“Depends. A little boy or a little girl?”
She glares at me for exactly three seconds before turning away in disgust.
I launch myself after her, finding footing on the bottom of the pool long before she can. I’m able to take hold of her arm before she can get away. “Calm down! I’m only kidding.”
She lets me pull her around to face me, but she’s still glaring at me when I do.
“Keep your voice down,” she hisses.
“You’re the one who was screaming before.”
“Because I thought you were dead.”
“Don’t go. Stay and swim with me.”
“Some of us are in our clothes here. We didn’t all have time to strip down to nothing.”
“You’re already wet. You might as well stay.”
“And do what? Swim laps?”
“We could play Marco Polo.”
“No thanks.”
“Come on, Sloane,” I plead softly. “Play with me.”
Her lips part slightly, a surprised rush of air escaping them. It smells like mint and chocolate. So sweet I want to taste it, to taste her.
I pull her in close, because as smart as I want to be, I can’t help myself.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I tell her, my voice quiet and deep.
“I thought you were tired of everyone.”
“You’re not everyone.”
She blinks, her lids dropping languidly as her hands rise to my chest, hesitant and hot. They slip over my skin, so small. So uncertain. I wait for her to push against me, to push me away, but she doesn’t. My hand is firm on her arm, my other hand wrapping around her waist.
“I should go,” she whispers.
“Not yet.”
“Trey,”
“Not yet,” I repeat gruffly.
I watch her swallow. Watch her thin neck constrict under her perfect skin that leads down over her collar bone. Over her breastplate. That disappears in the round, wet swell of her breasts inside her shirt.
I’m immediately hard. She does this to me so easily it’s sick. It’s almost too much to handle, but I use it. I take control of it. I can’t fuck her but I can do this. I can feel her, taste her, and drive myself to the point of screaming the way my lungs screamed for air. But I won’t let them have it because I’m in control. Because I’m bigger than all of this, stronger than my need. My want.
I kiss her. I lick bitter water from her lips, dip my tongue inside her mouth and savor that sweet chocolate taste. The clean minty gasp that escapes her lips and runs down my throat is like warm honey. Her hands clench on my chest. They grip at my me, looking for purchase but all they find is smooth, wet skin. Still she pulls at me. She reaches for me until she’s gripping my neck and pulling my mouth hard against hers.
I kiss her until she’s breathless. Until we’re both desperate for more. I find my brink in her body against mine, the soft push of her breasts against my chest, and I hit the brakes hard. I shut it down in an instant by pushing her gently away from me.
I feel strong. Proud and powerful. I’m in the driver’s seat as I distance myself from her, but the look on her face sends me into a skid. It’s conflicted, pinched like she was pained as she kissed me. As we took what we shouldn’t have.
Her hands fall lifeless from my neck. “I have to go.”
She’s not looking at me.
“I’m sorry,” I hear myself whisper.
I have no idea why I feel it, but I do.
“Me too.”
I watch her go. I watch her walk out of the water, her dark shirt clinging to her narrow waist. Her cream colored pants plastered to the curve of her hips, over her ass. I won’t ever picture her naked again because this, Sloane shrouded in next to nothing, is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
And the sadness surrounding her is the heaviest weight I’ve ever carried.
March 2nd
NFL Combine Day #4
Lucas Oil Stadium
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I can’t stop. I keep chanting the word, chastising myself for being such an idiot. I kissed him. In a swimming pool. In his underwear.
If any of the reporters in the hotel got a picture of that or even caught wind of a rumor about it, I’d be done for. I’d be the agent/slut who can’t keep her hands off her clients. Who can’t keep her legs together long enough to complete her first Combine without her dad there to chaperone.
The worst part is that if it gets back to Brad I’ll lose Trey. He’ll pawn him off on another agent and I won’t get to finish what I started four years ago. I’ll have to watch my dream walk away from me. I won’t be taken seriously by other agents or coaches or scouts. It’ll take years for this one kiss, one careless moment, to blow over, and that’s just the outside world. My dad will never forget it.
“You’re acting weird,” Hollis comments.
I shake my head numbly. “I’m not. I’m fine.”
“You’re ignoring Trey. You’ve been stalking him forever—“