“Very good,” he whispered.
Their lips touched sweetly, because he needed to kiss her again, and it was in that moment that he knew that Waverly was right. The way she knotted him up so imperfectly was something he’d never experienced before in his life. And, more than likely, he’d never find it again with anyone else.
Damn it.
Chapter Twelve
Someone knocked on Kassidy’s door, and she hurried toward it, her heart racing like it always did when someone knocked. For three weeks, Wyatt had been coming up with reasons to stop by and help her with things, giving himself an excuse to ask for another favor from her. And for three weeks, she’d been telling him no favors were needed. That she enjoyed his company without them.
Yet…he insisted on doing it anyway.
He’d helped her paint her kitchen. Laughed with her as she continued to try to master yoga in her living room, and then kissed her until neither one of them were laughing about failed downward dogs anymore. He’d even had dinner catered for them at his place after she confessed to never having tried authentic Indian food, and died laughing when she drank a whole gallon of water afterward.
If she mentioned something she wanted to try, he was there, ready to help her. These past three weeks had been thrilling.
Life changing. Amazing. A dream come true.
Yet, with all of that, no matter how great it had been, or how many times he showed her new, exciting ways to live, there was no escaping the fact that this thing between them, this fling that was everything she’d ever dreamed of and more? It was exactly that. A fling.
Everyone knew that those didn’t last forever.
She opened the door, and sure enough, he stood on her doorstep wearing a smile, a pair of sweats that hid nothing from her (Praise Jesus), and a tight black T-shirt. His hair was still damp from his after-practice shower, something she now knew he did every day at the facility because he hated being sweaty. He held up a six pack of her favorite beer, a DVD of Titanic, and said, “Today’s the day I make you cry.”
She groaned and stepped back, letting him inside. “I told you. I don’t cry at movies.”
“Only because you skip all the sad ones.” He walked past her, paused to back up and kiss her, and then continued on. He headed into her living room, talking over his shoulder as he went. “If this doesn’t make you cry, then I’ll start to doubt that you’re a human capable of real emotions at all.”
Oh, she was capable of human emotions, all right.
She was falling for him more and more each day, despite the fact that he would never fall for her. That showed emotion. Two of them. One, she preferred not to name out loud. The other, she had no problem admitting: stupidity.
Wait. Was that an emotion?
Shutting the door, she sighed as she locked it. “I never should have told you that.”
“Yeah, you should have,” he said, coming up behind her and spinning her around in a circle. “You can’t say you’ve lived if you haven’t watched and cried over sad movies.”
“Spoiler alert, the ship sinks,” she said, her voice dry. Resting her hands on his chest, she locked eyes with him, and he legit took her breath right out of her lungs. There was something about the way he looked at her that pulled her closer to him, entangling her in his web, and she was helpless to stop him. “And most of them die.”
“Ah, but you don’t know who.” He tapped her on the nose, practically hopping as he dragged her into the living room. “That’s the fun part.”
She smiled. She couldn’t help it. His excitement was so catching and endearing. “The movie has been out for most of my life. Do you really think I don’t know who dies?”
“No.” His face fell. “Seriously?”
She felt bad for him, so she fibbed a bit and said, “Rose, right?”
“You’ll have to see,” he said, excited once more as he dragged her toward her couch. Bringing back his excitement was well worth any lie she told. “Come on.”
She let him lead her. “Are you ready for the game Sunday? After your loss to New York, you guys really need to win.”
“Yep.” His smile faded. “Fucking Manning.”
She patted his back. “You’ll get him next time.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, my studying was finished before I came over. Still, I’ll watch our last game one more time before Sunday. I like to know my enemy well.” He sat and tugged her down directly beside him. Reaching out, he grabbed a beer and handed it to her. The DVD case was open and empty. She hadn’t even seen him put it in. “And my friends even better.”
“I’ll watch with you,” she said, swallowing hard. She hated sad movies. They were designed to make you cry. Like, what the hell? Life was sad enough without making you care about someone on the screen and then killing them off, thank you very much. “I can help you take notes and—”
“No. You’re watching a sad movie.”
She sighed and took a drink of beer. “I don’t want to.”
“But it’s something you don’t do. The new Kassidy—”
“Likes football.”
“And needs to watch the movie first. Then, if you want, football.”
Well, that was something, at last. “When do you leave for the game?”
“Tomorrow at five.”
She took another sip. “It’s gonna be a tough one.”
“Don’t tell me you’re not pulling for me.” He leaned forward and turned the TV on, settling down with his arm around her shoulders. His Old Spice cologne teased her senses. She’d never be able to smell it again without thinking about him, and that was okay with her.
“I’m always betting on you.”
It was true. Sad, but true.
“You and your brother make another wager?” he asked cautiously.
She laughed, not answering.
Groaning playfully, he started the movie. “Please tell me no singing telegrams were staked on the bet. That’s too much pressure on me. I can’t handle it.”
“Hey!” She whacked him on the stomach. His abs hurt her knuckles. “You said you liked my singing.”
