I go to my closet and pull out the dress I brought for tonight.It’s short and silver with tiny straps, and the bottom hits mid-thigh.It’s a little over the top, especially with the silver shoes Brooke gave me.
After the game, I showered and washed my hair, blow drying it straight before setting it in soft waves.
Now, I do my makeup—smoky eyes and nude lips.
The effect is pretty damn good.When I step into the dress and heels, I’m bubbling with nervous anticipation.
I grab my leather jacket and toss it on before sneaking a look at myself in the mirror.I look hot and sophisticated, but I still feel like me.
When I get down to the car, Clay looks up at me from his phone, and his expression goes slack.“You’re gorgeous.”
The words are soft and edgy, like a curse muttered under his breath.
“You look good yourself.”I take in the button-down shirt that clings to his muscled chest and shoulders, the dark pants hugging his hips.
He holds the back door of the limo for me, and I shift inside.
“Where are we going?”
“Dinner but I need to make a stop first.”Clay takes up half the back seat of the limo.“I was watching you tonight in the stands.”
“Oh, is that why we lost?I’ll send Coach a fruit basket as an apology.”
Clay chuckles, his entire chest rumbling.
“You looked like you guys were getting into it.”
“We have different ideas about how to solve problems.Plus, Rookie should’ve been better.”
“Will you talk to him about it?”
“He’s got to figure some shit out on his own.”
Clay pulls my back to his front, a strong arm around my ribs.Arousal dances in my stomach.
I think of Brooke’s words about having fun.
I shift in my seat, crossing one leg over the other.
His touch skims down my side to my thigh, slipping toward the hem of my dress.
My breath catches as his fingers inch higher.
“Show me what’s under here,” he rasps.
“I got them for you.”
I lift the edge of my skirt to reveal the thong I bought with the LA team’s logo.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”His voice is strangled.“I told you there’d be consequences if you showed up wearing someone else’s number again.”
“There’s no number on these,” I say helpfully.
Clay buzzes up the panel between the seats.
“This drive just got longer.”
The hairs on my neck lift as he wraps an arm around me and drags me over him, his front to my back.
