Freshly mowed grass. My mom’s homemade chicken parm. Clarke’s peaches and cream shampoo.
“You good man?”
“Yeah,” I groused, running a hand across the back of my neck to work out the kinks. Fat chance. My kink was Clarke Myers.
I followed Nuñez into the locker room.
“My lats are killing me,” Tuck whined, already tugging his shirt over his head. “Seriously, I hope none of you fuckers plan on showering because I’m going to stand under the spray for the next hour.”
“All yours.” Bennett smiled wolfishly. “I’ve got plans elsewhere tonight. No point in showering.”
Roman snorted. The rest of the guys ribbed him.
While Pink showed off his bestMagic Mikemoves and the rest of the guys groaned because, well, we weren’t all twenty-three anymore, I considered my next move. I was thirty-four years old, well past the game-playing stage of my life. I didn’t gamble, didn’t play pickup basketball like some of the guys. Hell, the only games I enjoyed playing wereSuper Mario,America’s national pastime, and the occasional round of mini golf with my oldest sister’s kids. They kicked my ass every time.
This back-and-forth with Clarke needed to end, and it wasn’t going to with her coming on some other guy’s dick. Not unless she had a threesome on that list of hers, and even then, it would be a hard sell. I’d never been good at sharing. Youngest child syndrome.
I wanted her all to myself.
If she wanted to check off some kind of fuck-it list, then she was going to do it with me and only me.
“If you won’t give me what I want, then I’ll find somebody else who will.”
Oh, I’d give her what she wanted, and she’d love it. We both would, I had no doubt. But giving her what she wanted wasn’t enough for me.
I was going to give her what she needed, too.
Even if she didn’t know it yet.
I stood abruptly from the bench, my thighs protesting.
“How about you, Sinclair?” Roman asked. “You down for a beer at my place?
“No. We’re going out.”
The team stared back at me, their faces washed with equal parts surprise and confusion. It wasn’t any secret that I preferred to keep my private life just that, private. A movie or beer at Roman’s place was one thing, but a night out in Portland’s newest club was another.
“Say that again,” Matty drawled.
“We’re going out,” I repeated. “To a club in Portland.”
“For reals?” Pink asked, his eyes lighting up like a kid in a candy shop. One where the sweets and treats came in blonde and brunette. So long as he kept his distance from one specific honey-voiced blonde . . .
I bet she tastes like honey, too.
Typically, I avoided sweets, but tonight, I wasn’t going to settle for anything less than Clarke on my tongue.
And my name on her lips.
Clarke
“How about him?”
I eyed the dirty blonde Nessa pointed out, emphasis on dirty. He had that sweaty, rugged, “I just got back from a ten-day camping trip,” kind of look. Which, now that I thought about it, was entirely possible. This was the Pacific Northwest.
“Too messy.”
Sweat-soaked after sex was one thing. Lack of personal hygiene was another.
