Hard to Score

by K. Bromberg

  This is Dreamy Drew before me, and he’s even better than my teenage heart could ever fathom him to be.

  He reaches up to frame my face and with his erection pressing against my lower abdomen, presses his lips to mine again. The kiss is long, slow, and tender. The kind that draws out every last ounce of desire while simultaneously heightening it. The type that makes you weak in the knees and aching in all the right ways.

  The kind teenage girls dream of but then realize when they get older are only things in romance novels or movies.

  Or so I thought.

  Until Drew.

  Because he worships my mouth with an unrivaled reverence. He’s heating my body to the point that I can’t wait to burn.

  And oh, how I want him to make me burn.

  But he takes his time lighting the wildfire. He blazes a path with his mouth down the line of my neck and his fingertips trace over the peaks of my breasts. Little fires everywhere. Tiny sparks waiting to ignite.

  Needing to touch him in turn, I slide my finger beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs to find him hard and ready. His hiss at my touch is all I need to circle my fingers around him as best as I can and stroke his length.

  His kiss falters as he revels in the sensation. My own gasp follows soon after when he pushes down my panties and his fingers find their way between my slit. My thighs tense as he brushes a thumb over my clit before tucking a finger inside of me.

  “Drew,” I moan as he continues his onslaught of bliss a few more times before laying me down onto the bed to pleasure me properly. His knees press mine apart as he watches his fingers work me over.

  In.

  Out.

  A quick rub over the hub of nerves at the top.

  The scrape of his stubble as he leans forward and takes the peak of my breast into his mouth.

  The look in his eyes as he watches my arousal coat his fingers the more he pleasures me.

  “Drew.” His name is a drawn-out whisper emitted between clenched teeth and a delirium of desire.

  “You’re not getting me until I get you, baby,” he murmurs. “Not a chance on your life I’m going to miss watching you come undone.”

  And those words mixed with his deft actions do just that. They slip and slide and rub and pleasure until my vision goes white and my body turns hot, as it bursts into a million splintered pieces.

  My hands grip his hands, then the sheets, as my back bows, and my breath holds, and every sensation becomes my focal point.

  He stays perched between my legs. I know he’s watching me. I’m more than aware of it, but I’m so lost in my orgasmic haze that I don’t care. It’s only when the waves of pleasure turn to ripples that I’m able to crawl out from beneath its blanket. I find him sitting there like a Greek god watching how my muscles pulse around the very tip of his cock that he’s jacketed up and rested against my slit.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, his eyes finding mine. But there’s something about the way he says it, and the intensity in his eyes, which makes me feel shy. It strikes me funny in the moment. I’m laid bare after completely coming undone by his hand and his cock is lined up to take me, yet two words and two intense blue eyes have my cheeks heating.

  My smile in return is fleeting because he chooses that moment to slowly press his way into me. And good God, does he feel exceptional as my body stretches and burns blissfully until he fills me completely.

  There’s a strangled moan that echoes around the room. It could be mine, it could be his. I don’t know. I’m so lost to the feeling of him when he begins to move inside of me that all thought, all reason, is completely lost to it and to him.

  His hands grip the insides of my thighs and hold me still as his hips thrust, punctuated with that satisfying slap of skin against skin.

  We move in sync. Two bodies vying for the same destination.

  Two people needing a connection.

  Two lovers desperate to give each other release.

  It’s a battle of wills, a combining of libidos, and an intertwining of bodies, as sensations rule and passion lights a fuse that have us gripping and groping and moaning and groaning.

  “God, Brex,” he says as his head falls back and the tendons in his neck grow taut while my body begins to tense. “I can’t—you need to—fuck . . .” The last word is a drawn-out breath as he urges me on and lets me know he won’t last much longer.

  My breath quickens. My pulse races. My mind focuses on the man between my thighs while my body reacts to the pleasure he gives, and within seconds I’m crashing over the edge into oblivion.

  And while I’m lost in every single sensation he’s evoked within me, he loses himself to his: head thrown back, hands gripping tight, lost in the moment.

  It’s erotic as hell to watch.

  I want to do it all over again just for this moment—to see him like this.

  To know that I can do this—make him feel, want, and desire—just as he has me.

  DREW

  MY HEART RACES AND MY body is still alive with sensitivity as I slowly slip out of her, but Christ Almighty, I can’t stop staring at her.

  Cheeks flushed, body tempting me to sink back into it again, and those eyes of hers. The hazel ones that look up at me from beneath thick lashes, drugged with desire, lure and tempt when I’ve already been won over.

  How is it possible? How do I already want her again when my pulse hasn’t even settled down yet? How does this make any sense?

  I fall onto the bed beside her in a less than graceful manner but she’s still breathing hard too, so I’m good.

  Hell, I’m better than good. I’m fucking fantastic.

  I close my eyes for a beat and when I open them, I take the moment to look around her room. It’s no-frills but then again, I’d expect nothing else from her. There are light tans and dark browns mixed with light walls. It’s way too clean but again, it’s Brexton.

