I roll my eyes. “Is this what your wet dreams look like, Shay?”
“Essentially.”
He pops off the doorframe, sauntering into the kitchen, and the rarely seen smug smile across his lips tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Where are your clothes?”
“In my room?”
“Why aren’t you wearing them?”
“Because this is my house.”
I feel him behind me, watching me as I swirl a sponge around a dirty bowl. His hands brace the counter on either side of me, his chest to my back, and the heat from his shower radiates off him, warming me.
He’s naked under that towel, and every part of me wants to lean back and feel his body on mine.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Adding this image into your spank bank for your next lonely night on the road?”
His chest rumbles. “Yes.” His palm glides against my lower back as he backs away, giving me space. “Good morning, by the way.”
I swallow down the low moan from his simple touch. “Morning. How was your road trip?”
“It was all right. We split. Two wins, two losses. You’re leaving on yours today?”
Putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, I close it and turn to face him. Perfectly lean muscles across a broad chest, obliques tight and curving downward, creating a visual path I’d love to follow. Dusting of dark hair under his navel and—dear God, get it together, woman.
He laughs, breaking my trance. I love the sound but hate the haughtiness of it.
“Go put some goddamn clothes on.”
“You were the one who was obsessing over me being shirtless the first time you came over here.”
“Yeah, well, that was before I realized how annoying you were.”
A thumb dusts his lower lip as his wandering gaze works its way over my bare legs. He must know what he’s doing to me, and honestly, it’s not fair. He’s already turned me down once.
“Ryan.” I cock my head. “Really. What are you doing?”
“Just playing the game you started.” He pushes off the counter, taking two steps towards me. His index finger hooks under the hem of my shorts, igniting my skin with goosebumps. “Wearing these itty-bitty shorts and bending over in my kitchen. Don’t act all innocent, Blue.”
He turns away from me, grabbing a yogurt from the fridge while I inhale a needed breath. How is he so unaffected? My entire body is on fire because I need to get laid and the only person I want to do it is my fake boyfriend who is currently walking around our apartment in nothing but a towel.
Did he truly feel nothing from that kiss? Is he not sexually attracted to me in the slightest?
I slide in front of the silverware drawer before he can pull out a spoon.
He sighs. “Indy, what are you doing?”
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Do you?”
Ryan levels me with a look, serious and stoic. “I think you’re smart.”
Oh.
“Kind. Chaotic. A bit of a smartass and too charming for your own good.”
Oh, wow. I like that answer much more than the one I was expecting, but I divert because his response is far too detailed and knowing of who I am. “So, you don’t think I’m pretty, then.”
He chuckles. “Indy, I’m not blind, but even if I were, I’m pretty sure I could touch your face and understand just how fucking stunning you are, but it’s not the first thing I see anymore.”
Well, fuck me.
Stepping towards him, still blocking the drawer he needs to get into, my breasts press against his stomach, taking away any space between us. He can’t answer a question with that much sincerity after claiming he faked a kiss with me the other night.
I watch his throat bob in a swallow. “What are you doing?”
“Pretending.” I inch into his personal space, snaking my arms over his shoulders, my nails scratching the tight fade around his hairline. “Acting. Just how you pretended the other night when you kissed me.”
“Oh, yeah?” His neck bends, his lips ghosting over my jaw until his forehead falls onto my shoulder. “Mmm, that feels good,” he murmurs into me as I pull him closer.
Acting my ass.
My hips move into his, voluntary or not, I can’t exactly say, but I’m quickly reminded that this man is wearing only a towel.
A gasp escapes me as he easily swoops me up with one arm behind my back, hoisting me on the kitchen counter. Large palms hook under my bare thighs, jerking me towards the edge and while his face is still pressed into the crook of my neck, he spreads my knees apart.
He’s suffocating, crowding me like this, but in the best way possible. I pull back slightly so I can watch the pads of his broad thumbs languidly trace their way up my inner thighs. He takes his time, patient and frustrating as he pushes my legs farther and farther apart. Once he’s halfway up my upper legs, as he dots my throat with warm wet kisses, I close my eyes, head falling back and heat rushing south.
I want him.
I especially want him a few inches north. His thumb preferably, creating stiff little circles.
I’m lost in the feeling, my legs open around him, his breath and mouth on my neck. Involuntarily, my hips grind into the open air, searching for him.
A gentle bite of my ear sends a shockwave to my clit and a moan slips from my lips.
“You don’t want to play this game with me, Blue.” Pulling away, he bops my nose with a spoon. “I will always win.”
He grabs his yogurt once again and heads towards his bedroom.
Looking down, I find the silverware drawer pulled out between my open legs. That motherfucker distracted me and opened the goddamn silverware drawer between my spread thighs.
I’m hot and flustered and kind of pissed off. The audacity of this man to leave me on the counter panting for more. “How are you so certain you’ll win?”
His brows lift, sending me a pointed glance that screams you’re about thirty seconds from coming on the kitchen counter and you think I’d be the first one to cave?
Holding his stare, I don’t accept the silent answer.
Turning away from me, he heads into his room, but before he closes the door behind him, I hear him say, “I’m celibate, that’s why.”
18
RYAN
“Shay, you’re buying right?” Dom shouts from the other end of the table.
I have to laugh to myself because the guy can afford his own dinner just fine if he were the one paying. “Yeah, man.”
He turns towards the server. “I’ll have your most expensive red then.”
Motherfucker.
Ethan, sitting to my right, leans in. “This is a nice spot.” His attention wanders the private back room of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Chicago. “Fancy.”
Hell yeah, it’s fancy, but more importantly, it’s private. Back door entrance, paparazzi are banned, and apparently the waitstaff has all signed NDAs. If every public outing was like this, maybe I’d leave my apartment for more than just practice and games.
Ethan’s critical gaze coasts the room again.
“Okay, what’s wrong with this place? You said I had to host team dinner. I’m hosting team dinner.”
“I also told you to use it as an opportunity for the guys to get to know you. Kind of hard to do when half the team is a shouting distance away.”