THERE’S nothing like winning the first home game of the season to put you in a great fucking mood.
We played phenomenally. It felt good to get back out there with my guys and lead them to a victory. Even Faulkner was happy, and he’s never happy, so we must have played as well as I know we did.
We were all desperate to prove to him, despite the bullshit of the last few weeks, that we all deserve a spot on this team.
Coach and Robbie immediately had us sit around the table, analyzing the game while it was fresh in our heads. That’s the bit I usually hate, especially after a win when I want to celebrate with a beer or ten.
The adrenaline pumping around my body doesn’t want to revisit every pass and score while confined to a room. That’s how the guys felt the moment they took a seat; I could tell by their tapping and shuffling and compliance to every word from Coach’s mouth.
For once, I was perfectly calm.
I don’t get to make mistakes this year; every move must be perfect.
Robbie wanted to wrap things up early, his eyes floating to his smart watch every time it lit up. I knew Sabrina was somewhere in the building, proudly wearing the jersey I sent her.
Sabrina is something else. Bold, confident, and completely shameless. She walked into the locker rooms after Robbie asked her to visit him before the game, and while most of us were changed, she came exceptionally close to seeing JJ’s balls.
Faulkner stopped in his tracks when he came out of a side room and saw her. “You can’t be in here! This is the men’s locker room!”
Sabrina put her acting skills to good use and waved her arms around, frantically shouting back at him in what I later learned was Arabic.
Faulkner assumed she was a lost tourist from Washington or something and escorted her out. Thankfully, JJ’s balls were safely back away by that point.
Afterward, Robbie explained Brin is Brooklyn born and raised, but her parents are Algerian. “Hot as fuck, isn’t it? She’s so smart. I can only just cope with English, and she just effortlessly switches all the time. Sometimes I get her to whisper shit to me in Arabic; she could be saying anything. It all sounds so goddamn good.”
Yeah, not jealous at all.
Post-game nights out have always been the crème de la crème of nights out. We start at a party on frat row, not my favorite place to be, but since half the team isn’t twenty-one and can’t go to a club, it’s nice to have a few drinks together before we part ways for the night.
Then we head to The Honeypot, which is, in my humble opinion, the best club in West Hollywood. B, Summer’s roommate, and the worst drink mixer ever, works there and arranges tables for us.
Now that Henry lives with us, B made a secret arrangement with me to let him in without carding him, since he isn’t twenty-one. I had to promise never to tell anyone so she didn’t end up with half of UCMH on her doorstep, and in return, I get her, Summer, and Cami the best seats for our home games.
It’s an easy promise to keep, because if the rest of the team knew I was pulling strings for Henry, I’d never know peace again.
Within minutes of our arrival, the booth was covered in bottles and unsurprisingly, several drinks in, half the team is wasted.
JJ and Robbie are having what looks like a very intense heart-to-heart, full of back-slapping and digging each other in the arm affectionately. They keep tapping their drinks together to cheers, although I have no idea what they’re celebrating.
Joe and Kris are still watching Henry like he’s the Discovery Channel, desperately trying to learn his ways.
Bobby, Mattie, and some of the other guys have disappeared to make friends with a bachelorette party on the other side of the dance floor.
JJ and Robbie finally break apart to look over at me as I continue to people watch while sipping on my drink. JJ laughs, nodding in the direction of where Anastasia and Sabrina are dancing. “You fucked it with her already?”
“Probably.”
I don’t bother mentioning my plan to win her over or how surprised she looked when I stepped around her earlier, leaving her with my friends. From now on, she’s going to come to me.
IT’S BEEN HOURS, and all I can think about is smooth, tanned, glowy skin. She’s in a lilac dress that’s so fucking tight, melting over every inch of her so perfectly it looks like a second skin.
It plunges between her breasts, and that’s where my ability to describe what she’s wearing ends, because as soon as my eye line travels over the strained material covering her tits, all the blood in my body rushes straight to my dick.
