Romancing the Running Back (17 page)

“End of story, my ass.” Stephen looked ready to rip his head off with his bare hands. “She doesn’t live here.”

“Neither did Cassie.”

Trey’s gaze bounced away for a moment, but then slid back. “I asked her to come back because I wanted to be with her permanently. Not because I was having fun fucking her.”

“Are you fucking her?” Stephen asked, fists clenched. This was the guy who made opposing linemen piss themselves.
Josiah could see their point. But he wouldn’t be pushed around.

“None of your damn business. Oh, what are you gonna do, Harrison? Beat me up because I got a girlfriend? Jesus, look at yourself.” Fired up now, he turned on Trey. “You might be the captain of the damn team, but you’re not my boss. Not when it comes to my personal life. You want a new best man? Fine. Pick
him
. It was just a damn coin toss anyway. I won by default. But I’m not stepping away from her just because you have some stupid complex about your woman’s best friend. And you,” he added to Stephen, “can just go to hell if you think for one minute I’d fuck around with her and then dump her when I felt like it. You think that’s how I am? You think that’s the kind of man I am? Then fuck you.”

Stephen’s face registered shock for a moment, then thoughtfulness. “Finally.”

“Finally what?” Trey asked, looking confused, and annoyed for it.

“I think that’s the first time you two let me have it for something since I got back from rehab. Jesus, I was starting to wonder if you guys thought I grew a vagina while I was there.”

Trey sat quietly for a moment, then snickered.

Stephen grinned, all anger vanished. Just like that, he was back to his jovial self.

“You’re both assholes,” Josiah muttered.

“Oh, sit down, gravy’n’ biscuits.” Trey ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I just feel responsible for her—even if that’s stupid—because she’s here for our wedding.”

She wasn’t here just for that, but that wasn’t his story to tell, so he let that go.

“I love the girl. She’s a friend. She was an easy person to talk to when I was feeling like shit at rehab. I don’t want her,” Stephen clarified when Josiah scowled at him. “But the jealousness is definitely amusing, just so you know. Calm down. I’m happy with Mags.”

They all sat in silence for a few minutes; in unspoken agreement, it was a moment for reflection. Then Trey started to snicker.

Josiah looked at Stephen, who seemed as mystified as he was. “What?”

Trey only laughed harder.

“Seriously, what? Stop,” he ordered when Trey merely snorted. “You’re a freak.”

“I’m just . . .” He paused a moment to laugh again and wipe his eyes. “I’m just picturing you showing up at Coach’s house, holding a bouquet of flowers, ready to take Anya out to dinner.”

Stephen barked out a laugh.

“You both are true assholes,” he muttered, and got up to leave the hyenas behind.

Two weeks later, they were well into the swing of the season. Carrying a record of five wins, two losses, the Bobcats were holding strong. Those two losses hurt, but they weren’t a deciding factor in their fate just yet. Josiah swung by Anya’s—or rather, Coach’s—place after practice on a Tuesday night. He texted Anya while he idled at the gate. She hadn’t given him the code for the gate—not hers to pass out, she’d told him apologetically, though he hadn’t pressed—so he had to wait for her to press the button from her car in the back. When the gates creaked open, he drove through.

When he pulled up to the pool house, she was waiting for him on the tiny front porch of the little cottage-style building. He got out, and she skipped around to give him a kiss. “Hey. This is a surprise. Did I forget plans?”

It was a surprise because they’d spent most of their alone-time at his place, not here. Her rationale was it was too awkward, even if they lived in separate dwellings on the same property, with Cassie’s father nearby. He had agreed . . . the thought of running to his coach after a night with Anya seemed just this side of a train wreck.

“No, you didn’t forget anything. I just . . . wanted to see you.” No point in holding back that part. He’d told her earlier he would be staying at his place tonight, because it was a late practice, and he was exhausted. Then the minute he’d hit his own front door, he’d regretted it and turned around. “Plus, I had something for you and didn’t want to wait.”

She clapped her hands and danced in place. “Yes! I love gifts.” Then she froze. “That sounds mercenary. I love giving them, too, just for the record.”

He bent down to kiss her nose. “I’m not judging you. Stop thinking I am.” Then he pushed her gently toward the house. “Go sit in your bedroom and wait for me.”

“Uh, okay.” She gave him a wary look, then gave one to his SUV, as if trying to see through the tinting with X-ray vision. “Fine. But it better not be alive. Last time I had a plant, it committed suicide. Plants and I don’t get along. I couldn’t keep a lawn alive.”

