“Think I could get that book back from you, Ellie?” Masters’ voice interrupts before I can answer Ryan’s invitation. “I’d like to read it on the plane ride to Missouri this weekend.”
Only an asshole would say no, I tell myself. Otherwise, I would turn Masters down in a heartbeat. “Sure.”
Masters turns to Ryan. “Nice team you have there.”
“I didn’t realize we added a gunner to the team,” he jokes and points to me. “She said she hasn’t ever played before.”
Masters gives me an appraising look. “She’s got good hand/eye coordination. I think it runs in her family.”
A faint smile dances around the edges of his mouth. I shake my head.
“Let’s go, Masters.” I grab him and half pull/half push him away from the dugout.
“Nice to meet you, Knox,” Ryan calls out. “Good luck this weekend!”
“Thanks, man,” Masters calls. He places a hand on the low of my back. “See how your friend called me Knox.”
“Because it’s your name,” I answer.
“Yet you call me Masters.”
“Also your name.” I quicken the pace to put some daylight between his tempting hand and my weak back.
“Hmmm,” he murmurs. He lets his hand drop between us and I allow myself two seconds to throw myself a pity party that he’s not touching me anymore before I march forward to the apartment.
Somewhere along the way, though, I find my gait synchs with his. Our arms move in unison and there’s a heavy tension that builds with each step. I can hear his even breaths, smell his spicy skin.
My skin prickles and I almost feel him touching me even though there’s at least a hand span between us. His field of magnetism is that large. I can’t stand this close to him without wanting to feel him against me.
I’m a basketful of nerves by the time we get to the apartment complex.
“It’s the third floor,” I inform him when we stop at the front door. “Do you want to wait here?”
He looks at me incredulously. “I think I can walk three floors, Ellie.”
I try to shrug nonchalantly as if it doesn’t matter at all to me if he’s inside my apartment, when in reality I’m wondering how long it takes before I attack him.
We climb the steps side by side, and this time, our arms brush. Even that slight sensation sends a tingle throughout my body. I’m practically dizzy with sensation. At the top of the third floor, he grabs me and pushes me into an alcove.
He bends forward and kisses me, sweetly and softly. Apparently my grungy attire or slightly sweaty skin don’t matter to him. He keeps his hands on either side of the doorframe of the alcove, holding himself slightly away. I don’t like that space between us so I twine my arms around his neck and tug him closer. He makes a noise—not quite a grunt, not quite a moan, but more of a sigh of happiness. It fills pockets in my heart I didn’t know were empty. As he draws back, I follow him because I’m not done with that kiss.
“What was that for?” I ask hoarsely. His fingers are the tiniest bit shaky as they smooth a few strands of hair away from my forehead.
“I hadn’t kissed you since the bookstore. That’s a long time.”
My lips part at the sincerity of his words. They aren’t a line—at least not to him.
He captures those parted lips between his again. This time his tongue delves deep into my mouth, finding places that have me moaning in longing. He lifts me with ease, using his football player strength, and pushes me against the wall. I wend my fingers into his short straw colored hair and wrap my legs around his waist.
All sense of preservation lies somewhere between the softball field and the apartment. He’s wrecking me, in long licks and tiny bites, one tender and scorching hot kiss at a time.
I want to suspend time and remain in this moment forever with his big frame blotting out the light and his mouth memorizing every curve and plane of my face. I feel weightless, protected and cherished.
Under my fingers, his shoulder muscles bunch as he reaches down to stroke a firm palm along the outside of my thigh. His kisses are making me wet and hungry. He makes low sounds of appreciation and I rock against him in growing desperation.
After what seems like both an eternity and not long enough, he allows my legs to slide to the ground. His head drops on my shoulder and I can feel his entire body heave as he tries to gain his breath and his control.
After three shuddering breaths, he pushes away from me.
“I need to wear longer T-shirts when you’re around.” He tugs out his shirt and tries to pull it down over the erection tenting his shorts. We exit the alcove and walk past four doors to stop at my apartment.
“Do you want to come in?”
He gives me a rueful smile. “I better not. I need to get home, get some beauty sleep, and prepare for the game.”