“Uh, what?” I asked, dazed and very fucking confused. My dick throbbed against my jeans. My mouth had been on her skin point two five seconds ago.
“We can’t do thishere. You should go.”
“Leave?” I couldn’t possibly get up and walk out the door.
“Yes, Michael.” She frowned at the hallway that went further into the unit. “Leave now. I’ll call you. Uh, thanks for the coffee. And the food. And the kiss.”
She jutted her chin toward the door. This was a first. Being dismissed when I swore she was into it. My dick throbbed, and my entire body tensed with regret. I didn’t want to leave, but Naomi pleaded with her soft eyes and worried expression. Iknewthis pushed her outside of her comfort zone. Friends with benefits.
Wait. The sound.Someone else was home.My lust-fueled brain took a second to catch up with reality.That’swhy she shoved me away. We would’ve gotten caught.
I groaned as I wiped a hand down my face, lost for words because what did I say? That I didn’t want to go? Because I didn’t. I understood why I had to but fuck, I needed her bad. Horny, hurt, and embarrassed, I didn’t look at her again before making sure I had my keys and my phone.
It was risky enough thinking about doing anything with the coach’s daughter, and we almost got caught.
I walked out without a word.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Naomi
There wasn’t a to-do list that could save me from myself. Not a single special on serial killers could pull me from overanalyzing what just happened. I couldn’t stop thinking about Michael.
And not just one part of him. All of him. The good bits and the problematic ones. The way his mouth felt on my body, the absolute confidence of a man who knew how to please a woman. The ease in which he shifted from friends tothis—whatever this was. I wanted him. Naked. And yet, one small sound that could’ve been Mona walking into the kitchen had me jumping back like he was a criminal.
It was his rule, but I could’ve taken him to my room. Done a normal thing instead of getting all weird on him.
My face flushed, and my pulse raced something fierce as I walked back and forth across my room. I ran my hands through my hair and took deep breaths, unable to stop replaying the moment. His hands on my body, his tongue on my nipples. My nipples! They were always an afterthought with my past boyfriends but not Michael. They tightened when I imagined his mouth on them again.
I sighed and fell onto my bed, annoyed at myself, my reaction to him, and at Mona for no other reason than she was right. Because despite my attraction to him and the fact he was a decent guy, hockey would always be his priority. Staying friends was safer.
But you agreed to be friends with benefits.
Then I kicked him out right after—basically doing the same thing he did to me the week before after our first kiss. Being a hypocrite didn’t sit well with me.
“Fuck.” I sat up and stared at my phone, hoping the right words would come to mind. I needed to say something to him. It’d been an hour. That was enough time, right?
Utter panic gripped my throat. What if he thought the deal was off? No, that couldn’t happen. My fingers shook, and I channeled all the badass parts of myself to take action. I could own up to my freak out and hope we were still on. Maybe I could go to his place?
My phone buzzed, and Cami’s name popped up, throwing ice on the inferno of emotions brewing inside out. I ignored her.
She called again.
Okay, that was...weird.
The turmoil about Michael shifted in a blink, and I answered, afraid of a worst-case scenario. That had to be the only reason she would call me multiple times in a row. “Uh, hello?” I asked, chewing my lip and preparing myself for bad news.
Someone was sick. There was an accident. Something along those lines.
“I need you.”
Every muscle in my body tightened as I prepared myself for war. Aggressive,protectivefeelings coursed through me, making me stand straighter as I scanned the room. “Of course. What is it?”
“A ride. Soon, please,” Cami said, her voice shaking and lacking her usual luster. She sniffed, and that sound sent alarm bells off in my head. Cami didn’t cry. She didn’t show sadness. She was the happy one, the bubbly dancer. The one with so much confidence I swore she could sell it and make a profit.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Just, can you get here fast? I texted you the address.”
