“To people who have something against lamps.” She rests her hands on her hips. “You don’t even have any bedside tables or a dresser.”
“So?”
“Where do you plug your phone in at night?”
“On the floor?” She’s making a big deal out of nothing.
“Oh, my gosh. You’re hopeless.” She throws her hands up in the air. “You need someone to take you furniture shopping.”
“I don’t have time.”
“You have two weeks until your first regular season game,” she points out.
I’m impressed she knows. “Been learning a little about football, huh?”
“Fable’s taught me a thing or two. And I’ve been paying attention.” She points at the closed closet door. “Walk-in closet?”
“Yeah. Don’t go in there, though. It’s a total disaster.”
Hmm, spending too much time in Wade’s bedroom, staring at that giant bed he sleeps in every night is turning my thoughts into a total disaster. As in, all I want to do is get in that bed with him.
And what would happen afterward would probably end up a total disaster too. I know it. That’s why I shouldn’t do this.
Taking a deep breath, I turn away from the bed and fix my gaze on Wade. “I like your place.” It’s bare but definitely has potential. “Add some furniture and a couple of lamps, and you’ll be set.”
He seriously has something against lamps. There isn’t one in this entire apartment. How does the guy see? I hate overhead lights. They’re so harsh and most of the time, they make me look awful. All pale and washed out, like a ghost.
“You should come shopping with me.” Wade smiles, seemingly bashful, which I find adorable. How can such a big, muscular guy also be adorable? “If you have time. I know Fable has you working extra hard.”
“Yeah. She does give me the occasional day off,” I tease. “Seriously, though. I’d help if you want me to. Fable would probably love to help, too.”
“Just don’t pick out anything too girly,” he says with a grimace. “I’m not into that look.”
“Give me some credit. I wouldn’t pink-ify your apartment. I’m not that mean.”
“Pink-ify? Good to know.” He nods, then glances around, looking as helpless as I suddenly feel.
What next? What, what, what?
“Uh, you want to go watch TV?” he asks.
Is he suggesting we Netflix and chill? I do not want to become a meme. Though I do love Netflix. “Do you actually have cable?”
He shrugs those broad shoulders and I’m suddenly struck with the urge to climb him like a tree. “I actually don’t. I won’t be home enough to justify the cost. I do have Netflix, though.”
“Do you have a laptop?” When he nods, I keep talking. “Grab it and let’s watch something here.” I wave a hand toward the bed.
What am I suggesting? I don’t want to get in too deep yet I say we should hang out and watch Netflix on his bed.
Clearly I’ve lost my mind.
Both of his eyebrows shoot up. He’s super cute when he does that. He’s super cute when he does just about anything. “You want to watch Netflix in bed?”
“Yeah, why not?” I glance down at myself. I am completely overdressed for lying in bed watching a movie. “Do you have a T-shirt I can borrow?”
Those eyebrows shoot up again, even farther this time. “Uh, sure. Let me go grab one.”
Wade slips inside his walk-in closet and disappears for a bit, finally emerging once more with a MacBook under one arm and a black T-shirt clutched in his other hand. “Here you go. Hope this works.”
“Thanks.” I make my way to his bathroom and shut the door, turning to face my reflection in the mirror. I look scared. My eyes are extra wide, my cheeks flushed a dark pink and my hair is a little wild. I smooth through it with my fingers then turn on the faucet so I can splash water on my too-hot face.
God, what am I doing? Getting involved with a guy I’m pretending to be with? This is just so strange. But the more time I spend with Wade, the more I like him. That can’t be helped. I’m drawn to him. He’s sweet and funny and interesting, and the fact that he’s incredibly good-looking is just a bonus.
This entire situation is strange. What started out as something awful is quickly turning into something…
Amazing.
Could I get this lucky? Could whatever’s happening between Wade and me turn into something real?
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
After I take off my clothes—leaving on my bra and panties, of course—I slip on the giant T-shirt. It falls practically to my knees and the sleeves are so large, they hang to my elbows. I look like the T-shirt is swallowing me whole, but the bonus is when I put my face to it, the fabric smells like Wade.
