We’re quiet for a few minutes as we eat and then he laughs, laying down his fork. “I seriously can’t believe you knew and didn’t say anything.”
“Hey.” I raise my hands in surrender. “Don’t be mad at me, you’re the one that kept it a secret, I was just following your lead.”
He shakes his head. “I feel so stupid for not telling you sooner.”
I shrug and take another bite of my pasta. “It was stupid,” I agree. “But I guess you felt like that’s what was best for you at the time. Now tell me, how’s practice been? Is it brutal? Can I watch? There’s nothing quite like a bunch of sweaty guys piling on top of each other in those tight pants.” I make a grabbing motion with my hands.
Xander chokes on a bite of food and beats at his chest with a closed fist. “Thea,” he says my name in shock.
“What?” I shrug innocently. “I love the game, but you can’t blame me for wanting to look at their butts. I mean, those pants … yes. Just yes.” He gives me a funny look and I raise my hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t worry, I always look at your butt the most.”
He snorts. “I have to say, you never cease to surprise me.”
“Good.” I grin. “It keeps things interesting.”
“That’s for sure,” he agrees and takes a sip of his wine. I finish mine and ask for a water instead of having another glass of wine.
Xander moves the conversation away from butts—such a shame—and I listen intently as he answers my previous questions. He tells me about his practices and how grueling they are, especially with him pulling double duty and still working for his dad. My chest tightens with sympathy. It’s had to be hard juggling all of this. I don’t know why he’s put himself through it. I guess most of us will sacrifice ourselves to please the ones we love. It’s ingrained in our DNA to lessen the burden from others.
“As for you coming to a practice?” He pauses, leaving me at the edge of my seat. “I’ll see what I can do.” And then he winks.
I let out a groan. “You can’t leave me hanging like that. That’s like dangling a piece of chocolate in front of my face and expecting me not to bite.”
Laughter shines in his dark eyes. “I have to okay it with my coach. Sorry.” He tries to look innocent, but he’s far from it.
“Mhm,” I hum, finishing the last of my pasta. “I’m sure you’re real sorry.”
We finish our meal and skip dessert. Xander pays and I balk at the price. But it was a nice meal and I enjoyed myself so I don’t comment. As we leave, he reaches for my hand and I find my body drawn to his side like we’re magnets.
We wait for his truck and I tilt my head toward the sky. The sun has just set and there’s still a smidge of color left in the sky, making it look more like a royal purple than inky blackness.
Xander’s truck is pulled to the front and I find myself wishing it was the motorcycle even though there’s no way I could safely get on it in this dress.
“I wasn’t kidding about getting Prue some treats,” I tell him. “She looked so sad when we left.”
He chuckles. “There’s a pet store down the street. We’ll stop there.”
It doesn’t take us long to reach the store and we pick up a few items—including one really large bone that I know she’ll have a field day with.
Back in the car, Xander grins at me. “I do believe I owe you a celebratory McFlurry.”
“Mmm.” I lick my lips, and his eyes zero in on my tongue. “That sounds good.”
He clears his throat and puts the truck in gear. “Good,” he says, his voice slightly raspy. It’s like he’s seconds away from losing the control he’s trying so hard to maintain. Even though it’s dangerous for us, I secretly love that it doesn’t take much on my part to unravel him.
He pulls into the McDonald’s drive-thru a few minutes later and I bounce in my seat because I’m about to get a McFlurry, and who doesn’t love those? He orders an Oreo one for me and an M&M one for himself.
“Are McFlurrys on the NFL practice diet?” I wag my brows. “Are you breaking the rules with me?”
He chuckles. “I burn enough calories to eat a McFlurry if I want to.” He sits up and grabs his wallet from his back pocket.
“I can pay—” I reach for my wallet and he gives me a death glare.
“No,” he says sternly. “I’m buying it.”
