The Trouble With Quarterbacks

by R.S. Grey

  I look away before he answers. “I feel the same way, except my games involve slightly higher stakes. Ever since I started to shine on the football field, I’ve had to wonder what women really want from me. Some like the limelight. Some like the notoriety of dating someone they feel is important. I doubt I’ve had a woman love me for me in a very long time.”

  His words sit heavy in my chest, and I peer over at him with a frown.

  “Total idiots, the whole lot of them.”

  He smiles and shrugs, refocusing his attention on his wine glass. “On top of all that, I don’t have all the time in the world to devote to relationships. It’s not worth it to try to reconfigure my schedule for someone I’m not really interested in.”

  “Oh.”

  He seems to have left off the part that’s most important.

  That he’s willing to do that for me means he is interested in me. Very much so.

  He nods his chin toward me. “Are you all the way over there for a reason?”

  I look down at my stockinged feet on the smooth wood floor and wiggle my toes. I’m as far from him as I can be without having my back pinned to the windows.

  “Yes. A few reasons, actually.”

  His brow quirks, asking me to provide them.

  “Well first, I don’t trust myself with red wine on that fancy sofa.”

  “I don’t care about the sofa.”

  I gulp.

  “And also…” I let my finger drag around the rim of my glass, deciding to be painfully honest since we’ve both agreed we’re tired of games. “I wouldn’t mind continuing what we were doing in the kitchen, but I like this talking too, getting to know you and all that. So maybe keeping myself across the room is a good idea.”

  “I can keep my hands to myself if you come and sit by me.”

  Bollocks. That’s on par with a lion sitting right beside a nice juicy steak and swearing it’s a vegetarian. I can practically see him licking his chops.

  He must sense my doubt because he pats the cushion beside him. “I’ll prove it.”

  Oh, I’ll just bet.

  I make a big show of crossing the room toward him, holding my wine gently so it doesn’t splash over the rim and onto the rug. Then I perch delicately on the edge of the sofa cushion beside him. It’s not close enough for his liking, apparently, because he laughs and tugs me back, closer to him. My dress gets hiked up a little bit, but I’m too scared to adjust it because I think it’ll draw his attention and then this whole farce will end.

  “Relax,” he insists, and I puff out a breath of air as if to say, Not bloody likely!

  I suppose I have to try at least. I reach my feet out to attempt to prop them up on the coffee table, but it’s too far away. My toes wiggle in my stockings, and he laughs and leans forward to drag it closer then props his feet up beside mine. There. Now we’re sitting side by side, not touching, not really, but desperately wanting to. It’s obvious. It’s in the air somehow, permeating the space between us. I swear the atmosphere is crackling like there’s lightning in here, not just out there in the storm.

  It’s then that I notice how hard the rain is coming down now. It’s taunting me, as if to say, Candace, you aren’t going anywhere, which means Logan is feeling mighty confident.

  He moves his wine to his opposite hand and sets his free hand right between us, palm up. I stare down at it like it might bite me.

  He waggles his fingers tauntingly, and I can’t help but laugh.

  Still, I don’t give in to the urge to touch him. Instead, I gulp my wine and then ask him, “Just how long do you plan on keeping me here? What if it rains all night?”

  “Let’s just call it then. I think you should stay. It’s easier. You can sleep here then Pat can drive you to your apartment in the morning so you can get your things before work.”

  “Sleep here? Ha! You’re rather sure of yourself. A ham sandwich and one glass of wine and now suddenly it’s knickers off for a sleepover?”

  He smiles, a cocky little grin that does my head in. “I’ll sleep out here.” He points to the sofa cushion. “You can have my bed.”

  I roll my eyes. “No one will sleep on the sofa. There’re fifty-some odd beds in this place. I’ll just take a guest room…if I stay.”

  “When you stay.”

  “I’ll need to phone my flatmates. They’re probably worried about me.”

  He pushes off the sofa, walks into the kitchen, and strolls back out with my mobile from my purse. He hands it to me as he sits back down, a few inches closer to me this time.

