by S. R. Grey
But now I’m nervous.
I can’t help it.
So I default to humor, deadpanning, “Because Jock chose so well?”
Graham’s having none of my attempt at deflection.
“Be serious,” he says.
I whisper, “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth. Tell me what you’re really thinking.”
I inhale deeply. “I’m thinking, Graham, that I don’t know why it feels so good to be with you. But it does. This is going to sound weird, but it feels like I’ve known you for years, not just a month.”
“I know what you mean.” He reaches over, his warm hand trailing down my cheek. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yes.”
“I want to kiss you so badly right now that it’s not even funny.”
Whoa, I didn’t expect that.
Not wanting him to change his mind, I grab his hand and squeeze. “So do it.”
Graham lifts up and leans over me, our gazes locked.
I couldn’t turn away if I wanted to.
And I don’t.
I want this too.
When Graham lowers his mouth to mine, he gives me just a brush of his lips. But then he full-on kisses me, so sweetly and tenderly, like I’m a fragile doll.
His gentleness makes me want to go further with him, experience more.
What’s he like when he makes love to someone?
Or does he fuck?
“Unh…” I writhe beneath him.
Parting his lips, he touches his tongue to mine. And then he shifts and I can feel how hard he is.
“Graham,” I gasp.
“Sweetheart.”
It’s just the two of us out here under the stars, the crisp September air a non-factor with the heat that’s building between us.
Everything feels so good, so right, just like I knew it would.
Hitching my leg over his hip, I breathe out his name.
“Eden,” he murmurs against my mouth.
His hands move down to cup my ass, his warmth radiating through my jeans, searing my skin. I can only imagine what it would be like if we were skin-to-skin.
Graham leans back and, brushing locks of hair from my face, tells me, “You’re so beautiful. You know that, right?”
How can he say that when he’s the stunning one?
His messy dark blond hair, his gorgeous blue eyes, the way the moonlight accentuates his strong jaw. He’s like the perfect man.
I trail my hand down his smooth cheek. “Did you shave after the game?” I randomly ask.
Smiling, he says, “Mmm-hmm, I did.”
“Thinking maybe you’d find yourself a hot date?”
He tugs me closer to him, enveloping me in his arms. “Not the original plan. But looks like I did find a hot date after all, huh?”
“What are we doing?” I whisper.
He raises a brow. “Playing our roles really, really well?”
Lightning flashes directly above us.
Shit, the storm is moving in.
“Is that what this is, Graham? Play-acting?”
He lowers his head, his lips hovering over mine.
“Does this feel like play-acting, Eden?” he asks as his mouth descends to mine.
No, no it doesn’t.
I kiss him back, and he kisses me even harder.
Thunder rumbles, along with our hearts.
I don’t think I can stop. I don’t think I want to.
But then, just as Graham is lifting the hem of my shirt, the freaking skies open up, pelting us with an icy rain.
“Crap!” I call out.
“Fuck,” he says.
Fuck is right.
Mother Nature Sends Us a Cold Shower
Just as I’m muttering, “Fuck,” the pounding rain becomes a deluge.
This is no warm summer shower. No, this shit is freezing, ruining my lusty time with Eden.
Talk about a cold shower to cool things down.
Yeah, thanks, Mother Nature.
“Oh crap,” Eden sputters as rain drenches us both. “We better get in the car. This shit is freezing cold.”
“You’re not kidding,” I mutter dejectedly.
Why now?
Sighing, I help Eden down from the hood of the Audi. She grabs the soaked blanket, and I yell over the pouring rain, “Do you have anything else in the trunk? We could really use a dry towel right about now.”
“Actually I do have something,” she says. “Another blanket.”
This woman is so resourceful. I love it.
Whipping her hair back from her face, she races to the rear of the car.
“I have to say, you’re quite the little Girl Scout,” I call out as she pops open the trunk and yanks out yet another blanket, this one nice and dry.
“Thanks, but we better hurry and get in before this one ends up soaked too,” she says.
“Good point.”
Jumping in opposite sides of the car at the same time, we proceed to huddle close over the console, sharing the nice, warm—and dry—blanket.
Eden leans forward to turn on the heat.
“Ah, that’s much better,” she breathes out as warm air pumps out.
She sits back in our blanket cocoon, and, after a beat, I quietly ask, “Should we talk about what happened out there on the hood?”
She twists to face me, peering up at me inquisitively. “Do you regret it?” she asks.
Shaking my head adamantly, I reply, “No, not at all. Do you?”
“I don’t.”
I sense hesitation, though, so I venture, “Something is wrong, Eden. I hear it in your tone. What is it?”
Shifting, but not retreating away from me, she says, “Maybe I do feel a little off, but it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Oh? And just what do you think I’m thinking?” I say.
“That I’m sorry it happened.” She pauses. “I’m not. I liked kissing you, Graham. I liked it a lot. And I definitely want to do it again.”
