Page 45 of Blindside Love

“My parents got married really young, my dad was a rookie in the NHL, and my mom was one of his teammate’s sisters, and before you ask, yes, it was as dramatic as it sounds, but somehow, now they’re the best of friends. My dad moved a couple different teams in his first couple of years in the league and it was hard for my mom to find a steady job with how often they were moving, then she got pregnant with me.”

Ellie scoots up on the counter, watching me intently as I explain something so mundane with bright eyes like I’m Santa Claus.

“After she got pregnant, my dad decided that maybe she should be a stay-at-home mom, because that way, they didn’t need to pay for childcare, and she was free to go to away games if she wanted without having to request time off of work. It was a win-win for them. My mom took the whole homemaker to the next level, from baking to crafts and everything in between. That includes taking pride in our meals. Once I started playing sports competitively, she did research on what I should be eating and basically tailored the entire family’s meals around that. She loved it, so I just never learned. I didn’t want to take it from her because it seemed to make her so happy. I know how dumb that sounds,” I tell her truthfully.

“It’s not dumb at all, honestly. In a weird way, it’s really endearing that you wanted to preserve that tradition for your mom. That even though you’re a grown-up, you’re allowing her to still have a role in taking care of you. You’re a very thoughtful man, Mr. Adams,” she says, her voice deep and sultry as she says my name, and I nearly snap.

She jumps back to talking about dinner, telling me about the sauce and how it’s off to the side heating up but that we’ll add the meatballs to it once they’re done, but I’m not comprehending anything she’s saying as I have this sudden urge to kiss her.

Walking over to where she’s now putting garlic bread in the oven and setting a timer, I spin her, pressing my hips against her to hold her in place against the counter.

“Wha—” she starts as I press my lips to hers, gentle at first, giving her time to make up her mind. She’s slow at first, but as I press on and start to kiss her harder, my tongue begs for access against her lips. I feel something snap in her as her kiss becomes passionate, almost frantic. Sliding her hands up around my neck, she pulls me closer. I’m about to say fuck dinner and carry her to the nearest couch, bed, chair; I don’t care, just something so I can get her naked and riding my cock.

DING!

The oven timer goes off for the meatballs and bread, forcing us to pull away, both of us panting, nearly out of breath. Looking at her, I expect to see shock, maybe confusion, or that unsure look she gets when she’s nervous, but I’m pleasantly surprised when the only thing I see looking back at me is pure, unadulterated lust.

Chapter 16

Ellie

Trevor Adams is turning out to be even dreamier than I could’ve ever imagined, and trust me, I’ve dreamed of his sexy ass more times than I care to admit.

Not only did he jump in and help me every step of the way with dinner tonight, but he even made me sit down while he did all the dishes. Then, when he noticed the boxes by my studio for bookshelves, he built all five for me and refused to let me help.

“So, what are all these bookshelves for?” Trevor asks as he leans the last bookshelf up against the wall in the living room. There must be something in the air tonight, or I’m hormonal because everything this man has done is sending arousal straight to my core. Between everything that transpired last night and the kiss earlier, I can’t decide if I want to pounce on him or get naked and let him pounce on me. Either way, I’m tired of fucking around and not fucking him. It’s time to see him naked.

But of course, Mr. Gentleman wants to help me with all these things instead.

“Two of them are for art supplies, but the other three are for my books,” I tell him, passing him a glass of ice water.

When he reaches for the glass, his fingers graze mine and I feel the heat from his touch flow through my entire body. He must feel it too, because he pulls the glass back quicker than expected, nearly splashing water from it. When our eyes meet, his deep green eyes are blown, filled with lust, and I hope he’s having the same thoughts I am.

“You have enough books to fill all these bookshelves?” he rasps out, swallowing some water.

“Honestly, I’ll probably still need more. Want to see?” I ask, surprising myself. All of my books are in my studio, where all of my art is laid out or up against the walls, and that’s a part of myself that I don’t share with others. Especially not someone I’ve known for just over a month.

“I’d love to,” Trevor says with a smile, gesturing for me to get up. “Lead the way, kitten. Show me this mini library you’re curating. What all do you collect?”

“I mean, I’ll read pretty much anything, especially a good thriller every now and then or a mystery, but my go-to is romance.” I look up at him with a slight smirk, attempting to feign innocence. Let’s be honest, if the book doesn’t have the word cock in it at least fifteen times, I don’t want it. If he knew the absolute filth I read, I’m sure he’d look at me completely different.

Not that I care. It’s not my fault these authors make it so damn enticing to have four guys all pining over you only to decide in the end that they’re willing to share and do the dirty with you at the same time. I mean, a girl can dream, right?

“What are we talking about here? Like The Notebook? A Walk to Remember?” Trevor asks as we step into my studio and turn the lights on.

“Nothing against Mr. Sparks, but I like my romance to have a much higher percentage of naked time, and it pisses me off when it’s just implied. I don’t want any of that closed-door bullshit; gimme all the details. Give. Me. The. Filth,” I confess, earning me a rather pleased yet surprised look from him.

“Oh really? And is that what these books are?” Trevor asks as he walks around to the side of my studio covered in books.

“Yes. Every single one of them,” I tell him.

His eyes widen, but he smiles.

“And what is it about these romance books that have you collecting what looks to be hundreds of them?”

I think for a moment, I could give him some bullshit answer or tell him the truth, as slightly depressing as it is. “Um, I guess I read them because I love that there’s always a happily ever after. It’s a guarantee with the books I read, and given that for the past six years, I’ve been living in my own personal Happily Never After, I’ve needed consistency in my life. Plus, these books make me believe that men are actually capable of giving a woman an orgasm, unlike with my ex, where the only orgasms I had were self-inflicted and solo. I guess you could say I’ve been living vicariously through these women who find a man who can do it all. And by all, I mean the kind of man who can be your best friend one moment, a kick-ass partner the next, and who can still make you scream his name every. Single. Night.”

His pleased look morphs into a rather naughty one as he picks up one of my books and flips through the pages. I notice he starts reading somewhere in the middle, his lips immediately curl upwards, and he glances at me. “You’re a constant surprise, kitten,” Trevor says as he continues reading on, completely engrossed in a paragraph of one of my rather spicy books. “This is what you like?”

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