Page 62 of The Last Guy On Earth
God. Our tongues tangle, and my body’s a jet on the runway, engines humming and ready for takeoff. The only sounds are the glug of my heart and his fevered gasp as I inadvertently bump my thickening cock against his.
More, more, more. I let my hands wander down his back and onto his firm ass. The next kiss becomes a dirty grind. I run my hands under his shirt, in search of skin. I want to get him out of these clothes. We’re going to end up on his couch, maybe.
Or not. Because suddenly it’s over.
Clay wrenches himself away, and the warmth from his body is replaced with cool air. My eyes flip open to see him step back. He puts both hands on the stone countertop and drops his head.
“Fuck,” he says, between rapid breaths. “No. I can’t, Jethro.Wecan’t. Hell. It’s just…a terrible idea.”
My body feels otherwise.
“Sorry,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say. And, yeah, I didn’t mean to go there, but for a minute he liked the idea. A lot.
I pick up my half of the cupcake and shove it into my mouth. The taste of warm chocolate explodes against my tongue.
I have no idea what just happened here, or what to do about it. But right now, I’d trade the best cupcake in America for another taste of Clay.
THIRTY
Clay
I spendthe next day in shock, trying not to lose the thread of every conversation I have at the office. Luckily, it’s a day off for the players, so I don’t have to face Jethro. I don’t have to look him in the eye and remember the way I plunged into his mouth with the enthusiasm of a championship diver off the high platform.
Ugh. I’m such an idiot. I took a difficult situation and made it impossible. Right before a road trip.
Then, forty-four hours after the world’s most explosive kiss, we head to Toronto, where I can’t hide in my office.
Instead, I’m being tracked through the hallways under the arena, greeting players, answering questions, and trying to stay out of Jethro’s way. I can’t look him in the eye yet. I’m embarrassed, I guess, even though he’d been the one to make a move.
And, fine, I’m a little miffed. He should understand by now that I’ve always had more feelings for him than he could reciprocate. Kissing me on a whim isn’t cool.
Every time I think about the gross impropriety of a coach fooling around with a player, I die a little inside. Luckily, he seems to be avoiding me, too.
I can’t say the same for his agent, Bess Beringer, who’s been stalking me through the arena. She’s chosen tonight to show up and support her player. I’m pretty sure that involves yelling at me, because I keep spotting her hovering in the near distance, waiting for her chance.
So I handle it like a grownup, ducking into the men’s room when I suspect she’s about to pounce.
I’m standing at the sink, washing my hands in peace when Bess pops the door open like a red-headed poltergeist and fixes me with a stare. “When you’re done hiding, I’d like a word.”
Busted. “I’m not hiding. I’m a busy man. And I get that you’re here to support your players, but I don’t know what we can solve during the last hour before gametime.”
“Plenty,” she says, holding the door open. “Give me five minutes of your time.”
Having no choice, I step into the corridor and stand patiently against the wall.
Bess gets right to the point. “This is a pivotal moment in Hale’s life, and also in your season. It’s been more than a month, and he still seems spooked. So I’d like to know what you’re doing about it.”
The image of running my fingers through his hair springs to mind.Fuck!
“The whole organization is supporting him the best way we know how…”By letting him kiss me and then freaking out over it. “…by giving him our full attention.”
“Besides bestowing him with the sunshine of your winning personality,” she snips, “what exactly does that mean? I’d like to hear some concrete steps you’re taking. Has he gotten extra time with the sports psychologist?”
“He can have all the time he wants with Doc Baker, Bess. We ensured he had the obligatory talk with the doc, but I’m not aware Hale’s booked any follow-up appointments.”
“Make him!” she thunders. “He happens to be terrible at taking what he needs.”
He took it in my kitchen. “Fine. I’ll be sure they speak tomorrow. What else?” I’m not enjoying this conversation, but I’m glad Jethro has an agent like Bess in his corner. She’s a bulldog.
