Page 46 of Filthy Player

“Awesome,” I muttered, and threw off the covers.

I needed a shower, get dressed, and a carafe full of coffee before heading into the garage. Hustling through my bedroom, I grabbed all the clothes I’d need and then took a quick shower. The whole time I was getting ready, which didn’t take long since I wore minimal makeup and didn’t bother blow drying my hair when I went to the garage, I hoped for the best.

Perhaps I’d missed a text. Or a note.

He’d call me later, I was certain of it. No guy would put in the effort Beaux had done for me, made the promises he’d made last night, and rip them away.

“He’s not Spencer,” I assured myself.

So far, Beaux had proven he was the exact opposite. And if I wasn’t going to end things with him, if I was going to let him in, then I also had to start trusting him.

He’d shown me he was worth it.

I clipped my bangs back at my temple like I usually did and gave myself another perusal in the mirror.

When I was done, I tossed everything onto my bedroom floor. I wasn’t messy, not a neat freak. I cleaned my room between shifts at the garage and the restaurant, the only time I had a few free hours and on my days off from the restaurant, and I cleaned the whole house. Not that it got that dirty with just dad and I, but I’d done it ever since I was old enough to use cleaning supplies.

My dad never noticed dust and clutter and toothpaste gobs on the counter. When I became a teenager and heard my friends talk about their brothers, I became certain those kinds of oversights were ingrained in male DNA.

But my mood didn’t change through my morning routine. I sucked in a breath, trying to put on a happy face as I hurried down the stairs to take care of my dad and make sure he had everything he needed before I left for work.

Only I didn’t get as far as the kitchen because at the bottom of the stairs, I froze.

Beaux was sitting on the couch, facing my dad, coffee cup in both men’s hands and they were talking quietly, nodding and smiling. For the first time since my dad’s injury, he didn’t have a glassy look in his eyes from either the pain or the pills to take it away.

The black bag was next to the couch, suit draped over the armrest, and he was casually sitting there in gray athletic shorts and a black shirt that stretched so tight over his muscles and chest, the seams were in danger of popping.

Beaux had stayed, and from the looks of it, he’d taken care of my dad. He was dressed in different clothes, his face looked washed up, hair combed, and he was sipping coffee from his favorite mug.

I really needed to stop underestimating Beaux Hale.

A warmth flickered through me and I shivered. This guy. Everything he was showing me was too good to be true but absolutely perfect.

“Good morning,” I said, my gaze flipping back and forth to them when neither noticed me.

“Hey,” Beaux said, standing from the couch and headed my way. “How’d you sleep?”

I glanced at my dad who was now intently staring into his coffee. “Um. Good.”

Beaux walked up to me, smiling. “I didn’t want to wake you. I don’t sleep much after game nights.”

My cheeks burned. Good grief, was this what teenage girls felt like when they brought boyfriends home? It’d been so long I couldn’t remember. Everything he said made me more embarrassed. “Uh. Thanks.”

He chuckled again as if he understood. In addition to being a superstar quarterback, the man had to be telepathic.

He took my hand and pulled me toward the kitchen. “I made coffee this morning too, but your dad tells me it sucks.”

“Too freaking weak. You young’uns. You’re all weak. Weak coffee, weak running, weak tackling—”

“Easy tiger,” Beaux said. “I’ve already heard your opinions on last night’s game. Keep critiquing and I might begin to take it personally.”

“See?” my dad called, but his voice was thick with humor. “You’re all weak today.”

I was laughing by the time I reached the kitchen. “You didn’t have to come with me.”

“I did if I wanted to kiss you.”

His lips hit mine and my ass hit the counter behind me before I could blink. Heaven. His body surrounded mine and he took over, took what he wanted, and I was so damn grateful he’d helped my dad I could have cried tears of joy.

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