  Right. Well. He’s quite pushy, isn’t he?

  I phone Yasmine because she generally has her mobile on her more than Kat does. She answers quickly and there’s a good bit of moaning in the background, so much so that I’m worried I’ve caught her in the middle of a shagging session with some bloke.

  “What is it?” she huffs, annoyed. “I’ve just found the best porn and you’re ruining the best part. The lad’s got her sort of hoisted off the ground and—”

  Logan hears this, of course, because we’re sitting so close together. Color blooms down my chest, and I clear my throat to quickly cut her off.

  “Right! Well, maybe pause it so you can hear me over all the…noise. I’m only phoning to let you know I’m staying round at Logan’s tonight.”

  “You two are banging already? Have you totally forgotten what I said about playing hard to get?”

  Logan pretends to be focused on his wine, though by the cheeky smile he’s wearing, I know he’s heard every word. Best to cut this convo short, I see. “Right well, ta-ta for now! See you in the morning!”

  Then I hang up, toss my mobile on the empty cushion to my left, and drop my head back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Remind me to toss them out and find new flatmates first thing tomorrow morning. I swear they’ll do my head in.”

  “I like them.”

  I let my head roll to the side so I can face him. He picks his arm up so he can drop it on the back of the couch behind me, and then he brushes aside some of my hair so he doesn’t accidentally tug it. He does it so reverently I can’t help myself from leaning over and kissing him again. It was only meant to be a quick peck, but he won’t let me go now that I’ve initiated it. Our mouths taste like wine, and he needs no prodding to take the kiss further. His mouth slants over mine, deepening the kiss. My mouth opens and his tongue touches mine, eliciting a soft moan from me. I’ve vaguely aware of him setting his wine glass on the coffee table then reaching for mine as well as we kiss and reach for each other. Once that’s done, his hands are on my hips, shifting me so I can sit on top of him. I love how big he feels underneath me, how much space his body takes up. I’ve been with some blokes who’re skinny little things, so thin I’m worried I’ll hurt them if I’m too aggressive. Logan can handle anything I want to do. He can take my full weight, and in fact, it’s like he relishes the feel of me on top of him, straddling his hips, kissing him senseless. His hands tangle in my hair, keeping me on him, and I kiss him until my lips feel like they might bruise.

  Thunder booms overhead and I jump back in shock, breaking away from him.

  My eyes flicker open and lock with his, and we go absolutely silent, listening to the rain and the sound of our hearts thump-thumping in our ears. I can taste him on me, or maybe it’s the wine, but either way it’s a heady sensation, feeling him underneath me even now while we aren’t kissing. He’s still got ahold of my hips, and I know if I tried to move, he wouldn’t let me.

  His eyes are so moody and dark I’d think he were angry if I didn’t know better.

  He’s turned on.

  Starved for more from the looks of it.

  I wonder if I look the same, if my cheeks are flushed and my lips are as swollen as they feel.

  I should get up and put a stopper on this madness, but instead I lean in gently and kiss him again. Once more, I tell myself, but it’s the same as before. The moment our lips touch, it’s like I
’m uncorking a champagne bottle that’s been shaken until the contents are ready to explode. He doesn’t hesitate this time. He doesn’t let me take the lead and stay sitting on top of him, calling the shots. He turns us and sets me down on the sofa so he can come up and over me. I’m pressed down onto the cushions and he gathers my wrists in his hands, holding them up over my head, locking me in place. His grip isn’t so tight that I’m nervous, but it bites in a way that makes me feel captive and free. I haven’t ever been with a guy who took the lead like this, who felt confident enough to pin me down and look down at me like he’s contemplating what he’ll do next. I can see all the dark thoughts imagined in his eyes.

  Then his mouth descends on mine again and he’s relentless, kissing and nipping as his knee starts to wedge between my legs. My dress is up at my waist and it shouldn’t feel so bloody good to feel that pressure there from his thigh, but it’s heaven and he knows it. He keeps his leg there and I press against him, squeezing my thighs and trying to relieve some of the heat building inside me. He lets me grind against him as he kisses me deeper.

