“They were teenagers when they had me,” Riley explains. “They’re only thirty-eight now. Mom says it’s weird because most of her peers just now have kids, and they’re almost empty nesters.”
“You have a gorgeous family, Riles.” I don’t even bother to hide my envy.
“Thanks. We don’t have a lot, but we’ve got each other.” She shrugs, a little embarrassed. “Trite but true.”
They both look at me as if I’m going to whip out my phone and show off my little family album, but there wouldn’t be any pictures of me and my parents in them. The only ones I keep are those of Jack and me.
I wipe my mouth. “I’m done for the night. Thanks for the food, Knox.”
“No problem,” he says easily. Rising, he helps me clear the plates. Riley tidies up what few leftovers we have and then disappears into her bedroom. Knox dries while I wash.
“Didn’t want to share any pictures of your own?” Knox asks quietly.
I hesitate because my family isn’t like Riley or Knox’s. My first inclination is to shut him down, but I know he doesn’t deserve that. “My dad is the type that if Jack won the Heisman, he'd wonder why Jack didn't get more votes.”
Knox keeps drying. “And you? What would he think of you?”
“He doesn’t.” I brace my hands on the edge of the kitchen sink, not enjoying the feelings that Knox’s questions dredge up. “My dad was this great college player. He had these dreams of going pro, but he literally could never make the cut. With Jack, he gets to live out his dream again. With me?”
I push away from the sink and turn to face Knox. He gazes at me with steady compassion, but no pity. I’m grateful for that because I think I would have kicked him out if he felt sorry for me. “When he had Jack, he thought he’d get to mold him into this awesome player, but Jack didn’t grow until like the tenth grade. He looked short and skinny. I wanted my dad to be proud of me so I played, too.”
“Did that win his approval?”
I make a face. “Of course not. I was still a girl. We both knew I’d never play on a real football team. But I played flag football with the boys until eighth grade.” My scar itches as I remember the hit. “A guy rammed into me and shattered my knee cap. It was an accident, but that was it for me and sports.” Until I started playing softball which is why Jack worries.
Knox makes a sound in the back of his throat. “What’d your parents do?”
I swallow to get rid of the bitterness so I don’t sound like shrew. “They weren’t there. Another parent called the ambulance. Jack held my hand on the way to the hospital and helped take care of me after.” I stop abruptly because the pain of the remembered rejection feels raw. I don’t want to cry. Not over my parents and definitely not in front of Knox.
Without any more questions, he empties the water, and drapes the towel over the side of the sink. He picks up the shirt he took off and then wraps his hand around mine. Silently, he leads me into the bedroom.
In the dark of the room, he pulls off the T-shirt I’m wearing and tugs his own over my head. The shirt smells of Knox—like fresh dirt, energy, and warmth. He kicks off his shorts and climbs into the bed, scooting all the way to the wall.
“Come in here. I’m cold,” he says.
I move like a robot. When he’s done tucking himself around me, he kisses the side of my throat, my ear, and then my temple—a trail of sweet affection that begins to thaw the cold that had settled in when I think of my parents.
“We don’t get to pick the family we’re born into,” he says into the quiet night. “But we do get to choose the family we live with. I choose you. You’re all that I’ll ever want.”
My throat closes up. The words I’d love to say back get choked by my fear.
“Shh,” he whispers. He lays his broad hand over my left chest. “You don’t need to say anything, baby. I can hear your heart.”
That’s enough for him.
I fall asleep wrapped in the embrace of someone I couldn’t even dream of having—not in a million years. I never imagined someone like Knox Masters existed. Or that he might love me. But if he knew what I did for Jack? How it could jeopardize their whole season and the pursuit of the championship?
He wouldn’t want to hold me at all.
25 Knox
Game Day: Warriors 2-0
The flight to Michigan takes an interminable three and a half hours, which I pass staring at the last text from Ellie.
Ellie: I’m wearing your jersey.
She sends a picture with the message. Her head is cut off, but she’s kneeling on her bed and her ripe tits are pushing at the top of my number as she pulls at the bottom of the jersey. Her legs are bare, and I swear I see a shadow of my favorite spot beneath the mesh. My number looks really good on her. Really good. As Matty said when he saw her in the bar, a holy mother of God smokeshow.
I lied when I said I was good at waiting. This week has felt unending. Worse? We had an away game, which meant by the time that Ellie felt better, I sat on a chartered plane to Michigan. I saw her a couple of times this past week, and each of those times left me with a hard-on the size of a log and balls bluer than a Smurf’s.
On Tuesday after dinner, I stopped over to her apartment and found her pulling out winter gear. Apparently girls have seasonal clothes. Late fall meant boots and sweaters.
“Wear this one. I like you in red.” I pulled a soft, furry red sweater from the pile.
“Since when do you like me in red?”
“Two days ago you wore a red shirt. Flowy.” I shoved over a bunch of soft stuff and sat down on her bed. Her shirt was black and had a nice V that hinted at her equally nice cleavage.
“It’s Bohemian Chic.”
“Whatever. The color looked good, but it seemed too loose. I couldn’t see your pretty tits. Plus, I like V-necks because you can do this.” I hooked a finger along her neckline and drew it down low enough to expose one lace-covered breast.
“You’ll stretch it out,” she protested.
“I'll get you a new one.” I could see one really good use of my future NFL money—buying clothes for Ellie. Sexy ones. Ones that show off her tits and ass and legs.
“I bought this a year ago on vacation and—” Her breath caught when I latched on to one large, juicy nipple, built for sucking on. “What are you doing?” Since I had my mouth full of tit, I didn’t answer. I had better things to do than form words for a question with an obvious answer.
She leaned into me, her hands dug into my scalp. Mmmm, that felt good. “I thought you were a virgin.”
“I have a good imagination,” I mumbled as I moved to the other side. Didn’t want the left breast to feel abandoned now, did I? Hell no. The T-shirt got in my way so I tugged it up and over her head. The bra clasp confounded me so I settled for pulling down the lacy cups, which actually had the added benefit of pushing the boobs together.
I shift in my seat thinking about it.
That led to more making out and Ellie rubbing herself against my leg until she came. She wouldn’t let me touch her under her clothes. But I forgot to complain when she whipped open my jeans and introduced me to ball sucking.
I take a deep breath and try to regain some self-control. I tug the bottom of my shirt down, but it doesn’t do a hell of a lot to hide my hard-on. I should probably think about something other than Ellie's hot mouth around my dick and balls.
I didn’t go home with her after the softball game on Wednesday because I wasn’t sure I could take another bout of teasing and dry humping with her. But by Thursday, my already thin willpower whittled away when she showed up for dinner with Jack wearing a short blue skirt and a tight Warriors T-shirt under a button down sweater. After dinner, I took her to my apartment where I spent a good hour becoming familiar with every patch of skin above her waist.