Page 62 of Playmaker

No. Not when our night together was everything and more. I can still feel the ghost of his lips on my skin. His mouth against the shell of my ear as he whispered filthy things to bring me to release. In seconds, my skin is flushed at the memory, and I roll onto my side to discover a piece of white folded paper with my name on it on the nightstand.

Getting breakfast, he wrote in his chicken scratch handwriting. Beside the note is a glass of water and an ibuprofen, and I smile before I take the pill and chug the entirety of the glass. I can already feel the soreness between my legs with every movement.

I lost my virginity last night toCameron Holden. He said I was his, and while we haven’t discussed labeling this or what it means for our future, I allow myself to bask in the sweetness of his note and the kindness of his gesture for thinking of me enough to leave me pain medicine. For one day, I don’t want to worry about what this is between us.

Today, I just want to enjoy this.

The smile is still plastered to my face while I make his bed in just his T-shirt, which is so large on me it falls past my knees. I’m humming a tune and swaying my hips without a care in the world when suddenly, the door to his bedroom swings open.

Christ.

I whirl around with a hand placed over my heart, horrified it might be his father again, but it’s just Cameron holding two bags from McDonald’s. My heart pounds when his eyes drop to my bare legs, and he doesn’t hide his perusal while he drags his gaze back up to my face. “Well, good morning to you too,” he mutters in a husky tone. “I thought I was hungry for food, but maybe I was wrong.”

He makes it so tempting to tug him back to bed. However, after a night of working out with him, I’m famished. I need to eat first. “What’d you get?” I inquire, attempting to steal a peek into the bag.

“Your favorite,” he replies. “A number one with a French vanilla, sugar-free iced coffee.”

Even after all these years he still knows me so well. My order has changed multiple times, and yet he remembers my new favorite. It seems we’ve both been paying far more attention to the other than we let on.

He never stopped caring. Even when I thought he did.

Cameron has never been a coffee drinker, so before he even opens his bag, I know his order by heart too. I repeat it silently to myself as he pulls out the items. A big breakfast with an extra pancake, and then he takes a swig of the worst monstrosity of it all—aSprite—before it’s even noon. I’m surprised he’s eating this given his fancy diet, but I don’t comment on it. He works out practically every day of his life. He should be allowed some type of junk food once in a while.

“Thank you,” I say when he passes mine over. Tearing the bag open, I fish out the hash browns and groan at the taste of grease.

For the next ten minutes we eat our breakfast on top of his bed, but I don’t miss the way his eyes flick to my mouth when I dart my tongue out to collect the syrup on my upper lip, and he doesn’t miss when my eyes are drawn to the way he licks his fingers, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Mmm.” His lips tug into a grin when he mimics the night we went out to dinner with my family—the night he had licked his fingers wet with my arousal. “Delicious.”

“Is it?” I rise from the comforter, a few tricks up my sleeve of my own. “Can I take a shower before I head home?” I don’t know what the hell has changed, but with Cameron, a level of confidence I didn’t know existed rises to the surface, and when those green eyes of his grow darker, I become someone I don’t recognize.

“Sure,” he replies, not moving a muscle.

“Perfect.” Reaching for the bottom of his T-shirt, I drag it over my head and toss it to the floor, leaving me bare and on full display for him. He tries to take his fill, but I turn for the bathroom before he has the chance to ogle me for too long.

“And if I want to join?” he calls.

The smile on my face grows wider.

“Then I’d say you better hurry the hell up before the door’s locked,” I say over my shoulder. A squeal escapes me when he springs off the bed, smacking his forearm on the door before I even have the chance to close it. Then again, I wouldn’t have locked it anyway. I can play games with him all day, but this one, he’ll always win.

I lean over the bathtub to turn on the water, goose bumps peppering my skin when I hear him begin to strip. His belt falls to the floor, then his shoes. My mouth is completely dry when I feel him step behind me. His bare skin meets mine, his hardness prodding my backside, and all sense of rationality leaves in an instant.

His lips meet the spot between my neck and shoulder, and little jolts of electricity travel wherever his tongue decides to land next. “Well?” he hums against my ear. “Are you going to get in?”

“You’re cruel.” It’s a breathless response, and he laughs as I step into the scalding hot water. The burn feels good against my skin. Too good. And now I’m the one laughing when Cameron hisses and jumps to the far side of the tub where the water doesn’t fall. “Why is it sohot?” he asks. “Do you always get third-degree burns when you shower?”

I sigh, tilting my head back to let the water soak my hair. “It feels good like this.” When I open my eyes back up, Cameron is staring at me with an expression I can’t decipher. His stare lingers on mine for a beat too long before he snaps out of it and grabs his body wash off the ledge. “Do you mind smelling like me for the day?”

I remember how happy I was waking up enveloped in his scent, and immediately shake my head. “Not at all.”

He pours some of the soap into his hands and rubs them together before he twirls his finger to instruct me to turn around. I’m completely unprepared for how good it feels when his hands meet my shoulders, massaging and lathering my skin with the suds.

“Does that feel good?” His lips are against my ear when he drags his hands lower, cupping and kneading my breasts. He pays extra attention to my nipples, brushing them gently with the back of his hands, and my head falls back against his chest. I’m incapable of speaking.

His hands move farther south, almost reaching the place I’m dying for him to be until he whispers, “I don’t think soap is good for that particular area, Mads.”

Of course he’d know that. With how many women he’s slept with, he’s bound to have showered with at least one of them. They probably taught him everything about the subject, and my fear of only becoming a number, becoming another notch on his belt threatens to consume me until—

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