Page 67 of Body Check

I barely want to get into it with Derek, much less anyone else.

He sighs. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Everything okay with you?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. You know, you can talk to me.”

“Yep.” There’s a note of finality in his tone. “I just want to sit here and sleep, so you just go back to staring at Amelia, and I’ll⁠—”

My jaw drops. “I’m not⁠—”

He snorts. “Please. You totally have a thing for her.”

“I—”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” he says. “I think she likes you, too. I always see her smiling at you.”

Shit, neither of us are as discreet as we think we are. Guess her idea of keeping our relationship under wraps is a good one.

“She smiles at a lot of people,” I say, with no conviction.

“Yeah, but not the way she smiles at you.” Gonzo shrugs. “Ask her out. See what happens.”

I let out a soft hum. “Maybe.”

“The team wouldn’t have an issue with it. We all like her.”

I like her, too. That’s kind of the problem.

“I’ll think about it,” I finally say, shutting it down.

Gonzo passes out as soon as we’re in the air, but I can’t sleep. All I can think about is what would happen if anyone found out about us. What do I say? I can’t deny it. I can’t lie.

We land in Dallas at six o’clock in the morning with the time change, and the bus gets us to the team hotel in short order. My entire body aches when Vanessa hands me a key, and I make my way to the room.

But once I get to there and change into comfortable clothes, I’m wide awake. Pulling out my phone, I text Amelia.

I need to see you.

She doesn’t fight me. She doesn’t say we can’t. All she texts back is a number—a room number.

I’m outside her door less than five minutes later. It’s like I was struck by a live wire, every nerve ending flayed by the electrical current running through me. I knock lightly on the door, my knuckles still on the wood when it opens.

Amelia fists her hand in my T-shirt, and pulls me bodily into the room.

“Hi,” I whisper. I’m not sure why I’m whispering. There’s nobody in the room except for us.

“This is a bad idea,” she says, before she kisses me.

It’s the first time we’ve kissed in four days. I’m aching for her, my entire body reacting, but I tamp down my baser urges. I haven’t held or touched her in four long days. I’m going to savor this.

I break the kiss to yawn.

“Come on, let’s sleep,” she says.

Grumbling under my breath, I pretend to be put out, but as soon as she draws back the covers and slides in, I scoot in beside her and fold my arms around her.

Amelia presses lightly on my shoulder, and I roll over until my back is to her. She contorts her body around mine, wrapping me in her embrace. Everything in me says I shouldn’t like being the little spoon as much as I do, but I don’t need to listen to toxic hypermasculinity bullshit.

When she holds me, everything is okay with the world. Sure, my body is still battered and bruised from the game. Everything hurts. But I can get through—because I have her. She makes everything better.

And as I drift off to sleep, I wish that I could do this every night: fall asleep beside the woman I love.