He smirked. “I did, but mostly I liked that it brought you to my house. Does that count?”
“No.”
Closing the distance between them, he cupped her cheek and grinned. “You’re welcome to sing around me anytime, Kass. I’m thrilled Brett bought me that singing telegram, and you lost a bet, even if you bet against my team and got pissed at me for healing too fast.” His blue eyes sparkled. “I’m happy you knocked on my door and broke my vase. I got so much more that day. I got a friend.”
Something stabbed her in the chest, something she refused to examine closely. “So did I.”
“Kass.”
She licked her lips. “Yeah?”
“I…”
Music played on the TV, telling them the movie was starting, but neither of them broke eye contact. Who needed fiction when you had Wyatt Hamilton on your couch?
He swallowed hard, still staring at her like he was about to either break her heart or change her life. Maybe both. “When this is over, when we’ve moved on, I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” she said, her throat thick.
“I might. Chances are you’re going to meet a guy who can give you everything you want. Everything you deserve. When you do, I won’t stand in your way.” He ran his thumb over her chin with what could only be described as wonder in his eyes. “But this man might stand in mine. He might not want you to hang out with a guy you used to have sex with.”
There was that phantom pain in her chest again. “Are you…” She cleared her throat, trying to break through the thickness choking her. “Are you saying you’re done? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? If so, that’s fine. We—”
“What? No.”
Relief hit her hard and fast.
“Wait. Are you done?”
She shook her head so fast she got whiplash. “No.”
<
br /> A smile curved up his lips, and he scooted closer. People on the television talked, but neither of them listened. “Are we being honest?”
“Aren’t we always?” she said breathlessly.
“I like to think so, yes.”
She rested her hand on his thigh. If someone had told her months ago that she would be comfortable enough with Wyatt Hamilton to actually touch his thigh while sitting on her couch with him, she would have laughed so hard she got the hiccups. If they had told her she would know what he looked like naked, she would never have stopped laughing.
Yet here she was, with her hand on his thigh, intimately familiar with every inch of his body, clothed or unclothed. “Then say what you need to say.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed. “We should have stopped sleeping together weeks ago. That one night should have been just that. One night. It’s all I ever do.”
Seriously. Was something sharp stabbed into her heart? “Like I said, if you want to stop now—”
“I don’t. That’s the problem. That’s always been the problem.” He set his beer down on the table. She did the same, though she wasn’t really sure why. “Every sensible part of my brain is telling me we’re taking this too far, and someone is going to get hurt.”
“Why would someone get hurt? We talked about what this is.”
“Yeah, but the more time you spend with someone, the easier it is to forget expectations and rules.” He pushed her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. The gesture was more intimate than anything else he did. Maybe because he did it without thought. He just noticed something in her way and took care of it. It was so natural. So familiar. So right. “You could make me want to forget, but I don’t want to make you do the same. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t.”
She closed the distance between them, kissing him, and he groaned. It was long and deep and masculine—and also somehow possessively dominant. He pulled her on top of him, and she straddled him, squeezing him between her thighs. He deepened the kiss, burying his hand in her hair, and secured his free one around her hip, gripping her tightly. As his mouth moved under hers, he thrust his hips, moving against her, making her entire body tense and crave even more.
She always wanted more of him.
Like he said, that was the problem.
Maybe he was right. Maybe they should have stopped weeks ago. Maybe they never should have taken that step that led them to where they were now. But they had. And she couldn’t regret that, or anything that became of it, because with him, she was happy. Yes, that happiness was temporary, and yes it would go away. But not all happiness was meant to last forever.
That didn’t make it any less meaningful.
Or any less real.
He broke the kiss off, breathing heavily. “I’m serious, Kass. I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t want to confuse things.”
“I’m not confused.” She shook her head, trying to kiss him again.
He avoided her mouth, tightening his hold on her. “What we have between us is special. I never want you to doubt that this means something to me. That you mean something to me. But…”
“It doesn’t change anything. You still don’t want to be with anyone.” She forced a smile. The words didn’t hurt, but the fact that he needed to say them again, after all this time, kind of did. “I promise. This is just fun for both of us. Just amazing sex. Nothing more.”
For a second, she’d swear she’d…hurt him.
Like he didn’t like hearing her say those words.
Maybe, though, she projected that onto him because deep down, she wanted it to be true. She wanted him to want more. But he never would. What she wanted and what was reality were not the same. No one understood that better than her. “Right. Sex.”
He kissed her again, but there was a franticness behind it that called to her soul and made her, once again, think there was more than met the eye when it came to Wyatt Hamilton. But those suspicions were dangerous. There was nothing buried deep under his words.
What he said was what she got, and that was all there was to it.
To believe otherwise was foolish.
He broke off the kiss long enough to rip her shirt over her head, and then his lips were back on hers with a desperation that defied reason. He undid her bra and closed his hands over her breasts, rolling his fingers over the hard peaks. Her stomach tightened, and she moved against him, riding him through the fabric of the clothing that was still in the way. He yanked on her leggings, and she stood up, shimmying out of them effortlessly.
