisp and perfect. “Anya. More of that. More of you making fun of my koala-fart towels, and me moaning about zippers or whatever. More.”

“More,” she sighed, then her eyes widened as if she hadn’t meant to say it.

“Too late to take it back,” he said, satisfied. He grinned when she slapped his arm. “You’re hooked, babe.”

“I’m just using you for your koala-fart towels. I can’t afford my own, you know.”

“Works for me.”

*   *   *

“Your apartment is very interesting,” Anya said an hour later, sitting on the couch with Josiah. He was watching a few other football games, flipping between channels. She kept craning her neck around to take it all in.

“Is ‘interesting’ code for ‘ugly bachelor pad’?” His eyes didn’t leave the screen.

She reached out and stroked the back of his neck with one hand, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. His head drooped forward a little in response, an encouragement to continue, but he said nothing.

“No, not at all. It’s just interesting. Most of my friends, well, their homes fall into one of two categories. They either can’t afford anything and so they thrift-store it all and it’s an odd mishmash of items that are functional but not great to look at. Or they can afford to do better and they just flip through the Pottery Barn catalog and say, ‘Page 19 looks good, we’ll take it.’ Aesthetically pleasing, but not very original.”

“The furniture is all—”

“Let me guess. Sustainable, eco-friendly, and conscious.”

He shot her a glance from the side before looking at the screen again. “I had to beg my landlord to let me change out the appliances for high-efficiency ones, promising to leave them when I move out. Same with the bamboo floors. Haven’t quite talked her into solar panels yet.”

“Doubt you will. This isn’t exactly a great neighborhood,” she pointed out.

“Biking distance from the practice fields, and some friends’ houses.”

“There is that,” she murmured. “Not very big.”

“I’m a single guy.”

“No waste,” she guessed. “Can I look in your bedroom?”

“Sure.”

They must really be in a relationship . . . he was already paying better attention to the Sunday afternoon games than her. She’d put a stop to that.

Wandering into the one closed-off space—minus the bathroom—she took in the simple queen-size bed, single dresser, and half-full walk-in closet. What a shame. They should trade closets.

She debated looking in a few drawers, then decided against it. Too nosy. But surely a guy like Josiah would have condoms . . . he wasn’t a monk. He was a responsible man. He’d had one with him in the hotel.

The closet door was open, and it felt a little different walking in there to grab one of his soft blue button-down shirts. Not snooping, since it was in plain sight. It was then she noticed the open drawer of his nightstand. A phone charger, a little dish that held coins and a button, and a box of condoms, which looked hastily ripped open, lay within view. As if he’d been in an extreme hurry to get the box open and grab one, and it ripped in his haste. She took a chance and tore a foil packet off the end of the roll from the box.

She undressed and slipped the shirt on, tucking the condom in the breast pocket, then padded barefoot into the living room. Josiah hadn’t moved an inch.

“Hey.” She walked up behind the couch and ran her hands through his hair. “Do you want to talk for a bit?”

He made a pleasurable sound, but she knew that was just from the feel of her hands through his hair and not because he was looking forward to talking.

Her fingers tunneled through the dense brown hair. How often did he get it trimmed? Was the shaggy nature a style preference, or just out of laziness? Maybe she could convince him to let her play with a few different style options, just for fun.

After a moment, she bit back a laugh. Of course he wouldn’t. He’d consider that fussing, and shoot that idea down in a heartbeat.

“We could discuss . . . us.”

He snorted, but kept his eyes straight.

Men.

Leaning down, she brushed her breasts against his shoulder before whispering, “Josiah, I think it’s time to turn the TV off.”

“Almost halftime,” he muttered. “We play these guys next weekend.”

Yup, they were definitely in a relationship, if they’d already moved on to being ignored for the tube. Though she knew he would see it as “working” rather than ignoring her, which meant she didn’t take offense. She walked around to the front of the couch and stood just inside his peripheral vision.

