Текст книги "The End Game"

Автор книги: Kate McCarthy

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Brody

“Do I?”

Do I have you?

Because damn, there’s want inside me, crowding out every other emotion, like sense and self-preservation.

My heart bangs in my chest and it won’t slow down. I tell myself it’s because it’s been too long. Celibacy isn’t natural. My dick is craving hot, wet friction, not this abnormal prison I’ve sentenced it to. But deep down inside, something is different. Jordan is smart. Determined and talented. Real. With the same drive to succeed that I have. I’m responding to all that on some fundamental level that I can’t begin to acknowledge.

“Yes. As your tutor.” Jordan licks her lips. She’s read the innuendo in my tone and it’s unnerved her.

I take a deep breath, inhaling her vanilla scent. It must be her shampoo because I can smell it in her hair. God, it’s good.

“As my tutor,” I reiterate.

“Okay then.” She gives a nod and reaches behind her back. “I need to get back to my friends.” Twisting the handle, the door opens and she’s through it before I can explain she can’t just leave like that. She’s throwing herself to the wolves. I don’t date. I never have. My relationship-free status is common knowledge. There’s going to be gossip and bitchy speculation, and she needs to know how to handle it.

“Jordan, wait!” I call out.

But it’s too late. She’s already reached the bottom of the stairs where her friends are waiting. I’ve met Hayden a few times. He’s one of the good guys, and I know he and Leah have been tight since high school. We’ve always acknowledged each other on campus and had a mutual beer once or twice at parties, but now his eyes are tracking me down the stairs, his brow furrowed in a suspicious glower.

It deepens when I come up behind Jordan. She gives a quiet little squeak when I take hold of her hips, tugging her close so her back aligns with my chest. It’s a proprietary gesture and speaks volumes.

I give him a nod. “Hayden Crosby.”

“Brody Madden.” His voice is cooler than I’ve ever heard it. “You remember Leah?”

My gaze shifts to his girlfriend. I register her same suspicious glower and offer a guileless grin. “You play soccer like Jordan, right?”

Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “I play fullback, but Jordan,” Leah replies with a nod at her friend, “is our superstar forward.”

Of course she is. I’m getting the impression that Jordan Elliott is fast becoming Colton Park University’s shiny new diamond, complete with an all-around good girl reputation to back it up. How far will I have to dig to reach the wicked layers that lie beneath? I’ve seen glimpses so I know they’re there.

“And new to the team,” I say to Leah, interrupting a conversation between her and Jordan that appears to involve nothing but facial expressions. “You always haze your teammates with chocolate syrup?”

The silent communication stops and Jordan groans. It vibrates through my chest and makes me want to rub against her. Before I embarrass myself by doing just that, I drop my hold and move to her side, yet I still find myself taking hold of her hand like a ship needing an anchor point. Her palm is small and damp, betraying her discomfort. Is it the situation that unnerves her, or me?

“I’m sure it’s nothing on what you do to your new teammates, Brody,” Leah retorts, and even though she’s holding a cup of beer, her eyes are sharp on mine and Jordan’s physical connection.

“We don’t haze our teammates. It’s a completely demoralizing and uncivilized activity.” I manage to say that with a straight face until Hayden snorts loudly and we both laugh.

A quick glance at my watch shows it’s getting late. We have an away game tomorrow, and I need to be up early, sharp and fresh. I give Jordan’s hand a squeeze to get her attention. Our eyes meet and I’m struck anew at their clarity. “Ready to leave?”

“Leave?”

“I’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’d like to see you home first.”

Jordan jolts with surprise. Has she forgotten our dating arrangement entirely? There are girls who would jump at a chance like this, even if it’s just a pretense, so her reluctance is a blow to my ego.

“Yes, Jordan. You should let Brody see you home,” Leah adds.