  “You know this is backward, right?” she asks, breaking the silence. “You’re supposed to go on dates first, then sleep together.”

  “True, but I’ve been dating you some way or another my whole life.” I chuckle and turn on my side so I can see her.

  She’s staring at the ceiling, and I take in her profile. Straight nose, lips a little swollen from mine, hair fanned out on the pillow all around her.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks.

  Yeah, Drew. What’s that supposed to mean?

  I shake my head into the pillow and laugh to cover the words that almost came to my lips.

  The ones that can’t be real.

  The ones that don’t make any fucking sense.

  How can I already think maybe I’ve been looking for a little piece of her in every woman I’ve dated? How can I know that when honestly, I barely even know the woman she is now?

  And yet the thought was there, on the tip of my tongue. The epiphany so very clear.

  Thank God I didn’t say it out loud.

  “Nothing. It was just—” I try to distract. “I guess maybe we’ve been avoiding each other because we knew this would happen. That damn kiss in the Keys set us up for it.” I smile as she turns on her side to look at me.

  Half her face is hidden by the pillow but the rise of her breast and the curve of her hip are visible in the soft moonlight filling the room.

  “Maybe it did,” she murmurs and then smiles softly. “I’m glad you took those two shots tonight, Drew.”

  “Really?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She reaches out and runs a hand down the length of my cheek. “If that’s what it took to get you to show up on my doorstep, then I’m glad you took them.”

  I itch to reach out and touch her too, but I hate the feeling in my chest. The one that I don’t understand or care to. The betrayal that’s wound around it from being here—with her.

  I offer her a shy smile to mask all the shit I don’t understand.

  And instead of words, I lean forward and press my lips to hers, preferring to get lost in her
again, rather than to figure it all out.

  There will be time for that.

  But not here.

  Not now.

  I’ll do anything to keep the outside world at bay for a little bit longer, because this is the first time in forever that I’ve found reprieve from it all.

  With her.

  Because of her.

  And fuck if I’m not going to hold on to it and not let go for the next several hours.

  BREXTON

  STANDING AT THE FOOT OF my bed, I can’t stop staring at Drew in the mid-morning light. He’s sprawled out sideways across the sheets, the comforter covers his ass and below, but his broad shoulders are bare, and his arms are tucked under the pillow that his head is buried in.

  I swear my heart skips a beat. One I don’t want it to skip, because I’m more than surprised that he stayed the night.

  It’s not like we had a one-night stand. I mean, we do in fact know each other—sort of. So there shouldn’t be a walk of shame or any moments of awkwardness this morning when he leaves. After all, we didn’t exactly fall asleep after that first time. It was almost as if each time our lips met, we couldn’t stop until we’d connected once again. Until we thought we’d gotten our fill of each other only to learn we hadn’t.

  It’s never been like that for me with someone before, and I’m not quite sure what that means.

  Are we simply a match striking, igniting, and then waiting to burn itself out? A foregone conclusion that we were going to sleep together before identifying that it was enough?

  But as I stand here studying him—the scar on his shoulder blade, the defined muscles, his thick lashes against his tanned cheek—I settle in with the thought that this feels like it could be the start of something good.

  You’ve sworn off men, Brex.

  But this isn’t just any man. This is Drew.

  And while I may be looking at him right now—grown-up Drew with his incredible body and quick wit—long ago I liked all the things that still seem to be the same. Sure his features are more mature now, but there’s the lopsided grin that’s part sheepish, part seduction that wins me over every time. There’s that impish look in his eye before he shakes his head when he knows you’re right but can’t admit it. There’s the way he narrows his eyes slightly before he fades into deep thought.

  I’ve seen little glimpses of that teenage boy I once knew—the playful and funny side to him—and I’m pleased to admit I’m more than enamored by the man he’s grown into. His passion for a game that seemingly has screwed him.

  The way he showed up here last night even if it took two shots.

  And yet, my subconscious complains to shut my heart out and to listen to my head. Things like this don’t happen to me. They’re never this easy.

  The other shoe always drops.

  And more often than not, it’s heavy and destructive when it does.

  “Hey,” Drew murmurs in a sleep-drugged voice. It’s made to sin with and pulls me from my thoughts.

  I take my time dragging my gaze up his body until I meet his eyes. “Hey.”

  “Don’t look at me like that, Brex.” He chuckles with a subtle shake of his head as I cross the room. “There’s no way you can possibly be up for another round.”

  I crawl onto the bed beside him, and when he turns onto his back to follow me, I straddle his hips over the comforter between us. “Mentally, yes.” I wiggle my hips playfully. “Physically, give me a minute or two.”

  He belts out a laugh as his hands find their way beneath the oversized T-shirt I have on. He hums when he finds my hips bare and without panties. “I hear what your lips are saying, but this body is tempting me with something altogether different.”

  Our eyes meet, the smile on his lips crinkling lines at the corner of his, making him even sexier. “Thank you for coming over last night,” I murmur and lean down and press a kiss against his chest. I have the strongest urge to lay my head there and hold on to him—almost as if I need to cherish this moment because it won’t happen again.

