Page 26 of Blindside Love

“Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to bend you over right here, fill you with my cock until you screamed so loud people in the bar would know my name,” I groan, using every ounce of restraint that I have to not keep going. I was barely able to stop myself as it was.

Even though tonight proves what I’d figured, Ellie isn’t as unfazed by me as she tries to let on; I know something is still holding her back. While I’d love to get naked with her, I’d like to do it more than once, so I’m trying to be patient.

“Then why aren’t you?” she asks quietly, some of her confidence deteriorating. I can see the defeat in her eyes.

Shit.

“Kitten, I want to kiss you, don’t twist this. But I want you to want it too. If I saw it in your eyes right now that you weren’t afraid, that you weren’t afraid of me, of this, of taking this further, I’d be carrying you all the way back to my bed right now. But that’s not what I see. I see someone scared by what they want, and that’s okay. But until you’re one hundred percent sure, I won’t cross that line,” I tell her, leaning down to brush a kiss against her lips.

When I pull back, she’s smiling, and damn, I wish I could take a picture to remember this feeling.

“Fine, pretty boy,” she grumbles, but she’s still smiling so I’ll call it a win.

“Let’s get you home before you freeze to death.”

Mom

Dinner is at 6. I’m making your favorite.

I can’t make it tonight, sorry.

Mom

Unless you’re bleeding, broken, or dead, I expect you here.

I feel like my brain is bleeding, does that count?

“Trevor Michael, cut the shit,” my mother snaps into the phone, obviously over our texting conversation already. She’s not actually grumpy. Hell, she’s rarely ever grumpy with anyone, well, unless you really deserve it. “I don’t want to hear your weak ass excuses. Unless you’re broken or bleeding, you’ll be here for dinner tonight, if you know what’s good for you.”

Mama don’t play when it comes to our weekly dinners, especially when it’s a last-minute cancellation. She looks forward to weekly dinners just as much as I do, so she needs a heads up to mentally prepare to not see me.

At least that’s what I tell myself—she’d probably just be annoyed she spent all day cooking for me.

“But I’m tired, Mom. We had the game last night, and the team got together after. It ended up being a late night.”

“You do not get to bail on dinner just because you’re tired. Besides, I heard you had an early night last night. That you and some girl ended up bailing on the outing? Or at least that’s what my spy said this morning when we bumped into each other at Mickey’s.”

“What? Dammit, woman. Stop making Cade tell you my secrets—you can’t withhold your jam just for secrets.”

“You can’t stop me. I can and I will. I’m a grown-ass woman. Besides, what good is learning to make delicious jam if I can’t use it to barter secrets about my son’s love life?”

“You’re incorrigible,” I chuckle, knowing damn well that she held Cade up at the cafe until he spilled everything he knew. We’d pretty much tell her anything if she tried to withhold her jam, it’s that damn good.

“See you at six, right?”

“Fine, woman. I’ll be there,” I grumble.

“I can’t wait for you to tell me all about Emily,” my mother says cheerfully.

“Her name is Ellie,” I say far too quickly based on her little giggle.

“Just making sure you were listening, sweetie. See you tonight!”

With that, she hangs up.

There’s something to say about the conversation with my mother. She always gets what she wants, and she’s fucking effective, that’s for damn sure. I guess she had to be, though, with my father working a lot, my sister playing softball and soccer in high school, and I was basically playing hockey full-time, so she was always busy.

I love her more than life, but damn, I’m not ready to be interrogated. Not because I don’t want to tell her. No, if Cade hadn’t told her first, I would’ve. She and I are close. She knows I got messed up when I broke up with my ex back in college, but that was over twelve years ago. I think ever since then, she’s taken a bigger interest in my love life. Or lack of love life.

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