Yummy.
I exit the bathroom and go into the bedroom to find the overhead light is off and the laptop is sitting open in the middle of the bed, the bright screen casting its glow throughout the large room. The room is otherwise dark, but Wade isn’t in here and I’m about to leave in search of him when the closet door opens and he walks out, wearing a pair of black sweatpants and nothing else.
Nothing. Else.
My jaw practically hits the floor.
“I can put on a shirt if you want me to,” he starts to say, as if he’s afraid he’s offending me or something crazy, but I shake my head, needing him to stop whatever it is he’s thinking and stay just like he is.
“No. You’re fine. Really.” I smile, hating how eager I sound. But I can’t help it.
I mean, look at him.
He is absolute perfection. His shoulders, arms and chest are like a work of art. All I can see is smooth golden skin stretched over defined muscle, his flat stomach ridged—that’s a six pack I’m staring at, people—those sweatpants hanging precariously low on his hips.
Oh, this is bad. Dangerous. We’re going to sit next to each other on that giant bed, and maybe we’re going to snuggle close and then I won’t be able to resist. I’ll reach out and touch him. I’ll probably keep on touching him too, and then I can’t be held responsible for what I do next. I might sneak my hand down his pants or something scandalous. And I’m going to guess he won’t mind that either. Most guys don’t, right?
And look at me, just wearing his T-shirt, silently begging him to touch me, too. I hope he does. Caution is flying out the window tonight, or however that saying goes. Forget it. We only live once. YOLO and all that bullshit.
“Let’s pick out a movie,” he says, and I eagerly follow him over to the bed, both of us sitting on the edge while he grabs the MacBook and sets it in his lap. He brings up Netflix and we start scrolling through the new movies, our heads bent close to each other’s. So close I can smell him, his soapy clean scent like an aphrodisiac to my senses.
I could inhale him all night if he’d let me.
He wants to watch some manly action movie that came out at the very beginning of summer—and is already on Netflix, so that should tell us something—and I readily agree because I don’t care. I won’t be able to focus on the movie anyway. All I’ll want to do is stare at the man lying next to me, looking good enough to eat what with all that skin on display.
We figure out a place to set the laptop and then I fluff the pillows so we can prop our heads up and see the screen. He grabs a throw blanket from the foot of the bed and drapes it over both of us, the laptop propped in between. It’s cozy. Intimate. I’m shivering, even though I’m not cold. More like I’m nervous.
Excited.
“Ready to watch?” he asks, his finger poised over the correct key on the laptop.
When I nod, he hits play and the movie starts. But I’m already unfocused, unable to pay attention. I don’t care about the movie. I’m too aware of Wade. Every little move he makes, the sound of his breathing, the scent of his skin. How his hair rustles on the pillow when he turns his head, and I want to run my fingers through it. He sniffs and I sneak a glance at him, staring at him
unabashedly while he watches the movie.
But he can feel my gaze on him, and finally he turns to look at me, a closed-mouth smile curling his perfect lips. “You hate my movie choice, huh?”
“No, not at all.” I try to turn my attention to the laptop screen, but I can’t get into it. My eyes travel back to Wade like they can’t help themselves, and I find that he’s still watching me. That same smile still on his face, his dark eyes warm as they study me. “Okay, fine, yes, I hate it.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I was trying to be agreeable.”
He leans in a little closer, his face practically in mine. “Maybe I don’t always like agreeable.”
“Seriously?” He must be a liar. All men appreciate agreeable. At least, the ones I know seem to.
“I kind of like it when you put up a fight.”
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“You don’t always agree with what I say. And when you were giving me shit about the band thing earlier—I know I was irritated, but I also kind of liked the back and forth with you.” He reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair away from my face.
“So you’re saying you like it when we argue.”
“Uh huh.”
“Even when I disagree with you.”
