Page 49 of Sack

“So, what’s up with you and the hottie photographer?”

Colt sent Linc a glare as he shoved his arms through the sleeves of his red practice shirt. “Nothing.” And after the way Ivy left his house the day before, it probably really was nothing.

Linc pulled his helmet off the shelf of his locker. “Didn’t look like nothin’.”

“Are we talking about the purple-haired woman?” Oz asked, joining the conversation. “Wasn’t she that pap at The Parting Glass a couple weeks ago?”

“She’s not paparazzi. She’s a social media consultant.” Colt was quick to clear up.

“Oh, that’s cool. Emerson said she used one of those. I wonder if it’s the same person.”

“Emerson?” Linc flashed a shit-eating grin.

Oz ducked his head and got busy shoving his street clothes into his locker. Colt was just happy the conversation had shifted from him.

“Who’s Emerson and why are we just now hearing about her?” Linc persisted.

“She’s the owner of The Parting Glass. I’ve been in a few more times and we got to talking.”

“Talking?” Linc prodded.

Oz shot Linc a glare. Guess it was catching. “Yeah, talk. It’s what you do with a woman when you’re not fucking them. But I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Linc’s grin faded, and his eyes narrowed. “I talk.”

Oz snorted. “Telling them to spread their legs doesn’t count.”

“Fuck you.”

Colt decided to intervene before things blew up. He stepped between them, putting a hand on each of their chests. “Save it for the game next week, ladies.”

They both took a step back. Crisis averted.

“Let’s go. Coach will be pissed if he’s out on the field before we are. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like running twenty extra laps today,” Colt reasoned.

They mumbled their agreement, and Linc took it one step further by holding out a hand. “No hard feelings?”

Oz grunted and took it. “If I had hard feelings every time you opened your mouth, they’d be a twenty-foot brick wall by now.”

Colt was relieved Linc had found that amusing and that it didn’t start another round of fighting. He wasn’t sure he had the patience to deal with it. He’d already spent the night trying to figure Ivy out and had come out none the wiser for it by morning.

Why hadn’t she mentioned she’d be gone for four days? He knew their relationship was casual, but he thought between all the sex, they’d become friends.

He liked Ivy—a lot. She was fun to be around, and it was refreshing spending time with a woman who didn’t have a hidden agenda or want something from him. He was able to just enjoy their time together.

And the sex was amazing. Best he’d ever had. Ivy, he found, was honest in all things. No over-the-top, pornoesque dramatics aimed to make him feel like a god in bed. Just pure, authentic reactions. She wasn’t afraid to tell him what she liked but, more importantly, what she didn’t. And he loved that. Watching her come apart, knowing it was real and that he had given her pleasure is what really made him feel like a god.

The sound of a whistle pulled him from his thoughts. Thoughts that should be on football but were instead on Ivy. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. How getting involved in a stress-free, non-relationship with Ivy was supposed to keep his head clear so he could focus on the upcoming season when, in fact, she filled his every thought.

Maybe it was for the best they’d be apart for the weekend. He could spend the time getting his head back in the game.

Where it should be.

Ivy

The flight to San Diego was just long enough for Ivy to recall her parting conversation with Colt, dwell on it, rewrite the conversation in her head with all the possible alternate outcomes, and eat her free peanuts.

“What time is your flight?”

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