I shrug. “I’d normally argue with you because I’m like that, but I did think I was pregnant with your giant spawn today so you kind of owe me.” I sit back in the seat while he hands over a ten-dollar bill to the cashier.
He shakes his head. “Giant spawn?”
I wave my hands at him. “Have you not looked in a mirror? You’re like six-foot-five and built like a tank. Your child would break my vagina.”
The cashier squeaks and throws the money at Xander. Apparently, she doesn’t like the word vagina.
Xander shakes his head again, his laughter filling the car. “I’m six-foot-three.”
I guffaw. “Oh, big whoop, like that makes such a difference. And I can’t believe I mention the breaking of my vagina and you focus on your height.”
“Well, my height is factual and our child is fictional.” He grabs our McFlurrys and hands me mine before driving over to an empty space and parking his truck.
“Bleh,” I gag. “Just hearing you say our child makes my ovaries shrivel up and die.” I pull the spoon out and lick the ice cream and Oreo goodness from it.
He frowns. “Don’t diss our fictional baby. He has feelings.”
“What if our fictional baby is a girl?”
“What if it’s a squirrel?” he counters.
I gasp and flick my ice cream at him, and it lands on the side of his face. “Our fictional baby isn’t a squirrel.”
His eyes widen. “Did you flick ice cream at my face?”
I smile sheepishly. “Sorry—heat of the moment and all that jazz.”
He’s not listening to my weak excuse, though. Instead, he slings ice cream at me and it lands in my hair. I look down at the blob of ice cream and lone blue M&M then back up at him.
“Oh, it’s on.”
And then we’re slinging ice cream at each other. Our laughter fills the air and ice cream goes everywhere, but for the moment, we don’t care about the mess, because the joy is in the now and the rest can wait until later.
Sticky ice cream sticks to my skin and I should probably be cringing at that fact, but I don’t think I’ve ever had more fun than I am right now so it doesn’t matter. Xander’s just as much of a mess as me, with ice cream stuck in his hair, dirtying his clothes, and even some stuck in the scruff on his cheeks. We run out of ice cream and our cups fall to the floor. The only sound in the space of the truck is our breathing and we stare at each other as the temperature rises.
I think I move first, leaning my body over the center console and wrapping my hands around his neck, drawing him close to me.
I press my lips to his and he groans low in his throat. His hand finds my waist and he tries to get as close to me as possible. My hands move to his face and stick slightly from the drying ice cream. He angles my head back, sweeping his tongue into my mouth. My whole body ignites with desire and he pulls me onto his lap. The space is cramped, but neither of us seems to notice.
His fingers press into my hips with enough pressure that I won’t be surprised to find bruises in those spots in the morning.
We’re so lost in each other that we don’t even realize someone’s knocking on the window of the truck. It takes a loud smack of their hand and for them to yell, “Hey!” before we notice them.
The McDonald’s employee glares at us like we’re ruining her day. I wonder if it’s the same one that was scared by my use of the word vagina.
Xander reluctantly rolls down the window.
“You guys need to go.” She glares. “Or we’re going to call the cops,” she warns.
Xander nods. “We’ll go.”
She stands there, waiting for us to do just that, and Xander
lifts me off his lap onto the other seat, looks pointedly at the McDonald’s employee, and puts the truck in reverse.
Once we’re out of the parking lot I dissolve into laughter. “That was the best. I thought she might throw a rock or something at us.”
“Rock throwing amuses you?” He glances at me with a smile.
“Not actual rock throwing, just the figurative kind.”
He chuckles. “Uh-huh,” he says, tightening his hand on the wheel. I can’t help but notice the vein running up his arm and the firm set of his jaw, and suddenly I’m completely turned on again.
“I want to kiss you again,” I whisper. I want to do a lot more than kiss him, but I’m scared to say the words out loud—terrified of his reaction, which is stupid, I know.
He glances at me and the heat in his eyes is unmistakable. “I better drive faster then,” he says, and his eyes flick quickly over my face, zeroing in on my lips, before he glances back at the road.
