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“Colt started dating her during the pre-season. The press loves it. She’s some influencer from hell. But what they don’t see on socials is how those two fight, and it’s toxic. She’s toxic. She doesn’t give a shit about Colt or his game. She only cares about his clout. And I don’t like her, and she knows it because she fucks with his head.”
I shake mine. “She fucks with yours, too.”
“No, Colt fucks with my head. Because the night before the game, it was after curfew in our hotel. I’d just taken my shower and settled into bed to start my good night jerk-off and?—”
The image of Beau’s fist pumping his thick, hard cock, his lips parted, his chin tossed up in ecstasy—I know what he looks like when he comes, and it electrifies my lonely clit.
Go ahead.
Paint LOSER on my forehead. He’s going to win our bet.
Any minute, I’ll be so fucked.
By him.
“And then Colt was banging on my hotel door,” he says. “He and Amber were fighting like usual. She wasn’t even supposed to be in his room, so he needed a place to crash. It was past curfew. We’re supposed to stay on our floor, in our rooms, so I let him in, hard dick in my boxers and all, and we?—”
Shouts grab our attention.
We fall silent, our ears straining to hear.
“Goddammit, Amber!” That’s Colt across the breezeway. “Coach told you no posts!”
I stare at Beau. He stares back, but we’re hooked. We’re eavesdropping.
“He’s not the boss of me!” Amber shrieks back. “I’m Amber Kostas, and I have an image to keep. My people expect perfection!”
Her people? What is she? A filtered dictator saving the world with a ring light and make-up tutorials?
I fall back, laughing on the bed. Beau laughs, too. “See what I mean,” he mutters.
“She’s as smooth as lactose intolerance,” I mutter, too, and he laughs harder.
“You’ll get kicked off!” Colton booms. “You said you were creating content, not posting it. Keep it up, and Coach will send you packing.”
“Fine!” She shrieks again. “I don’t want to be stuck here with you and no Prosecco while I suffer your asshole teammate and his weird girlfriend. She’s fluffy. Like Jessica Rabbit in black and white. Someone please tell her it’s the twentieth century!”
“It’s the twenty-first century, Amber!” Colton shouts back.
And I want to laugh even harder, but why did that hurt? Why do I care what a woman like that thinks about me?
I fall silent while their immature shouts continue until Beau suddenly crawls over me.
“Hey,” he eases, the back of his fingers gently brushing my cheek. “Don’t listen to her. You’re fucking breathtaking, Blair. I love your look. I always have. It’s unique. It’s sexy as hell. It takes zero intelligence and no beauty to look like her, like everyone else. But you?” I gaze up at him. “Everything about you has me in awe.”
He’s so sweet; he takes the sting away.
I grin. “You’re just trying to get laid again.”
He doesn’t smile. “No, I’m trying to make you realize how special you are. I’d rather have one beautiful, raven-haired, bookish beauty in glasses with killer curves than a dozen made-up fake blondes sporting trendy shades any day. And why Colt suffers a fool like her, that’s his problem because you’re my panacea.”
A laugh bursts from my mouth. “Panacea? When did you learn Latin?”
“I didn’t.” He grins, lowering his lush mouth to mine. “I read it on a jar of vegan protein powder.”
I smile when his whiskers brush my lips. “Beau,” I lie, “this isn’t remotely tempting.”
“Really?” He lowers his body, too, his hard warmth blanketing mine. It’s so natural how his knees spread my thighs open, and I let him. It wedges my skirt up to my hips, and he rolls his, finding the spot crying out for him. “If I don’t tempt you, Blair, then tell that to the sweet, hard pink nipples I can see through your top. They want me to suck them while I fuck you again. Don’t they?”
