by Lexi Ryan
I shrug, craning my neck to look up at him. “If it’s okay with my babysitter.” He gives my ass a sharp, unexpected smack, and I gape at him. “What was that, Mr. Nice Guy?”
Grinning, he rubs his hand over the stinging skin and arches a brow. “I’ll keep smacking your ass if you keep calling me your babysitter.”
“What if I like it?”
He groans and grips my hip with one hand, taking a fistful of my wet hair in the other as he kisses me. The kiss is long and hungry, and by the time he pulls away, I’m ready to tell the world we’re together just so I have an excuse to keep him in this room with me tonight.
“I want to find out everything you like,” he whispers. “And I want to know what scares you so I can prove that you don’t need to fear that from me. Do you understand?”
I nod.
He steps back and licks his lips, raking his gaze over me one more time before he leaves the bedroom and shuts the door behind him with a click.
It’s another five minutes before I manage to get my jeans on, and then I notice the text from Willow.
Willow: TELL HIM.
* * *
Chris
The guys keep me out too damn late, and though it feels good to run plays with Arrow, I’m anxious to get back to Grace. To have her alone.
When I get home, her bed is empty. I reach for my phone instinctively, then force myself to put it on the desk without texting her. She’s already giving me a hard time about acting like her babysitter, and I don’t want to give her any more fodder.
But it’s hard. At the very least, I want to text Bailey and find out if they’re still at the Cavern, but I don’t let myself. I trust Bailey not to let Grace drive if she’s been drinking, and I know Bailey and Mia would never get in the car if they’d had anything to drink.
I strip down to my boxer briefs and eye Grace’s empty bed one last time before climbing up to my lofted one. The minute I climb onto the mattress, I know there’s someone in it.
I reach for the curtain and pull it aside. From the light of the streetlamps slanting through my window, I see her. Grace isn’t still out with our friends. She’s sleeping in my bed, her hair spread out on my pillow, her curves draped under my sheets. There’s just enough light for me to make out the sleepy flush of her cheeks and the angle of her jawbone, the slight part of her lips. God, how I’d love to wake her up by tasting those lips. Her eyelashes don’t have their usual coating of mascara, and they look almost blond.
Between the way she tensed when I first touched her today and her insistence that I understand she’s not ready for sex, I’m surprised to find her in my bed. I swallow hard, trying not to think about what kind of invitation this might be. Failing.
“Grace?” I reach out to touch her bare shoulder, and her eyes flutter open. I don’t want to move my fingers off that soft, pale skin. Does she have clothes on, or is she covered by nothing more than my sheets and the vine tattoo that runs along her back? “Are you okay?”
She smiles at me, her eyes half-mast. “Good,” she murmurs before letting her eyes float closed.
“Is there something wrong with your bed?” I ask. “Did you want to switch?”
She rolls to her side and murmurs something I can’t make out, so I take a breath, push the curtain closed, and scoot back to the ladder. “I wanted to sleep in your arms,” she says. “Stay?”
* * *
Grace
I had planned on waiting up for him, but between the long day and the smell of him on the pillow, I felt so relaxed that it was like I melted into sleep. Now he’s sliding under the sheets behind me, and I’m wide awake.
I roll over, turning to face him. “You have a good night?”
He cups my jaw in his hand and slides his fingers into my hair. “Yeah, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
That makes my breath catch. He’s so damn sweet.
“How was your night? Karaoke go okay?”
“Yeah. Mia’s crazy good.”
“Mmm, yeah. She really is.”
I slide my hand over his chest. He sleeps shirtless, and I’ve fantasized countless times about curling into this broad, strong chest as I slept. Only now that I can, I don’t want to sleep. “Are you sure you’re okay with my no-sex rule?”
His breath catches, and he shifts to move infinitesimally closer. He sweeps my hair back before running his thumb down the column of my neck. “Why wouldn’t I be? This isn’t about me wanting to get laid. This is about me wanting you.”
The sweetness in those words makes my heart stutter.
“I just need you to tell me what’s allowed and what’s not.”
“I . . .” I don’t know. I haven’t really thought it through. I know that it’s a bad idea to have sex before I find the courage to tell him the truth.
He lowers his head and presses his lips to the sweet spot behind my ear. “Can I kiss you here?” he whispers.
The ache in my chest blooms into heat, and I nod. “Yes.”
His mouth opens against that tender skin and works its way down. I tilt my head to give him better access to that sensitive juncture of my neck and shoulder. He finds the hem of my shirt and toys with it. “Can I take this off?”
“Yes.”
We shift awkwardly in bed, trying to maneuver enough for him to pull my shirt off in the small space. He leans back and tucks the curtain behind the footboard to hold it in place. Light from the streetlamps streams over me, and when he turns back, his nostrils flare. I’m laid out before him in his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of polka-dot cotton panties, and his eyes are all over me—taking in every inch of me as if he might not have another chance.
“Can I touch you here?” His knuckles skim over the tops of my breasts, and I shudder in his arms.