  My stockings are abrasive, especially combined with his denim-clad thigh. The friction is driving me mad and I worry I’ll crumble at any moment, from nothing more than his thigh between my legs. I should be embarrassed, but deep down I realize he wants me like this, helpless, splitting apart at the seams, grinding and moving against anything that feels good. Right now, it’s his muscled leg. It’s not like I can try for anything more. He still has my hands locked up by my head, and his grip is as tight as ever. His mouth leaves mine and his lips fall to my ear. I shudder as his voice whispers that he wants me to come just like this, from his thigh.

  My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head.

  It’s one thing to privately feel as though you’re about to burst and another for a man to openly discuss it, to demand it.

  Then his lips slip down to my neck and he conquers newfound territory. It’s an area that’s yearning to be touched, sensitive skin right above my collarbone. It’s skin that usually doesn’t get its due because guys always seem to be rushing to get to the more obvious parts of a woman’s body.

  There’s also new pressure between my thighs: him, moving his up and down, a little preview of what’s to come. I make a desperate sound, a plea, and he must understand because his leg splits my thighs farther, opening me up and leaving me no way to fend off the overwhelming feeling there, the need to implode.

  I imagine myself as if I’m an onlooker, pinned beneath Logan’s huge body, my dress in disarray, my hair fanned out around me. I imagine how pink my wrists have turned underneath his grip, how wet I look down there, and the image combined with his thigh is enough to send me careening over the edge. My muscles clench tight as pleasure racks through me and then I’m nothing but a loose sack of limbs, limp on the sofa, underneath Logan.

  He pulls away from me, and I’m too scared to open my eyes, too afraid to name what we’ve just done. Feelings that felt sexy and empowering in the moment have left me raw and embarrassed. Did he really ask me to come or is he angry that I used him that way? Without giving him anything in return?

  I suppose it’s not too late to reciprocate; I feel his hard length against my leg. I know he’s probably desperate for my hands to slide down into his jeans, to give him the same relief he’s given me, but then he sits back, separates us, and uses my wrists to lift me into a sitting position. He keeps tugging until the momentum carries me forward, against his broad chest. I’m confused and wondering what he’s after, until his arms wrap around me and he keeps me there, in a hug.

  We don’t say a word as he holds me, and my heart is a train, racing along the tracks, but then gradually starting to slow, syncing with his. At first, I’m on high alert, so bloody aware of his body pressed against mine. Every groove. Every muscle. Every breath. Then, the longer he keeps me pressed against him, his hand drawing slow circles on my lower back, the easier it is to slip off and let my mind rest.

  We fuse together as I start to nod off, forgetting where I am and why it’s so important to keep my guard up with a man like Logan.

  Hours later, I wake up, alarmed because I don’t immediately recognize my surroundings. I’ve lost track of where I am, why my sheets feel so soft, why my ceiling is so much higher than usual, why my twin bed seems to go on forever in both directions.

  Then I register the feel of a warm body beside me, and I turn to see Logan asleep on his stomach. It’s so dark, but my eyes have adjusted, so I can make out his naked back perfectly in the moonlight. My eyes skate down the hard planes of his shoulder blades and spine. The blanket is gathered at his hips, and I see his boxer briefs peeking out of the top. I’m still properly dressed, which I find charming considering he could have done whatever he wanted with me asleep like that.

  The rain still pitter-patters outside, and I wonder what time it is. Judging by the groggy feeling in my head, I know it’s likely still the middle of the night and I’ll need to force myself back to sleep if I have any hope of surviving tomorrow without an IV drip of caffeine.

  But now that I’m awake, my bladder is as well, and I know I won’t be able to rest again until I use the loo.

