Page 88 of Love at Second Down

Avery leans forward to collect her winnings when I catch the scent of sugared almonds and fight the urge to lean across the table and claim her mouth.

“You know I’ve always been quick at picking up your tells,” she says with a wink, her fingers brushing mine as she scoops up the quarters.

The brief contact sends an electric jolt up my arm, and not for the first time this week, I wish we were alone, instead of in a room full of our friends.

“Is that right?” I lean forward, my voice husky when I say, “If you know me so well, then what am I thinking right now?”

Her eyes catch the light, glinting like river stones as they fall to my mouth. Standing, her lips curve as she leans across thetable. “You’re thinking . . .” She leans into me, her lips grazing my cheek as her breath ghosts across my skin. “That you want to kiss me,” she whispers.

I swallow, the breath catching in my throat as she starts to pull away, but I stop her, one hand wrapping around her wrist, our lips only inches apart. “Wrong,” I mutter, my voice low and rough.

Her brows lift just slightly, but not before I catch the flicker of doubt as I lean in, so close I can already feel the soft press of her against my lips as I murmur, “I don’t want to kiss you, Avery.”

“You don’t?” she rasps.

I shake my head, my nose brushing against hers.

Fuck these cock-blocking assholes.

“Ineedto,” I whisper before I close the distance and slant my mouth against hers in a gentle sweep that’s all heat and no hesitation.

She sighs into my mouth, and I forget how to think. Her fingers find my jaw, sliding to the strings of my hoodie where she pulls me toward her, taking my heart with it.

The noise of the room fades. Everything else ceases to exist. For this one moment, it’s just her and me and everything we never stopped wanting.

Until someone whistles across from us, and another person, Brandon, I imagine, groans. Until the cards scatter and someone curses under their breath, a commotion around me as Jace belts out, “Shit. It’s ten o’clock. Curfew.”

“Fuck,” Chris hisses, suddenly at my side and tugging on my hoodie. “Gotta go, Romeo.”

Avery jerks away from me, lips still parted, cheeks flushed deeper than before. “You better go,” she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as her cheeks flush a brilliant shade of red.

I brush a thumb over her candy apple cheeks, hating I have to go, and whisper, “To be continued.” There is relief in her gaze as she nods.

Standing, I hurry with the guys, rushing to gather our things before Brandon pulls me toward the door while Coach’s voice echoes in my head about the importance of maintaining focus before the championship. But my mind is elsewhere—on the taste of her lips, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips.

Once we’re out in the hallway, I glance back one last time to find her standing with her arms wrapped around herself, those river-stone eyes following me.

“Sweet dreams, QB,” she calls softly.

The next couple of days are much the same, except the guys are watching me like a hawk, putting in overtime to ensure Avery and I don’t have an opportunity to take things further than our kiss.

It’s Sunday night, and I lie awake, staring at the ceiling of my hotel room and listening to the soft sounds of West breathing in the bed beside mine as I try and talk myself out of texting Avery.

It’s a bad idea. Tomorrow is game day. Though we don’t have an early start, our afternoon is filled with play review, press conferences, warm-ups, and conditioning, prior to the CFP game in the evening. I need every ounce of energy I have, and all of my focus.

I need fucking sleep.

But I can’t stop thinking about her: the flirty banter, the heat of her skin, those stolen moments throughout the week where our eyes connected and nothing else mattered. And that kiss. Ican’t stop thinking about the press of her lips on mine and how all I want is more.

I roll onto my side and punch my pillow, glancing at the clock on the nightstand before I home in on my phone.

What if I meet up with her for only an hour? Just one hour alone.

Conceding, I slide my phone off the nightstand and find her in my contacts. She’s probably not even awake, I tell myself as I type:Are you asleep?

Within seconds, the typing bubbles dance on the screen, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what she says.

AVERY:

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