Ignoring his happy look and the way the spot on my cheek tingles with awareness, I lean away from him, wrinkling my nose. “Great. So glad my traumatic past could help.”
“I think I might be traumatized by ‘lady lips,’” Gray retorts with a snicker, but his expression is content and his gaze is on me, as if just looking at me makes him happy. Which is insane to think, but hard to interpret any other way. Not when his eyes travel over my face and his lips curl into a soft smile.
And I realize that I’m in his lap, sitting on his thick thighs that bunch and flex against my butt. My palm cups the hard curve of his shoulder, and his skin is smooth and warm and slick. All I want to do is stroke it, run my finger down the valley of his chest, maybe circle the little indent of his belly button.
I let my hand fall to my lap and clear my throat. “‘Lady lips’ will soon be a faint memory.”
“Nope,” he says, wrapping his arm around my hips. “It’s burned in my brain.”
“My work here is done then. Now go and take a shower, Stinky, before you freeze to death.” The truth is that Gray’s sweat-slicked body doesn’t smell bad to me. No, it’s the opposite. I have the mad urge to burrow my face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in. Which is bad.
He laughs again, not letting me go, but pulling me against his tight chest. Jesus, his body is gorgeous up close. So solid and steady that I want to press into all that strength, ease this sudden ache in my breasts. His voice is a luscious rumble in my ear. “I’m in no danger of freezing right now, Special Sauce. Believe me.”
I don’t know how to interpret that. Or what is going on with me. “Boundaries, Gray.” I edge back, because I’m in danger of doing something stupid, like drooling. “Sweaty, gross boundaries.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, loosening his grip. “I’m going. Only one thing first.”
His eyes gleam, shining lapis blue in the winter light.
“What?” I ask, slightly weary of that glint.
“Is this overstepping boundaries?” he asks with mock innocence, right before the shithead crams my head into his sweaty armpit.
* * *
Gray
I’m still smiling as I make my way into the locker room after my shower. Mac’s squeals of horror were adorable. She fought the good fight, but still ended up with a face full of my sweat. Which is disgusting but oddly satisfying to me, in a caveman kind of way. I might feel bad about it, if it weren’t for the fact that Mac had been laughing her ass off the whole time we wrestled. That, and she’d gotten a few good hits in.
“What’s with that smug look, Gray-Gray?” Dex asks me as I pull out my boxers. The big center is far too perceptive and I’m not about to go under the microscope.
“Nothing.”
Johnson glances at me too. “Uh-huh. Got anything to do with that hickey on your chest?” He shakes his head, sending his long yellow hair flying around his shoulders. “Damn, boy, only you could fuck around with a girl five minutes after practice.”
I look down at my chest where a small bruise is forming near my nipple. My grin grows and I rub the spot. “Not what you think, man. Mac pinched me.” Hurt like a bitch but totally worth it. “We were just messing around.”
The guys all stop to look at me with varying expressions of disbelief.
“Is that what you kids are calling it these days?” Dex asks.
“Yeah, well she was kind of pissed that I gave her a noogie.” I button my jeans.
“Mac?” Diaz, the big—usually silent—Puerto Rican lineman is putting on his shoes. “That the tall dark-haired honey watching our practice? The one who looks like Strawberry Fields from Quantum of Solace?”
“Gemma Arterton,” Johnson supplies. “Nice.”
I suppose Mac does kind of look like her. Especially with that hairstyle. Only Mac is more appealing. “Yep. Oh hey,” I look around at all of them. “Palmers is doing Eighties Night. I told Mac we’d go.” Already I’m texting Drew. He wanted to meet Mac. Now’s his chance.