Page 68 of Scoring Eden

“Makes sense.” He snorts. “I’ll go get these washed, and then I want to talk to you about something.”

“Can’t you talk to me now? You’re here. I’m here. Seems as good a time as any.”

He rubs a hand across his jaw. “I figured you were probably wanting to shower and, um, put some clothes on.”

His gaze falls to my bare legs, lingering there so long I start to wonder if he’s counting the hairs I haven’t shaved for over a week.

Oh god, what if there’s blood on them?

But then his eyes turn heated, running up my thighs with such intensity that I have a hard time not squeezing them together.

What is it about this man that makes me constantly feel warm and breathless?

His body, yes, is objectively hot. But Sebastian had abs when we were together, and I never had the urge to rub my clit on them. Alex’s flirting is an obvious issue. He’s so good at it that it puts me at a severe disadvantage, but I’m still not convinced that’s the reason I feel so compelled to throw myself at him.

I have a terrible feeling that it’s simply because he’s kind to me.

The bar really is on the floor.

“You’re right.” I nod, taking a step away from him, even though there’s already at least eight feet between us. “I forgot I was basically naked.”

“Actually…” He smirks. “I’d argue that you’re wearing too many clothes.”

Welp. There he goes again.

I give him my back, tutting as if he’s pissed me off. It’s easier for him to believe that his flirting irritates me.

Because he’s a playboy. A well-known, well-documented playboy. Flirting is his default setting, and just because it’s aimed in my direction now, it doesn’t mean that he’s interested in me.

Our fake relationship must have dampened his opportunity to go out and fuck the rest of America. And he made it perfectly clear in our initial discussions of the agreement that love and relationships are two things he’s not interested in.

I’d be a fool to fall for his charm.

But fall I do anyway.

It turns out that the thing Alex wanted to talk to me about was joining him at practice. Apparently, the investors will be there, and he wants to use the opportunity to rub our relationship in their faces.

So, we dropped Macon off at school together, much to my son’s excitement, who yelled out the window of Alex’s Bugatti that the captain of the Seattle Strikers is now his personal driver. And now, I sit in the stands of the training ground, shivering from the chill in the air.

On the grass, Alex runs drills with his team, kitted out in his track pants and a long-sleeve thermal that highlights every peak and valley on his abdomen. As always, his long hair is tied at the back of his head in a topknot.

“Score a shot against me and I’ll give you fifty bucks,” Arun, the team’s keeper says, situating himself in front of the goal. “If I block it, I get to cut off your ponytail.”

Don’t take the bet, I whisper inside my head. I’ve never been into men with topknots before, but it suits him. It’s wild and free, just like he is, and it would be a damn shame if he ever caved to the teasing of his teammates and cut it.

Fortunately, whether of his own volition or because I managed to successfully master the art of telepathy, Alex shakes his head and winks. “What will Eden have to grab onto if I do that?”

What did he just say?

“Wait, you like having your hair pulled?” Theo asks. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Alex stares at me across the grass, his gaze hot as fire. “I love it.”

Something flutters in my stomach because I can’t help feeling that he’s giving me the information to use later.

But that can’t happen.

No matter how hell-bent on it my body seems to be. Or how relentless he is with his flirting. Or how many times I see him without his shirt on. Nothing good could ever come of it.