Page 84 of A Quarterback for Christmas

This time, I have no extra strength to hold onto the machine. My body slacks, my muscles sore from overuse, and before falling to an untimely death, Drew slams the emergency ‘STOP’ button and catches me in his arms. Once the treadmill comes to a standstill, he carries me over to the workout bench and places me on it.

Stretched and satiated, painful tingles spread up my thighs, and it’s only after he washes his hands in the sink and offers me a towel that it all starts to feel a little weird.

“That was amazing,” I say in hopes that it will break the ice, but Drew’s frosty exterior remains. In fact, it’s so frosty he gets the disinfectant spray out and starts cleaning the TV on the treadmill.

Talk about a mood killer.

The smell of bleach fills the air. Sitting on the black leather bench, still damp and naked, he hasn’t looked at me once. Apparently, there’s a spot on the TV screen that won’t come clean, and he’s more focused on that than me.

“Anytime,friend.” He emphasizes the last word. Okay, he’s definitely in a weird mood.

In an attempt to get him out of it, I lay my body on the bench and wait for him to look up. My skin goosebumps from the air conditioning because it takes so long for him to finally acknowledge me.

With a straight face, he scans my naked form as though it’s nothing and then walks to the sink, turning his back to me.

Okay, well, that didn’t work.

Unfortunately for me, watching his back and butt muscles while he wrings his towel out is making me hot, and I know with just a few kisses from Drew, I’ll be ready.

“Are you going to have sex with me or not?” I blurt out rather incredulously. I can’t believe Drew is so callously ignoring my body lying on a silver platter just for him.

Draping the wet towel over the sink, he turns, leans his butt against the countertop, and looks at me. The lust is gone. His face trained into something that I can only describe as annoyance, which is confusing as hell because just two minutes ago, he was eating me out on a treadmill.

“What are we, Bella?”

The words make sense, and his frustration starts coming together. “What do you mean?” I play dumb because I need more time to think about the answer. I thought I’d managed to avoid that question yesterday, but it seems the non-answer is still playing on his mind.

Drew sighs, pushing himself off the counter, and stalks toward me. “I’ll have sex with you if you can give me an answer about what we are.”

“But aren’t we currently having sex?”

“If we are, does that make you my girlfriend then? Am I your boyfriend? Are we official?” It’s the question I knew was coming after last night, but I’m still vastly underprepared for it.

Squirming in my seat, I’m quiet, trying to think of anything that might distract him from the question. Going out with Drew and his friends to the sports bar was easy. To anyone watching, I was just hanging out. Low commitment and little thought. Drew’s not that, but answering his question the way I’d want to means accepting that we’ll have to tell my dad.

I’m a big girl, and I shouldn’t be so afraid of admitting it, but every time I think about disappointing him, I nearly wet my pants.

“Uhh,” I say as my mouth hangs open and I look to the ceiling.

“Because that’s all you talk about when we’re together, and I’m starting to wonder if that’s all you’re interested in.”

“No, of course not. I was the one who suggested we go out last night, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah, you were,” he grits. “But the only time you showed any interest in me was when my ex came over.”

“So you admit she’s your ex?” Now it’s my turn to be pissed. I shut my legs and cross my arms over my chest. What a waste of a good orgasm.

Shaking his head, he closes his eyes in aggravation. “Bella. You’re focusing on the wrong things. I dated Brianna as afreshman before I knew you were coming here. The minute you stepped on the tarmac in Hope, my focus has only been on you. It seems I can’t say the same thing about you.”

“Where’s all this coming from? I went out on campus with you. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Cricking his neck, he turns away.

“We need to tell your father.”

It’s a simple statement, but it holds so much more weight.

“No. Not yet.”

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