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I nearly come in my boxer briefs.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” she says softly. She flips off the light and clears her throat as she gets ready to climb in.
“Excuse me,” I say, and I bolt out of her bed and head for the bathroom.
I lock the door behind me, and then I rub one out.
It doesn’t take much.
I’m fisting my own cock as I think about her wearing that little nightie thing, and I come all over my hand.
A sense of relief swells in me, but it’s not enough.
I can jerk it all I want. It’s no substitute for the real thing, the gorgeous woman who has every fucking ounce of my attention as I try futilely to get her the fuck out of my head.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to give it a try.
A little voice whispers to me in the back of my head, but I have to ignore it. I have to.
What would happen if we did give it a try and I fucked her over the way I’m terrified I will? Then I could lose my best friend on top of losing the girl I already care so much about. It’s hard enough to make real friends when you’re a professional football player, and maybe that’s just a small part of why my friendship spanning back to my high school years is so damn important to me. He’s not friends with me because of what I can do for him—and I can’t say the same about the bonds I’ve formed since I snagged my first contract.
It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.
I use the restroom while I’m in here, scrub my hands clean, and head back to the bedroom, feeling a small measure of calmness after what I just did.
But it doesn’t last long.
She’s scrolling her phone now, the light of the screen illuminating her face, and she doesn’t acknowledge me when I come back in.
The moment I slip into bed beside her and get a whiff of that sweet, fresh-baked scent she seems to always have about her, the raging monster is back in action and ready for a go at her.
“Night,” I grumble, turning away from her and closing my eyes.
Her nightlight is right in my eyes. I should’ve chosen the other side of the bed.
I want to ask why she has a nightlight. I don’t. It feels rude and oddly personal even though we’re getting very personal since we’re sharing a bed.
The bed rustles a little, and I assume she’s shifting down and setting her phone down. Before she says goodnight, though, she asks, “Can you tell me why you don’t like Austin now? I’m worried about Kelly.”
I flip over to face her, and I can see her clearly in the glow of the nightlight. We’re closer than I thought we’d be, but the bed isn’t that big, and I’m a rather large dude. “Between us?” I ask.
“Of course.” She looks mildly offended that I’d even ask that.
I study her for a beat before I determine that I can trust her. “Linc said he didn’t react kindly to the fact that Asher was going to start over him.”
“Who’s the better player?” she asks.
“Ask anybody else, they’ll say Asher. Ask Graham, he’ll say himself.”
She presses her lips together. “Thanks for telling me.”
“I’m a little worried he’s using your friend as a way to get close to me, so just tell her to be careful,” I warn.
“I’ll let her know—without saying anything about what you just told me. Thanks for saying something,” she says softly.
I nod a little, and our eyes lock.
I have this sudden feeling like I should kiss her. I want to kiss her.
