Page 31 of Overtime
“One more thing.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the Sharpie I’d been using to sign jerseys earlier.
She raises a brow in question but doesn’t move. I uncap it and sit down next to her on the bed, moving to hover over her hip and looking up at her in question. Her brow furrows but she nods for me to go ahead.
I press the tip of the black marker to her skin, just above the lace band and to the inside of her hipbone, pressing the palm of my left hand to her abdomen. Goosebumps break out across her flesh, and I pretend not to notice because this is probably cheating on the agreement. Touching her far too dangerously close to how I want to touch her. Tempting myself to slide my palm lower. But I drag my attention back to the task at hand, signing her hip with a flourish until it reads “Colton St. George.”
There’s a little click of her tongue as she looks up at me. She’s smiling but her eyes are still heavy with lust, and I want this woman so badly I’d give up almost anything to have her right now. Except I don’t want her to see me as a boy anymore. I need her to see me as something more—an equal. It’d be the only chance we’d have. So I keep my mouth shut and smirk instead.
“I’m surprised you didn’t want that across my tits.”
“One, they’re too fucking gorgeous for any sort of graffiti, and two, if it was real, I’d want this where any guy who gets this far has to see it and know you’ve had better.”
“If it was real?” She raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve always been jealous of Ben. That his girl did that for him.”
“And I’myourgirl?”
“In some parallel universe, definitely.”
SIXTEEN
Joss
I’m not builtto withstand Colton St. George. The fuckboys, musicians, artists, any athlete that isn’t him—they don’t even register. But this man somehow knows exactly what to say and how to look at me to casually reach inside my chest and wrap every vulnerable part of me up in lightness. He breathes life back into parts of my heart I’d forgotten exist. It’s almost enough to break me.
Instead, I just whisper, “Ah, okay.”
“Kind of looks like it belongs there, really…” He admires his work with the tilt of his head.
It does belong there, probably in permanent ink like he’s hinting at because whether he knows it or not he owns parts of me no one else will ever get. Vulnerabilities and stolen moments in our past that I haven’t been able to imagine having with anyone else. Which feels crazy because when you look at the two of us on paper you definitely wouldn’t think we’re the kind of friends who fit that way, but somehow, we fall together like we were always meant to be.
“Uh-huh,” I mumble with a smile. “I’ll do that as soon as I can tattoo ‘Joss was here first’ right over your cock.”
“Don’t say cock.” He gives me an admonishing look.
“Why not?”
“It sounds dirty when you say it.”
“And you like that?”
“Too much.”
“Oh, Farm Boy, you shouldn’t confess your weaknesses to the opposing team. We can use it to torture you.”
“Maybe I like being tortured.” He grins again, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. Because I imagine him tied up and at my mercy, slowly torturing him until he begs for me, and this whole scene is making me incredibly wet and desperate to have him touch me.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now you need to go and stand by the door again, so I can take these photos.” I nod for him to move.
His eyes rake over me one last time, studying each curve on his way down until his eyes land on the football, and he turns it slightly, glancing at the preview image on my phone before he’s satisfied with the position and stands again. I set up the camera to take the photos on a delayed timer and toss my phone out of frame before it starts. It snaps dozens of shots, and I reposition slightly for each one, changing my facial expression occasionally in an effort to give him some to pick from.
When it’s done, I call him back over to look at the previews.
“This good?”
“Yeah. I think they’ll do.” He smiles as he flips through them.
“Any others you want?”
