Page 96 of Wild Card
“This feels dirty. With them right there.”
“Because it is. But you’re a good girl for doing it. For giving me what I need after a long day. Fuck, Scarlett. You take me so fucking well like this. You’ve already got me close.”
I spread my legs a little wider, taking him a little deeper, and he uses rougher strokes on my clit. I feel the edge of the orgasm bloom my nerves, and I press my lips to his ear as I feel it start to take me over the edge.
“Fuck. I love your cock. And your hands. You’re so fucking good at that.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and I can feel the warmth of him as he groans his own release.
We stay like this for a minute, me collapsed against his chest and him holding me tight until we hear footsteps.
“Fuck.” I give him a panicked look.
“Just kiss me.” He tugs on my hair and pulls my lips to his, kissing me roughly.
“Okay, lovebirds. Colt just bought that couch, and he’ll murder you.” Joss grins from the hall.
“Yeah, I fucking will,” he grunts, glancing at us and then looking away like he’s been scandalized.
“Like I’ll murder him if he ever did anything in my library?” Tobias grunts as I dig my fingernails into his neck.
Colt and Tobias exchange looks then before Colt grabs the belt loop in Joss’s pants and drags her along.
“All right. Let’s let them have their little make-out session,” he grumbles and then disappears down the hall.
“Great,” I mutter.
“Whatever. They’re sneaking off to fuck themselves. They’re probably just pissed we took their spot.”
“He just bought this couch,” I repeat, smirking.
“Yeah, so get up carefully.” He laughs.
I lean forward and kiss him one last time before getting up slowly, cleaning up, and heading back to the party. He squeezes my ass as we walk down the stairs, leaning forward to kiss me when I pause to give him a pretend-annoyed look.
“Can’t help it. You look gorgeous when you’re well fucked. Hard to keep my hands to myself.”
I shake my head and kiss him, threading my fingers through his before we join the crowd.
FIFTY-ONE
Tobias
After the WildCard game we go on to win our divisional round and our conference round, playing the same kind of consistent ball we’ve been playing all year when an injury isn’t sidelining us. But the downside is I’ve barely been able to see Scarlett. We’ve been on the road, doing interviews, setting up press sessions with our social media team, doing commercials, and all the other shit that hits a fever pitch when your team is doing this well.
That’s doubled now that we’re in the championship game and we had to travel out to Vegas a week early to set up for all of the events, press, and training going on this week ahead of the big game on Sunday. But Easton and I were able to get a block of tickets between the two of us and he, Wren, Madison, Scarlett, and Scarlett’s dad are all coming to the game and arriving today. We’ve got a dinner planned for this evening for everyone and, as much as I’m excited for the game this weekend, I’m almost as excited for dinner tonight. Getting to see Scarlett, having our families together at dinner, and spending time with all of them is what I need right now to help settle my nerves and remind me there’s ground under my feet.
Because the thing I hoped for and dreaded in equal measure is coming this weekend. We’re playing my dad’s team for the trophy and the right to call ourselves the best team in the league. The press has been near fever pitch at the implication of our family being pitted against each other. They’ve seen brothers play, but a father-and-son faceoff is a new one. The questions and theories about how the game will go, what our family will wear to the game, and how it’ll all go down, depending on which one of us ends up on top have been endless.
Meanwhile, my dad and I have barely spoken. In part because it seems dirty to cross lines right now, but more seriously because I know he’ll have nothing but vitriol for me. Where most families would probably encourage and support each other, happy to see either win… he only cares about having the win for himself. His shithead kid besting him in a year when I’ve been a royal fuckup? It’s likely to destroy his ego. One that’s even more massive than mine. So we’ve kept to ourselves, and I’ve kept his name out of my mouth even when I talk with my siblings. I’m not about to give him any power over me at the most important part of my career.
That nightat a private dinner tucked away in one of the restaurants perched high up in a hotel away from the prying eyes of the press and with a stunning view of the Strip I’d rather not have marred by depressing conversation, the subject of our family rivalry still comes up.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about what colors I’ll be wearing. You already know.” Easton gives me a look, one only another football-playing son of the asshole could give.
“Me too.” Wren smiles at me.
“And of course me. That bastard thinks he can say shit like he did to the reporters and not suffer consequences. It’s just poor form on his part. He needs his own PR person if he’s going to act like that.” Madison shakes her head.
“Like he would listen to them. He always thinks he knows better—no matter who the other person in the room is or their expertise.”
