Page 63 of My Secret Bandit

“If you say so. I came by to check on you. Y’all look like you’ve got everything handled so I’ll leave you to it. Stay safe.”

I didn’t know what made me hotter, the way Mateo’s entire palm gripped my ass or the embarrassment from the conversation.

Xander turned, opening the door.

“Wait. Since you’re here. We need one.” Mateo looked down to see my expression that probably looked more curious than anything. “Extra protection,” he clarified with another shrug.

Xander faked surprise as he pulled a condom from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Say it isn’t so! Mateo Linx just asked me for a condom. Never thought I’d see the day.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not that y’all give two shits about my rep, but the lady at the pharmacy definitely thinks I’m a massive sleaze.”

Mateo laughed, holding onto his side as he took the shiny square package from Xander. “Is she wrong though?”

“Ha. Ha. Fuck you, Mattie.”

“Love you too. Thank you!” he said as Xander continued down the hall.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m sorry you had to see that Jamie,” he yelled back.

“Oh my God.” I laughed, covering my face with my hands before realization hit. “Hold up. Xander just carries condoms around for you guys?” The idea struck me as smart. Responsible, even. But also weird as hell. Like the grown-up version of asking your teacher for a pencil.

Or I guess it’d be more like those jelly grip things I used to cover my pencils with in junior high.

“Yeah. He started carrying them for one specific guy who had a thing for the jersey chasers. He just kind of kept doing it even after that first guy left.”

All the blood drained from my face. “Am I a jersey chaser?”

His head went back in laughter that resulted in him clutching his side again. “Not even close.” One warm palm cupped the side of my jaw. He shifted, closing the space between our lips before I moved.

“You think we could put the whole condom usage thing on hold?” I asked, feeling my stomach growl, remembering my entire food consumption for the day included a small bowl of fruit before the game.

“Anything for you, baby,” he smiled, kissing the top of my head. Mateo had room service on the phone seconds later.

I used that time to get out of the rest of my clothes. More specifically, the crushing confines of my underwire bra. I threw everything into a pile in the closet, trading them for a comfortable, loosely fitted camisole and pants set.

Mateo whistled when I came back to sit with him on the couch. “I love this on you,” he said, his fingers sliding up and down the thin strap of my nightshirt.

“And I love this off of you.” I pulled his shirt until it no longer acted as a barrier of cloth between my hands and his warm skin. I caressed the deep tawny length of his torso, cognizant of the massive bruise on his side that darkened as the minutes ticked by. The image of how the discoloration got there plagued my vision and my body stiffened, eyes glued to the bruise.

“Today was so scary,” I said without realizing the words were even coming out. “Seeing you on the ground. Not moving. It felt like it lasted forever.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m happy you’re here, but I wish you weren’t there to see that.” He pulled me closer to him and I laid my head on his shoulder.

“I would’ve seen it, regardless. Football can be violent. I know that. It’s just different when it’s—“ My voice faded out and I traced his abs. Muscles flexed and the familiar goosebumps appeared beneath my fingertips.

“Different when it’s what?” His knowing tone made my heart race. When I didn’t respond, he chuckled. Twirling a finger in my ponytail, he leaned his head on mine.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I know you love me and knowing is enough.”

My breath hitched. Why, I’m not sure. I almost said it at the diner with Sierra, and I wanted to tell him this morning in the conference room. Somehow wanting to say it and Mateo knowing that made it more real.

Before I had too much time to think about it, another knock on our door sounded. I jumped up and let room service roll in a cart filled with food.

“What the hell did you order?” I snickered, closing the door behind the hotel staff.

“Little bit of this, a little bit of that. I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for, so I picked a few different things,” he said, standing to join me.

The cart sat by the door, loaded with a handful of different covered plates. Under them everything from a simple cheeseburger and fries to fancy filet mignon with roasted vegetables. Chilled champagne and two glass flutes rested in the middle.

“Sit down. I’ll get you whatever you want.”

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