Page 10 of Full Body Check

“This is your house?” she gasps as we pull into the driveway.

“This is it; Home Sweet Home.”

“Why?”

“Why… what?”

“Do you have a bunch of kids you failed to mention?”

“No, no kids; never been married.” I chuckle, getting out of the truck and walking around it to open her door. “Speaking of which, what about you?”

“No, and no,” she answers in a quick snip, as if my pesky question only served to delay the rest of hers.

“Did you rescue and re-home the refugees of a small country? Or two?” She’s staring at my house, now speaking dazedly, so I undo the seatbelt, lift that sexy little body up and out, then set her feet on the ground forher.

“Um, also a no,” I laugh, not sure why, or what the hell she’s talking about, but real confusion sends my brows to my hairline when she turns a scathing glare on me.

“Ridiculous,” she tsks, shaking her head, “and so disappointing. Half the reason I was feeling okay about our little… rendezvous we were gonna have is because you seemed like such a good guy, as close to perfect as one could hope for in a random hook-up. But now…”

“Do you really know that many people who have rescued those from small countries? ‘Cause, uh, I don’t know any; I didn’t realize it was so common, or a deal-breaker.”

“Funny,” she bites down on my attempt at my dry humor, then just as quickly sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so judgy, it’s just… why do you need a house this freaking big if you’re the only one who lives in it? It forces a logical person to have to ask the obvious; are you overcompensating for something, or simply showing off?” My head falls back with my belt of howling laughter, but the weight of her glare still bears down on me. “I’m not kidding, Brewer. This country’s in major financial crisis, yet somehow, there’s plenty of money to ensure that male athletes get paid exorbitant, obscene amounts of money to throw, dunk, or putt a damn ball. Or slap a puck around.”

I can’t argue with everything she said, most of it spot-on, and with which I agree. And I’d smile even if I disagreed with every single word, because more so than what she’s saying, is the refreshing surprise that she is… saying something real. I love that she’s intelligent, passionate, and not afraid to show me both. But… “I can’t change the whole country’s problems or mindset, Gracelyn, and I’m certainly not going to refuse the salary I was offered, even though I agree it is a ludicrous amount of money. All I can do is use it to give back, pay it forward.”

“You’re right; you can, and should.”

“I know, and do.”

“Oh yeah?” She juts out her chin, squaring her stance and shoulders. Precious. “How? And how often?”

Another chuckle I can’t capture escapes; she’s turning out to be even more fascinating than I thought, such a bold little thing. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she asks me to get my manager on the phone to verify what I say next — and I’ll be glad to do so. And it won’t be to impressher. It will be to prove I’m not a liar — ever — and I won’t leave any room for her to doubt that. “Well, let’s see.” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly a bit shy. “I had a rec center built downtown not too long ago to make sure the inner-city kids would have a safe place. One where they can always go, any time, for whatever they need; escape from something bad going down at home, a place to sleep, knowing they’ll wake up in the morning, a meal, or, just a better choice than… others too available to them. Instead of getting caught up in something they know better than, don’t really want to do, they can go to the center; learn how to play a sport, learn a certain skill or trade, or take their pick from lots of activities that might give them a purpose, passion, or direction besides trouble. I take care of its funding, but the whole team takes care of the women and children’s shelter. Every single player, in rotation, takes their month to pay for supplies, labor, clothes, food, and takes their ass down there to do, paint, fix whatever needs done. Plus-”

“Catch me.” She launches herself at me, and I easily, readily, obey, lifting her up by the hips to hold her snug against me. “Altruism is super sexy.” She lets out a little puff then gives me those sweet lips of hers.

Fuck yes; for this, I’ll sponsor a whole damn planet.

When Gracelyn Bolton sets out to kiss a man, she kisses the hell out of that man.She’s got her legs are wrapped around my waist, and tiny fingers clawing at my hair, as our mouths, tongues, and equally eager hands get to know each other. Well. And the longer we kiss, the more she squirms, like she’s trying to climb me, every wiggle against my cock tempting me to take her right here and now.

I’ve fucked in bathroom stalls, the dark corner of a club, more than a few locker rooms that reeked of sweaty balls, and plenty of backseats, but for reasons I’d probably never understand, shouldI try to, I want things with Gracelyn to be… intimate? Yeah, that’s the right word… I just can’t believethat’s the right word. I don’t do intimate.

Then again, I don’t normally do this much thinking either, especially when I absolutely don’t have to — any need to “chat her up,” or come up with a clever “line” eliminated when she jumped me, her round, ripe, perfect ass already in my hands. Maybe it’s the chase that’s got my brain scrambled, working overtime. Gracelyn didn’t serve herself up on a puck-bunny platter; well, not until a few minutes ago anyway. Instead, I had to hunt herdown, and I do like a good hunt. Or it could be the unique way we met — can’t say I’ve ever stopped, playing a conference game, to play a sexy, impromptu game of charades before. Never sent a note to a fan, or received one back, before either.

And now that I’ve gotten a few clues, or preciously pissy lectures, whichever, of who Gracelyn Bolton is, and what she’s about, it’s only drawing me in more. No woman has ever so much as flinched, let alone complained that I have too much money. And campaigning for me to give it away. Yeah, no… never been a thing. And although Gracelyn’s the first woman I’ve ever brought to my house, I’m pretty confident she’s also the only one who’d insinuate it’s ostentatious.

But…the cynical side of me can still be heard, faintly, over the fascinated one, and begs the question… is she faking her criticism so she will seem different?

Hmmm.

I force myself to release her mouth and lean back, catching her eyes. “How about we take this inside?” My nostrils flare as my breaths deepen, the sight of her — swollen, pouty lips, flushed cheeks, and long hair the color of sunset, a beautiful mess from my hands — quite possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

But what hits me hardest, in places other than my dick, is the wild passion blazing in her eyes.

That, she’s not faking.

She wants me.

Me.

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