My legs are shaky as hell, but I’m definitely not complaining. Judging by the big ass grin on Cooper’s face, he feels the same way.
He glances around the room and when his gaze settles back on mine, he rubs the back of his head, looking unsure. “Stay the night?”
“I don’t know…” The last thing I want to do is crowd him. I know how he feels about sleepovers and everything they imply.
“If you stay,” he says, wiggling his brows, “I can guarantee at least two more orgasms.”
My chest tightens, but the feeling is so fleeting I can’t tell if it was relief or disappointment. “When you put it like that, how could I possibly refuse?”
39
COOPER
Sunlight streams through the window,an unpleasant reminder that I forgot to close the blinds last night. No surprise there. My mind—and body—were otherwise occupied.
Quinn’s curled up next to me, her head resting on my chest. She fits perfectly against me with her hand pressed to my abdomen and one leg draped over mine.
It’s like the spot was carved out just for her.
I watch her as she sleeps, which isn’t as creepy as it sounds. Or maybe it is. It’s not like I have a lot of experience in this area. I’ve never woken up with a woman before, and I’m curious.
Her breathing is slow and even and every time she exhales, a wisp of that scarlet hair flies up in the air, tickling my chest on the way down.
My fingers itch to brush it back from her face, but I don’t want to wake her.
We didn’t get much sleep last night. Not that I’m complaining. I’ll take great sex over sleep every day of the week.
Even on a Sunday, the one day I don’t actually have to be up at the ass crack of dawn.
Quinn stirs, making this sexy little purring sound, and my cock springs to life, tenting the sheet.
I tilt my head, checking to see if she’s up, but nope, her eyes are still closed.
Morning sex will have to wait.
I stare up at the ceiling, tracing idle circles on Quinn’s back as I mentally run through my schedule for the upcoming week.
We’ve got Indy on the schedule Saturday, so Reid and I will need to book time with the O-line to watch film. It’s an away game, which means less prep time, but at least we’re flying. Busing it to Indiana would be torture. Just like the upcoming exam in Applied Regression Analysis—aka stats—my least favorite part of the PoliSci curriculum. Then again, maybe it won’t be too brutal since we’re just a few weeks from finals.
Finals. Something else I’m not ready to think about yet.
I can’t afford to let my grades slip any more than I can declare my intention to enter the draft.
Best-case scenario, my old man would lose his shit. Worst? I don’t even want to think about it.
Just a few more months.
One day—one step—at a time.
I can keep my professional aspirations on the DL for a few more months, even if it means no NIL agreements, no agents, and no informal meetings with NFL scouts, something Reid’s father is pushing hard.
Lucky bastard.
If only my father were half as supportive.
My cell vibrates on the nightstand and the Imperial Death March fills the room with its ominous vibes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
