Jackson: I’ll finish about 30 seconds after you get yours. Twice.
I laugh at the devil emoji face he puts at the end of that text.
Me: okay, okay, I refuse to be a distraction during some of your most important practices, so I will just seeyou tonight.
Jackson: You'll be seeing all of me tonight, baby girl.
Me: I look forward to it, Coach Gage
“I think your brother is some type of stealth ninja the way he’s been avoiding me for the last few days,” Jackson states as he comes through the back door, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. I hear him twist the cap off and lean against the counter, taking a hefty swallow, while I gaze at him from the couch. He nods to me asking if I want one, and I silently hold up my glass of wine.
“You haven’t seen him at all?”
“Oh, I’ve seen him, but he does his best to duck and weave before I can get close to him. I see the anger on his face still and I don’t want to have it erupt on me in public. I know that would not be good for him or myself.”
He walks over, sits beside me and pulls my legs back onto his lap.
“I’m sorry you guys are fighting. I can’t help but feel responsible.”
“No. Stop right there. This is not on you. We are two adults who decided to try our own relationship and we have every right to do that without broadcasting it every step of the way.”
I groan in disagreement and try to pull my legs away and sit up. He grips my ankle tighter, placing his beer on the table next to him and starts massaging my feet. I groan louder, this time in heaven and tilt my head back on the couch arm.
Jackson continues, “If my best friend can’t see how happy I am with you, whether you’re his sister or not, he needs to rethink his friendship skills.”
He continues working on my feet, but I lift my head watching him and smile.
“Why are you staring at me like a creep right now?”
“You’re happy with me?” I’m sure I have a stupid grin on my face and stars in my eyes.
He gives me a look that stops my heart and makes my pulse race. I know that look. “You know I am. You know I want you. And I want everyone to know it.”
I sit up and climb onto his lap. “Come on, Gage. Show me what all the fuss is about a professional quarterback.” I lean forward and lick his bottom lip.
He growls and stands, my legs wrapping around him, he holds my ass and runs me to the bedroom and I’m giggling the whole time. He drops me on the bed and covers my body with his.
“I think you already know what the fuss is all about.” He’s kissing down my neck, but I pull his face to mine, with my hands on either side framing him.
“I’m so proud of you Jackson. All that you’ve accomplished from the time you were a kid all the way up to right now. You’re amazing and people see it. You’re going places.” I kiss the tip of his nose and pull back again to stare at him. His eyes try to see right through me but they’re full of fear. Regret? His emotions flash all around his face but I can’t make sense of a single one.
He kisses me like he’s trying to memorize me. It makes me nervous, but I’ve come to realize Jackson is intense. Especially when he has a lot on his mind, and with Adam and the games coming up, I know he needs a release.
“Use me,” I whisper to him, against his lips. “I know you need it, you won’t hurt me, Jackson. I like it when you’re rough.”
His pupils are blown, and I feel his heart rate speed up. He swallows and I watch his Adams apple bob in his throat. His stubble is rough against my face, but it just turns me on more.
“Can I show you something?” he says.
“I think we’re past that, Jackson,” I yelp as he tickles my side, gently biting my neck. I feel his hard cock against my thigh. I was right, he desperately needs a release.
“Smart ass,” he replies as he backs up off me, undoing the button of his jeans and letting them hit the ground. I raise up onto my elbows, still on my back so I can watch. He pulls his tee over his head, and I trace his six pack down with my eyes until I get to the V that makes me forget my own name.
He reaches for me, pulling me to a sitting position and comes close, stepping between my legs. His fingers linger over my body until they meet my hands. He takes them, threading our fingers together,then rubs them over his abs and lower until he hooks my fingers into his boxers pulling them down.
He steps back and out of them, and I reach for him. Then freeze. Above his pubic bone, on his left side, is a tattoo. It’s a football, with the number five in the middle, just like mine. But this one has writing scripted underneath it.
“Lean in,” he says. I raise my eyes to him, looking at him incredulously.
