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Colt answers for me, “Because he watched plays, not movies, growing up.”
“Is that true?” Blair asks.
I shrug. “Sorta. Once I outgrew Finding Nemo, I was finding football.”
“Ahhhh.” She surprises me, taking her hair clip out and tossing it on the coffee table before lying down, nestling her head in my lap. “That’s so sad, Bronson. Were you ever a carefree teenager?”
I can’t answer because I’m entranced once Blair’s black silk spills over my lap. Her soft cheek rests on my hard thigh. She’s so close to where I’m dying for her; in the first hour of the movie, I will my frustrated dick down while my fingers have other plans.
They lace through her hair, letting it glide like ebony satin through my grasp and her contended sighs fucking kill me. That and how her feet somehow manage to rest in Colt’s lap, too.
I’m playing with her hair, and he’s rubbing her feet. They’re watching the movie, and I know I’m supposed to take another chance at tempting her, at winning our kinky bet. I could start playing with her spaghetti strap, lingering my touch down, over the swell of her breasts. I know how to tease her nipples to get her wet, and maybe she wants me to, but this feels too special.
I’m overwhelmed. I’m seeing years like this. Of a future I can only dream about.
If I weren’t the face of a football franchise, this would be the ultimate win—a life with her and him.
A life of us.
I can’t fucking believe how natural this feels, how it melts my heart, how quickly Blair and Colt have bonded, too.
But why should it surprise me?
I’ve loved them for years, and now they’re discovering everything I love about them in each other, and I’m not mad about it.
Real love wants the other person to be happy. The best love is when you both are. Or… all three are.
Colt keeps mindlessly rubbing her feet, his eyes glued to the flatscreen, while I keep worshiping Blair in my lap, feeling her body relax like it belongs forever with mine.
By the time the movie ends with the iconic scene of Jake waiting for Samantha outside the church, stealing her away from her sister’s wedding reception so they can celebrate her birthday alone, I’m a mess of emotions I hide.
“Make a wish,” Jake gently tells Samantha over her cake, glowing with sixteen candles.
“It already came true,” Samantha answers him, and I glance at Colt.
He senses me and glances back. But we don’t say it. We don’t need to. We’ve known our wish since we were sixteen, too. We may never come true, but he smiles and nods toward Blair.
This wish can come true.
Blair’s an angel, asleep in my lap, my hand caressing her hair, and yes, I’m a fucking idiot not to at least make this happen for us.
“Come on, babe.” So I scoop her up, and she mumbles, barely waking.
I remember this about her, too. Blair sleeps like the dead.
That’s how I pulled off so many pranks while I watched from the twin bed across from her. Reese was usually passed out by my side while I could rarely sleep. Not when I secretly wanted Blair so bad, so I’d devise the most wicked pranks to keep her attention.
Like putting liquid soap on Blair’s toes and watching, entertained for hours while she cursed and kicked her slick feet in her sleep. A few times, I tucked water balloons around her, waiting for her to roll over and pop one finally. She’d jolt up, thinking she pissed herself, and I’d die laughing.
But my favorite was putting her in a white T-shirt that read “I have pubic lice” with a smiley face.
Yeah, I had it specially made for her.
And yes, I almost pissed myself laughing while I took pics of Blair sleeping with the shirt on.
But what I really loved was touching her soft skin, admiring her cute bralette with little mountain peaks on it while I carefully tugged the shirt on her. She was a breathtaking rag doll in my grasp. I’d never hurt her. It was a safe prank and I tried not to perv about it.
She was so beautiful then, asleep in my arms, and she’s gorgeous now, barely mumbling while I carry her into her bedroom.
