Page 38 of A Quarterback for Christmas

“No. Are you ready for your gift?”

“My gift?” My voice squeaks in surprise. Drew hadn’t mentioned a gift until I gave him the gift of a burnt breakfast, so what could Drew possibly get me that he already had in the house? He nods with a wholesome smile splayed across his face.

He lifts a shoulder and stuffs a hand into the pocket of his sweatpants. It takes everything in me not to look at how far down the fabric moved, because I most certainly saw a flash of skin, and memories of those thick veins come fast and quick.

Am I hot for Drew?

I’m certainly too young for hot flashes, but I’m starting to sweat everywhere.

“I mean, it’s not much, but after breakfast and offering to cook me dinner, I can’t exactly leave you with nothing.”

“What is it?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking nervous. What the hell kind of gift was he thinking about giving me? Did his innocent smile lift into a smirk? Is there a mischievous glint in his eyes, or am I overthinking it?

“It might be easier if I carried you there.”

Drew’s eyes are glued to what he can see of my body, and I slump my shoulders because I don’t want him to notice my hard nipples. Out of all the looks I ever expected to receive from Drew, this is not one of them. His eyes are deep and burning. There’s something there. It’s clear we both have been fighting it over the years, but this time together has forced it out of us.

“Is that okay?” He prompts when I don’t answer, and I nod my head, sitting up in invitation.

I don’t know why he needs to carry me, but if that smile and our sexual tension are any hints, then maybe it’s something to help relieve everything.

Maybe we’re finally going to address the need to see each other naked on purpose.

And maybe I’m finally ready to admit it.

I throw my blanket off, all too aware of the musky scent that follows from not showering for the better part of three days. I can only hope Drew doesn’t notice or care. He does spend most of his time in a locker room with a bunch of sweaty guys, after all. Hopefully my sweat is nothing in comparison.

Striding over to me, he takes no encouragement to shunt his hands under my body and pick me up in a bridal carry. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into his chest. His warm, inviting chest. The only other time I felt his hard body against mine was when I was naked and in too much pain to think about it. Now, all I have to think about ishis masculine cologne and how my skin goosebumps under the feathery touch of his breath. If there was any question about how easily aroused Drew makes me, it’s obvious now. My nipples are so hard from his citrusy scent that I’m almost certain he can feel them scraping across his chest.

“Thanks,” I mumble because I don’t know what to say to my former arch-nemesis turned roommate, turned apparent object of my mind’s affection.

Hello, Stockholm Syndrome.

Drew tilts his chin down toward the hall. “Your gift is just down here.”

Is it in the gym?

Nope. He walks past the gym, and my body tingles in anticipation because there’s only one other room down this hall, and I’ve been there once before.

He’s taking me to his bedroom…for a gift that he wants to give me.

His delicious scent taunts me, and I clutch his neck a little tighter because my body is now throbbing at all the potential ‘gifts’ he wants to share.

Was he going to show me what I’ve been missing out on while I dated Jimmy Johnson?

Is the giant wall of sexual tension going to finally crumble down? He’s seen me naked, and I’ve seen him shirtless. We’ve been flirting a lot. Surely this is the next logical step.

When he opens the bedroom door, I’m surrounded by him, and I feel myself blushing at the thought of what might happen between us. His room is clean, his bed is made to military precision, and music plays softly in the background.

I smile because it’s perfect. It’s thoughtful and shows just how romantic Drew is, which I never expected him to be. I always imagined him to be a beast in the bedroom. Kind of like he is on the field, not gentle, but a passionate lover.

I guess I’m about to find out.

As he clears his throat, my expectations rise. Gentle or not, I’m here for whatever he’s offering.

“It’s not much,” he emphasizes, and I want to laugh. Not much? I’ve seen the veining to his nether regions and if that’s not much, then I’m going to be one lucky lady tonight no matter howmuchhe wants to give me.

---