“So noted.” Scratch the idea to bring in some air-scrubbing greenery next time. “Go.”

After she left, he managed to haul the gift out of his SUV by himself, though it was a bit bulky. He brought his toolbox in and went to work in the living room. After ten minutes, Anya called out, “Can I come out now?”

“No. Stay in there until I call you.”

“This gift feels like it’s doing the opposite of what you would want it to be doing . . . getting us together.”

“Just wait,” he muttered, tightening a screw. The directions were clear, but the project was proving unnervingly difficult. How was it something with simple directions—and pictures—managed to elude him? He was a college graduate. He had five dozen complex, multi-layered plays memorized and ready to recall at the snap of the ball. He should be able to follow a four-step process using a screwdriver and a small hammer.

After another fifteen minutes of fiddling, he managed to finish the project. And with only one nick on his finger. “Anya,
come on out.” He waited, putting his tools back in the box and brushing his hands off. “Anya! You can check it out now.”

He wandered back toward the bedroom, listened for signs of life, then slowly opened the door.

And found Anya sprawled inelegantly over her bed, one cheek planted on her notebook. One leg hung over the side of the bed; the other was propped up against the headboard. One arm was tucked under her—he winced, knowing she’d have a dead arm when she woke up in that position—with the other falling over the other side of the bed.

“‘She’s beauty and she’s grace,’” he sang softly, smiling. She was so put together most of the time, he relished the moments when she was a hot mess. It made her more human to him, more special. He was one of the few people who knew what she looked like when she hadn’t coordinated her outfit with her accessories, when she hadn’t smoothed over her braid with hair spray, when she hadn’t donned her armor of a professional businesswoman and entrepreneur. This was the woman he was not-so-slowly falling in love with.

“Anya,” he said softly, crouching beside her. He could see from the top half of the notebook she’d been working on notes for the fund-raising eighties prom, which was in two weeks. Her nerves were on edge, and he wasn’t at all surprised she’d quite literally fallen asleep from working so hard. “Baby, wake up.”

She mumbled, then rolled onto her back. The notebook rolled with her, the page stuck to her cheek. He grinned and carefully pried it away. She swatted at his hand. Setting the notebook aside, he went to work on her bottom half, in large sweatpants that rolled up at the ankles and waist. They might have been an old boyfriend’s at one point, but as the faded logo on the left hip displayed a high school, he knew the guy was long gone. No burning jealousy there. He pulled them off, smiling when he found she wore simple panties underneath. Nothing fancy, nothing seductive. Somehow, that only enhanced her pull. He traced the crease between her thigh and the center of her, then looked up.

She watched him with heavy eyelids. “Looking to score an easy lay?”

“I think we both know nothing about you is easy.”

Her cocky grin told him she took it as a compliment.

“I could look at your body for days, you know,” he said casually, sliding her underwear down her thighs. Her legs lifted to help him, silently giving consent. “There are times I’m alone at home, and I start fading out into sleep, and I can actually see you there in the room with me, walking toward me, this gorgeous body fully on display. It’s a pretty nice way to fall asleep. Second only to actually having you there.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, opening her legs wide when he nudged them to the sides. Then she gasped as his tongue came in contact with her slick folds. “What . . . what do you do when I show up?” she asked in a hushed tone. “The imaginary me, I mean.”

“Depends.” He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue until she squirmed, then lapped with the flat of his tongue. “Sometimes you just slide into bed with me and keep me company in my dreams. I like that feeling.”

“Being hot from another body pressed against you?” Her voice was strained, but he could hear the teasing in it.

“Feeling the weight of someone I want so badly right there. Like a constant pressure, as a reminder I can reach over
and touch you anytime I need.”

Her head drifted from side to side as he dragged his tongue down her slit, pumping in and out slowly. Tasting her as she grew more wet with every lick. His thumbs held her wide open, and he knew the cool air against the hot, moist flesh was doing almost as much work as he was.

“And other times?” she asked, gasping when he used his teeth to nip the sensitive flesh.

“Other times, I get hungry and you let me have a midnight snack.” He chuckled when she groaned at the bad pun. “A few times, Imaginary Anya surprised me by waking me up with a blow job.”

“Shocker,” she grumbled, then hissed when he nipped again, a little harder.

He soothed the sting with his tongue, then used the flat of it to massage the little bundle of nerves until she was writhing and vibrating. Then coming. He worked her back down from the high, satisfied just from looking at her sated body. Satisfied in a way he hadn’t been before from sex . . . and he hadn’t even gotten off himself. Kissing the inside of each thigh, he knelt on the bed over her. “I need to be inside you.”