  Carefully, so I don’t disturb Logan, I slip out of bed and tiptoe toward the bathroom door. The cold tile stings my toes even through my stockings, so I scurry quickly toward the water closet. Once I’m done in there, I wash my hands and look around for a bit of toothpaste. My breath is loathsome. I find Logan’s red tube of Crest and use a dollop on my finger to scrub inside my mouth. It’s not perfect, but at least my breath is minty when I’m done. After a quick rinse of my face to get the makeup off, I feel like a new woman as I head back into Logan’s bedroom.

  I’ve managed to do all my bathroom business with the lights out so I can still see properly as I creep toward the bed. Logan hasn’t stirred a bit. His big body is splayed out, taking up just about every inch he can manage. He might be the only person I know who needs a king-sized bed.

  I stand off to the side and consider, briefly, not getting back into bed with him. I could go out into the living room and lie down on the sofa, or I could find a guest bedroom, or I could just leave and take a cab home, but I don’t want to do any of those things, and the fact that Logan carried me to his room earlier proves he wants me here too. With that blissful thought, I slide back under the covers and lay my head on the pillow. I’m so aware of him beside me, but we’re not touching, and that feels like such a colossal waste, so I sort of scoot my body closer to his and gently lift his heavy arm so it goes up and over me. He responds immediately, pulling me close and tucking me up against his side. His weight is lovely, and I lie there for ages, awake and smiling like a fool.

  Chapter Twelve

  Candace

  “Ms. Candace…Ms. Candace!”

  “What?”

  “The paint is spilling!”

  I look down to see I’ve overfilled a little cup of pink paint so it’s oozing over the sides and onto the counter. “Oh. Bugger!”

  The kids snicker because I’ve said a bad word, but I’m too busy to care. I run round my classroom, grabbing napkins and water to clean up the mess. I should have realized painting was a bad idea.

  I’ve been off all day, moony and distracted. I keep thinking about this morning and what it was like to start my day off at Logan’s flat, the milky coffee and little yogurt parfait with loads of berries and oats. He was up way before me, already showered and dressed for a meeting with his agent. He was done up in slacks and a button-down with an expensive watch on his wrist. It was a totally different look, and one that caught me off guard. When he strolled into the kitchen looking like that, I lost track of what I was meant to be doing (spooning yogurt into my mouth) so that a bit of my parfait slid off my spoon and splatted onto the table.

  “Morning,” he said, going round the island to fetch himself more coffee.

  “Oh! Morning!”

  When he turned his back to me, I tried des
perately to straighten my appearance in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice how disheveled I looked.

  “Pat will be ready to drive you to your apartment in fifteen minutes. That should give you plenty of time to make it to work, right?”

  What did words like “time” and “work” have to do with anything when Logan was strolling around his kitchen looking like that?

  He looked at me over his shoulder when I didn’t reply, so then I rushed out a half mumbled, “Oh sure! Yes! That’s fine.”

  “And you work tonight?”

  I stifled a groan. “Yes, and maybe the next two nights too.”

  “Really?”

  I looked down at my parfait, more than a little bummed. I was already on the schedule for tonight, and I knew I needed to swap with someone so I could work Friday instead of Saturday. The thing is, with Logan inviting me to that gala, it means I need to buy a dress. I don’t just have “fancy dress” funds sitting idle in my bank account, so I figured I’d need to pick up another shift Thursday night too to help cover the cost. I felt awkward explaining that to Logan, though, seeing as how I could have probably hawked the breakfast table I was eating at and been able to pay my rent for half a year.

  “Yeah, just busy season and all,” I said, keeping the truth close to the vest.

  He furrowed his brows but didn’t argue as he carried his coffee toward the table to sit near me.

  “How did you sleep?”

  I blushed a little. “Good. And you?”

  “Better once you got back in bed and latched onto me.”

  “What?! I only did a little cuddle. You were the one to drag me underneath you. Could barely breathe, really…”

  Drat. I’d assumed he was asleep when I did all that. I guess not.

  We chatted for a bit after that, about everything that was on his schedule for the day and the plans I had for my 3s class. Then he had to dash off to his meeting and I decided to leave with him, so we rode in the lift together, him holding my hand, and then he kissed me right before the doors swept open and we walked out into the lobby.