Jordan’s eyes narrow at her friend’s interference. “Actually, I think I’m just going to walk home in a little bit. It’s nice out and it’s not far.” She smiles at me, polite and a little frosty. Jordan doesn’t like being pushed. “Don’t let me keep you from leaving.”

I lean in until my lips brush her ear, pushing through the distance she’s trying to create. She shivers and it takes considerable restraint not to tongue her lobe and take it in my mouth.

“Is this how you treat the guys you date? Because you need to work on that or no one’s going to believe you’re hot for me at all.”

“And what am I supposed to do,” she hisses back. “Stick my tongue down your throat in front of everyone?”

Hell yes. I want to sit up and beg for those luscious lips. Instead, I shrug like it’s neither here nor there. “If you think it will help.”

“We need some rules,” she mutters.

Jordan is talking about drawing lines in the sand that I’m not allowed to cross. It sounds smart in theory, but I don’t like idea. “Let me drive you home and we can talk about it.”

I manage to extract her from her friends, but we don’t get five steps before I’m bailed up by my teammate. Jordan comes to a stop beside me, her shoulder brushing mine because the room is a crush of people.

“What happened to my tequila shots, bro?” Carter looks at me, his expression wounded and legs unsteady. It’s not like our star quarterback to drink the night before a game, but his on again/off again relationship is on a slippery slope and it’s fucking with his head.

“I had them in my hands but there was a pretty girl in desperate need,” I say, reminded of how Jordan had slammed them back with impressive speed. “What was I to do?”

Carter’s eyes fall on Jordan and that quickly, I want to gouge them from his head. They leer and then widen when they trail over her legs. Slim, toned, endless. He’s taking it all in like he needs to ace a test on it later. They’re my fucking legs, I itch to tell him. Go find your own. But this isn’t the schoolyard and last I checked, I wasn’t ten years old and guarding a shiny new toy.

“I can see your dilemma,” he says and drags his eyes away and back to mine. “Early night for you then, huh, bro?”

“You know it,” I say before thinking the words through.

Jordan tenses beside me.

“Dude.” Carter fist bumps me. “Score.”

When we finally make it outside, she rips off her lei and tosses it angrily away. It floats carelessly in the air before fluttering to the ground without a sound. All the while she’s stalking along the front path ahead of me, her long-legged stride eating up the distance quickly. I jog to catch up and she halts, spinning back around to glare at me. I almost duck from the sparks shooting from her eyes.

“Score?” she says. Then shouts it a second time. “Score?”

“Jordan—”

“Just what does dating mean to you? A regular girl on your arm to fuck? I didn’t sign on for this to earn the reputation of a whore, Brody! That’s not who I am. I’m a—”

“A good girl,” I snap. “I get it.”

Jordan flinches and takes a step back.

“Jordan,” I say, my tone a little more appeasing this time.

She shakes her head and turns back around, muttering something as she continues her way down the front path.

I tug the car keys from my pocket and start after her.

“Madden!”

Damn it all!

I’ve made a mess of things and need to clean it up, but Jordan’s making a rapid escape, and Jax is now jogging toward me, resentment clear in his expression. I’m not in the mood for it.

“What now?” I growl at him, stopping.

“What the hell, man? You’re dating Jordan Elliott?”

“Yes. And I don’t have time right now to soothe your ruffled feathers.”

Deciding it will be quicker to get the car first and catch up to Jordan, I head toward it quickly, beeping the locks. When I get inside, revving the engine, the passenger door flies open. Jaxon climbs up inside, slamming it shut a second before I spin the wheels in a quick U-turn on the street.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Christ,” I bite out, jabbing at the clutch with my foot as I shift gears. “Why does everyone care so much?”

“I’m not everyone. I’m your cousin, and I told you I planned on hooking up with her.”

Jordan’s already at the end of the street when I catch sight of her. “Well you’re too late,” I mutter because that’s all I’ve got right now.

“You’re such an asshole, Brody. King of fucking campus. You just swoop in and take what you want and damn everyone else.”