“Yes.” I want to scream yes, yes, yes. I want him to touch me everywhere. To stop asking and start doing. I want . . .
I want exactly what he’s doing. Because he seems to know this is what I need. I don’t know how or why, but he gets it. He understands this deep, secret, terrified part of me better than even I did.
“Can I put my mouth here?” he asks, scraping my bare nipple with his thumb. My nipples are so tight, they ache. “I’m dying to taste you here again.”
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
He sits sideways on the bed so his back is against the wall, and leads me to straddle his lap. I straddle him. His eyes darken. “Jesus, Grace, you’re a dream.”
And that’s what scares me. I know he believes the words, but I don’t want him falling for someone I’m not. “I’m no one’s dream.”
He laughs. “Yeah? Tell that to my subconscious. You’ve consumed my fantasies since you walked in the door.” He kisses me, his hands tangled in my hair, our bodies pressed together. I feel the ridge of him between my legs, his length and heat through the cotton, and it’s hard not to take this farther. It’s hard not to fall back into old habits and fuck him just because I don’t feel like I have anything else to offer.
But this isn’t just any guy. This is Chris, and his kisses turn me into a wind-up toy clicking tight. Each touch makes me want to believe new beginnings are possible.
I don’t know how long we kiss before he slides us down into the bed and pulls the blanket up to cover us.
“Sleep well,” he whispers.
“Are you okay, though?”
He laughs. “Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve imagined you like this? Bare? In my arms?” He swallows before adding, “Mine.”
My heart aches at that word. I want to be his. I want to give him my body and beg him to never let go. But I can’t do that until I give him the truth.
Tell him.
Chapter Thirty
Chris
A man stands at my door, staring at me like I should know why he’s here. He’s tall, has a head of thick, curly blond hair, and broad shoulders, and I can hardly meet his eyes without scowling.
“Can I help you?” I ask
, looking into blue eyes that match the ones I see in the mirror every day.
My father tucks his hands into his pockets and runs his gaze over me. “Can we talk?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. “Come on in.” My voice breaks on the words, like a rusty hinge that’s never been used. This guy walked away from me when I was a baby. He never bothered to send me birthday cards or Christmas presents. And he certainly wasn’t the one who taught me how to throw a fucking football.
I step back and pull the door open wide.
He walks through, looking around the small apartment. I don’t know if he’s curious about who I am, or how I live, or if this is as awkward for him as it is for me.
“You’re taking the position?” I ask. I know there’s no other reason he’d be here.
“We’re entering negotiations, so it’s all but done.” He tucks his hands into his pockets and turns to face me. “I thought you should hear it from me first.”
“If you’re worried that I’m going to expect special treatment because you’re my dad—”
“It’s probably better that you don’t call me that.” His eyes seek out mine, something that looks like regret in the wrinkle of his brow. “Chris . . .” He sighs and hangs his head. “I came here to talk to you because I wanted to make it clear now—in private—that I think it’s better that we leave things as they’ve been. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about why I’m entertaining the offer. This job doesn’t change anything.”
Everyone loves Colt Montgomery. I’ve read interviews with his players talking about how he wasn’t just a coach—he was a father figure. For me, he’s nothing but an old wound that refuses to heal, and by coming to my door to lay it out for me like this, he’s ripping it open again with his bare hands. “I’m not asking you for anything.”
He nods, chews on the inside of his cheek, and cuts his gaze to the couch, as if some invisible third member of this conversation is sitting there and he’s waiting for them to chime in. “I have a family. I have a wife and a daughter.”
“You have a son,” I say. And I hate myself for saying it, but fuck, how much of an asshole can he be?
“What do you want from me? What is it that you need in your life that you think I can offer? Your mom did fine.”
“You’re right. She did.” We stare at each other, the silence between us growing taut, like a string about to snap. “You can go.”
I watch him leave—this man who isn’t anything like I imagined he was, this man who didn’t have any good reason to abandon me and my mom. “Selfish prick,” I mutter as he closes the door behind himself.
I walk to the counter, wrap my hands around the back of a barstool, and squeeze. Grace is at Bailey’s, and I suddenly wish she were here. I need her.
When I hear the door open again, I’m looking into the open refrigerator, staring at the contents and struggling to remember what I opened it for.
“Did I just see your dad leave?” Mason asks.
I shut the fridge and turn to Mason. “He’s not my dad. He’s nothing more than a sperm donor.”
* * *
A day at Arrow’s pool is just what I need to get my mind off my father’s visit. Scratch that. What I need is a day hanging with my friends with Grace tucked into my side, reminding me what really matters. But since she’s not ready for that, I’ll settle for a day with our friends.
Sebastian’s in the kitchen when I go in for a bottle of water. I grab it from the fridge.
“Montgomery,” he says, stopping me before I can go back outside.
The hair on my arms stands up. When it comes to Sebastian, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, it’s not like me to keep secrets from friends or teammates, and I would like nothing more than to come clean to Sebastian about what happened between me and his sister. On the other hand, I owe it to Olivia to keep the secret, even if I never understood why it was important to her. It would be one thing if we were still together, but since that ended and she still doesn’t want her brother knowing, I’m not sure what good would come of me telling him. In fact, it seems like more bad would come of it than good.