I wiggle uncomfortably in the seat, my bare legs sticking to the ice-cream-covered seats.
When we arrive home, we tumble from the car and into the house. I drop the bag with Prue’s stuff on the counter and before I can turn around, I feel Xander’s hand on my waist. He flips me around and his other hand delves into my hair
His lips latch onto mine and he kisses me slow, but deep. We’re not in a mad rush like we were in the car and that turns me on even more.
He backs me up until my butt hits the counter and then he lifts me up and I sit on the edge of it. The added height puts me closer to his and he doesn’t have to stretch down as far. I wrap my arms around his neck and my breasts push into his chest. A small moan leaves me when his hands edge slightly up my thighs where my dress has ridden up.
He moves his lips down my neck and my whole body arches, giving him further access. “Shower,” I pant. “We should shower.”
He stops what he’s doing and pulls away, his body language suddenly cold. I’m surprised by the sudden change. “Oh,” he says solemnly, and from that one word alone, I know he thinks I’ve used that as an excuse to stop things. He goes to step back but I grab ahold of his shirt and tug. He looks at me with a raised brow, waiting for me to explain.
“Together,” I breathe, my eyes reluctantly meeting his. “I meant we should shower together.”
Immediately, his eyes flood with relief and the coldness leaves his stance. “Fuck, yes,” he growls, and kisses me quickly and slightly rough. He grabs the bone from the bag on the counter beside me and tosses it at Prue where she lies on the floor. “Have fun, girl.”
And then he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder caveman style, running up the stairs with me.
My laughter echoes around the stairwell and I swat at his butt. “Put me down!” I try in vain to get out of his arms.
“Not until you’re wet.” He chuckles, and I don’t think he means it sound dirty but it does and I kind of love it.
He pushes open the door to my room and heads straight for the bathroom. Without putting me down, he turns on the shower and we end up inside, fully-clothed. The water beats against me, coursing down my bare legs.
“Now I can put you down.” He lowers me from his shoulder but keeps his hands on my waist so I don’t slip. I kick off my heels and reach down to toss them out of the tub. Next he gets rid of his shoes. He turns us so his back is to the water and I’m shielded from the spray. His eyes linger on mine as he reaches for the top button of his shirt and slowly slips it through the hole. He moves to the next one, and the next, and all the way down until his shirt is completely undone and the shirt hangs limply from his shoulders. The shower is small, and with the space his large body takes up I don’t have to stretch my arms far to grab ahold of each side of his shirt and push it down his arms. It falls to the floor of the shower with a wet thump. His hair is plastered to his head and I watch the rivulets of water slide down his torso, getting lost in the fabric of his pants.
I know he’s waiting for me to go next—he won’t push this, won’t push me. He wants me to know the power is in my hands, and while I appreciate the gesture, he should know by now that I’m powerless when it comes to him.
I turn around and tug my hair to the side, exposing the zipper in the back of my dress. I look at him over my shoulder and take pleasure in the darkening in his eyes and the way he bites his lip. He reaches out a tentative hand to the zipper and slowly—oh so slowly—lowers it. My heart races in my chest and I crave his touch more than I ever have anything else. The dress begins to slip from my body and I let it fall, leaving me only in my lacy bra and underwear.
The dress pools on the floor along with his shirt, and before I can turn around to face him, he cages me in with his large body. The tile wall of the shower is right in front of me, and I brace my hands against it as he towers behind me. He rubs his hands up and down my sides before settling one hand on my stomach and pulling me more firmly against him. I gasp at the feel of him pressing against me and a moan leaves my throat.
God, I want this. I want him. This isn’t like the frantic night we shared in Vegas. This is raw and real and us.
I reach my hands up behind me and wrap them around his neck, tugging on the strands of his hair. I tilt my head back and the look on his face nearly undoes me. He looks at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted in the world.
He moves his hands up my sides and cups my breast. I shiver against him.
