Page 33 of Cocky Player

“I am sorry.I’m not…good with people.Or women outside of bed.”

“But you’re awfully talented on a kitchen table so you have that going for you.”Her words were a tease, happily quipped, yet even I was smart enough to see the strain in her eyes, the caution and worry I’d placed there.

She was smart to have it, and it’d be wise to allow her to keep it.

“You make me laugh,” I admitted, grinning as I pressed my lips to her upturned ones.

She returned it slowly, her muscles tense like she was holding back.I wanted nothing more than to spread her out again, take her slowly, yet the overwhelming emotion I felt would only muddle the waters further.

“Stay the night with me,” I said instead, equally worse.

She pulled back from the kiss and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was apology in her eyes.“I have plans tomorrow.”

“What are they?”

Her lips pressed to the side and she shrugged.“I always go to the Farmer’s Market on Sundays, and then to my parents’ house for lunch afterward.”

“Do they go to the market with you?”

“No,” she laughed.“I go alone.”Her hand drifted down my chest, her gaze following her movements.It was personal, the thing I’d told her we shouldn’t cross.I didn’t blame her for not opening up more now since I was the one who started it, sincere apology or not.

“Okay then.”I groaned as I untangled my arm from beneath her and rolled, putting my body on top of hers and kissed her again, more slowly, tasting her lips before I took her mouth and my dick hardening against her as she pressed her svelte and warm body to me.“I should let you go then.”

Her hand slid up my back, into my hair.She pressed her head into the pillow beneath her and smiled.“Maybe in a few minutes?”

It was the best invitation I’d ever been given.

So I took what she offered, making her come again with my mouth and my fingers while she jerked me off, begging me to spill onto her stomach.

And it still wasn’t sex.Not intercourse.But it ended up being the most intimate night I’d ever experienced.

On any other Sunday morning,I allowed myself one day to sleep in before heading to the gym for a cardio workout.I spent the day shopping, lounging around the condo in nothing but a pair of track pants, watching college football reruns on ESPN or playing video games.Maybe a dinner with a teammate who didn’t have anything else going on, and the night was spent meal planning and prepping for the upcoming week.Or I swung by Glitz before it opened when Malcolm was there, hanging out with a drink, discussing any issues he was having which he never needed my help for.The man took to running a club like I took to the football field and soon, he’d have the savings to buy me out of our original deal.

So it made absolutely no sense that this particular Sunday, I was up before the sun, grabbing my car keys, wallet, and Clemson baseball cap and driving out to a nearby state park where I got my run in on trails through the woods until sweat dripped down my back and my legs and lungs burned.Eight miles later, I was back in my car, chugging water and throwing my hat to the passenger seat of my Mercedes.

“Shit.”I shoved a hand down my face and grabbed a towel I kept in my back seat, drying myself off.It was hot as Hades out, humidity thick.The run should have exhausted me but it was still barely eight o’clock and my body was a live wire, electricity running through me in a way that had nothing to do with the run.

No, all the pent up energy I had had everything to do with Brenna Kemper.

A woman I should want nothing to do with and couldn’t stop thinking about.Her laugh, her smile, the fire in her eyes when she was pissed and the glimmer in them when she was turned on.Her innocence mixed with her brave curiosity.

Perhaps most of all, the way she’d seductively drawled,I might be a virgin but my fantasies are vivid.And frequent.

And goddamn it.I’d spent hours awake, unable to get those words out of my brain after she left.Hours spent cursing myself for drawing that line where she refused to tell me.Hours more trying to figure out a way to get her to open up to me.I was honest as I could be with her.I didn’t do well sharing personal shit.I was raised by a grandfather who watched football, drank Pabst beer before it became vintage and cool again.A man who worked in a factory assembly line with an eighth-grade education and the son of parents who were too stoned and drugged and young to want anything to do with their own kid.

While my grandfather was a good man, a strong one, he was silent and gruff.He spoke little and shared emotions even less.

Without further debate, I threw my car in gear, headed home, and less than two hours later, I was strolling through a fucking Farmer’s Market of all places, the late morning sun now barreling down on the heated asphalt and cement and rows and rows of tent-covered proprietors selling their wares to throngs of people, chattering happily and sleepily in equal measure, sipping their coffee cups and grazing along, strolling through the packed streets.

How in the fuck was I going to find Brenna?And the larger question, why was I even here?

Because you want her and can’t stay away.

At some point in the last week, I’d lost my balls to someone who had only ever touched mine.And a part of me no longer gave a shit.

With a new black hat, the signature UA of the brand stamped in white tugged down low over my eyes, sunglasses that hid most of my face, I walked through the main streets, veering off to the side, and just when I thought all hope of finding her was lost and was debating counting the day a loss and heading back to my own place to get on with my day and find my balls, a pile of strawberry blonde hair on top of a woman’s head snagged my attention.

I moved toward her without wavering, swerving in and around the pedestrians and strollers and almost tripped over a small ankle-biter type dog on my way until she turned, face almost fully hidden behind a large bouquet of bright colored flowers, my hand settling on her shoulders.

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