I glance across at Jaxon, surprised at the tirade that’s come from nowhere. He’s not just irritated, he’s hurt. No girl has ever meant more to my cousin then just a casual roll in the sheets.

“You really liked her.”

“No. I really like her. So watch your back, cousin. A couple of weeks with you and she might just decide you’re not worth it.”

Jaxon’s words wrench at me like a bad stomach cramp. Like he intended them to. But I don’t think he knows just how close, or how hard, they hit home.

I shove it down and jam my foot on the brakes. The SUV screeches to a halt beside Jordan. She’s reached the end of the sidewalk on the corner and about to cross the street. My cousin is out of the car before I even open the door.

I jog around the side in time to hear him say, “Not looking for anything with anyone, huh? I thought you were different, but you’re just like every other girl on campus,” he says with a sneer. “Holding out for a piece of Brody big fucking deal Madden.”

My hands curl into fists. He has no right to be angry with Jordan. And does he really think of me that way? That I think myself better than everyone else? Because he has it all twisted around the wrong way.

“It’s not like that, Jax,” Jordan says to him, her cheeks flushed and sandals dangling from her hands. I know she wants to tell him about the mix-up, that she thought I was someone else and we’re not really dating at all, but she holds it in. She’s doing this for me when I’ve done nothing to deserve her loyalty.

“That’s Jaxon to you. We’re not friends after all.”

“Jax,” I snap. He’s being a dick because he’s had too much to drink, and I’m over it. “Get lost.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m already gone.”

“Get in the car, Jordan,” I command as my cousin walks away, disappearing back toward the party. “It’s not safe to walk home by yourself.”

Jordan blows out a shaky breath, and I look her way. She quickly presses her lips together, but I don’t miss the quiver in them. If I give her a hug to soothe away the hurt, would she punch me for getting too close?

Willing to risk it, I forge ahead bravely and take hold of her shoulders. Her lips press tighter, but she isn’t scratching my eyes out. It’s encouraging. With a slight tug, I bring her flush against me and fold her in my arms. She doesn’t resist, but her body is stiff and unyielding. I breathe deep and press a soft kiss down on her head. I don’t want to stop there, but I do.

“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my palm in comforting circles on her lower back. “My cousin can be a real dick when he’s been drinking. And I’m a selfish prick for putting you up to this.”

“I agreed to it,” she tells me, the sound muffled and resigned. “But I had tequila shots and forgot to read the fine print. I mean, I don’t know you at all. I’m not sure I want to.”

“Ouch.” My hands pause. “You know, I’m pretty sure there’s a cooling-off period somewhere in there. You can change your mind.”

“It’s fine.” Jordan sniffs and makes a little huffing sound. I resume rubbing her back. Firmer this time. “I’m fine,” she adds, her voice throaty. “Really.”

My hand lowers and I keep rubbing. Bigger, warmer circles. If she gives me a moan, just one, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.

“I’m just allergic to assholes,” she adds. “Which means I’m not sure how this thing with us is going to work out but … you know, you can stop feeling me up anytime now.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

Jordan hesitates and it almost kills me. “I’m sure.”

“I’ll stop on one condition.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure I can just knee you in the balls and that will work just as well.”

I tut tut with mock despair. And I keep rubbing. “Violence is not the answer.”

“Oh pray tell what is, Obe-wan?”

“Love of course, young Skywalker,” I say with a grin. “Make love, not war, right?”

Jordan shakes her head, but there’s no fight inside her to break free of my hold. Unfortunately we can’t stay here all night, clinched together on the sidewalk like we’re the last two people in the world. My car is parked on a wild angle and blocking the road, headlights blinding and the driver’s door wide open. My sigh is long and heavy.

“Let me take you home, okay?”

She pulls back, staring up at me. “That’s your condition?”

“Yep.”

“Huh,” she mutters as if I’ve confused her.

