“Careful,” he murmurs, steadying me with a firm grip on my hips, his lips dragging across my inner thigh. “You know what? Maybe this isn’t the safest spot to be doing this.”
I laugh shakily, still dazed. “You think?”
Still holding me, he stands, his mouth shiny with arousal. Without warning, he sweeps me up into his arms. I gasp and cling to his shoulders, my knees too weak to hold me even if I wanted them to.
“Zach… What are you—”
“Taking you upstairs,” he says simply, and I hold on tighter, taking in his woodsy cologne. He walks me through the kitchen, toward the stairs. His arms band tighter around me as he starts up the steps. “Because if you lived here…” His mouth brushes my temple. “This would be how every night ends.”
He nudges the bedroom door open with his shoulder and lays me down on the bed. I try to hold back my groan because my body melts into the mattress, and I can feel my resolve slipping. Not that I’d let Zach know that.
For a moment, he just stares at me with his weight braced above mine. At times like this, I feel like he knows what I’m thinking.
He leans in and kisses me until I’m dizzy with the taste of myself on his lips.
When he finally pulls back, his mouth curves into a smile before he trails lower. His lips brush down my throat as he lifts the sweatshirt off my body. Then his lips trail across my chest, over my stomach, until I feel a short, sharp swipe of his tongue against my clit.
“Zach,” I gasp, tugging at his hair, confused. “Wait… you can’t do that again.”
His eyes flick up. “Watch me.”
My mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. It’s impossible with his face between my thighs while he devours me like he’ll never get enough.
My hips jerk, my body strains against his hold as the orgasm builds sharp and fast, too much and not enough all at once.
That’s when the world tilts into nothing but him, and I start to wonder how much longer I can keep pretending this isn’t everything I ever wanted.
I drop into the recliner with my iPad balanced on my thigh, a glass of water beside me. I’m worn out. The screen glares back at me, making my eyes pinch as I play the films I was supposed to watch yesterday. I didn’t touch them then—Honey had my full attention, and I don’t regret that for a second.
She finally said yes to coming over, which meantOperation: Honey, I Shrunk the Distancecould finally come into play. She’s close to saying yes, I can feel it. That’s why I slipped a key into her hand after the third orgasm last night. It’s just a little incentive.
I want to give her unfiltered access to my life, because that’s exactly what I want from her, and even though I’m exhausted and can barely keep my eyes open, the thought of her here every day, happy and settled, makes it worth it.
Coach Summers' notes flash across the screen in angry red wording: EVANS - WATCH YOUR FOOTWORK ON OPTION PLAYS. TOO PREDICTABLE ON THE HANDOFFS.
I rewind the clip again, watching the third quarter against Southern Collegiate. More specifically, the option read that should've gone to Sebi but somehow got picked off. There it was—my left foot pointing exactly where I was throwing, telegraphing the play before it happened. Rookie mistake. Well, damn. That’s the kind of shit I haven't done since high school.
Another clip starts. Fourth and two against Rome U. DECISION MAKING TOO SLOW. REESE WAS OPEN FOR 3 FULL SECONDS.
I grimace, watching myself hesitate, nearly getting sacked before forcing a throw to Dax that fell incomplete. Coach was right; Reese had been wide open on the cross route. How the hell did I miss that?
As if I don’t have enough to concentrate on, notifications flash at the top of my screen. New messages. Texts, emails, DMs. It’s 2 a.m., and the world still can’t manage to leave me alone.
Gritting my teeth, I swallow down the urge to throw my iPad across the room. Not because of the messages. I can handle those. It’s just that I don’t think Honey can, and that’s what’s really chipping at me. Knowing that the life I want might slowly be chipping away at the one thing I need.
Her…us.
I yank down the notification bar, swiping them away when an appointment reminder pops up.
3p.m. Tuesday: meet Hailey
I flick that away with my thumb. As if I could forget that.
Then I check my emails, stopping when I see my mom’s name on the top of a message.Her name is enough for me to take notice because I know this isn’t about football. It’s about Connecticut and the ticking time bomb known as Ella and Tiff back home.
I click open the message and scan it quickly, my jaw tightening with each line.
Zach,