It took a moment for him to catch a glimpse of her, but she had the pleasure of watching his reaction dawn slowly over his face. His eyes glazed a little, his mouth dropped, and his hand fumbled for the remote. “Yeah, yeah, we could talk.”

“That’s good.” She walked toward him as the screen went black. “I just didn’t want you to forget about me, since it’s been a while and you’ve sort of zoned out. I mean, this being a new relationship and all.” She waited a moment, then crawled onto the couch and straddled his legs. “I might need a lot of reassurance.”

“Oh, yeah. Reassurance.” His hands glided up her legs, under the shirt, and palmed her bare bottom. “I can reassure you, no problem.”

“Good.” This bolder, more assured Anya felt magical, but almost like a third-person perspective. As if she were watching it happen to her, instead of being in the moment. She’d never played the vixen in bed, never been the aggressor before when it came to physical intimacy. That she felt comfortable enough to try it out with Josiah spoke volumes to her. She unbuttoned the shirt, but let it hang loosely over her breasts. “I didn’t think we’d make it to the bedroom. I hope you don’t mind, since your drawer was open and they were hanging out.” She pulled the condom from the pocket and held it out between two fingers. “I wasn’t snooping.”

“That I believe, since I nearly mauled the box open yesterday getting one out so I wouldn’t be late to meet you setting up.” He took the condom from her, then kissed her.

“Yesterday? That was a brand-new box?” She blinked at him.

“Yeah. It’s been a bit of a dry spell, and, I dunno . . .” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Just . . . I wanted to be prepared, I guess. I’d seen this in my mind a lot of different ways, but I wasn’t sure it would ever work out. And in the long chance it did . . .”

“It did.” She nipped at his lip. “Good thinking, champ. Now let’s see how your eco-friendly couch withstands a little lovin’.”

He unbuttoned his jeans and had them down to his knees before she could sit up to give him room. Condom in place, he used his thumbs to open her, tease her a little. When his thumb grazed her clit, she nearly went blind with lust.

Then he entered her, thick and full and deeper than the night before, thanks to the angle. She let her head roll back for a moment, just enjoying the sensation before they started moving.

“Your show, hummingbird. Show me how you fly.”

Whoops. There was the problem with pretending to be the vixen she really wasn’t. “I have no clue what I’m doing up here. I’ve never . . . like this.”

“Never been on top? Ever?” His eyes widened. “Damn. I won’t say no to introducing you to this one. You’ll think I’m a sex god.”

Maybe she already did. He clearly thought she had more experience in this arena than she actually did. She let him think it. His hands guided her movements, the slow slide and the quick thrust, until she found a rhythm that worked best for her.

“Yeah,” he hissed. “God, yeah, Anya . . . I’m so close.”

She wasn’t, but she didn’t have to say it. His thumbs came together and played with her clit, and suddenly she zoomed past him and crossed the finish line first. Gasping into his neck, she came around him, fluttering and spasming until she could barely breathe. His own voice stuttered out as he finished his climax.

“That was . . . spectacular.” He gave her butt a friendly swat. “I’ve made a decision. TV stays off the rest of the day. It’s going to be up to me to figure out how many different positions you haven’t tried yet, and introduce you to all of them.”

“In one day?” she asked on a laugh.

“No, not one day. It might take a while.” He kissed her, and his hazel eyes were serious. “Problem with that?”

She couldn’t think of one, so shook her head.

*   *   *

She killed him. Every little thing she did enticed, or aroused, or intrigued him. The way she ate chips from a bag—insisting there was a system—to how she preferred to lounge on the couch to watch a movie—she’d convinced him to rescind the no-TV rule for a movie only—to the way her foot tapped gently against the coffee table as she wrote.

“Here.” She handed over the hummingbird notebook. “Cassie has no idea what to pick for the song for the wedding party to dance to. This is my list of suggestions. Add your own.” Saying so, she stood. “I’m getting a glass of water. Want?”

“I’m good,” he said absently, glancing down the list. “You want me to add my own, or just cross off yours that are ridiculous?”

“I didn’t suggest anything ridiculous!” she called from the kitchen.