Jordan spends the drive home looking everywhere but at me, and when I pull to a stop in the parking lot, she’s thanking me for the ride and out the door before I can stop her.

“Wait up!” Getting out, I beep the locks and jog after her. “I’ll walk you up.” Snatching the card from her hand, I swipe us into the building and hold open the door. “Ladies first.”

My eyes are on her ass the entire trek up the stairwell. I’m not religious but hers is an ass deserving of prayerful thanks. It’s high and round, and biteable like juicy apples. I watch it undulate hypnotically until we emerge onto the third floor.

By the time we reach her door, my dick is straining against my shorts. Jordan uses her key to unlock it, stepping inside as I reach down to adjust it. Turning around, she catches me and arches a brow. I shrug without shame.

“Goodnight, Brody.”

This is the part where I’m supposed to leave, but my feet are super-glued to the hallway floor. It seems I can’t move until I get some solid reassurance of when I’m seeing her again.

“So, Monday night?” I ask casually.

“I’ll check my schedule.”

“Really? You’re telling me you don’t have it memorized back to front?”

“Fine. Monday night.”

“Great. See you then. I’ve got dinner with my parents, so I’ll swing by after that.” She gives me a nod, and I force myself to leave. “Night, Jordan.”

Halfway to the stairs I glance back. Jordan is standing in the doorway, a flush high on her cheeks and honey-colored hair spilling over her bare shoulders. I turn and walk backwards, giving her a wink. “Sweet dreams.”

It’s a smooth move, and a total fail when her eyes widen on something behind me. “Brody, look…” I smack into a pile of bodies behind me “…out.”

“Sorry, ladies,” I say, extracting myself from two sets of amorous limbs while trying to steady the drunk pair at the same time. The two girls manage to right themselves and continue around me in a giggling stumble on their high heels.

“Did you hear that?” one of them whispers loudly while the other squeals. “He said sweet dreams!”

Brody

Last night’s sleep was fitful, and I’m awake before the alarm goes off. My body is sluggish and my mind is on Jordan. Each time I try and focus on the upcoming game, it veers toward her like a car going off course. This is the exact distraction I don’t need, and I have no explanation for why I can’t seem to care. I’m anxious for Monday night when I can see her again.

Getting on the team bus, I pick a seat up front. Tired and irritable and in a weird headspace, I want to avoid my teammates and zone out instead. Slumping right down, I lift my legs up, resting my knees against the back of the seat in front of me. With my phone on my lap, I plug in my Beats headphones and set them over my head, fixing my current playlist to shuffle. The song kicks in just as the bus pulls out, and the way it begins to rock gently along the road soothes my irritation.

My gaze shifts out the window. The sun is just a mere glimpse of pink and orange over the horizon. I know it’s early, but I like the idea of Jordan waking up to a message from me. Picking up my phone from my lap, I type one out. I don’t usually like messaging because my words and spelling get messed up, but autocorrect fixes what I can’t, and Jordan knows I’m dyslexic so I figure there’s no need to hide.

Brody: I don’t like chocolate.

It’s a small fact about myself that’s neither here nor there, but last night she said she didn’t know me. If she responds in kind, then I know it’s possible she might want to.

After tapping the send button, I drop the phone to my lap and stare out the window. A rush of pleasure zings through me when it beeps an immediate response, highlighting the name I added her in as a contact.

SweetVanillaGirl: Who is this? And are you crazy?

I chuckle softly and type out another message.

Brody: Shame on u. This is no way to treat the guy ur dating.

I follow it up with another.

Brody: Ur up early?

Carter slams into the seat beside me, the force making my own seat shudder in response. To his credit he looks fresh and firing on all cylinders. Whatever’s going on in his life, he always manages to lock it down for the game. It’s the kind of player he is: dependable, enthusiastic, and oozing energy from every pore. Ryan Carter is a bottomless can of Red Bull.

