Page 83 of Bleacher Report
“Nope,” he says, arms crossed over his chest, watching like he’s front row at a prize fight.
Bethany lifts her chin. “It’s important we discuss this privately—”
She doesn’t finish.
Because that’s when Peyton arrives.
She steps right into my space without hesitation, the curve of her hip brushing against my leg as she turns slightly toward me. Then, before I can blink, she’s sliding onto my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like she belongs there.
Her hand drapes over my shoulder, her sweet scent invading every one of my senses.
“What are our plans for bye week?” she asks, her voice low, meant for me but pitched just loud enough for Bethany to hear.“Cammy thinks we should head to Mexico with her and JP. I just bought a tiny bikini that barely covers anything...though I’m sure I wouldn’t be wearing it for long.” She bites her lip, a wicked shimmer in her eyes.
“Fuck me,” I mumble in a groan.
I blow out a breath, my cock already stirring at the image she’s painting. I don’t care how much sand we end up with in places it shouldn’t be—fucking Peyton on a beach just shot to the top of my fantasy list.
“You, me, and no bikini?” I ask, locking eyes with her.
She nods. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
This thing we agreed to? It's supposed to end before bye week. Two months—that’s all we gave it. If I’d known how easy it is being with her, I would’ve fought for more time.
Bethany clears her throat sharply. “Hunter.”
But I don’t take my eyes off Peyton, perched perfectly in my lap.
There’s a mischievous glint in her eye as she shifts, angling herself so that Bethany has a perfect view of the back of her jersey—my name and number stretched across her body.
“Warning, Reed,” she murmurs under her breath.
Then she leans in and kisses me.
Her hands land on my chest, mouth pressing to mine. It starts slow—just enough to make my heart hammer—but then her fingers slip behind my neck, pulling me closer. Her lips part. My tongue finds hers.
And suddenly, it’s not about Bethany. Not about fake dating. It’s just Peyton and me.
The kiss deepens—hotter, hungrier than we’ve ever let it get before outside of that night she crawled over the pillow wall naked, dreaming of me.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. So is she.
“I’ll tell Cammy we’re in for bye week,” she says, and slides off my lap, her warm body leaving a trail of fire in its wake. My hands skim down her thighs on instinct, not ready to let her go just yet.
“Oh—Bethany,” Peyton adds sweetly. “Didn’t see you there. I’ll let you two talk.”
She gives Trey a nod. “Hi, Hart.”
Trey smirks, a rare sound of amusement slipping past his lips. He knows exactly what just happened.
Peyton saunters off, hips swaying with just a touch more intention. I don’t know if she’s proud of herself, or if she just wants my eyes on her ass.
Either way, she wins. My eyes are always on her ass.
Bethany clears her throat again.
“Do you need someone to take care of that for you?” Bethany asks, her voice dripping fake sweetness. I find her blatantly staring at the outline of my hard cock through my jeans. “The bathroom’s right over there. I know someone who’d bemorethan happy to relieve you.”
To Hart’s credit, he doesn’t even blink. Just leans back in his chair like he’s watching a show he’s already seen a hundred times.
