Page 60 of Hard to Score

“C’mon, Kincade,” Justin says. “Don’t be such a prude.” He tugs on my arm as if we’re old college buddies when we’re not. “What’s the worst that can happen? A bunch of professional football players protect you from some assholes?”

“You mean from someone like you?” Drew asks as he bumps Justin’s shoulder with his before heading up the stairs after everyone. He turns back to the two of us, absolute indifference on his face. “You coming?”

* * *

Do you know how hard it is to sit across from someone and not show that you know them, want them, and are reliving their touch?

I know that Drew does. Because every time I risk a glance toward him, our eyes meet fleetingly, and he conveys what seems like the same desperate desire that’s owning my body right now.

To make matters worse, every time he passes behind me to talk to a teammate, he touches me ever-so-slightly—a hand across my ass, a fingertip across my shoulder, the heat of his body simply standing there.

It’s like he keeps adding kindling to a fire I know we can’t stoke.

He’ll be under team curfew at the hotel, and there’s no way in hell I’ll be the cleat chaser getting caught sneaking in and out of the room. Talk about ruining my professional reputation.

So instead we’re relegated to this. The taunt and tease and tempt without anyone noticing.

It’s devastating to my senses while simultaneously being the most seductive foreplay I’ve ever partaken in.

A glance here. A touch there. The dart out of a tongue to wet his lips. Eyes telling me what he wants to do with their flick down my body.

And yes, sure we may be laughing and having separate conversations with his teammates, but we are one hundred percent aware of each other at all times.

My phone vibrates in my purse at my side. When I glance at its screen, I fight my smile.

Drew: Meet me in the middle of the dance floor. It’s dark and crowded and no one will see.

I glance up to see Drew staring at me, eyes intense, intent clearly etched in the lines of his face.

Me: You dance?

Drew: If you consider my hands on your body dancing, then yes.

He offers me the sexiest smile from his place in the corner as I rise from my seat beside Dax and Lisa, who are in a heated discussion about who knows what.

“Hey?” she asks.

I smile. “I’m fine. I’m going to catch some fresh air. I’ll be back.”

“You sure? I can come with you,” she offers but makes no movement to grab her purse. An empty promise I was counting on.

“I’m good. Stay. Enjoy yourself.”

Drew was right. The dance floor is packed and with the strobe lights over the darkened room, it would be clearly impossible to figure out who is who among the crowd of bodies.

It takes me some time to make my way into the center of the space. Bodies are moving to the Latin beat, hips gyrating, arms thrown up in the sky, as they lose themselves to the beat.

And it doesn’t take long for me to do the same. To move to the music and wait with burning anticipation for Drew to find me.

To touch me.

To kiss me.

When his hands slide around my midsection and the heat of his body blankets me from behind, I don’t know how to react. My body’s so taut with anticipation while being so ready for him, that all I can do is sink back against him and close my eyes.

We begin to move. It’s not him or me, it’s just us moving together. His hands on my abdomen. My fingers lacing through his. My body reacting to his.

We don’t speak. We’d never be heard above the music. Instead, we communicate with our bodies. With touch and feel and fingertips and silence.