  It’s a silly thought but one that plagues me nonetheless.

  “Thank you for letting me in the door.”

  “There’s coffee on, if you want any to help wake you up. Or I have shots if you feel the need for more courage.” I wink as that smile of his widens.

  “No shots are needed. But coffee? Coffee is always welcome.”

  “What time is your flight?” I ask, more than familiar with the out-of-town-game travel schedule.

  “In a few hours. I should get home and pack,” he says but makes no movement to do so.

  Our fingers link on my knees, and I can’t break my gaze from them. He’s really here, with me. In my bed. And it feels so normal to be talking like this. “Should I be stupid and ask what’s next?”

  He’s silent and, when I don’t look at him, he squeezes my fingers until I meet his gaze. His eyes are full of the same hesitant confusion I feel, and it’s comforting to see. “You always did need to have the next ten steps planned out in front of you. Glad to see some things never change.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s different.”

  “No, it isn’t. You can’t plan for shit like this, Brex. A chance meeting after all these years. Good chemistry. Incredible sex.” He shrugs, and that shy smile on his lips owns me. “Why don’t we just see where it takes us?”

  “Which is . . .”

  “Stop.” A soft tug on my hands. “It should be enough for you to know that I didn’t bolt out of here early this morning because I thought things would be awkward. I stayed. I’m here.”

  I chew the inside of my lip and nod, realizing that I’m coming off as needy right now. I just don’t want another broken heart. But I can’t say that. I can’t tell him that my planner brain is already those ten steps ahead and wondering what-ifs.

  “You did. Sorry. Planner brain, here.”

  He tugs on my hands so that I lean forward and when I do, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest. The same thing I had wanted to do moments before. To say I don’t swoon when he rests his chin on the top of my head is a lie.

  He squeezes me against the firm warmth of his chest. “Quiet that brain of yours, Kincade. If I was going to run, I would have done it while you were still sleeping.”

  BREXTON

  “YOU’RE HERE LATE.”

  I glance up from the conference room table where I have contracts laid out in various stages of review to find my dad standing in the doorway. The formidable Kenyon Kincade in the sports management world is also an attentive father and the biggest softie in the world.

  “Just catching up on some things.”

  “I wasn’t aware you were so busy. Do you need me to have your sisters help some with the load?”

  “No. I’m good. With Lennox in London now,” I say mentioning my younger sister who recently made the move across the pond to be with her love, “I’m just trying to wrap up some of her deals and integrate some of her clients into mine.”

  “Thank you for helping with that.”

  “Of course. She’ll owe me big time.” I grin.

  “As in introducing you to some hot British guy type of owe you or something close to that?” He rolls his eyes.

  “You catch on quick for an old guy,” I tease.

  “Funny.” He glares at me before that smile lights up his face again. “You’re all good then?”

  “I am.”

  “I can wait for you until you’re done so you’re not alone.” He winks and I offer him a soft smile in return. I’ll never live down the scaredy-cat reputation I had as a kid.

  “I’m fine, Dad.”

  “Okay then. I’ll make sure Scott knows you’re up here though,” he says of the office building’s lobby security officer.

  “Thank you.”

  “Good night then.”

  And just as he walks away, I ask the question that has been circling in my mind since that first night I saw Drew. “Hey, Dad?”

  Or maybe
rather the question I’d been working up the courage to ask him and, since we’re the only ones left in the office, now seems to be the perfect time.

  “Yeah, honey?”

  “What’s the real story behind Gary Bowman?”

  My father does a double take as his feet falter and his expression reflects surprise. “Gary Bowman?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I murmur as his eyes hold mine, searching for an answer to a question he’s yet to ask.

  I hate that my palms are suddenly sweating as I question whether or not it was smart to open my mouth, but there’s no taking it back now.

  “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” he says.

  “I assumed.”

  “Where’s this coming from?” He steps back into the conference room, his expression pensive.

  “I was dealing with the situation with Whittier and the Raptors and I ran into Drew. He’s their second string QB.”

  He nods slowly. “I know.”

  “Did you keep tabs on him after . . . everything?”

  “I keep tabs on everyone.” He angles his head to the side. “Was he cordial to you?”

  I nod. “We spoke.”

  And I give pause over the fact that I don’t tell him any more. The question is, why is it instinctual to keep what’s going on with Drew so close to the vest?

  Is it because I don’t know where things are headed between the two of us and it’s premature to say anything in case it fizzles and dies out? Not saying anything would save me from yet another round of Brexton is the soft-hearted sister teasing.

  Or am I keeping mum because Drew scares me? Whatever this is between us is so effortless thus far that I’m afraid to jinx it. And without knowing the whole story of Gary Bowman’s scandal and the role my father did or didn’t have in it, it possibly means my father might disapprove of us seeing each other.

  My father eyes me in silence for a beat. “You spoke?”

  “Briefly.” I shrug. “It was weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  “Weird as in our families were inseparable and then in a short period of time, we went from that to basically acting like the other never existed.” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “Case in point. Why do we work in the same industry and yet that’s the first time Drew and I have crossed paths?”