“Good,” I murmur, “’cause I do too.”
“I’m just scared, is all,” she confesses.
“Oh, sweetheart.” I take her face in my hands and kiss her swollen lips softly. “It’ll all be okay.”
“God, I love how you kiss me,” she murmurs.
So I kiss her again.
“I do too, babe. I could kiss you all night. But first”—I lean back—“I have a question.”
“What’s that, Graham?”
I just fucking lay it on the line then. We’ve gone this far, so we may as well keep going. It’s all about forward progress, right?
Taking a deep breath, I blurt out, “How would you feel about this relationship turning from fake to real, Eden?”
She shrugs lightly and her lips curl into a smile. “Sure, I’m up for giving this a try. But I do have one condition.”
I’m so thrilled that she’s open to the idea of us as a real couple that I almost don’t comprehend her last words.
But they eventually catch up to my racing mind.
“Wait, what’s your one condition?”
Sighing, she says, “I’d like to take things much more slowly.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Does that mean I don’t get to do sinful things to your body tonight?”
I’m teasing, but my words make her quiver.
“Damn, Graham,” she gasps. “I want you to do sinful things to me, I really freaking do. But don’t you think it’d be better if we moved more cautiously?”
I raise a brow. “Is this condition because of the team agreement?”
She nods. “There’s that to consider, yes. I mean, it’d be really awkward if we raced into something and it didn’t work out.”
I blow out a breath. “I see your point. Still, I feel like there’s more than just that holding you back.”
“There is,” she confesses, her pretty pale green eyes locking with mine. “It’s just that I want this to work, Graham. I really, really like you
—”
“I like you too, Eden.”
“—and I get the feeling we could build something truly good here.”
I nod and agree, “Maybe more importantly, we can build something real.”
She says, “Exactly.”
And she’s so right.
This shot at a relationship—a genuine one, not a fake arrangement—deserves caution and care.
So I agree to her terms, and after a little more kissing, we head home.
A Quick Thought
I hate when Graham and I have to stop kissing. But we must. If we don’t, we’re going to end up ditching our agreement to move cautiously before it even begins.
Still, it’s with reticence that I pull away.
Graham doesn’t press. He just gives me an understanding smile before he settles back in the passenger seat.
As he peers out the side window, I guess in thought, I put the car in gear so we can start our trek home. Well, first I have to drop him off at the pizzeria so he can pick up his car.
As we begin our drive back, I say, “Can I ask you a personal question, Graham?”
“Sure.”
“You asked me about boyfriends. But why don’t you have a girlfriend? Or hell, even a wife?”
Letting out a surprised cough, he says, “Whoa, woman, you get right to the point, don’t you?”
I shrug. “It’s a legitimate question, especially if we’re going to move forward.”
“It is,” he agrees.
Still, at first he says nothing.
But then, after releasing a long, drawn-out breath, he tells me, “There’ve been girlfriends in the past. Not a lot, mind you, but a few. As for a wife, it sounds cliché but I guess I just never met the right one.”
Our eyes meet for a beat, but then I have to turn my attention back to the road.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Just bad timing, then?”
Now it’s his turn to shrug. “A little of that, I’m sure. But mostly I wasn’t ready.”
Softly, I ask, “Are you ready now?”
He takes my hand, the one not on the wheel. “I think I may be, Eden. I feel like I might.”
My heart soars hearing him say that, but I don’t let it show.
This is yet another reason why I think we should take things slowly.
I want Graham to be certain about us.
Winning in Every Way
The Comets win the next game, an away one, and I’m flying high.
But is my good mood about success on the field, or is it because I know I’m returning home to Eden?
Ah, I like that—returning home to my girl.
And that’s what I do. I arrive back in town Sunday night and Eden and I share a late meal.
As we’re seated at the dining room table, she tells me how she watched all the plays in the game. She even dissects some of the mistakes we made.
I can’t deny I’m impressed with her football knowledge.
“You really do know your shit,” I remark.
She pushes her empty plate away, her fingers lingering on the china’s edge. “I guess I do,” she says softly.
“I like that, Eden. It makes it fun to talk to you about the games.”
Lifting her eyes to me, she says, “I want to be here for you, Graham. I like that you feel you can confide in me.”
Ah, here’s my chance to ask something I’ve been curious about since game one.
But I first preface with, “Do you feel comfortable confiding in me, Eden?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Yes, of course.”
“So tell me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Why did you miss my first touchdown in game one? When I asked you about it that night at the pizzeria, you started blushing like crazy.”
She laughs. “And that’s why you want to know?”
“Hell yes!”
She starts blushing again.
She’s so cute.
I think I may be out of luck on an explanation until she says in a rush, “I was thinking about what it would be like to be with you, Graham.”
“Shit, I didn’t expect that honest of an answer.”
Suddenly all I can think about is the same thing—what it would be like to have Eden Vetterly beneath me, accepting me, taking me all in, calling out my name.
