Page 18 of Sin

My cock grew so uncomfortably hard, I had to discreetly adjust myself, praying that she wouldn’t notice.

I’ve had a handful of sexual thoughts about her over the years. Maybe her kneeling in front of me or naked on my bed. They stopped there. I forced my brain to go somewhere else while I beat my cock.

I didn’t want to want her. I tried to convince myself I didn’t, that it was only a passing thought that came from nowhere.

What if it wasn’t? What if this recent attraction was actually lying dormant all along?

“Can I at least put honey in this horrendous tea?” Lily asks, thankfully pulling me from my head.

“No. Honey is basically sugar. You don’t want to spike your insulin before bed.”

Her eyelids flutter. “I’ve eaten candy before bed and slept fine. I can promise you my lack of sleep has nothing to do with sugar.”

“You don’t know that for sure. This is just something we’re trying. A sleep ritual. Chamomile tea and relaxing conversation.”

She sucks in her lips to fight a smile.

“What?”

“Ethan, nothing about you is relaxing.”

“How about I start talking about myself? That should put you right to sleep.”

“Great idea.” Her face lights up as she sits up straighter. “I have a question for you.”

A smile rises to my lips. I love that she didn’t contradict me when I basically called myself boring. There’s something so playful about her teasing. I can’t explain it, but it makes me feel accepted. Flaws and all.

“What?” I ask.

“Why do you live the life of a fifty-five-year-old man with acid reflux? Noah tells me you don’t even eat after a certain time every night, and you take a million supplements every day. I don’t understand it. If I looked like you—” she gestures at my chest “—I’d eat In-N-Out five times a day.”

My gut clenches, like it does every time she even hints that I’m attractive. Crazy. I’ve gotten enough validation over the years to know I’m a good-looking guy.

And it doesn’t matter to Lily that I’m good-looking. She’s speaking about me now like I’m a biological specimen under her examination. Hell, she just compared me to a fifty-five-year-old man with acid reflux.

“What’s the point of working out so much if you can’t enjoy the benefits?” she asks.

I shrug. “I want to be the best version of myself, especially when I have this chance of making it to the NFL. I can’t control everything that happens on the field. There are too many moving pieces. Keeping my brain and body in top shape is one of the few things I can control.”

She rubs her thumb along the cardboard sleeve of her cup. “It doesn’t sound fun. In fact, it sounds kind of miserable.”

A chill skitters over my skin. My frat brothers and teammates constantly tease me about being a control freak, but holy shit, no one has called me miserable before. How many people can say that NFL scouts are attending their games just to see them? I’m one of the luckiest people I know.

She must sense my unease, because her face softens. “I mean…I’m sure you’re not miserable, but it just seems that way to me. It’s probably because we’re built differently. I like parties and movie nights and painting, and you like…working out and taking supplements.”

When I snort out a laugh, she smiles sheepishly. “I’m sure you have a lot of other hobbies. I don’t know you that well.”

I scratch the back of my head. “I don’t do much else besides football, school, and church stuff, but that won’t always be the case. I’m good at delaying gratification. I can put in the work now for a later reward.”

“Damn,” she mutters. “I wish I had your discipline. It’s not fair. Have you always been this way?”

“Pretty much. I had a high GPA in high school, even though I was constantly busy with football and church. I don’t know, Lily.” I smile. “Maybe it’s all part of my brand of asshole. I don’t have a personality, right? It frees up a lot of time in my schedule.”

She scoffs. “You do have a personality. You know I was just being a dick when I said you don’t. My guess is you have high-achieving parents. I’ll bet they’re both top CEOs or something. That would explain why you live in the fanciest frat house in the whole Greek scene.”

“No,” I say immediately. “Nothing could be further from the truth. My brother pays for my tuition and rent, though I plan to pay him back someday. My dad left when I was eight, thankfully, but my mom has always struggled to make ends meet. That’s why I’m so on top of my grades and football performance. If I don’t make it to the NFL, I at least need a really good job. I want to take care of her, to make up for the fact that she had to work so hard to support me.”

Her eyes are wide and unfocused. “You said ‘thankfully.’”

---