Page 60 of I Still Love You

She’s not going near my junk. Not because I don’t trust her skills. I can’t pop a fucking hard-on in front of her. If her soft fingers go anywhere near my balls, near that silky skin, my cock will get a different message. He’ll put on a show, rise, and steal all the attention for himself. “No,” I tell her. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. I don’t have balls to know what you’re feeling right now, but I can help any way you need me to.”

My balls tighten because when she says she’ll help me anyway I need, my mind turns dirty, considering all the ways she could do just that. Mainly, how fucking awesome it would feel to have her wet lips—the ones on her face and off—taking my cock, slow and steady.

How the fuck they’re still working after the hit they received, I’ll never know. My balls ache as if there’s a migraine squeezing the life out of them. They throb and spasm and fucking hurt, so I’m confused as hell when they link—helping any way I need her to—to something sexual.

“Layla,” I grind out. “I just got hit with a ball going…who the hell knows how fast? Nothing is going to help.”

Her hand moves over the curve of my spine again. With the ache in my groin settling, I try to focus my attention there. It’s easier for me to concentrate, and for a moment, I allow her affection to sweep me away. For her hand to disintegrate the pain.

Layla always had a way of calming me. Whether it be with her hands or her words, she knew how to sideline the emotion and grab onto the stillness of my soul—no matter the situation. It might be true that my lack of control issues only speared through after she left, but deep down, I’ve always been a little wilder. At least compared to my brother.

He’s the levelheaded one who turns inward when shit hits the fan.

And I guess I’m similar, but only to an extent. I can turn on the flip of a dime. I have turned on the flip of a coin. Once certain emotions get too strong, I have no issue throwing a fist. I’ve had my fair share of quarrels in high school. Nothing huge or enough to get me in serious trouble, but enough for me to look back and see a pattern.

When Layla was around. Fuck. She always knew how to soothe the irrationality. Not that it happened as often the older I got but getting upset over small things didn’t last long when she was near. She was the best kind of distraction. She crept into my head, took over, and I liked it. Craved it.

And now—as the initial affliction from the hit fades—I’m able to focus on the way her hand slides down my back and swoops back to the top. A wave of pleasure consumes me when her fingers move higher and follow the line of my spine up to my hairline.

Damn it. Tilly’s words eat at me. As much as it’s cool spending a night with a woman—which doesn’t happen near as often as what he thinks—it’s also really fucking nice having a relationship to go home to. Having someone to share your stresses with. Someone who will shoulder them with you. Someone who won’t balk at you when you’re being a shit person but reminds you that you’re not a shitty person but just feeling shitty.

Yeah, I fucking miss that.

Her fingertips brush over my skin again, giving me the courage and strength to lift my head. I imagine my pained expression, picture the imprint of the dirt etched into my forehead, and as I look over, Killian tosses a baggie filled with ice in my direction. I think he means for it to land on the other side of me, but it doesn’t reach that far. It bounces off the ground and smacks me in the cheek.

“Jesus fucking Christ, dude,” I spit out, moving my hand to my face and dropping my head back to the ground. How much damn pain am I meant to endure today?

“Shit,” Killian bristles next to me, his feet shifting. “That was an accident.”

How is he employed by the hospital? Jesus. I bet he hurts people more than he helps.

I’ve reached the end of my limit. The additional pain spreading across my cheekbone isn’t helping. Half an inch higher, and he would’ve hit me in my eye. “Get the hell out of here,” I bite. “And don’t come back unless we’re resuming the game.”

“Let me at least have a look at your, erm, face.”

“Not a chance in hell. Beat it.”

“It’s okay. I can take it from here.” She reaches over my back for the ice pack and pushes it in the gap between my knee and elbow. I immediately press it to my balls and relish in the coolness that encroaches. It’s barely there, but enough.

“Is he gone?” If he’s still here when I look up, there’s no saying what will happen next. Layla will have to straddle me to divert my annoyance. Fuck, it’s not a good thought to have. Her perfect little ass cozied into my groin is the last thing I should be thinking about.

“The coast is clear.”

“How the fuck does he work for a hospital?”

She giggles softly, looking up. “He works maintenance, I think. Ready to brave the walk back to the dugout?”

I flatten a palm to the ground and push up to a foot, my other knee still in the dirt. My surroundings come back, bringing me back to the baseball field, the charity game, and the fancy tent set up for the hospital board and donors on the field next to us. It reminds me of the dinner they showcase the Monday after the charity game each year to announce how much we’ve raised.

I’m required to attend, and I don’t mind it, but I don’t want to go alone this year. I told her I needed time to myself, but what’s one night?

One night. I can handle that.

Then I’ll hold true to my promise. I won’t give in to my urges. I’ll force myself to look away when she’s nearby, and I’ll hold my tongue.

“Luke? Do you want me to grab one of the guys to help?”

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