Page 45 of Playing the Field
This should feel moreawkward than it does.
That’s my first thought when my eyes pop open to Saturday morning sunlight streaming in through the window, because we forgot to cover it with the velvet curtains, which hang uselessly on either side. The second thought is that I feel awfully good for someone who only slept about two hours.
Waking up naked in Hunter Reyes’s arms should feel weird, wrong, or awkward at the very least. Instead, when I focus enough to take in his beautiful face sleeping peacefully on the pillow next to mine, I feel good. Happy. Satisfied.
So this is what it feels like to have great sex with a hot guy and not let my inhibitions get in the way.
Huh. Good to know.
I only have a minute or so to gaze at Hunter’s relaxed face before he begins to wake up. I see the crease deepen between his eyes, the set of his jaw harden, the haze in his eyes return tosharp focus. It’s comforting because this is the guy I’ve come to know over the past month. It’s also a little sad because it means our fantasy evening is quickly being replaced by reality.
And the reality is that we need to keep last night under lock and key. There’s too much at stake for both of us to risk word getting out. I’m preparing a speech to that effect in my mind when Hunter rolls toward me until his hips connect with mine. He has a wicked smile, some morning wood, and when his hands cup my face, I decide that my speech can wait.
An hour later,once we’ve made use of the steam shower and some very plush towels, there’s a knock on the hotel room door. I panic, wrapping the white towel tighter around myself and backing against the wall like a caught animal.
“Concierge,” a voice calls from the other side of the door.
Hunter laughs. “Relax.” I back into the bedroom, which is out of view of the smaller sitting room of the suite.
Hunter joins me a second later, holding out a shopping bag. “For you.”
I don’t make any move to take it. “That’s not mine.”
Hunter puts it on the bed beside me. “It is now. I wasn’t sure of your size, so I asked for a couple. We can return the ones that don’t fit later.”
“You…bought me clothes?” I venture a finger into the bag, moving the tissue paper aside like it might bite. I see folded jeans, a few shirts, a baseball cap, and flip-flops.
“I figured if I wanted you to have breakfast with me, it was the least I could do. So you don’t have to wear your clothes from last night.”
“You’re saving me from the walk of shame?” I’m so dumbfounded that any man would do this, let alone do it for me, that Ineed him to say it again. So he does, emphasizing that there’s no shame as far as he’s concerned.
I blink in disbelief. “You are…you’re very surprising, soccer star. I like it.”
He smiles. “Good. Because I like you.”
It takes another hour for me to get dressed because Hunter pulls the towel off my body, and we get highly distracted, but eventually, we make it to a small greasy spoon pancake place that is dark enough inside that there’s little chance of Hunter being noticed, especially at our table in the back.
He has on the baseball cap he was wearing when he walked into R&D Grill last night, and each time I look up at him, my mind goes straight back to the night we just spent. There’s a permanent flush on my cheeks and a trail of sweat between my boobs just thinking about Hunter’s naked body and all the things he did to mine.
House music plays through surround-sound speakers, but it’s not so loud that it drowns out conversation. On a late Saturday morning in Hollywood, the place is packed: tables for two jammed with foursomes, stacks of pancakes coming off the grill at a breakneck pace, and plates under a warmer.
The servers move quickly between tables, refilling coffee and taking orders, all of which involve pancakes. The only question is what to eatwiththe pancakes, and most of the options involve meat. It seems like the polar opposite of the kind of place an athlete would find sustenance, but the pancakes smelled so good from the sidewalk that I wasn’t about to argue.
I run a hand over Hunter’s forearm, examining his tattoos in more detail. “How did you choose these?”
He looks down at the assortment of inked images—a yin and yang symbol, a lion and a dove. “A lot of them are reminders to seek balance. Find the Zen moments. I’m not always successful, as you can see.”
“You should give yourself more credit.”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
A fifty-something couple in all black workout clothes sits across the aisle with a big golden retriever wearing a service dog vest. I want to pet the dog so badly, but I know better. Noticing me smiling at their dog, the woman offers me a tiny piece of her bacon. “You want to give Lacy a treat? Go on.”
“Oh yes. Please.” I gratefully accept the bacon, and Lacy already knows the drill. She pads over and sits in front of me, assuming her best obedient-dog posture.
“Good girl,” I tell her, rubbing her neck and patting her flank. I give her the bacon and the dog goes back beneath the table like she’s done this a hundred times.
I catch Hunter smiling at me. “What?”
