Only an asshole would say no, I tell myself. Otherwise, I would turn Masters down in a heartbeat. “Sure.”
Masters turns to Ryan. “Nice team you have there.”
“I didn’t realize we added a gunner to the team,” he jokes and points to me. “She said she hasn’t ever played before.”
Masters gives me an appraising look. “She’s got good hand/eye coordination. I think it runs in her family.”
A faint smile dances around the edges of his mouth. I shake my head.
“Let’s go, Masters.” I grab him and half pull/half push him away from the dugout.
“Nice to meet you, Knox,” Ryan calls out. “Good luck this weekend!”
“Thanks, man,” Masters calls. He places a hand on the low of my back. “See how your friend called me Knox.”
“Because it’s your name,” I answer.
“Yet you call me Masters.”
“Also your name.” I quicken the pace to put some daylight between his tempting hand and my weak back.
“Hmmm,” he murmurs. He lets his hand drop between us and I allow myself two seconds to throw myself a pity party that he’s not touching me anymore before I march forward to the apartment.
Somewhere along the way, though, I find my gait synchs with his. Our arms move in unison and there’s a heavy tension that builds with each step. I can hear his even breaths, smell his spicy skin.
My skin prickles and I almost feel him touching me even though there’s at least a hand span between us. His field of magnetism is that large. I can’t stand this close to him without wanting to feel him against me.
I’m a basketful of nerves by the time we get to the apartment complex.
“It’s the third floor,” I inform him when we stop at the front door. “Do you want to wait here?”
He looks at me incredulously. “I think I can walk three floors, Ellie.”
I try to shrug nonchalantly as if it doesn’t matter at all to me if he’s inside my apartment, when in reality I’m wondering how long it takes before I attack him.
We climb the steps side by side, and this time, our arms brush. Even that slight sensation sends a tingle throughout my body. I’m practically dizzy with sensation. At the top of the third floor, he grabs me and pushes me into an alcove.
He bends forward and kisses me, sweetly and softly. Apparently my grungy attire or slightly sweaty skin don’t matter to him. He keeps his hands on either side of the doorframe of the alcove, holding himself slightly away. I don’t like that space between us so I twine my arms around his neck and tug him closer. He makes a noise—not quite a grunt, not quite a moan, but more of a sigh of happiness. It fills pockets in my heart I didn’t know were empty. As he draws back, I follow him because I’m not done with that kiss.
“What was that for?” I ask hoarsely. His fingers are the tiniest bit shaky as they smooth a few strands of hair away from my forehead.
“I hadn’t kissed you since the bookstore. That’s a long time.”
My lips part at the sincerity of his words. They aren’t a line—at least not to him.
He captures those parted lips between his again. This time his tongue delves deep into my mouth, finding places that have me moaning in longing. He lifts me with ease, using his football player strength, and pushes me against the wall. I wend my fingers into his short straw colored hair and wrap my legs around his waist.
All sense of preservation lies somewhere between the softball field and the apartment. He’s wrecking me, in long licks and tiny bites, one tender and scorching hot kiss at a time.
I want to suspend time and remain in this moment forever with his big frame blotting out the light and his mouth memorizing every curve and plane of my face. I feel weightless, protected and cherished.
Under my fingers, his shoulder muscles bunch as he reaches down to stroke a firm palm along the outside of my thigh. His kisses are making me wet and hungry. He makes low sounds of appreciation and I rock against him in growing desperation.
After what seems like both an eternity and not long enough, he allows my legs to slide to the ground. His head drops on my shoulder and I can feel his entire body heave as he tries to gain his breath and his control.
After three shuddering breaths, he pushes away from me.
“I need to wear longer T-shirts when you’re around.” He tugs out his shirt and tries to pull it down over the erection tenting his shorts. We exit the alcove and walk past four doors to stop at my apartment.
“Do you want to come in?”
He gives me a rueful smile. “I better not. I need to get home, get some beauty sleep, and prepare for the game.”
I try not to let my disappointment show. “You worried about the game this weekend?”
He shakes his head. “Not worried. Eager. I’ve waited since last December to get back on the field. I want to make grown-ass men cry. I want to imprint the paint from the yard markers and grind it into their skin. I want them to go home and have nightmares about meeting me on the turf.” He looks down at me. “But I’m not taking it for granted. They’re a weaker team but it’s their home field. Anything could happen.”
Right. The odds in Vegas are probably fifty to one that the Warriors lose.
“Do you really believe that?”
He pauses for a moment. “Yeah. Anything could happen. Ace could go down. He could throw a half dozen interceptions. We could fumble on every kickoff and punt return. We could forget how to tackle. Do I think those things will happen? No, but I can’t go into the game thinking it’s won before the last whistle blows.”
“When’s your charter bus leave for the airport?”
“Around eleven.” He leans an arm against the door and it takes real effort not to swoon at the sight of the bulging muscle in my periphery vision. “How’s Jack doing?”
“What do you mean?”
Masters cocks his head. “He’s on my list.”
“What list?” I straighten and push his arm away from my head.
“Ace and I watch over the newbies, make sure they don’t get into trouble, know the unspoken team rules.”
He looks at me curiously wondering why I’m making a big deal of this. I shouldn’t but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Why is Jack on your list?” I snap.
“Because his grades are on the border of eligibility. I’m checking in to make sure he’s got all the help he needs to pass his classes.” He narrows his eyes. “Is that a problem?”
I paste on a fake smile. “Of course not, but don’t tell him.”
“Why not?”
“He's sensitive about that.” I jut my chin out. Why can’t Masters do as I ask?
He rubs the back of his neck. “Jack’s a smart guy. I’m sure he knows that he’s on the bubble. He could be an important part of our team this year. Last year we struggled with scoring. With Ace, Jack, and Ahmed, we have decent scoring options.”
“So you’ll stalk him?” My voice starts to get high.
“Nooo,” Masters draws out slowly. “I try to save that for girls I like.”
“I think you should go.” I cross my arms over my chest. Dating Masters would be like holding my hand over a flame. At some point, I’ll get burned. I don’t need that in my life.
17 Ellie
Game Day: Warriors 0-0
“I haven’t seen Jack around,” Riley comments as we settle in for Saturday’s game.
“He’s getting ready for the game.”
“Is it like this all year? They disappear for the weekend?”
I hide a smile at Riley’s disgruntled tone. Jack has become a regular fixture at the apartment. Sometimes it’s just him but often times he brings a teammate with him. Riley and I would have dinner with him or hang out, but on Friday the team left for the game and it’s gotten eerily quiet.
I haven’t seen Masters since I gave him the book back. I wish I didn’t regret that I pushed him away. Telling yourself that you’re doing the right thing and feeling good about it are two totally separate things. Eating broccoli is good for you, but it tastes like shit, and that’s pretty much how I feel not getting one flirty text from Masters or seeing him pop up around campus.