Fuck.
I reach for what’s left of the ice water I had with my dinner.
As I take a big swig, she snickers.
But that stops when, as I set my glass down, I assure her she’ll find out eventually what it’s like to be with me.
Now it’s her turn to reach for her ice water.
“Crap, Graham,” she says after taking a drink. “You’re making this waiting and being patient thing really, really hard.”
“Uh, that’s not the only thing that’s hard,” I murmur.
And it’s not. I want this woman so badly that I can taste it. Speaking of which, I can’t wait to do some of that too—taste her.
We wrap up quickly after that, both of us heading off to our respective bedrooms. I don’t know what she plans to do, but I spend half the night touching myself, thinking about her.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, we’re careful to keep all of our conversations platonic. It’s just too much temptation otherwise. I tell her about practices, and she fills me in on the one shift she picked up on Wednesday night.
We also talk a lot about Paul. He’s really fitting in at his new school, making friends like crazy and loving the art-centric curriculum.
Me, I just love seeing Eden happy about that.
Finally, Thursday arrives. There’s a game tonight. We’re playing at home and our opponents are the Toronto Tigers. They’re 3-0, like us, so this should be a great match-up.
“Are you coming to tonight’s game?” I ask Eden.
It’s about an hour before I’m set to leave the house, and I’ve just caught her as she’s bringing up laundry from downstairs.
We have a system in place, and it’s been working out rather well. I do the laundry one week, and she takes care of it the next. It’s easier than doing all of our own laundry on different schedules. We tried that at first and it was utter chaos.
Resting the basket on her hip, which makes her look cute as hell, she says, “Of course I’m coming to your game tonight. I wouldn’t miss watching you play for the world.”
I can tell she’s completely serious, not just yanking my chain.
And that makes me so damn happy.
I’m clearly crazy about Eden. Ever since that night under the stars, when we were caught out in the rain and opened our hearts, I feel like I’ve been falling more and more for her.
That’s cool. I’m okay with that.
I guess timing really is everything.
Smiling at how lucky I am, I say to her, “Thanks, babe. Your support means a lot to me.”
“Well, you have it, Graham.” She puts the basket down and comes over to me. Standing up on her tiptoes, she presses her lips to mine and adds, “Good luck tonight, by the way.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, grasping her around the waist and pulling her in as close as I can. “I think if we keep this up, I may skip the game.”
Laughing, she says, “Guess we better stop, then.”
I nuzzle her neck, making her shiver. “I think a few more minutes won’t hurt.”
And they don’t.
In fact, maybe all her kisses are infused with magic or good vibes or something, since during the game I play exceptionally well.
I pass for over a hundred yards, and the Comets score two touchdowns.
That’s only at the end of the first half, where we are right now.
Before the team heads back into the locker room for halftime, I peer up at the luxury box Eden’s in tonight. It’s kind of far away, making it hard to see inside with the bright stadium lights glaring. But I swear she’s at the glass, smiling down at me.
I don’t care if I’m imagining things or
not. I smile right the hell back and give my girl a thumbs-up.
On the way down the tunnel to the locker room, I’m bombarded with screams from fans in the stands, especially women.
One lady even throws her bra at me.
What the fuck?
I’m stunned and stop for a sec, instinctively catching the damn thing. But then I come to my senses and let the lacy undergarment fall to the ground, before I resume walking.
Jesus, the team’s obsession with promoting me as some kind of a sex symbol is beginning to get out of hand. I’ve been meaning to say something, and now I must. Already the photo shoots the team keeps scheduling for me have been requiring fewer and fewer clothes.
I get what they’re doing, but enough is enough.
Just yesterday, after one of the shoots where I was directed to lose half my attire—which I didn’t dare mention to Eden for fear of upsetting her—I called Jock and asked him to talk to the team for me.
He said fine, he would, but he wants to wait until October so we, hopefully, have more wins under our belt.
“That would give us more leverage,” he explained.
I sigh, the bra-throwing incident fresh enough to make me feel uncomfortable. It can’t be soon enough that Jock talks to the team.
By the time the third quarter begins, I’m still fired up, and thereby pumped.
That’s good for the game.
One touchdown and a field goal later and the Comets end up winning.
Later that night, once I’m back at home, Eden and I celebrate by making out on the sofa.
It’s a good way to let off even more steam.
And Eden seems really into it.
She squirms beneath me as I grind against her.
“We’re supposed to be behaving,” she breathes out heavily.
“Fuck that,” I growl. “I can’t wait to feel you pressed against me like this, but without so many damn clothes.”
We’re both wearing jeans and thin cotton tees, but it feels like layers and layers are keeping us separated.
“Maybe I should take something off,” Eden suggests.
“Shit, babe, you’re killing me here.”
We ultimately decide taking off clothes is not a good idea. I already don’t know how much longer she and I can keep up with this taking-things-slowly agenda.