Three Weeks Later
Six half-naked football players compete in a twerking contest while “It’s Raining Men” blasts out of the wireless speakers.
No, that’s not the setup for a raunchy joke.
It’s what Hollis and I come home to on this chilly Tuesday morning. We’d just finished practice and then grabbed breakfast at the diner in Hastings, because Summer said she needed the dining room and living room for her final fittings.
Hollis’ jaw falls open as he takes in the scene before him. “Is this the wrong house?” he asks me.
“Yeah, Rex!” Brenna is shouting from her spot on the armchair. She waves a dollar bill in the air, while Summer and a girl I don’t recognize laugh uncontrollably from the couch.
The star wide receiver of the Briar football team shakes his ass before sauntering over to Brenna and proceeding to give her a lap dance.
“Nope,” I hear Hollis mutter. “Nope, nope, nope.”
A second later, he’s in front of the entertainment unit, powering off the speaker.
The music stops.
Rex’s dance comes to an abrupt end. At first the big guy looks disappointed, but then he notices me in the doorway and says, “Fitzgerald! Whadda ya think?” He points both index fingers at his Speedo.
Well, technically not a Speedo, but a Summer Lovin’ original. Rex is wearing navy-blue briefs with silver stripes on the sides, and when he does a full turn, I grin at the S stitched on his ass.
“It’s nice,” I tell him. But it’s a bathing suit, and I have no opinion one way or the other about bathing suits. I’ve owned the same pair of trunks for like five years.
Summer rolls her eyes. “Don’t bother with Fitzy. He doesn’t understand fashion.” She gets up from the couch and approaches Grier Lockett. “Don’t move for a sec. Something’s not right with this seam.”
And then my girlfriend drops to her knees in front of another man’s junk and starts fondling him.
“Summer,” I say politely.
She pokes her head from around Lockett’s crotch. “What is it, sweetie?”
“Do you need help jacking him off?”
Rex and the others break out in gales of laughter. Summer gives me the finger, and my jaw drops when she reaches around and pats Lockett on the butt.
“Okay, take these off and put on real clothes. I’m gonna need to take that apart and restitch it.”
Lockett hooks his fingers under the waistband.
“In the bathroom!” she squeaks before he can yank his trunks down. “Jesus!”
“Well, you’re no fun.” Pouting, Lockett lumbers out of the living room.
“The rest of you can get dressed too. Everything looks great.” She turns to address Rex, who I know is the unofficial leader of the offense. His quarterback, Russ Wiley, might be the actual captain, but I hear Russ is an egomaniac. Rex, meanwhile, is universally loved.
“So we’re all set for next week? The show starts at nine, but I’ll need you guys there at least an hour before.”
“Don’t worry, cutie. We’ll be there with balls on.”
“Bells,” Brenna’s friend corrects from the sofa.
Rex fixes her with a stern look. “Audrey. When I say balls, I mean balls.”
She snorts and goes back to checking her phone.
“Are you sure the timing is okay?” Summer presses. “I heard Bibby mention something about a team-building retreat, but isn’t it the off-season?”
“It is,” Bibby grumbles.
Jules, another wide receiver, rolls his eyes. “Coach is making us attend this hippie-dippie bullshit course because we fell apart in the playoffs.”
“Because Wiley fell apart in the playoffs,” Lockett corrects, referring to their quarterback.
I don’t miss the disappointment in their expressions. Before this season, it had been a while since Briar had produced a football team with a good record. The fact that they’d ranked so high this year only to lose in the postseason must kill them.
“He thinks we have trust issues,” Jules says. He shrugs. “So we’ve been sentenced to five days of forced camaraderie.”
Brenna raises her eyebrows. “Five days? That’s savage.”
“We get back on the day of the show,” Rex says. When he notices Summer’s worried eyes, he ruffles her hair reassuringly. “But we’ll have plenty of time to spare. The bus is dropping us at campus around seven-thirty, eight.”