I pause my song and pull back my headphones, leaving them to rest around my neck.

“How was that chick last night?” he greets me, along with a waggle of his eyebrows. Did I mention he’s also straight to the point? Carter doesn’t like to waste time on the smaller details. “Trust you to be the one bagging the hot Australian jock. She didn’t have much of a rack but those legs …” He trails off as though he’s picturing them in his mind. “Any good?”

My stomach knots in anger. I don’t like the way it sounds like he wants a turn, or that he checked out her rack. And so what if it’s small. I’m not greedy, just goddamn fucking horny. “Jordan’s not like that, so watch your mouth.”

Carter’s eyes round like saucers, and I know I’ve blindsided him with my response. I’ve never jumped down his throat over a girl before. For a moment he can’t compute. His mouth opens and closes before he speaks.

“You didn’t tap that sweet ass?”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, unwilling to spill any more details then absolutely necessary. “Jordan and I are dating.”

Carter laughs and I glare. He shuts up quickly, and after a moment cocks his head. “Holy shit, you’re serious. I heard last night you were supposedly dating some chick, but I thought it was just gossip.” Turning around in the seat beside me, my teammate gets up on his knees. Facing the back of the bus, he shouts, “Madden’s got himself a girl!”

All kinds of responses are called back alongside catcalls, but it’s the collective consensus of “bullshit!” that has me gritting my teeth.

“I shit you not!” he hollers. “Her name’s Jordan!”

The team breaks out into chants of “Jordan! Jordan! Jordan!” because they obviously have nothing better to do than act like a giant bunch of dicks.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sink lower in my seat with a muttered curse. If Jordan wants out of this, well … it’s too late now.

I tug my shiny dark blue headphones back on. They have epic noise cancellation. It’s just what I need right now. After hitting play and cranking the volume, I close my eyes against the blurring scenery.

A minute later, my phone vibrates from where it’s resting on my leg.

SweetVanillaGirl: I’m out jogging.

I can’t fight the tug at the corners of my lips as I type out a lengthy reply.

Brody: Don’t u no it’s dangerous to text and jog? You might run someone over or fall in a ditch.

A quick sideways glance tells me Carter’s decided to let it go. For now. He gets up and returns to his seat down back, leaving me alone. I return to my phone with a smile on my face when another message pops up. I flick it open.

SweetVanillaGirl: Well stop texting me!

Jordan’s message is a red flag waving at a bull.

Brody: Where’s the fun in that?

SweetVanillaGirl: You remind me of your cousin.

My brows draw together. After the events of last night, that comment is open to interpretation, and I want to know what she means.

Brody: In what way?

Jaxon and I might be similar on the surface, but underneath? Not so much. He’s the son my father always wanted. The benchmark. I’m constantly reminded that if only I applied myself like Jaxon does, I would have a respectable future—politics, medicine, law. Frankly, he’d just be happy with a son who could read, he tells me. But I know that’s not true. My father is the type of person who is never satisfied, and I know he expects me to fail at football too.

SweetVanillaGirl: You’re both very persistent. Can I finish my run now?

It’s true. We both are, so perhaps it’s a family trait. Regardless, I choose to take it as a compliment. Ambition without persistence gets you nowhere.

Brody: By all means… finish ur run.

I close my eyes and spend time thinking about the upcoming game. We’re well prepared. We watched a lot of additional play this week, and my extra training sessions are paying off. I’m working harder than I ever have. There’s no reason why we should lose.

Before I know it, the gentle rocking of the bus lulls me into a light doze. Eddie nudging my shoulder wakes me. He says something, so I pull the headphone away from my right ear. “What?”

He holds out a water bottle. “Hydrate, dude.”

“Thanks.”

He disappears and I crack the lid, tipping half the contents down my throat in one hit. When I pull the bottle from my lips, my eyes fall back to my phone. Restraint and self-discipline are traits every professional athlete should possess, and I like to think I have both in spades, but with Jordan … Perhaps she’s my kryptonite because I can’t stop myself from sending another message.

