Page 82 of Filthy Player

She grinned at me, that same love shining in her eyes I saw earlier.

Fuck, I wanted to tell her. Needed to tell her, and then was the perfect time.

“Paige—”

Her stomach growled and she laughed, squeezing my dick tight.

“I’m sorry.” She laughed harder and I pulled out of her, rolling to the side. “I haven’t eaten, like all day.”

“We’ll feed you then.”

“We can order in. Pizza?”

“God, no. All that biscuits and gravy from breakfast this morning weighed me down at practice. More carbs tonight would kill me.”

She rolled to her side and kissed my cheek. “You’re such a health nut. Protein shakes and massive amounts of chicken. I’ve seen your fridge.”

“And steak. I love a good steak.”

“Funny.” She winked. “I like a good chunk of meat too.”

“Trust me, I know how much you like your meat.”

She playfully slapped my arm and I grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet as I stood off the bed. “Let’s get cleaned up and get food in you. You’ll need more energy later.”

***

I couldn’t remember a time in my life when everything felt so damn easy. Sure, I had fun. I decided early on when my dream of hitting the NFL became closer to turning into a reality I was going to make sure I enjoyed every damn moment of it. From sponsors and free shoes and a whole host of shit I was given, life was going to be fun.

But it had never felt this enjoyable before, at least not that I could remember. Considering Shannon and I grew up with barely two pennies to rub together half the time, I’d always had to work my ass off for everything I earned.

Football was no different. Hard, grueling, muscle-aching and unending work.

Being with Paige wasn’t work. It didn’t even matter when she was pissed at me or that it’d taken time for her to see the guy I was. When Paige was around me, all the hard work, the grueling workouts, the bad practices, it all paled to how important she was to me.

She made all of it, every moment of the work and the training, worth it to have everything I had so I could give it all to her. She moved around my home like she was made to live there, comfortable in my space. Even though she’d been under a hell of a lot of stress this last year with her dad, then his surgery several weeks ago, and now the letters, when she was with me, it was as if all of that faded to background noise, too.

We clicked, in a way I never truly believed possible. So that even while we were standing in the kitchen, washing and drying dishes after dinner, all I could imagine and think of was her. In my home. Hopefully forever.

She fit there, and I wanted her there. I just knew I’d have to convince her of it. At least with the help of Melanie, she might not feel so guilty of moving out either, and it wasn’t that we didn’t have time to take things slow, we did.

I just preferred to go after what I wanted and not quit until I had it.

And I wanted Paige living with me.

“Last one,” she said, rinsing off a plate, and handing it to me. “What should we do now?”

I dried the plate with a towel and set them down on the counter, blocking Paige in. “I know what I want to do.” I cupped her cheek with my hand. “A little bit more of what we did earlier.”

“Only a little bit?”

Good Lord, I loved her teasing banter.

“We’ll see,” I pressed my lips against hers. “It’ll depend on how much of a good girl you could be.”

“I—” She was cut off by her phone ringing, and even I knew by now it was her dad’s ringtone.

“Get it.” I stepped back and gave her space to reach for her phone. She’d checked it when we came downstairs for dinner and brought her purse I’d thrown to the floor earlier into the kitchen. “We can finish this later.”

---