Page 56 of For the Boys
Berkley snorted derisively. “Brent. You’re twenty-nine years old. It’s a little late for that excuse.”
He looked up at her then. “Okay, fine. In all honesty, you had blown me off, and I didn’t see any reason why I shouldn’t have some fun while we were on the road. The boys did encourage it, but I could’ve ignored them. I didn’t have to go home with that girl.”
“No, you didn’t, but I appreciate the honesty.”
Brent pulled Berkley away from the crowd of people to an overstuffed chair pushed up against the wall. He sat and pulled Berkley onto his lap. She wanted nothing more than to melt into him, but she remained rigid.
“Look,” he said. “I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but there is really nowhere else I’d rather be right now than here with you. You fascinate me, Berkley. I know you knew who I was whenever we’d make eye contact at the club, but you never approached me. It lit a fire. I needed to know who you were.”
“So I’m just some sort of challenge for you?” Berkley asked, cheeks flaming as her anger built.
“Of course not!” Brent said. “Berkley, you have to know…I was so fucking worried about you that night you got drugged. It has nothing to do with you being a challenge. I just wanted to know you. I still do. Desperately.”
All the fight left her at that moment. Brent’s actions over the past few months had shown her how serious he was about what he was saying, and it was time to let her reservations go. It was time to see where this thing between them could go.
“I guess it’s a good thing for you we got drugged,” Berkley said quietly.
“No, it definitely wasn’t. I never want to see you like that again. Or anyone, for that matter.”
“I can promise you that won’t be a problem.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I’ll be around to protect you from now on.”
She didn’t need anyone to protect her or take care of her, but she appreciated that he wanted to.
To give her mouth something to do before she put her foot in it again, she pressed her lips to his, a sweet, soft touch, before pulling away.
It was crazy to think how much had changed because of an Instagram DM. If someone had told her a few months ago that she’d be making out with Brent Jean at a party surrounded by Warriors players, she would have called them crazy. But now, she could hardly picture life before Brent. Even a few days ago she hadn’t been sure she wanted a relationship, and now it seemed like she had been waiting for this all along.
“Let’s dance,” he said suddenly.
“You want to dancenow?”
“We have to get out of this chair before I do something I can’t take back,” Brent said.
“Such as?”
He slid his hands up her thighs, settling them at her waist, running his fingers along the exposed skin between her jeans and tank top. “Such as peeling you out of these clothes for starters.”
Berkley’s mouth went dry. “Dancing it is,” she said, standing up and adjusting her clothes.
Sex with Brent would surely be mind-blowing. But she didn’t want to rush things, and the thought of taking that next step with him made her anxiety flare up. She wanted him, badly, but not yet.
Taking his hand, she led him to the darkened corner of the loft that served as a dance floor.
Chest to chest, arms around one another, she and Brent swayed in sync to the music. He moved surprisingly well, knowing just how to move his hips and where to put his hands. Then again, maybe it wasn’t that surprising. He was a professional athlete after all. He was clearly well aware of his body and what to do with it. Berkley couldn’t help imagining the thingsshewanted to do with it. She reached up to run her hands through his hair, and he responded by pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck and shoulder.
The world fell away as one song ended and another started. She didn’t know how long they had been dancing, and she didn’t care. If it were up to her, she’d stay here forever.
Sooner than she would have liked, though, she had to break away. Her legs had begun to scream in protest, and she was parched. When she tilted her head back to tell him she needed a breather, she noticed two things. First, they had somehow gravitated from the center of the crowded dance floor to the fringes near the wall. Second, he had the fullest set of eyelashes she had ever seen on a man, fringing eyes that fixed on her own before dropping to her mouth and darkening.
Without warning, he spun and pushed her back against the wall, giving her a wicked smile before lowering his mouth to hers. She greeted him hungrily, unable to control her body’s natural reaction to him. He quickly had a hand tangled in her hair, the other resting on the small of her back. Desperately, she fisted her hand in the front of his shirt, yanking him toward her until there was nothing left between them. He ran his tongue across her bottom lip, and she opened up for him. Their tongues slid together, and she pulled away slightly, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth.
Much too soon, he was carefully extricating his hands from her hair but not moving his body from where it had her trapped against the wall.
“Where did your jersey go?” he asked, leaning forward to press his lips to her collarbone, trailing them up her neck to that sensitive spot below her ear that made goosebumps break out across her skin.
“Beer pong,” she said.
