Still leaning on his folded arms, he looked up at me over his shoulder. “She’s used to it, in fact? Happens all the time?”
“Ah, no.” I ran my hands down his back, the journey from shoulder to hip one of lithe muscle and skin tacky with sweat. “I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve had a guy in our shared apartment and still have enough fingers left to give you a rough time.” I slapped his arse with an appreciative groan because by god, it was a fine arse.
“Is that a threat or a promise?” he asked, grabbing his shirt as he straightened up.
“You tell me.”
He paused in the act of wiping himself, long fingers clutching the discarded shirt. Its colour almost matched that of the woven bracelet caught at a drunk angle around his wrist. “Fuck, I’d want it to be a promise,” he admitted, unfreezing after a moment. “But I’m ashamed to say I don’t think I could handle it right now. Not after that.”
In the wake of all the adrenaline and heat and need, I gave an awkward half shrug and a rueful grin. “I did promise you hard and nasty the other day, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did.” He met my gaze only to look away with a disbelieving little shake of his head. “You really are a bundle of contradictions, Matteo. I feel it was quite the understatement the other day when I said you weren’t what I expected.”
“Since you expected cocky dick, I’ll take that as a compliment!”
He turned back with a soft smile. “Yeah,” he said. “You should.”And for just a moment, in the shadow of those words, I couldn’t breathe.
A theatrical knock sounded on the door like a dousing of ice-cold water and I spun in time to see Katie walk in, her eyes squeezed shut in overdramatic horror. “Is it safe yet?”
“Yes, sorry,” I said, as we both hastily tugged up shorts.
She opened her eyes and stared from me to Miles and back. “So . . . you were going to tell me about this when?”
“Uh, when you got here.”
“Words would have sufficed, Mat!” She laughed. “I didn’t need a demonstration!”
Clutching his dirty shirt against him like a shield, Miles made for the door. “I’m . . . gonna shower and leave y’all to it.”
With a bemused smile, Katie let him escape before folding her arms at me. “Care to explain?”
“What is there to explain?” I asked, though I couldn’t stop grinning.
“What is there to explain?How about why you’re fucking Miles Callahan? In our lounge room no less.”
“Well, it was the lounge room this time because I was impatient and didn’t realise how late it was. Sorry.”
Her eyes widened. “This time? How many times have—? Is this just a thing now?”
“A few? So, I guess?” I glanced to where her suitcases still sat in the hallway. “Here, let me wash my hands and I’ll help you with your bags.”
“Oh no, no touching my bags. Go shower. You stink of sweat and sex.”
She shooed me away, and by the time I’d showered and dressed and thrown my dirty clothes in the laundry bag, Katie was checking the contents of the fridge, notepad in hand.
“So, what is this?” she asked, the fridge door closing with a protesting squeal. “Are you two dating or—?”
“No!” I cried, lifting protective hands. “We’re just gay and horny and conveniently located! And it’s been handy having a training partner. And it turns out he’s not actually an arsehole.”
“I’mnot the one who thought he was. He’s always seemed no more conceited than any other player on tour. Besides, it’s sweet that he travels with his sister.”
“So . . . you don’t mind if he hangs around?”
Katie’s brows flew up. “What? Of course not. First impression aside, I’m sure he’s lovely. And even if he wasn’t, I sure as hell won’t turn down the chance to pick Miles Callahan’s tennis brain.”
Dick Scrunchie
Want to have dinner with us?