When they hit the floor, his eyes widened. Licking his lips, he reached out and ran his finger down her stomach, over her belly button, and between her thighs. “No underwear?”
“Not today. I like to keep you on your toes.”
Growling, he yanked her back onto his lap, threaded his fingers through her hair, and tugged her down. He stopped just a breath away from their mouths touching. “Consider me a ballerina, then, because I’ve been on my toes since the second you walked into my life.”
Sliding his hand between them to touch her, he kissed her again. As his fingers moved, he thrust against her, driving her over the edge of madness and back. Every stroke of his hand, every brush of his lips, drove her higher and higher until she forgot all about what she should or shouldn’t be doing, and instead, she just let herself feel.
His fingers circled her, then touched her, and she moaned into his mouth, moving against him faster. Everything inside her tightened, heightened, and pulled until it all just kind of snapped, and pleasure rocked through her. As she floated through an orgasm, he yanked his sweats down, rolled on a condom, and thrust inside her.
She cried out, holding on to him tightly as she rode him.
Every drive, every movement he made, only made her body quicken even more with pleasure so perfectly perfect that it almost hurt. He moved inside her, his lips attached to hers, his hands moving her so she kept a rhythm guaranteed to make her come again. It was in that moment that she knew no matter what came of them, no matter how badly this ended, they were perfect together.
And that terrified her.
Chapter Thirteen
Wyatt hadn’t seen Kassidy in six days.
That was six days too long.
In between game prep, the actual game day, and practice, things just hadn’t lined up for them to be able to squeeze in some alone time. They’d texted, and FaceTimed, but it wasn’t the same as having the living, breathing, beautifully alive version of the real thing in his arms.
Thanks to his late nights, combined with her busy days at the family flower shop, he didn’t think they’d get any alone time today, either.
The longer he spent without her in his arms, the more he realized he’d come to count way too much on having her there. The weird thing was that instead of scaring him away, missing her only made him want to be with her even more.
This understanding they’d come to was a one of a kind arrangement, and he wasn’t going to take it for granted. Or her. Whatever they had going on between them, whatever they wanted to call it, it had been too long since they’d actually done it.
Since time didn’t seem to want to free up…
He’d make some.
Coming around the corner toward the flower shop, he stopped mid-step, his stomach twisting into a knot that threatened to revolt. Inside the store, Kassidy hugged a man he didn’t recognize. He had a clear image of them through the big glass window out front. As they pulled away from one another, the dude tried to kiss her, and she dodged him so his lips landed on her cheek.
Undeterred, the man caught her hands and spoke earnestly, and she nodded, not meeting his eyes as he ran his thumbs over the backs of her knuckles.
That contact, his hands on hers, hit Wyatt in the gut like a full-force tackle from a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man in full football gear. He stood there, unable to take his eyes off them.
He and Kassidy weren’t a couple.
Weren’t exclusive.
Had never spoken of being exclusive. They’d just met a few weeks ago.
And yet…he was jealous.
There was no other way to describe his roiling gut right now. They might not have ever said they were exclusive, but the thing was, he hadn’t touched another woman since the night she came into his life, singing horribly off key. He hadn’t even thought of touching another woman, even though the opportunity to do so had been there.
It was always there.
But he hadn’t wanted to.
Yet here she was, holding some other guy’s hands, and he wanted to crash through the door and Hulk-smash his damn face until he stopped acting like Kassidy was his world. Wyatt rolled his hands into fists at his sides, ready to help her if she needed it, but from the look of things…she seemed completely okay with this dickwad holding on to her.
Who the hell was he? Why was he at her shop at two o’clock in the afternoon? More importantly, why was she letting him touch her like that?
They talked for another couple of seconds, and then the other man hugged her again. She stood stiffly in his arms, not returning the hug, but not exactly pushing the guy away, either. When it became clear that he was about to leave, Wyatt stepped back around the corner, waiting.
The door opened and shut, and footsteps headed the other way. Wyatt pulled his baseball cap lower as crowds passed, keeping his head ducked so no one would recognize him. Normally he loved fans and pictures, but today he wanted nothing more than to know who that guy was, and why he’d been touching his woman.
His. Fucking. Woman.
Shit.
Did he want her to be his girl? Was that something he was willing to do? Hell, was she? Shaking his head at himself, he walked around the corner again and opened the door to her shop. She glanced up, tension pinching the corners of her lips.
When she saw him, she visibly relaxed, shoved the note she’d been reading aside, and came around the counter. “Hey!”
He forced a smile, opening his arms to her. “Hey, yourself.”
“This is a pleasant surprise.” She slid into his arms and hugged him, burying her face into his shoulder and breathing deeply. Was it just him, or did she relax the second his arms slid around her? Yeah. It was probably just him. “What’s up?” she asked.
Catching the Player (Hamilton Family) Page 10