Her light brown hair is wavy, flowing down her back to just above the curve of her ass, an ass I know feels fucking amazing. She rolls her hips in time to the beat, smiling and bringing the drink in her hand to her mouth.
The song finally merges into the next one; I see her tap Brin and point in the direction of the booth, meaning I can finally stop watching her like a fucking creep. I would have joined her dancing, but I didn’t want to be the guy that gets in a woman’s space when they’re trying to have a good time with their friend. I’ve got to stick to the plan and not get sidetracked. Not to mention I can’t dance.
When the guys realized most of the bachelorette party were married, they retreated to the booth with their tails between their legs, and now the bottles are emptying much quicker.
Brin bursts into the booth first, cheeks flushed and a drunk, soppy smile on her face. She looks at Robbie like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen in her life, lunging forward to press her mouth against him, dropping herself into his lap.
He runs his hand up and down her shin gently, muttering something to her that makes her bury her head into his neck.
Anastasia is right behind her, and she’s even more beautiful close-up. Her eyes scan the booth looking for a spot to sit, scowling when she finds it full of two hundred–pound hockey players, but then her eyes land on me, and she shamelessly checks me out.
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, fingers tapping on the glass in her hand as she scans the booth one more time. I’m about to tell her to sit with me, but she bends over, whispering into JJ’s ear.
I shoot Kris a glare that tells him I will fucking kill him after I catch him pat Mattie’s chest to get his attention, then pointing in her direction.
Her dress hardly covers her ass, and I’m about 0.1 seconds away from covering her with my jacket. Standing up straight, laughing at whatever Jaiden said, she tucks her hair behind her ears, casting me a look over her shoulder.
JJ spreads his legs wide, letting her step between them and sit on his knee. Her arm circles around his neck, and I’m surprised the glass in my hand doesn’t shatter; I’m gripping it that tight.
Fuck the plan. The jealousy is suffocating me. I throw back the rest of my drink, letting the cold liquor soothe the burning in my chest.
I’m on my feet and brushing past the legs of my teammates before I even have time to consider this reckless, drunken display of envy. She is either trying to get under my skin or doesn’t give a fuck about me, but either way, she’s reaching distance from me now.
I bend down, my mouth millimeters from her ear. “Dance with me?”
Heat spreads through my body when she shudders because I love how she reacts to me. I move back, giving her room to stand. Instead, she looks over her shoulder, tongue flicking out to wet her bottom lip, blue eyes glossy, staring up at me. “We can make that happen. Just ask me nicely.”
She grins as a shocked laugh rumbles in my throat. I hold out my hand, which she links with hers, letting me tug her to her feet.
I know the team is watching us like a soap opera, but I don’t give a shit. Her body molds to mine, face much closer with the five inches added to her height by her stilettos. I’m sure they’re the heels that left red marks on my back, and when my dick twitches, I realize now isn’t the right time to remember that.
“This is me asking you very nicely. Will you dance with me?”
“Only because you won today,” she shoots back, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
She takes our joined hands and rests them right above the swell of her ass, navigating us through the crowd to the dance floor.
I don’t even know how to fucking dance. I just know I want the feel of her body on mine, and if I had to watch her touching JJ for a minute longer, I was going to rip his head from his body.
We reach the middle of the dance floor, where the lights are flashing, but she keeps going, dragging me through the drunk, sloppy clubgoers to an area of the dance floor the lights don’t quite reach. “Our audience will have to find someone else to watch.”
Despite all the alcohol flowing through my bloodstream right now, I’m painfully aware of the feel of her body pressed against mine. “I don’t know how to dance.”
“I’ll show you.”
The song changes to something slower, darker, dirtier. Her body turns in my arms, ass pressed up to me so tightly there isn’t any space between us. Her head falls back to my shoulder, and she drags my hands down her body until my fingers are digging into her hips.
