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“You won’t find it with her.”
I lift the bottle and guzzle it down, knowing he’s right. I’m thirsty, but around Beau, it gets confusing what for. Especially when he’s in the best shape of his life and in his goddamn briefs, his cock now hanging half-hard, and that’s still damn big.
So I grin. “Did I interrupt your date with Kleenex?”
He grins back before downing his water, wiping drops off his chin with his forearm. “Nah, I’ve leveled up to a Pocket Pussy with lube.”
I glance at the nightstand and suddenly clock it, shocked. “You can have any pussy you want. Why the hell did you buy a fake one to fuck?”
“I didn’t. It was a gag gift from a pussy I’ve been dying to fuck.”
“Oh?” I rest back on my elbows. I stormed down here in my grey joggers and black t-shirt, so I’m cozy and curious. “Who? Michelle, our Director of College Scouting? She’s obviously so fucking hot for you. And one look at her and any senior will sign.”
“Never,” he scoffs. “I don’t dip my pen in the company ink. The Pocket Pussy was from a girl in college. I kinda loved her but wouldn’t cheat on Reese, and I haven’t seen her since.”
“So now what? You only dip your lonely pen in KY and a male masturbator?”
“Yeah,” he scoffs, “because you make real pussy seem very appealing right now. You’re the number one receiver in the NFL, the night before playing in the Super Bowl, and yet you’re the one kicked out of his hotel room by a hypebeast of lipliner.”
Asshole.
I laugh, throwing a pillow at him. “At least I got real lips locked on my cock, daily.”
He catches it, of course, and throws it back at my face, laughing. “Is that the price of peace? A little liplock from the most annoying mouth ever? I’d rather fuck a fire ant hill.”
“At least it shuts her up,” I confess. “I don’t have to hear about Kylie versus Rihanna.” Beau looks confused. “They have their own makeup lines.”
He throws his stubbled chin up, laughing. “Never tell anyone you know that.”
“My secret is safe with you.”
It’s sudden. The tender look in his eyes. The heavy stillness that takes the room.
Beau nods, muttering, “We need sleep. Rumor is we have the game of our lives tomorrow.”
He starts shutting off the lights while I refresh in his bathroom. I finger-brush my teeth with his toothpaste, see his bottle of liquid soap on the counter, and smell it.
Memories and desire rush through my veins.
It does something to me.
Beau does something to me.
It doesn’t matter the years we fought in college, the secret tattoos on my sleeves about him, the epic Iron Bowl battles, or even the drunken senior night I regret playing beer pong with him and his frisky girlfriend. I have so many memories, and a couple were horrible.
But me and Beau?
I regret our fights, but I’ll never regret our love.
We’re not a mistake.
Our love just isn’t allowed in our world.
I crawl in beside him, into the crisp white hotel sheets on the made side of his bed. Beau’s closed the window sheers but left the heavy drapes open. He hates sleeping in pitch dark. He says it makes him oversleep, so the muted lights of Vegas filter through, and I can see his eyes are open. He’s staring at the ceiling.
“Can’t sleep without giving your Pocket Pussy a creamy kiss goodnight?”
I make him smile, pausing before he asks, “Why do you date a woman like Amber when you can find so much better?”