“Well, yeah. I like a challenge.” His hand moves down, fingers brushing the side of my neck before he curves them around my nape. “It’s more exciting, don’t you think?”
What’s exciting is lying in his bed with his hands on me. I turn so I’m facing him head on, meeting his gaze for the briefest moment before his drops to focus on my lips. They tingle, like he’s literally touching them, and my entire body aches with anticipation. “Shouldn’t we be watching the movie?”
“Did you really come here tonight to watch a movie, Sydney?” He arches a brow, the look incredibly sexy, and I’m tempted to throw myself at him.
But I don’t. Not yet. The delicious anticipation slipping through my veins as we stare at each other, barely touching each other, tells me this is going to be worth the wait. “Did you really invite me here tonight to watch a movie, Wade?”
His fingers tighten around the back of my neck and he pulls me in closer. So close, our chests bump and I reach out, my fingers brushing against the hot, hard skin of his chest.
Oh my God, this man is going to be the absolute death of me.
“I don’t want to watch a movie.” He lifts his leg and kicks the laptop shut, the room immediately going dark.
“You should put away your laptop.” Could I sound any lamer? What am I, his mom?
“Fuck the laptop.” He nudges the laptop off the bed with his foot. I hear it land with a soft thud on the floor and I want to say something. Tell him he’s being crazy and neglectful, but I keep my mouth shut.
Not like I can talk anyway, what with the way Wade just pressed his lips to mine.
I close my eyes and sink into Sydney’s mouth, tasting her, savoring her, caressing the back of her neck with gentle fingers. The first touch of my mouth on hers lights a spark between us, flaming higher and higher with every stroke of our tongues, every shuddering breath across heated skin, every whispered sigh. She shifts closer to me, both of her hands resting on my chest before she starts sliding her fingers eagerly across my skin, making me shiver. I was hot enough before we started this.
Now I feel like I’m on fucking fire, just from her hands lightly touching my chest.
Wasting no time, my tongue searches her mouth, and I circle her tongue with mine, making her whimper. That needy little sound goes straight to my dick and I tug on her silky hair, tilting her head back so I can deepen the kiss. And she lets me, her head falling back, her lips still locked with mine. Her enthusiasm fuels me, driving me to take more, take harder, take faster, but I remind myself to keep it slow. Keep it easy.
The last thing I want to do is scare her off.
Her hands are everywhere. Wandering. Searching. Along my shoulders, across my collarbone, sliding over my pecs, cruising down along my ribs, my stomach. She’s not shy when she touches me. In fact, she’s downright greedy as her fingers curl around the waistband of my sweats, her knuckles brushing against sensitive, rarely touched skin, making me quiver.
Making me sweat.
I try to pull away from her touch, but she just grips the top of my sweatpants tighter, refusing to let go. Her fingers slowly slide beneath the fabric, pausing before they go farther, and I hold my breath, waiting for that moment when she makes her discovery. A tiny gasp escapes her and she whips her head up, her surprised gaze meeting mine.
“Um.” A pause, and she licks her lips, the sight of her pink tongue driving me out of my mind. I exhale raggedly, trying to grasp onto the tiny threads of control I’ve pretty much lost, knowing exactly what she’s about to say. “Are you wearing any underwear?”
I shake my head. Couldn’t she tell from the tent I’m popping that I’m free balling it?
“Oh,” she whispers, her fingers drifting straight across my dick. It jerks beneath her touch. “Wow.”
Christ, her fingers on me feel good. I shut my eyes, clench my teeth so tight it almost hurts while she continues her exploration. She runs her fingers across my lower belly, just her thumb skimming the length of my erection then back up, which somehow feels erotic as hell. She’s hardly touching me, driving me out of my ever-lovin’ mind, and I need to make her quit. I haven’t been with a woman in months, not since I’ve started training with the Niners. One wrong move and I’m blowing. If she wraps her fingers around my cock and strokes once, that’s gonna be it. It’ll be all over.
