Page 81 of Get Me to the Starting Line

My core is throbbing, my mouth watering. It would be so easy. I could slide my hands up his thigh and under his shorts.

I’d have full access to wrap my hand around his cock, checking to see if the girth matches his length. I could probably get his shorts down and—

No, stop. I can’t be thinking this right now. The second the brace is secure, I remove my hands without lingering. I hope I’m keeping my face blank, though I haven’t been able to control the flush that’s creeped up my neck to my cheeks.

“How does that feel?” I ask. Damn it, I didn’t mean for it to come out all husky.

He regards me with a tilt of his head, eyes dark, pupils wide in the dimly lit stairwell.

Clearing his throat, he flexes his leg, moving it back and forth. His brows shoot up, his gaze locking with mine again.

“It’s not pinching.”

Relief floods me. “What else?”

He takes a tentative step and, unfortunately for me, closes the distance I’ve put between us. A stray curl falls across his face as he concentrates on testing it out.

“It feels”—he pauses, searching for the right word—“supportive.”

I nod, still trying to ignore the situation in his shorts.

“That’s good.” I take another step back and then circle him so I can check out the back of the brace. It gives me an excuse to hide my face and try to compose myself. With his shorts pulled taut, I can see the perfect outline of his ass.

I want to bite it.

Having him in my apartment has been a nightmare. But when I think about him leaving, my stomach flips, unhappy with the idea. I’m in way too deep and if I go deeper, the pain will be that much worse when he inevitably leaves.

He doesn’t get to choose whether he’s traded. He has to go wherever the league says. Even if he wants to stay here, he wouldn’t be able to. Unless he retires.

That’s a decision he has to make for himself, without my influence. We aren’t together and we only met a few months ago.

But even though we haven’t known each other long, I understand him—his quiet resilience, his protective nature, his different masks.

Though I still think he’s a jackass sometimes, he’s softer than I could’ve imagined. In personality. Not in physique. In that category, he’s hard everywhere.

Hard and huge.

And I’m back to thinking about his cock, which still has not abated. His strong hand grips the railing so hard, his knuckles are strained.

“I want you to walk back to the apartment with this on, carefully, and see how it feels.” I try to use my most clinical voice.

Hopefully that’s how it came off. I can’t hear myself think, not with my vagina roaring in my head, screaming at me to get that cock inside her.

No. I can’t.

Plus, he’s still injured, and even with how sweet and gentle he is, I know that’s not how he would be in bed. He’d be rough and—

Stop. God. Pull it together.

With a nod, he lets me go ahead so I can hold the door open. He moves slowly and cautiously. My eyes can’t decide where to land.

I watch his face for any signs of pain or discomfort and then the brace to see how it moves with him, assessing where things may need adjusting.

I’ve been busting my ass trying to get this prototype ready so he can try it out. It takes so damn long to develop new devices, but I wanted something for Julien while he’s still recovering.

We make it back to the apartment and Julien lets himself in with the key I had made for him. Before he fully makes it through the door, he turns to me.

“Where’s Levi?” he asks.

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