She cracked one eyelid. “After that performance, you’ll have to do all the work.”

“Done.” He reached into her nightstand drawer and grabbed a condom—which he’d stocked up on for her after realizing she didn’t have any in her possession. He didn’t come to her place often, but when he did . . . well. He was a fan of suiting up in full protective gear both on and off the field.

Then he worked her into position, noting the pleasured smile on her face. “I feel so used.”

“You started it,” she reminded him without opening her eyes. “I should say I’m the one being used, since you woke me up just to get dirty.” She looked at him then, cupping his face, letting her thumbs trace his cheekbones. “No complaints, though.”

He entered her slowly, wanting it to last. The sleepy contentment on her face, the way she touched him, softly and with tenderness, the quiet night that surrounded them, without the TV on or traffic. Nothing to listen to but their own changed breathing, their bodies joining together and falling apart again, the bed moving under them. It was a sexual symphony, and he realized he hadn’t paid enough attention to the sounds of lovemaking before now.

“Mmm.” She arched into him, feet planted flat on the bed as she liked to do. He’d learned the first night, keeping her in her heels where she couldn’t do so had been a special kind of delicious torture. He loved knowing it. When she reached down to touch herself, between their bodies, her fingers brushed against the base of his cock on every slide.

He came before her—nothing could have stopped him. But he kept pumping rhythmically until she gasped and rode out her second orgasm of the evening. Then he tucked in beside her because the pressure of her body was precious to him.

*   *   *

An hour later, and refreshed from her sex-induced nap, Anya wandered out into the living room at Josiah’s urging. She’d slipped her sweatpants back on, commando, and was ready to get in another hour of planning for the eighties prom before
she went to sleep for good. But . . .

“Oh,” she said softly, coming to a stop just inside the living room. “I have furniture.”

“You have furniture,” he confirmed. “I know it was annoying to not have anything to prop your feet on, or put a glass on. So now . . .” He waved. “One coffee table, two end tables.”

“They look . . . not like what I would have thought for you,” she admitted, sitting on the couch and admiring the coffee table. She ran her hands along the minimalistic lines, down the legs he’d cursed over while putting together. “They look like the kind of furniture you buy at a big-box store and put together yourself. I figured you’d buy something, I don’t know . . . eco-friendly.”

“They’re both. It’s a special line designed to be built at home, like you would an IKEA piece. But it’s sustainable materials. They’re not local, so I had to wait for them to ship, hence why they weren’t here a few weeks ago. It’s a newer company.” He shrugged. “It worked for me, too, since I wanted to test the products before I could recommend them. Cheaper than buying something heavy and local, but a little more expensive than walking into your local Target and bringing the kit home yourself.”

“More expensive, but not exponentially so,” she guessed. “And more conscientious. Perfect combination.”

“I thought so.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So?”

“I love them.” She blinked a few times, using her examination of the end table to hide the tears that wanted to come. “It’s, like, the perfect blend of our things. I like the way they look, and you like the way they’re made.” She grinned up at him.

He watched her quietly, then simply sat beside her and gathered her into his arms. The tender embrace—following on the heels of a joking conversation—took her by surprise. So she let him hold her, resting her ear against his chest to hear his heart and relax.

In his arms, she felt safe to admit, “I’m scared.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “About what?”

“The fund-raiser, the nonprofit, pulling this whole thing off.” She hesitated then added, “This whole move thing. It’s a lot at once. I didn’t think it would all come together at the same time, but it did, and it seemed like fate. Now I’m wondering if I was taking crazy pills to try and do this all at once.”

“No, you weren’t. You’re passionate about it. That gives people adrenaline they didn’t know they had. The extra gear you find at the end of a long run.” His hand stroked her back and she nuzzled into his neck. “You’ll get through it. I’m here. Cassie’s here, and you’ve got friends with the guys and their women . . . it’ll be fine.”

“This prom is turning into a monster, and it’s coming together so fast. Kristen is a wizard, I think.”

“She might be,” he agreed with a chuckle. “I have to go home. I need a good night’s sleep.”

She held on tighter. “I have a bed.”

“You have a body that keeps me on the edge of insanity. I’ve got to rest, much as I hate leaving.” He tipped her chin
up and took her lips in one final kiss. Then he helped her stand and pressed another to her forehead. “Lock the door behind me. I hear there’s a very small gang running around here.”

She rolled her eyes.