She’s curvy with hips to grip on to and a full fucking rack that I could easily spend an hour exploring. And those goddamn lips, plush and begging to be bruised. Long, platinum-blond hair that I could wrap around my hand and hold on tight while I drive into her. Fucking perfection. Every last inch of her.
Later that day, when I was headed to the weight room to get some legs in after the game, Pacey body-slammed me against the wall and held me there as he told me to stay the fuck away from his sister.
Of course, I played dumb and said I had no idea what he was talking about. Which he replied with, “I saw the way you were looking at her. I swear to God, if you touch her, you’re a dead man.”
So, I’ve held on to that little piece of knowledge because although a threat, I know for certain it’s most likely a real threat. A threat I didn’t want to come face to face with.
Every time I ran into her, walking through the hallways of the stadium or working with her on one of her many TikTok campaigns, I just nodded and smiled outwardly.
But inwardly . . .
Fuck, I ate up her high heels that put the smallest dent on her short stature. I envisioned what those heels would look like wrapped around my waist. I thought about how I’d peel those high heels off and lay her back on my bed, watching as her hair fanned out across the mattress. And those fantasies have collected in my head, filed into a folder labeled untouchable. But they haven’t stopped producing, even after knowing I can’t do anything about it.
They’ve just stockpiled.
With every glance from her.
With every moment I hear those heels click-clacking down the hallway.
With every goddamn laugh from her beautiful lips when she’s talking to someone else.
My mind has wandered. My imagination has soared, and I’ve been horny and needy whenever she’s been around.
Tonight is no exception.
Except I’m flirting with her tonight—it is my birthday, after all.
Happy birthday to me.
There’s nothing wrong with a bit of flirting, right?
“You seem to be drinking that pretty quickly,” I point out to her as she sucks on her straw, her cheeks hollowing out, making me dream of what she’d look like if she was sucking on something other than that straw.
“Am I?” she asks after she pulls away from her drink. “Well, I’m thirsty. All that babbling has left me parched.”
The fucking babbling. Normally, I wouldn’t care for a woman to go on and on about random things, but for some reason, when Penny does it, I’m enamored, and I want nothing more than for her to continue. I want to get lost in those crazy thoughts of hers.
“Do you want something to eat?” I ask her.
“Uh . . .” She glances around. “I think I’m okay. I’m actually not planning on staying long. You know, work tomorrow. I really came out tonight as a favor to Blakely and stayed out because, well, it’s your birthday. You know what we should do? We should actually roam the bar and find someone you can go home with. You know, someone who would really know how to celebrate.” She waggles her eyebrows at me, and if I wasn’t so annoyed with her trying to pass me off on someone else, I’d think it’s cute.
“I’m good with you.”
“Me?” she asks, pointing at herself. “That’s, well, you know, I’m not, uh . . . the thing is—”
“Good with hanging out with you,” I say, clearing the air so she doesn’t think I’m looking for anything other than her company. She has no idea the number of times I’ve saidnoto another woman’s advances because of an interaction with her on a particular day.
Ifshewere to make a move, I’d jump on it so hard. In an instant, we’d be headed to my place with one thing on my mind—getting between her legs.
“Oh, okay.” She stares down at her drink. “You don’t think I’m boring?”
“Why would I think you were boring? You have been nothing but entertaining since I bumped into you.”
“Yes, but I’m not a super great conversationalist.”
“Not true,” I say before taking a small sip of my beer. “I’ve seen you with the guys. You’re always laughing with them, joking around, teasing.”
“Yes, well . . . that’s different.”
