I’d deliberately kept things isolated only to sex. No personal stories, no feelings, just light fun and mutual orgasms. Yet here I was lying beside him in his bed, wanting to know the stories behind the art hanging on his walls, wanting to know how he played the same sport as his younger brother but didn’t see him as a rival, wanting to know if I crossed his mind when I wasn’t around. He’d traveled through my thoughts far too many times in the past couple of months for me say with a straight face that running into him was a coincidence.
His movements slowed and his breathing evened out. A few minutes later, he held my hand loosely in his. Turning my head on the pillow, I stared at his handsome face. Even relaxed in sleep, his rugged gorgeousness called to me on a visceral level. Or maybe that was only the aftermath of incredible sex.
Yeah, I was going with that.
With my body sated in a way I’d never dreamed could exist, it would be so easy to join him. Wake up with him and maybe enjoy a round of morning sex before I headed home to study for finals.
It would be a train wreck to give into the temptation. Waking up with him would change the dynamic from casual to something dangerous.
For all his outward shallow playfulness, Wyatt Baxter ran deep. One look at the art on the walls of his room told a story of a person who found beauty even in the most devastating and terrifying moments, who cared about details and quality, who thought deep thoughts when he was alone. Toss in his physical talents on the football field—and in bed—his goofy sense of humor, and his stunning looks, and the man was a recipe for heartbreak.
Myheartbreak.
Because I saw the way the football groupies followed him around. When I casually asked people about him when the team came up on social media, I’d heard the stories—with pictures—of how much he enjoyed women. No one could be as skilled between the sheets as he was without some practice. It wasn’t a chance I had it in me to take.
Gently, I tugged my hand from his and slipped out of his bed. He remained still, his breathing even and quiet. Kinda surprising considering how much beer he’d drunk and that he slept on his back. The light from the desk lamp allowed me to round up my clothes from all the places on the floor and desk where they’d landed in our desperation to remove them. Hastily, I redressed and tiptoed from his room, careful to reset the lock on the door. The idea of some other woman stumbling in and finding him sprawled naked over his sheets and inviting him for another round didn’t sit well. It was a selfish thought, but I didn’t let myself dwell on it.
An open door to my right alerted me to the bathroom where I slipped on my boots, righted my hair, and touched up my lipstick before heading back downstairs to the party. When I entered the living room, I noticed the crowd had thinned out. Checking my phone, I saw several missed texts from Saylor and Chessly.
Chess: How long does a quickie take? ;)
Chess: The uglies have arrived. Time to go.
Saylor: Fitz is fun, but Chess wants to go.
Chess: Where are you?!
Saylor: The only way to avoid a scene with the uglies is to take Chess home. Hope your guy is a gentleman. Brunch tomorrow?
I glanced at the crowd again, but didn’t see Tory Miller and her little girl group. Didn’t mean they weren’t in the kitchen or dining room. Calling up the ride-share app on my phone, I placed a request and leaned against the wall at the base of the stairs to watch the drunk antics of some girls trying to dance the “Savage.” I was tempted to record it and upload it for major TikTok fails, and I probably would have if my friends were with me.
My phone alerted me my ride had arrived, so I headed to the front door, but Finn stopped me when he called out from somewhere behind me to wait.
“You leaving already?”
“It’s after midnight, and this Cinderella is close to turning into a pumpkin.”
He snorted. “As if.” Glancing back at the crowd in the room, he said, “I’ve been looking for your friends for a while, but they seem to have disappeared. Are they coming back for you?”
I pulled a face at the hope in his tone. “Um, no. Wyatt said you guys don’t let the underage kids and the assholes into your parties, but apparently someone made an exception for Tory Miller and her little girl group.”
Color rode his cheeks above his beard stubble, and something like panic filled his eyes.
“My friends and I try to stay clear of that little witch.” My phone vibrated in my hand. “Gotta jet. Enjoy the rest of your night, Finn.”
The following morning I met Saylor and Chessly at our usual brunch hangout. Surprisingly, our other friend Jamaica Winslow was with them. After hugging them all hello, I shed my jacket over the back of my chair and sat.
“At least you’re not wearing the same thing you had on yesterday,” Saylor said with a sly grin.
“Ha, ha. You’re hilarious.”
“I thought you and Bax only did hookups, but you were gone forhours,” Chess accused. “What time did you leave this morning?” She rested her elbows on the table and set her chin on her folded hands as she batted her lashes. I wondered at her mom-like tone and actions.
“Callahan said something about Bax hooking up with a purple-haired hottie, but I didn’t think you went for guys who wear T-shirts reading ‘So how old were you when you discovered the game of TAG meant Touch and Go?’” Jamaica’s narrowed eyes were more censorious than her words.
“There’s more to Wyatt than his T-shirts, J,” I said as I accepted a menu from our server.
Mischief danced in Saylor’s eyes. “So it’s becoming more than a hookup, huh?”
