Page 48 of Beg Me

I drop my hands. “Excuse me?”

My head spins at the abrupt one-eighty. No, we can’t? We can’t what?

Is he kidding me right now?

After that … thing … with Jasper? After the insinuation about sucking his cock earlier today? After asking about benefits to this arrangement?

We can’t?

Oh, hell no.

“I want to,” he says, his eyes wild. “Trust me. I want nothing more right now than to have you in every way you’ll let me. But we can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

He groans, looking at the ceiling. “Because, Markie, think about it. Think about our interactions and the reason you came to my house today. It wasn’t to fuck me. It wasn’t to date me. It was to help you win a tournament that means the world to you.” He swallows again. “And if I know anything about shit, it’s sports. And once you start mixing this”—he motions between us—“with the game, the game changes. And never for the good.”

I huff a breath because he’s not entirely wrong. That still doesn’t mean I want to hear it.

“Besides,” he says, his gaze growing softer. “You deserve better than this. What kind of man would I be if I had sex with you, in a public bathroom, after you’ve been drinking?”

“I don’t know. The satisfied kind?”

He chuckles. “I have no doubt.” He sighs, licking his lips. “I let this go too far tonight and I’m sorry. It’s so easy to get carried away when I’m around you because, I mean, just look at you.” His smile softens. “But I would be a total asshole to do this. I can’t let a moment potentially ruin what I’ve promised you—and that’s to beat Jasper.”

Fucker. “Then start wearing a damn shirt and lose the backward hat.”

“What?” he asks, his chuckle turning into a laugh. The vibrations of his laugh toy with my senses. Even when I’m frustrated with the man, he still turns me on.

So, so unfortunate.

My cheeks heat as I process that I’ve just given him an opening and he turned me down. That’s never happened before, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it.

Objectively, what he’s saying is true, and I respect him for that. He just proves over and over that he’s a great guy. But it’s still a hit to my ego. It still stings.

“Well, you’ve made your decision,” I say, trying to remember who I am. Trying to harness that energy. “I’m pretty sure that I know what I can and cannot handle, and I certainly don’t need you deciding that for me—regardless of your intentions.”

“Markie …” He groans.

“No. It’s fine. Enjoy the rest of your night.” I put my hand on the handle as another round of pounding and shouting comes from the other side of the door. “But you should’ve stopped to think about how sexual frustration might affect my game.” I grin menacingly, twisting the handle. “One of us will be taking lots of balls to the face, and it clearly won’t be me.”

The sound of Patsy’s patrons living it up swallows his voice as I open the door and make a beeline for the sidewalk. Nettie watches me storm through the bar and exits shortly after.

Jory might be right. Having sex might ruin everything.

But I lowered my guard, and he rejected me.

Because he cared more about me than sleeping with me?

I balk at that realization as I head toward my house.

“Hey, aren’t we driving?” Nettie shouts from behind me. “I’m in heels.”

“Then take them off,” I say over my shoulder. “I need the fresh air, and you’ve been drinking. It’s just three blocks. We’ll get our cars tomorrow.”

She mutters something that I can’t make out, which is probably for the best.

I growl into the night as I try to sort my jumbled thoughts.