“Stop, Syd.” I grab her wrist, halting her from further exploration. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”
She lifts that big blue-eyed gaze back up to mine once more, her parted lips damp and plump and so fucking sexy all I can think about is devouring her. “You really want me to stop?” The doubt in her voice is strong. She has no idea the effect she has on me.
“If you want me to come all over your fingers, then yeah. I suggest you stop,” I say gruffly, removing her hand from my pants. “We need to take this slow or it’ll be over before it’s even started.”
“Oh.” Her eyes are sparkling and she’s smiling so big I swear I can see every one of her teeth. I think she’s pleased by what I just said. “I don’t mind if that happens.”
“Yeah, well, I mind. It’s way too soon.” Chuckling, I shake my head. I need to regain control of this situation. I didn’t want to push for fear she’d ask me to stop, but hell. She took over, and she wasn’t shy about it either.
And I have to admit I like it. I didn’t think she’d be so pushy, but she’s a constant surprise.
Taking control, I grab hold of her and roll over so I’m hovering above her on my knees, her back flat on the mattress, her hips in between my legs. She’s just wearing that T-shirt of mine, an old one from college that’s thin and soft, and I’m dying to lift the hem. Check out what she’s got on under there.
“Am I squashing you?” I ask. I’ve had women complain I’m too heavy in the past. I’m a big guy, tall and heavy. It wasn’t so bad when I was in high school. Hell, when I first started college I wasn’t this big either. But the constant weight training has upped my size and now every time I’m with a girl, I’m afraid I’m going to crush her to death.
Sydney slowly shakes her head, her golden blonde hair spread out all over my pillow. I let my gaze roam over her, taking in her every delicate feature. Damn, she’s pretty. And she’s going to be mine—at least for tonight.
“You feel good,” she whispers, her eyes glowing as she smiles up at me.
I kiss her soft and slow, taking my time. Again and again, soft, sweet kisses that linger more with every pass. Until she winds her arms around my neck to keep me close, her fingers diving into my hair and I groan into her mouth. I’m a sucker for someone running their fingers through my hair. I’ve always loved it. I think that’s why I grow it long, which is
vain and ridiculous, but there’s a bit of truth there. Plus, when it comes to getting haircuts, I’m lazy.
These kisses I’m experiencing with Sydney are lazy too. They’re long, tongue-filled, languid kisses where we’re exploring each other’s mouths like we have all the time in the world, which we do. I don’t want to push. We don’t need to rush.
And I can’t stop kissing her. Tasting her. Enjoying the sensation of her mouth on mine. I suck on her bottom lip, making her squeal softly. I nibble on that same bottom lip, making her whimper. I lick that lip, catch it between my teeth, suck it, do it all again and again until she’s writhing beneath me, restless.
Wanting more.
It’s my turn to let my hands wander. I keep my mouth on hers while I touch her. Run my hands down the length of her body until I reach the hem of the T-shirt, then I work my way beneath the fabric, encountering warm, soft skin. I touch the outside of her thighs, her hips, my fingers catching on her thin panties. She sucks in a breath and I move up, my hands still beneath the shirt as they skim along her waist, her ribcage, fingers tracing her delicate, lacy bra.
I glance up to find her head thrown back, eyes closed, her lips parted as she struggles to breathe evenly. She’s beautiful like this, lost in my touch, and I grab the hem of the shirt, lifting it up, slowly revealing her.
“Let’s take this off,” I whisper.
She opens her eyes and sits up, shucking the shirt off in quick, efficient movements, tossing it onto the floor beside the bed. I eat her up with my gaze as she sits before me clad only in the bra and panties. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I can see that they’re black lace, stark against her skin. Reaching out, I trace one bra strap, then the other, my fingers lingering on her petal-soft skin.
A shuddery breath leaves her and I lean in, dropping a line of kisses along her collarbone. She tilts her head back on a sigh, her hands coming up to clutch at the back of my head, almost as if she wants to guide me to where she wants me next.
It hits me then. What we’re doing. How we’re about to take a major step. This is serious.
Safe Bet (The Rules #4) Page 13