Holy hell. I hadn’t thought about that in years.
Muffins.
That’s our history. And, if tonight goes the way I think it might… our future.
Do not think about moist muffins.
I snort under my breath, earning a few side-eyes from the guys heading out of the locker room. Whatever. I can’t help it. The way she’d said “muffins” earlier today, all wide-eyed innocence and completely unaware of the double meaning, had nearly killed me.
At least, I think she was unaware.
Because honestly, with Rowyn, it’s hard to tell. She’s got this intriguing mix of confident, whip-smart journalist on the outside, but underneath all that polish, there’s this uncertainty, this curiosity that’s sexy as hell. The kind that makes me want to teach her… everything.
And of course, my dick has decided to choose this exact moment to make its opinion known.
Perfect.
I grab my towel, trying to cover my junk before anyone notices, and head for the showers. The locker room smells like sweat, soap, and the metallic tang of ice. The guys are mostly quiet — tired, sore, and ready to go home to their wives or girlfriends. I’m ready for that too.
Not that Rowyn is either of those things to me.
She’s a friend. I’m helping her out. That’s all this is. Two friends working on a mutually beneficial arrangement. She learns a few things. I, uh… supervise.
Still, my stomach tightens at the thought of her doing this for someone else. Some other guy. If that coffee shop douche doesn’t already see how incredible she is, he doesn’t deserve a second shot.
But that’s not my call, right? I’m not here to judge. I’m here to…instruct.
No questions. Just direction.
And damn, the way she’d responded when I got bossy earlier, the way her breath hitched, her eyes dilated… Yeah, that image is burned into my brain.
God help me, I liked it. A little too much.
I’m halfway to the showers, still lost in thought, when a hand slaps my shoulder.
“Dude, you good?” Penn’s grinning at me.
“What?” I blink once, and work to figure out what he’s asking me.
He laughs. “You just about walked into a wall, man.”
“Oh.” I glance up, realize he’s right, and correct my path like a guilty teenager working to hide a boner in class. “Yeah. Just thinking about the playoffs.”
Not a total lie. I am thinking about the playoffs.
And Rowyn Perry in my bed, learning things she definitely didn’t learn in journalism school.
Penn tosses me a look. “You heading home after this?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You should come by for dinner. Jaylynn’s making lasagna. She keeps asking about Rowyn, She says she wants to get to know her better.”
Great. Dinner. Lasagna. Small talk. Exactly what I need when my head’s already a mess and my body’s plotting mutiny.
I pause halfway down the hall and turn to Penn. “You know this thing with Rowyn isn’t real, right? It’s all fake.”
He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Been there, done that. You remember how that worked out for me?”