Page 167 of Cross Check

“Is that what you think?” He leans close, and I smell the traces of soap. I see the flush on his skin from his shower and the drop of water that rolls down the line of his throat. “I could never get sick of you.”

His eyes meet mine. He strokes his thumb along my thigh, from my knee to my hip, and I stop breathing. I wait for the alarms to sound. For my brain to register this is Grant touching me, to tell me we should stop, but the warning bells never ring.

All I hear is a faint finally. The soft whisper of you’ve been waiting for this for so long and the acceptance of just try. You can’t fight it anymore.

And, fuck. I don’t want to fight it. I want to give in. I want the answer to the question I’ve been imagining for far too long: What would it be like to kiss Grant Everett?

“I’d never get sick of you either. You’re my favorite person in the world.”

“Amelia.” His voice is hushed, disbelieving when I put my hand on his knee. “What are you doing?”

“I know what I said. What I used to want or not want.” I scoot closer. In an act of boldness fueled by desire and patient agony, I straddle him, a leg slung over either side of his hips. His hands run up my thighs, a tremble to his touch as he lets out a deep sigh when I bring my mouth to his neck. “But seeing you hurt… wondering if you were okay—” I stop for a breath, and my fantasies run free. This. Him. Us, together. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

“Fuck,” Grant whispers, moving his palm to the small of my back. He spreads his fingers out, fanning over my spine. “I’ve wanted you from the minute I first saw you. Every second I’ve known you, I’ve had to restrain myself from telling you how I feel. From grabbing you and kissing you like I wanted to.” Inch by inch his fingers dance up to the plane between my shoulders, stopping only when he cups the back of my neck. I’ve stopped breathing as desperation fogs my brain. “Do you know how goddamn hard it is to look at you and know you only see me as a friend when I want so much more?”

“I’m not looking at you like a friend right now.”

I give in to temptation, lowering myself until the fabric of his athletic shorts meets the seam of my sweatpants. He whimpers, and white-hot pleasure rips through me when he lifts his hips. He’s hard, so hard, the length of his cock straining against his shorts.

I’ve barely even touched him, haven’t even kissed him, and he’s this worked up.

“You’ve always been so much more than a friend to me.” Grant wraps a handful of my hair around his wrist and tugs. I gasp, the tendons of my neck elongating when he brushes his nose against my throat. “Are you positive this is what you want?”

There’s an ache to his voice, years of pent-up longing rising to the surface when he looks at me. With his pupils blown wide and mouth slightly parted, I know this is the moment, the singular instance that will change the trajectory of my life.

Being honest, giving him the answer he wants to hear—that I want to give him—has consequences.

The league would be in an uproar if someone found out, and for as much as I’ve been fighting the urge to say fuck-it, I still have a reputation to uphold. A future with a job I love, but maybe, maybe there’s a way we can keep this a secret. Something only the two of us know about, because I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep fighting my feelings, not when he’s looking at me like I’m the brightest star in the sky and I’m not sure I’m worthy of it.

“Yes,” I say. His grip tightens, like he’s afraid I’m going to change my mind and run when all I want to do is stay. “I want you, Grant.”

“Fucking finally,” he says, then he crashes his mouth against mine.

For as kind and wonderful as Grant has been up to this point, the kiss is anything but. He’s rough, greedy, his tongue warm as it swipes against my lips and asks for more. I hand over control, parting my mouth and sinking into the exquisite delight running up my spine.

I can’t believe I’m doing this with him.

I can’t believe how long I’ve wanted to do this with him.

In one quick motion, he changes our positions. My back lands on the mattress, my hair scatters across the sheets as he holds himself above me. There’s hunger in his eyes, restraint in the slow and steady way he slips his fingers under my shirt.

“I have to tell you something.” Grant pulls on my shirt, exposing my stomach as he drags the cotton up under my breasts. He brings his fist to his mouth, biting his knuckles as he sits back on his heels. “Before we do anything else.”

“I’m on birth control,” I say. “Negative on all tests. It’s been a while, but⁠—”

“It’s not about that.” He strokes along the line of my ribs, counting each one with a featherlight touch that makes me arch my back. “It, ah, has more to do with me.”

I push up on my elbows. My heart hammers as I run through the worst-case scenarios.

He has a girlfriend.

This was all an elaborate prank.

He wants me, but he doesn’t want me like this.

“Okay.” I swallow. “You can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

“I don’t know why I’m afraid to say it.” Grant’s laugh is strained. He moves his hand higher until his thumb outlines my bra. “I’m familiar with most of this.” He lifts his chin. “But not everything.”