Not only would he be pissed at me, but that would lead to trouble on the field. He’d want to know why we broke up, and that would cause grief between him and Keegan, too. I don’t want my team torn apart because of my bad judgment. It’s going to be hard enough to keep everyone’s morale up with my dad’s attempt to “rebuild” a team that already stands strong.
Sebastian scratches his beard and drops his gaze to the floor. “I feel awkward as hell bringing this up,” he says.
Shit. “What?”
“You need to watch Keegan with Grace. I know he’s interested, but I’d tell her to tread carefully.”
My stomach knots at the idea of Keegan pursuing something with Grace. If she would just let me tell everyone we’re together, it would put an end to that shit. I could tell him he needs to back off. But she’s just as insistent on secrecy as Olivia was. What the fuck is it about me?
As much as I don’t want to compare Grace’s request for secrecy to Olivia’s, it feels too fucking familiar. With Olivia, I never could shake the feeling she was playing me, and that it was less about her not wanting Sebastian to know about us and more about her not wanting the other guys to know. Then I walked in on her kissing Keegan, and all my suspicions were solidified. And while I don’t think Grace is playing me, her reluctance to share our relationship with our friends cuts at an old scar.
“I’m not trying to start anything between you and K,” Sebastian says, seeming to mistake my silence for anger. He sets his jaw. “You and I both understand that there are rules. You don’t fuck with a guy’s sister.” He looks over his shoulder to the windows that overlook the pool area. Grace is out there, standing around in that polka-dot bikini and looking like something out of a pinup calendar. “Keegan doesn’t care about that, though.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” I’m not sure what else to say. Sebastian looks way too on edge, and even though I’m glad he’s looking out for Grace, I’m not sure why he cares so much.
“Someone broke Olivia’s heart,” he says, “and I think it was Keegan. I don’t want Grace to be next.”
Well, fuck. “I don’t think there was anything between Olivia and Keegan.” It’s all I can offer him, and I feel like a dick for hiding the truth that matters. If Olivia has a broken heart and it’s my fault, I should stand here and own up to it.
“He was always flirting with her and leading her on, and then it stopped all of a sudden, and now she walks around the house like she’s been beaten down. She won’t tell me why or what’s going on, but I saw the change in the way they act around each other. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” Sidestepping me, he leaves the kitchen and pushes through the French doors to the back patio.
Grace laughs at something Keegan says to her. They’re side by side, stepping into the pool, and he has his smile on full voltage. I drag a hand through my hair. When it comes to Grace, I feel so fucking crazy I could pull it out.
“Are you okay?”
I turn away from the window to see Olivia stepping into the kitchen. “I’m fine.”
She steps close, those sweet eyes on me. “You look upset.” Her voice cracks, as if she’s afraid to talk to me. Was I that big of an asshole when I broke it off? Sebastian makes it sound as if she’s miserable, but I honestly didn’t think she cared enough to be heartbroken.
“What is it about me?” I hear myself ask. “You didn’t want anyone knowing we were together, and then you kissed Keegan like . . .” I draw in a deep breath. “Like I was inconsequential.”
“It wasn’t you. He’d been trying to get my attention for weeks, and that day he just walked up to me and kissed me.” She puts her fingers against her lips, then drops her hand and shakes her head as if she’s shaking away the memory. “But I’m glad you brought it up. I was hoping we could talk. About us.”
I let out a lo
ng breath. “I don’t want to go through this again. I don’t have the patience or energy to rehash why you did what you did or why I couldn’t let it go.” Her big brown eyes fill with tears. I’m an asshole. “I’m sorry.” Fuck. “Listen, maybe things could have been different, but I have feelings for someone else.”
Her lips part, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “Grace?” she asks. “You’re falling for her?”
“Yeah.” I won’t lie about how I feel. “Pretty much from the moment I met her in Texas this summer.”
“Are you two together?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what we are.”
A second tear joins the first, and she drops her gaze to the ground. “I see.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “Listen, if you and I were supposed to be together, you wouldn’t have kissed Keegan.”
“He kissed me,” she says, her voice creaking. “I didn’t even know he was going to do it.”
I smile. “Yeah, but when I walked in you were definitely kissing him back.”
“I was confused. I wanted you to want me the way he wanted me.”
“What does that mean?”
“I never felt like you wanted to be with me. When I said that about you never being impulsive, I meant with me. I wanted you to be so into me that you’d do whatever it took for us to be together.” Wiping at her cheeks again, she shrugs, and I’m confused as hell.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
She nods. “Yeah. Back at ya. Or maybe I’m sorry you didn’t care enough to be hurt.”
* * *
Grace
I smile at my reflection in the mirror above the sink in Arrow’s guest bathroom. I thought my pale skin could only be white or sunburn red, but in the three weeks since I arrived in Indiana and have started spending days at Arrow’s pool, I’ve developed a light golden tan.