He yawns. “Mm. Again. Sounds like your fault. If you let me suck your dick before bed, we’d have both slept better and woken up on time.”
I stop dead.
He grins. “Coach.”
I point a finger at him, trying not to smile, failing. “Don’t.”
“You’re hard again, aren’t you?” he asks, stretching like a cat. “I’m a menace. You should punish me.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re hard,” he sing-songs.
“I’m about to be fired,” I mutter, grabbing my keys and tossing him my hoodie from the night before.
“Fine, fine. I’ll get dressed.” He groans as he rolls out of bed. “But just so you know… if you let me get on my knees this morning, we willbothhave better attitudes at practice. It would only take an extra couple of minutes, promise.”
I turn slowly.
He’s grinning again, sweater half on, hair wild.
“You’re lucky I like you,” I say.
“You’re lucky I haven’t made you come behind the bleachersyet,” he shoots back.
“Get dressed, Trouble.”
The car ride is chaos.
Luke’s in my passenger seat, legs pulled up, bare feet on the dash, and my hoodie swallowed around him as though it was made for this. For him. The sleeves cover his hands, his wild morning hair is half-tamed by the collar, and he looks smug as hell humming along to the radio as if he owns the air I’m breathing.
He looks good in my clothes.
The kind of good that makes me think maybe early practices are a mistake. If I weren’t on a tight schedule, I’d already have him in my lap, tugging that damn hoodie over his head so I could see him again—really see him. Mark him up until he’s mine in every way that counts.
His foot taps the dash to the beat. Then he turns and grins at me, catching me watching him. Although, I’m not even trying to hide it.
He bites his bottom lip and tilts his head. “You’re staring,” he says.
“Can you blame me?” I murmur, eyes dropping to where my hoodie hangs loose around his thighs. My joggers swallowing up his legs.
He laughs and slouches deeper into the seat, as though he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. And the whole ride is just another excuse to get under my skin.
And hell, maybe it is. But I’m not fighting it anymore. Let him try. Let him tempt me.
He already fucking owns me.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying not to let my thoughts spiral, but it’s hard with him sitting over there all smug and barefoot in my clothes like he doesn’t even realize the kind of damage he’s doing to me.
Except he does.
I can see it in the way he stretches, slow and obnoxious, arms overhead as the hem of the hoodie rides up his thighs. Just enough to make me wonder if he’s wearing his boxers underneath. It’s enough to make me insane.
“Bet I could make you come before the next red light,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather.
I choke on air.
“Luke—”