Brody: How was ur run?

SweetVanillaGirl: Don’t ask.

Brody: U fell in a ditch, didn’t u?

No response. The message was meant teasingly, but Jordan is a tough nut to crack. Perhaps she’s not a morning person. That leads to thoughts of Jordan in bed: naked, mussed hair, tangled sheets, and sweet, warm skin. My whole body begins to vibrate like it just received an electrical charge. I exhale in a deep huff and flick to a hardcore Eminem song on my playlist. There’s nothing sexy about his music.

SweetVanillaGirl: I don’t like mushrooms.

Her message comes in and I want to fist pump the air. I don’t though, because that would be lame and this is not some cheesy eighties’ movie. Hmmm … what next?

Brody: My middle name is Abraham.

I down the rest of my water. When I tuck the empty bottle beside me, her reply comes in.

SweetVanillaGirl: As in Lincoln?

Jordan knows some American history.

Brody: Yes. My dad is a politician. He was hoping I wud follow in his footsteps.

SweetVanillaGirl: Was?

How perceptive of Jordan to pick on that.

Brody: His dream. Not mine.

SweetVanillaGirl: And your dream is football?

Brody: Yes.

From the moment I came alive with that leather ball in my hands.

SweetVanillaGirl: My middle name is Matilda.

Jordan Matilda Elliott. Why am I smiling when I say that in my head? My phone vibrates again before I can reply.

SweetVanillaGirl: I have to go. Leah and I are going out for breakfast. Talk to you later?

I swallow the disappointment.

Brody: L8r

It’s a nice casual response, but my insides curl with pleasure because I’m looking forward to it.

I manage to draw Jordan into messaging me on and off during the day. And when I’m sitting in the locker room adjusting the lace on my cleats before the game, the alert on my phone goes again.

So close to kick off I should leave it for later, but the anticipation is too much. If it’s Jordan and I don’t read it right this moment, I’ll be thinking about it all game. Preoccupation could cost us a win, I tell myself as I reach for it. My brow furrows when I check the screen. The message is from Lindsay, one of the cheerleader’s always hanging off Jax. I know she does it to get close to me. She’s not the only one. And after my cousin’s display last night, I get the impression he’s over it.

Lindsay: I don’t know why you lied about dating that stupid jock. I set her straight. You can thank me later xo

“Fuck!” I shout and kick the locker door in.

“Christ, Madden!” Eddie glares at me from where he sits, readjusting his glove. He has a soft, gooey center when it comes to girls. I know my dating Jordan will have his full approval. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

“Not what, but who.”

I begin stabbing at buttons on the screen, intent on calling Lindsay to find out what she said. When it starts dialing, I put the phone to my ear at the same time Coach Carson storms inside the locker room.

“Now is not the time to be calling your goddamn mother and thanking her for giving birth to your sorry ass!” His bellow echoes through the mostly empty area Brows, drawn together, form one long, fuzzy caterpillar. It’s his grouch face, and I’m not eager to be its focus. “Get out on the field, Madden!”

“Yes, Coach,” I say quickly.

“Now!” he roars.

I hit the end call button before it answers and toss the phone in my locker before double-timing it out onto the field.

We end up losing the game. No matter how small the margin, it still burns like a motherfucker. When tied at fourteen apiece, we were forced into taking some crazy risks that didn’t pay off. Carter threw me a long bomb and I reached up, but the ball tipped off my fingers and right into the hands of the opposing team. With Eddie winded, I was left open for a split second and took a huge hit. After getting slammed into the ground, it was a long while before I could peel myself off the grass. With a throbbing shoulder and three minutes left in the game, UCLA scored a field goal, and nothing short of a miracle would’ve saved us after that.