Summer nods with relief. “Okay. Perfect.”
As the players leave the room to change into their street clothes, Summer gathers her supplies and tucks them into the huge sewing case on the coffee table. Audrey is now chatting with Lockett, who returns in track pants and a Patriots hoodie. And in the armchair, Brenna is now bent over her phone, her long hair forming a dark curtain around her face.
“Who are you texting?” Summer asks her.
“Nobody.”
But it’s clearly somebody, based on her secretive tone and the quick glance she flicks in Hollis’ direction. The cloud of hurt in his blue eyes is unmistakable, and sympathy tugs at my gut. I don’t think he’s given up on the idea of him and Brenna yet, but it’s been about a month since they hooked up, and it’s evident she’s not looking for a repeat.
“I’m making a coffee,” he finally mutters, tearing his gaze off Brenna. “Want one, Fitz?”
“No thanks.” I had two cups at Della’s and I’m still wired.
The moment he disappears into the kitchen, Summer launches an interrogation. “Spill, Bee. Who is he? Do I know him?”
Brenna shrugs. “You met him once.”
Summer continues watching her like a hawk. “Who is it?” I’m pretty sure she’s holding her breath as she awaits Brenna’s response. When she doesn’t get one within three seconds, she blurts out, “Is it Jake Connelly?”
My head swivels toward Brenna. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“God, no. It’s not Connelly. He’s such a prick.”
“Then who!” Summer demands. “Just tell me. Otherwise I’ll steal your phone and—”
“Relax, crazy girl. It’s Josh, okay?”
“Who?”
“McCarthy,” Brenna clarifies.
Summer gasps. “The Harvard guy? Oh my God. How do you even have his number?”
“He messaged me on Facebook. Wanted to apologize for losing his shit when he found out who my dad was.” Brenna offers another shrug. “We’re just fooling around, though. Nothing serious.”
I don’t miss how she discreetly slips the phone into her purse, as if a part of her is worried Summer might actually try to snatch it from her. And there’s no more discussion after that, because the rest of the guys file into the room and exchange their goodbyes with Summer. Brenna and Audrey announce they’re taking off too, so our front hall turns into a can of sardines as eight people (six of them enormous football players) put on their coats and boots and various winter gear.
“Hey, Summer.” One of the players hesitates at the door. He’s got a mop of curly brown hair and a shy expression. “Are there any tickets still available? I checked online and it said the show’s sold out.”
“It is, but all the designers get a block of tickets to give away. I think I have about five left. How many do you need, Chris?”
“Just one. It’s for my girlfriend, Daphne.”
Summer freezes. And I mean freezes. She was in the process of reaching up to tuck some hair behind her ear, and her arm literally stops midair. Then it drops abruptly to her side, and at least five seconds tick by as she stares at Chris, whose body language displays some serious discomfort.
“Do you mean… Did you ever go out with a Kappa named Kaya, by any chance?”
Chris shoves his gloved hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I dated Kaya. But that was a long time ago.” He frowns. “I’m with Daphne now.”
“Daphne Kettleman?”
He looks startled. “Yeah. You know her?”
Summer’s entire body seems to vibrate with excitement. “No. I don’t know her.”
Since she moved in with us, I’ve witnessed this girl get excited about many things.
Her Prada boots.
One Direction.
Leonardo DiCaprio.
Sex.
But I’ve never seen her face light up the way it does during this conversation about Daphne Kettleman. Whoever that is.
“Oh my God. Okay. I’m sorry. I’m freaking out right now.” She’s practically bouncing on her feet. “I can’t wait to meet her. Tell her I’m a huge fan. Oh my God, tell her we need to chill at the after-party.”
Chris gives her a strange look.
As he should. I’d be weirded out too if, for no discernible reason, some crazy blonde lost her shit at the thought of meeting my girlfriend.
“Um. Sure. I’ll tell her.” He starts backing away, then mutters a hasty goodbye and flees.
