Page 42 of The Game Plan
As if she didn’t drop a bomb at my feet.
The morning light filters through the blinds, casting stripes across the counter as I nurse my first cup of coffee. Savoring that first hit of caffeine, I let the warmth seep through my veins. Last night, I couldn’t get my brain to shut off.
When Savannah came in from her walk and chat with my sister, she seemed off. Not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that I couldn’t get a feel for. Her body language was tight, but her movements were filled with kindness. I was tempted to text Bret to see what they talked about, but I didn’t. Instead, I sat on the couch with Sav, rubbing her swollen feet as we watched a baseball game.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mom texted twice, inviting me over for dinner. I left her on read both times. She’s gonna start calling soon—hell, she’ll probably arrive on my doorstep if I dodge her much longer. Which I don’t want happening.
But what am I supposed to say?
Oh, hey, Mom. That girl I used to hook up with—the one who appeared at my graduation carrying someone else’s kid? Well, she’s living in my guest room now. No, we’re not together, butwe’re notnottogether.
I rake my hand down my face, relishing the scratch of my beard on my palm. My face needs a shave—my beard’s getting longer than I usually keep it. I groan into the quiet. Not because she’s here, but because I like having her here. Maybe too much. I’ve been waking, hoping I’ll catch a glimpse of her before I leave. But I can’t bring her around my parents when I haven’t even figured out what the hell we are. Roommates? Friends? Something in between and more complicated than I want to admit?
Savannah Holycross is Wonder Woman. She’s eight months pregnant, finishing her degree, working damn near full-time, and still finds time to help around the apartment. She’s constantly stretching herself thin by going to the grocery store, cleaning the apartment, even though I’ve told her countless times to leave it. She never complains about anything. With a smile, she tackles everything life throws her way.
All I want is to help her, to make her life easier. But I know she’ll bite my head off the second I approach the idea of me taking some of her burden.
Savannah is proud and determined to do it on her own.
It’s not about being her hero. I don’t have a hero complex like my sister claims. It’s about doing the right thing. I have the means to help, so why won’t she let me? My dad taught me how a man should treat a woman. When you find the one, you’ll do whatever it takes to make her feel safe, valued, loved, exactly as your partner should feel.
A soft click echoes down the hallway, interrupting my thoughts. I glance up, checking the time on the microwave. Seven-fifteen. It’s early for her, way earlier than usual. Sav is a night owl who requires sleeping through the mornings.
After a few minutes, she rounds the corner into the kitchen, clearly half-awake, the sour look on her face saying it all—she’sin a mood. Her brunette hair is a messy halo, her face bare, with swollen purple bags under her eyes. What used to be an oversized tee now stretches tight over the swell of her belly. And still—goddamn—she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I sip from my mug as she waddles past with a grunt. “Good morning, Peach. You’re a goddamn delight this early.”
Her head whips toward me, eyes narrowing into slits as she reaches for a coffee mug. “Don’t start with me, Campbell.”
My eyebrows lift at her throwing out my last name. And because I’m an idiot, I poke the bear. “Someone’s feisty.”
“No,” she snaps. Savannah places the coffee carafe back on the warmer, harder than needed, before spinning in my direction, hands finding her hips. “I’m fucking horny!”
I choke on my coffee. “Well...okay, then.”
She groans and throws up her hands. Coffee is long forgotten, even though the grizzly in front of me could use some caffeine. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been properly laid?”
I blink, eyes widening.
She doesn’t stop. Instead, she takes a deep breath before continuing. “Like…fucked. Worshipped. Tossed around. Hard and dirty. It’s been months. I feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust. My body is hard up, Grant.”
The silence that falls between us is thick. Her chest heaves from her outburst. Then slowly, I set my mug down. With my heart pounding, I cross the room and plant both hands on either side of her, gripping the counter, caging her in.
Her lips part slightly, eyes staring into mine, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to break away from this connection.
With her caged between my arms, I lean in close to her ear.
“Say the word, Peach,” I murmur, my breath causing her breath to quicken. “I remember what it feels like to be inside you. The way that pretty, perfect cunt felt gripping my cock. Theway your cum dripped down the length of me. You want to be fucked, then say the word, Savannah.”
Her breath catches as I watch her pulse race.
“Rule number four: take whatever you need,” I say, reminding her of our roommate rules she was desperate to have. “If you want that again—want me again—all you have to do is say the damn word. I’ll take care of you.”
She stares at me, fire behind her gaze, but never makes a sound. As I start to pull away, her hand jerks out and grips my shirt. Our eyes lock, and it’s then that I see the desire in her amber eyes.
“Fuck me, Grant. Make me feel good.”
Something I could only describe as a growl rips from my throat as the invisible tension-filled rubber band finally snaps.
