Page 83 of Forecheck
“Ask nicely.”
This man and his desire for manners. It would piss me off if it didn’t get me off, every damn time he made me beg for it.
“Please, baby,” I breathed. “Please.”
With a dark chuckle, he drove home.
What You Do To Me
Valentine’s Day fell theweekend after All-Star Weekend—which the Eastern Conference team won, thanks to a game-winner from yours truly—and I wanted to make it special for Berkley. I wanted to make every day special for Berkley, but Valentine’s Day was, after all, a holiday devoted to love, and I loved that girl.
I’d always considered myself a bit of a romantic. Despite having been a college athlete living on an allowance while at Michigan State, I’d always found fun and inexpensive ways to make date nights magical for Ashley. I’d set up picnics on the field in front of Munn Arena. I loved to cook, so I’d frequently spent evenings in my apartment testing out new recipes on her—and, a lot of the time, my roommates—as we sipped wine and talked about life. Those were the early days, the good ones, before she’d become the hollow, vapid version of herself, completely at odds with the girl I’d fallen for.
After Ashley, and until Berkley, I hadn’t done emotional relationships. I’d been strictly invested in the physical sort, providing a good meal, some wine—I wasn’t a total heathen—and only enough conversation to seal the deal before moving on to the next one. I wasn’t proud of the man I’d been, but it was how I’d survived.
All of that had changed with Berkley, and I’d told her as much the night I’d told her about Ashley.
She knew everything there was to know about me, and I her. There were no secrets between us.
We’d spent last weekend surrounded by people, so the last thing I wanted to do was take Berkley to a restaurant. Instead, I’d gone shopping, picking up the ingredients for chicken marsala, garlic roasted vegetables, salad, and chocolate mousse for dessert, plus a bottle of Duckhorn Cabernet because I remembered Berkley had loved it during our first date.
I’d told her to dress comfortably since we wouldn’t be leaving my condo, but when she walked into wearing an oversized Warriors’ sweater—one she’d stolen from me—and leggings, my mouth dried out. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and she walked in with her book bag slung over her shoulder, which she dropped onto the floor with a loudthunk.
The fact that I got to call this woman mine was a miracle.
Yeah, even in lounge clothes, she was still the sexiest woman I’d ever laid eyes on.
She turned and caught me staring. “What?” she asked. “You told me to dress comfortably! This is a studying outfit, which is what I was doing before I came over. This is as comfortable as I get short of being naked. Which I’m all for, but at least let me eat first.”
I approached and lifted her off her feet, setting her on the island and stepping between her legs. Cupping her face in my hands, I kissed her long and slow, sweeping my tongue into her mouth. She tasted minty, as if she’d been chewing gum before coming over, and I licked my lips as I pulled away.
“Hi,” I said.
She giggled, pushing her fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck in a way that drove me fucking wild, and my dick twitched in response. “Hi. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day. Do you want your present now or later?”
Berkley’s eyes narrowed. “Present? You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I wanted to.”
“Good, because I got you something too.”
“Definitely not necessary,” I told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek and stepping back. I helped her off the counter before I stripped those leggings off and had her for dinner instead.
Then again, the night was still young.
“Oh, I know,” she said. “But I wanted to. So let’s exchange now.”
Taking a seat on a barstool next to her, I reached across the counter and grabbed the gifts, sliding them in front of her.
“You first.”
Berkley opened the smaller present, flipping the lid off the jewelry box to reveal a rose gold necklace with a pendant shaped into the number twenty-two and flanked by two stones, deep blue on one side, dark red on the other.
“Your jersey number,” she breathed. “With the Warriors colors!”
“Do you like it?” When I’d ordered it from the jeweler, I was a little worried she’d see it as me branding her. Kind of like when Haley got Nathan’s jersey number tattooed above her ass inOne Tree Hill.
