Page 54 of Sweet Oblivion

Tori greets me at the door when I finally get home after the game. No one was up for the post-game celebration the team typically has at West End. Not after last week and what happened to Delaney. Or what I did to Roger Dennings.

The locker room was different tonight.

The excitement was still there, but a cloud hung over it.

The reporters’ questions kept coming back to Delaney and Dennings and me.

The team shut down and closed ranks. No one answered that shit. But it didn’t stop them from asking. And my anger grew with every fucking question.

But it’s like the stress of that shit peels away as I punch the code in the security pad by the door and lock it behind me. “Where’s Lane, Tori?”

The little pink pig has grown on me. I’m pretty sure she’s not going to eat me at this point. It probably helps that I’ve bribed her with her favorite cookies, but hey, it had to be done. She head-butts my leg and nudges her stuffed pig my way, staring until I toss the thing so she can go get it. And yes, I’m now playing fetch with a pig after playing football on a national field, with a ten-million-dollar contract. This is my life.

“Lane.” She doesn’t come out, so I make my way into the bedroom, looking for her, but she’s not there either. I shrug out of my suit coat and hang it in the closet, then turn around and watch in slow motion as a very wet, nearly naked Delaney screams so loudly I’d probably hear it without my hearing aids in.

She’s wrapped in a tiny towel. Her hair on top of her head in a bun. And so much warm pink skin on display, I nearly swallow my damn tongue. Fuck me. This woman is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Jesus, Ryker, you scared me,” she pants, then recoversand signs the words, like I didn’t understand them the first time. Only the movement slides her towel down another inch. Just enough for the swell of her breasts to tease me.

Look away, Beneventi.

This woman is going to be your wife.

You have to sleep next to her tonight. You cannot perv on her.

But goddamn. My wife. Our bed. Yeah. Not helping.

“I’m just gonna...” I point behind me toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.”

She nods, and I force my eyes away from her chest.

The one rising and falling with each heavy breath.

One flick of my fingers and that towel would fall to the floor.

One flick, and I’d be on my knees worshipping at her fucking altar.

Damn . . .

Did I just shower at the stadium? Yes.

Do I care now? Not at all.

Not when I need to get out of this small space and get some much-needed distance from my soon-to-be wife.

Without a backward glance and thankfully, without tripping over Tori who’s circling my legs, I shut myself in the bathroom and turn the water on. The bathroom still smells like Delaney and her apple-scented body wash and shampoo. Crisp and clean and so fucking sexy.

Yup. I’m screwed.

So fucking screwed.

I crank the heat and step under the spray, knowing she was just in here, and try not to picture her naked, standing right here. Lathering soap all over her soft skin.

Fuck me. That’s exactly what I’m picturing.

That’s what I’m seeing when I take myself in my hand.

Bambi. Without that tiny towel. Skin pink. Breathing heavy. Bare beneath the spray.