Rocking us side to side to the music, her ass rolls and grinds until I’m so painfully hard there’s no fucking way she can’t feel it. My head falls to her shoulder, immediately inhaling her sweet scent. “You’re fucking killing me, Stas,” I groan into her neck. Her hands reach behind until they’re linked behind my head, and when I look down her body, I can see the stiff peaks of her nipples protruding through the flimsy material of her dress.
I wish we weren’t in a crowded nightclub. I wish we were at home so I could roll her nipples between my fingers or dip my hand between her thighs, hopefully finding her wearing no underwear again.
I’m practically panting, heart hammering, body on fire. I didn’t think I could feel better after today’s win, but hearing Stas’s satisfied sighs as I run my hands over her waist, whispering how fucking good her body feels against mine into her ear, means it’s definitely better.
I’m acting like I’ve never had a woman rub up against me before, like I haven’t been the guy in the dark corner of the club with the beautiful girl in his arms. Still, Anastasia’s attention feels like a reward.
The song ends and she unwinds her body from mine. When she turns around, her cheeks are flushed red, chest heaving, skin shimmering. I run my finger across her cheekbone, feeling the heat sear my finger, and watch her eyes widen as they lock with mine.
My hand cups the side of her throat, fingers gripping the back of her neck, thumb rubbing against her erratic pulse. I’m addicted to her when she’s like this. When she forgets about this game we’re playing, when her eyes drink me in, and her hands grip the front of my shirt like she’s scared I’m going to slip away.
Our faces are dangerously close, I feel her breath against my lips.
“Hey, lovebirds. You two ready to go?” Brin shouts from behind me. My forehead falls against Stassie’s, the regret of not seizing the moment hanging in the air.
She releases my shirt, stepping backward, fingers tapping against her lips. “Yeah, let’s go.”
If feeling Anastasia’s body grinding against mine in a nightclub was my reward, having her sitting in my lap in the Uber on the way home is my punishment.
I slipped our driver an extra fifty bucks to let the girls get in with us. Otherwise, we would have had to get another ride for only two people. Henry and Bobby are on the front bench with the driver; JJ, Kris, and Robbie are in the middle row, with Sabrina across them; I’m in the backseat with Stas on my knee.
She wanted to sit on Henry’s knee, but he politely said no. So now, she’s wiggling about, leaning forward to talk to Sabrina in the row in front of us, and I’m stuck looking at the way her waist slopes in from her ass, trying not to think about how well my hands would fit there if I was p—never mind.
“Stassie, you need to lean back. You need to let me put this seat belt around you,” I say softly, pulling her shoulders back slowly.
She doesn’t fight me; she leans back against my chest and lets me pull the seat belt across her. I don’t know where to put my hands, so they’re gripping the seat in an attempt not to make this more challenging than it already is.
“What are you doing?” she asks, head tilting upward until her nose is brushing the underside of my jaw.
“What do you mean?” Even though the car is full of the others shouting and laughing, for some reason, we’re whispering.
She nudges me again with her nose. “You’re not touching me…” Her hands grip my forearms and travel down to where my fingers are digging into the seat, pulling them away and wrapping them around her body instead. An evil giggle slips from her lips. “You’re hard.”
I can’t even stop the embarrassing groan that seeps out. “Yeah, my dick’s having a hard time realizing the wriggling around you’re doing isn’t for our benefit.”
If it’s even possible, she relaxes her body farther into mine and intertwines our hands, placing them both in a comfortable position on her thighs. This feels manageable. No wiggling or squirming; I can get back to Maple Hills like this. Hand-holding and relaxed bodies. Nice, nothing to stress about.
“If it makes you feel any less embarrassed,” she whispers, moving our right hands along her inner thigh until I can feel the heat radiating from between her legs. “I’m so fucking wet.” Widening her knees, she moves our joined hands closer. “And I’m not wearing any panties.”
