Page 97 of Hard to Score

When he gets to my door, I fling it open before he can even finish knocking, and launch myself into his arms with a squeal of excitement.

My greeting comes in my kisses with my legs wrapped around his waist and “that was incredible” over and over.

It comes in laughter and praise and love.

So much love.

And I show him just how much of it when we stumble to the couch before I start stripping his clothes off.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

BREXTON

“DO YOU REALLY HAVE TO go?” I groan as he crawls over where I’m lying in my bed and plants another long, sweet kiss on my lips.

Then he winces followed by a curse and a chuckle as he sits up on his knees. “I forgot what it feels like to be hit like that in a game.” He looks down to where a bruise has blossomed right beneath his rib cage.

“Poor baby. Let me kiss it and make it all better,” I murmur and do just that. But then I let my mouth slide lower until he fists a hand in my hair and pulls my head back so my mouth can’t reach where I was angling to reach.

“You don’t play fair.” His smile is devastating. Everything about him is really, as he sits in my bed in the bright morning light looking at me with eyes that reflect exactly how I feel about him back at me.

It’s heady. It’s wonderful. It’s the best thing ever, and the grin that crawls on my lips says just that.

“Never.” I press another kiss to right above the waistband of his jeans. “And that’s a promise for later.”

“Later?” He leans down and kisses me again. But what starts out as a peck ends up with my hands threading through the hair at the back of his neck and me deepening the kiss.

“I’m not ready for you to go yet,” I say and then brush my lips to his again.

“Films,” he says with a resolute nod as his fingers slide their way beneath the covers before he hisses out a groan and pulls it back. “I have to go watch films.”

“Sounds boring.”

He offers me a pained look that makes me smile. I’m glad it’s as hard for him to leave my bed as it is for me to watch him walk away.

“It’s especially boring when I know you’re here.” He scoots off the bed, grabs his T-shirt, and puts it on. “Warm and inviting—”

“And wet and willing.” My smile is coy and his groan is one of regret.

“You’re cruel.” He laughs.

“And you’re incredible.” He stops mid-motion and stares at me as emotion pools in his eyes. “You are. You have to know that. Not just on the field, Drew, but in real life. Everything you balance, everything you try to do and try to be, you are simply incredible.”

And I mean every word of what I say, because as I lay in bed this morning watching him sleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about the weight of the world on his shoulders. Duty and integrity and his own career, and how he balances it all so that no one else knows the difficulties—because he hides them so well.

“Thank you,” he says with the softest of smiles that tells me he hears me. That he knows I see the real man beneath his many layers, and I love him more because of them.

He watches me scoot out of bed, his eyes scraping over my bare skin as if he’s remembering all of the glorious ways he pleasured it last night and before.

I hold his gaze and only break it momentarily as I slide an old V-neck T-shirt I commandeered the last time he left it behind.

“Tonight then?” I ask.

“Only if you promise to be waiting just like that. My shirt and nothing else.”

“Oh, you didn’t like the lingerie last night?”

His grin is lightning quick. “On second thought . . .”