Page 28 of Lucky Baller
“I’m trying it out.”
“Trying what out?”
“Cuddling.”
“Not with me. With the blankets and pillows.”
“You said they were second best. I need to try the real thing to know if I’m a cuddler, right?”
“Not with me.” I try again to stand, but his hold is tight.
“Only with you” is his deep whispered reply. His lips next to my ear cause goose bumps to break out across my skin. “Just let me try it.” His thumb slides under my tank top, and he begins to trace the skin just above my leggings.
I open my mouth to tell him no, but instead, it closes on its own, and I nod. It’s been way too long since I’ve cuddled with a man or had a man’s hands on me. His are big and warm, and if the pad of his thumb is any indication, surprisingly soft for a man who spends hours a day on the football field.
“How do we do this, Tess?”
“W-We uh, should lie down.” I can’t believe I’m encouraging him, but the thought of snuggling up with him is far too tempting. He taps my hip and, this time, allows me to stand. I could make a mad dash for the loveseat, or hell, I could kick him out, but I do neither. Instead, I stand and watch him arrange the pillows. He grabs the throw and tosses it over the back of the couch, and then reaches for the remote. Once he has what he thinks we’ll need, he stretches out on my couch, lying on his side, and pats the small space in front of him.
I hesitate. Am I really going to do this? I mean, sure, it’s just cuddling, but what if he thinks that means I’m willing to have sex with him? Well, I mean, I am willing, but I won’t do it. You know, catching feelings and all that.
“Come here, Freckles.” His voice is soft, almost soothing, as his eyes capture mine. Taking a deep breath, I lie down in front of him, my body stiff, trying not to melt into his warmth. I reallyshould turn up the thermostat. It’s so hot outside, so I like to keep it cool in here.
Landon pulls the throw blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over me. Then, to my surprise, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. “You good?” he asks, and his hot breath ghosts across my ear.
“Y-Yeah.”
“What are we watching?” he asks, turning on the TV. He doesn’t seem the least bit fazed that we’re lying together so intimately on my couch.
“Anything.” I should have known better than to agree to this. In a way, this is more intimate than having sex. The connection of our bodies, the warmth we share. It’s overwhelming, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if there was an us. If I was more than just the chase. If this thing between us was more than just the fact that I turned him down. Would this be our thing? Relaxing and cuddling on the couch?
He flips through the channels and stops on a movie channel that’s playingSweet Home Alabama. I love this movie. I am from the South, after all. “This okay?”
“Yes. But you can watch whatever.” Satisfied with my reply, he sets the remote on the floor, tucking his hand behind his head.
My body is stiff as I fight the urge to relax into his embrace. We’re lying on our sides, and his hand is resting on my belly, holding me to him. “Relax, Freckles.” It’s as if my body needed his words as permission to do just that. I feel my shoulders relax, and my body sinks further into the couch.
He mumbles something that sounds like “That’s my girl,” and I feel his lips press to the back of my head. This is way too much. It’s wrong to be here with him like this, when we’re nothing to each other. Nothing more than acquaintances, yet here I am, letting him into my home. Again. Giving in to hisdemands. Letting him hold me. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a demand, but all the same, I shouldn’t be doing this. I just can’t seem to make myself pull away.
Drawing out of my thoughts, I turn my attention back to the movie. I let myself get lost in the love story. I’ve seen this one at least one hundred times, but it never gets old. I could repeat the lines by heart as if I played the role.
“So I can kiss you anytime I want,” I whisper with Reese Witherspoon as she stands before her leading man in the pouring rain.
Landon’s thumb traces small circles over my belly, and I endure it until the credits roll. Needing some distance, I sit up, pulling out of his embrace, and stand. “Dinner should be ready.”
His eyes are bright blue and filled with something I can’t quite name as he peers up at me. “Tess,” he says softly, reaching out for me.
I step away from him. “I’m going to make us a salad. You eat salad, right?” My eyes travel to the eight-pack of abs clearly outlined beneath his form-fitting shirt.
“Yeah, I eat salad.” He drops his hand and pulls his long form from the couch.
Turning on my heel, I make my way to the kitchen. I don’t have to turn to see if he’s behind me. I can feel him. I gather the bag of salad mix, a tomato, a bag of cheese, and the bottle of ranch and French dressing from the refrigerator. “I only have French or ranch.” I hold up the bottles to show him.
“I’ll eat either.”
“Good. Tomatoes and cheese?” I ask.
“Yes.” He comes to stand behind me, looking over my shoulder as I start to prepare our salads. “What can I do to help?”