“Because that wasn’t fucking weird,” I tell Summer.
She beams at me. “You don’t even know. Daphne’s reputation precedes her.” And then she babbles on about Daphne and alcohol poisoning and someone stealing Daphne’s clothes, and I follow her up the stairs and try to keep up until my eyes finally glaze over.
We enter my room and I lock the door, shutting Summer up the only way I know how—by kissing her.
But kissing her never fails to lead to a raging hard-on, which she notices instantly. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning, Fitz. How are you always so horny, no matter what?”
“My cock can’t tell time.”
She laughs, a sweet melody that makes my dick sing along with anticipation. I kiss her again, and we’re naked in no time at all, making out on the bed with our legs tangled together and our hands busy exploring.
As her fingers roam my bare chest, she releases a happy sigh. “There should be a law stating you’re not allowed to wear a shirt ever.”
“There should be a law stating you’re not allowed to wear anything ever.” I ease out of her grip and kiss my way down her centerfold body until I reach my favorite place on earth.
I go down on her until she’s clawing at the sheets and begging me to get inside her, but rather than climb on top of her, I sprawl on my back and tug her on top of me.
“Ride me,” I tell her, and she’s happy to oblige.
In a heartbeat, I’ve got a condom on and there’s a beautiful woman grinding on my dick. Pain stings my pecs as she digs her nails into my skin, her pelvis moving in slow, seductive strokes. The teasing tempo doesn’t last long, though. Soon her pace increases and she’s riding me in earnest.
I lie back and admire the view, her perky breasts swaying as she moves, the flush rising in her cheeks. She bites her bottom lip, and I can see in her eyes that she’s close. She’s got that fuzzy, blissed-out look that I love, and when she cries out and collapses on top of me, her orgasm pushes me over the edge. I wrap my arms around her as she milks every last drop of pleasure from my body. I can only manage short, ragged breaths, and it takes a few minutes before my brain is able to function again. I open my eyes to find Summer grinning at me.
“You okay?” she teases.
I groan. “I can’t feel my legs.”
“Oh, you poor baby.” She strokes my shoulders and kisses a spot between my pecs. “How can I make it better?”
“You just did.”
I groan at the loss of her when she climbs off me. And I’m still sporting a semi, a fact she wastes no time commenting on when she returns from the bathroom.
“Oh good!” Her eyes light up. “You’ll be ready to go again soon.”
I roll onto my side. “Damn, woman, one orgasm isn’t enough for you? You have incredibly high expectations.”
“I require at least two.” She jumps on the bed and nestles in front of me so that she’s my little spoon. “I’m kidding. I’m good for now. That was incredible.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” I agree. I sling an arm around and hold her tight. I’m feeling sleepy all of a sudden. “Wanna take a nap?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” She sounds drowsy too.
My eyelids flutter closed. I feel myself starting to drift, my mind starting to fade, when suddenly I remember something. “Hey. Babe.”
“Hmmm?” She snuggles her ass closer to my groin, and the heat of her body seeps into me.
“Thursday night.”
“What about it?”
“It’s the fundraiser. The one Kamal Jain wants me to go to. His assistant emailed me the details this morning. It’s at your hotel.”
That gets her attention. “The Heyward Plaza?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” I run my fingers over her hip. Her skin is so fucking soft. “I have a plus one.”
“Hmmm?”
I laugh. “I feel like we can have an entire conversation with just hmmms and mmm-hmmms.”
“We should try it when I’m not in an orgasm coma.”
“Deal.” I press a kiss on the nape of her neck. “You wanna go to the fundraiser with me?”
“Hold on. You’re inviting me to a fancy party where I get to dress up and be social? What the hell is wrong with you? That’s so not my scene.”
I sigh. “You’re right. That was a stupid question.”
“Of course I’ll go. But I have one condition.”
“Hmmm?”
“Well, yeah.” My shoulders tremble with laughter as I wrap my arms tighter around her. “I’d never dream of picking my own.”