“Please,” I beg. His fingers find the strap of my bra and he undoes the hooks. It goes slack, and I let it fall down my arms. I move aside the shower curtain and toss it out and then do the same with my underwear.
I turn, facing him, and he eyes me up and down. Maybe I should feel shy beneath his gaze, but the only thing I feel at the moment is beautiful.
I move forward, pressing my hands to his solid chest and relishing in the slight twitch in his muscles. He’s just as affected by this as I am.
“Please, tell me you want this,” I breathe the words above the sounds of the water beating against the floor. A drop of water slides down my nose and onto my lip and I lick it away. Xander watches the movement and his Adam’s apple bobs.
“You know I do,” he whispers. “I want you so much.”
Hearing those words … They feel surreal. For so long, I thought I was just another girl crushing on her brother’s best friend, but to know that he’s always felt the same feels pretty damn good.
“Good.” I take his face between my hands and kiss him. The spray of the shower covers us both, the water coursing down our bodies.
Xander pushes me away slightly and removes the last of his clothes.
I stare at him, overwhelmed by the feelings coursing through me.
This is … intense. I never knew it was possible to feel so many things at once.
Fear.
Lust.
Worry.
Hope.
Love.
Yes, even love.
“Turn around,” he says gruffly.
I do as he asks and then feel the water wet my hair more fully—since he’d been blocking most of the spray with his Viking-sized body.
When my hair is soaked, he steps in front of the spray once more and then I hear the sound of him squirting shampoo into his hands. He lathers the shampoo into my hair, working it into my scalp. I’m pretty sure having your hair washed—or brushed—by someone else is one of the best feelings in the world.
He moves aside and guides me back so he can rinse the soap from my hair. When it’s out, he moves on to conditioner. I feel relaxed, but somehow excited at the same time.
When my hair is clean he moves on to washing my body. He doesn’t try to use it to his advantage to tease me, but it works nevertheless. By the time the soap swirls down the drain, I’m a panting, wanton mess.
He washes his hair next—there’s no way I could reach his head to do it—and the whole time his eyes are locked on mine. Even though he’s not touching me and there’s nothing sexual about what
we’re doing, I still think it’s the most erotic moment of my life. There’s something about the waiting and the knowing that this person is special.
It’s not like I have the most colorful sexual history in the world—only a few random fumblings here and there—but somehow I know that this is different.
The bond we have is unique, and while I might try to play it off, I honestly can’t deny its potency.
When we’re both clean he turns off the water and neither of us move, locked in a silent stare down. I think he’s still waiting for me to get scared and blurt an excuse to keep this from happening. But I can’t. I’m tired of running. For years I’ve been running from this and in the last two weeks I’ve been flat out sprinting—and yet somehow, no matter how far or fast I run, I always end up back here with him. That has to tell me something.
He reaches for my cheek, his touch light and tentative, and I relax into him. “I’m scared I’m going to push you away,” he whispers.
“You won’t,” I whisper back.
He brushes a wet piece of hair from my forehead and searches my eyes to see if my words are true.
“I don’t know why my heart’s beating so fast,” he murmurs, and grabs my hand placing it over his heart. I can feel it thumping madly and I know mine echoes the same beat in my chest.
“Because,” I whisper, “this is different than Vegas. This is … This is …”
He places a finger over my lips. “I know.”
We climb out of the shower and he reaches for a towel and hands it to me. I quickly dry my body and he does the same.
We’re not rushed, even though we both know what’s coming. I think we both purposely want to take our time unlike the night in Vegas. I want to remember every second of this, and I never want to forget the way I feel.
I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest as he stares back at me.
I reach for him first and he picks me up, carrying me swiftly into his room. A moment later the soft feel of the cotton of his sheets presses against my back.
He releases me and looks down reverently. “We don’t have to—”
I sit up and place my hands on his hips. “Just shut up already.”
When Stars Collide (Light in the Dark #2) Page 10