I jog off the field, grimy, sweaty, and devastated at the loss, knowing we let down the entire state of Texas tonight. I force a smile for the reporter waiting for an on-field interview. It doesn’t reach my eyes, but no one who really knows me would ever notice. No matter what, you never show the media the truth. They don’t want to see the self-recrimination and the self-doubt, or hear about it. They want sportsmanship. They want you to accept defeat with a rueful smile. They want to hear you felt honored to play a great game against a great team, and that you’re coming back bigger and stronger for the next one.

“You play Iowa State next week and then you have a bye.” I tuck my helmet under my armpit and brush the damp hair from my forehead while she speaks into the microphone, her perfect face angled professionally toward the camera. “After that you have Oklahoma. How are you going to come back from tonight’s loss in preparation for what’s touted as one of the biggest upcoming matches of the season?”

“That’s a good question. Oklahoma is a grudge match for sure. They’re going to come at us hard, but we’ll be ready.” I flash her a cocky grin alongside the diplomatic response. NFL scouts watch how you speak in front of the media. They want you seen as the all-round nice guy, bred tough. “We’ll watch a lot of film and we’ll work as hard as time allows. Despite the loss tonight, we’re playing better than we ever have. I’m confident we’re going to win, and not just for the team or CPU, but for the state of Texas.”

She gives me a professional pat on the arm, no doubt hiding the grimace at the transfer of sweat to her perfectly manicured fingers. “Their hopes are riding on you, Brody Madden.”

No fucking pressure, I reply silently. I give her a nod and the camera a cheeky grin and wave before I jog away, leaving her to sign off.

When we get back to our hotel room, Carter hands over a bottle of whiskey stashed in his suitcase. Tonight I don’t hesitate and grab it swiftly. Tipping back my head, I pour it down my throat, relishing the burn because oblivion can’t come fast enough. There are no bars tonight. No one wants to celebrate a loss. A small group of us gather in the twin room Carter and I share, and we drink in a show of solidarity.

It’s not until we finish a long, drunken dissection of the match, and argue about our game plan for next week, that I remember Lindsay’s message. The room spins when I stagger to my bag and rummage for my phone.

“Fuck,” I shout several minutes later, straightening from my crouch.

“What?” Eddie leans back in his seat, looking my way. His chair tips precariously, and when Carter reaches over and nudges the leg, he spills onto the floor with a shout. Everyone laughs, including me.

“I can’t find my phone,” I say to the room while Eddie picks himself up and flops on one of the twin beds. “I need to ring my girl.”

“Pussy-whipped after dating for two days,” Carter says with mock sadness.

“Fuck off, Carter,” I mumble.

“Yeah, Carter.” Eddie reaches over with a long gorilla arm and punches Carter in the bicep. “This is young love in its blossoming, fragile stages. You can’t mess with that.”

Carter rolls his eyes and one of the guys tosses an empty plastic coke bottle at Eddie’s head. It bounces off and skitters somewhere under the bed. When Eddie grabs for it, he comes back up with my phone. “Found it!”

He tosses it at me, going high and long. I leap up and catch it with an outstretched hand. A resounding cheer fills the room. “If only you managed that with Carter’s pass on the field tonight.”

I let the comment roll off my back and swipe the whiskey bottle off the table. I take it with me and sit on the edge of the bed. After dialing Jordan, I take a swig of whiskey and put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

Damn. Her voice. How could I have forgotten its allure? “You sound sooo good,” I slur. Tucking the phone between my chin and shoulder, I reach down and grab my dick in my pants.

“Fuck, dude.” Eddie shoves my shoulder because the bed I chose happens to be the one he’s splayed all over. “I’m all for phone sex, but you need to take that shit somewhere private.”

There is nowhere private. I stumble out onto the empty balcony, away from the guys. The breeze is warm and the city lights bright. They blur dizzily, and I steady myself against the railing as the sound of sheets rustling comes through the phone. I groan from the simple, torturous sound.