Page 61 of Near Miss

She’s looking at me like she’s actually interested, and even though it’s this thing I hate half the time, I find myself smiling at her anyway. “We’ll review tape from today. Good plays, bad plays. And then it’s onto next week.”

Greer nods, taking another small sip of beer before asking another question. “Where did you play before?”

I’m not used to this. No one wants to get to know me. My family wants me to fix things and pay for things. My teammates want me to score them points and my agent wants me to smile because it makes her money, too. “Uh, after college, I was drafted to Cincinnati. I played there until the expansion a few years ago.”

She blinks, and even though it’s a gesture that doesn’t say anything, I think I can hear it anyway.These questions, they’re real, just like you are, Beckett.“Is that normal?” she asks.

I run a hand through my hair. “For a kicker? Not necessarily. It’s a pretty fickle business. I’ve seen guys get traded after one bad game and someone who hadn’t played all season get picked up. There isn’t necessarily a lot of longevity. Kickers are rarely drafted but I—”

A dark eyebrow lifts and she looks amused. “It’s okay to say you’re good at it.”

“Kind of a stupid thing to be good at.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not helping anyone. It’s not surgery.”

“I’m not sure that’s always helpful, either.” She takes another sip of her beer before setting it down beside her and leaning forward, elbows coming to her thighs. Greer props her chin up on her hands. “You know—I’m not going to pretend I’m some secret sports fanatic and that being at one game unlocked something in me I didn’t even know existed. But you made people happy today, Beckett. And that counts for something.”

I don’t mean to do it. I meant what I said when I told her I wouldn’t cross her boundaries or her lines. That I’d respect them. And I do respect her—probably more than anyone on the planet.

But I’ve never counted for anything.

I drain the rest of my beer, discard the bottle, grip her calves, and I’ve got her on my lap, my hands in the back of her hair and my mouth on hers before I can think better of it.

She kisses me back, for the record.

Immediately. Enthusiastically. In all the ways.

Her back arches, her chest pushes into mine, the tiny noises I’ve already fallen in love with rising in her throat when our tongues meet. Her hands find my hair, nails running reverently over my scalp and tugging on the ends.

My hands find the curve of her waist, sliding up under her sweater to meet her bare skin. One finger brushes the raisededge of the scar and I hope she knows I think it’s one of the most beautiful things about her.

She presses her hips into mine when my hand slides higher, under her bra, and I roll my finger and thumb over her peaked nipple. Her lips leave mine, head tipping back with the most beautiful fucking moan I’ve ever heard echoing across my apartment.

I could watch her like this—on top of me, feeling the way I think I’m making her feel, the way she makes me feel—forever.

My cock strains in my pants, and she moves her hips faster, back arched, my hand moving across her chest.

“Take my sweater off,” she rasps, before her voice gets smaller, a tiny plea. “Please, Beckett.”

The way she says my name makes me want to die. Granted, it would be a better death than I ever would have imagined for myself. The most beautiful person in the entire world arching into me.

Trusting me with more than just her body, but a body I want to take care of all the same.

Her clothes come off and so do mine.

She makes me get up to go get a condom, but she tells me she doesn’t want to leave the couch.

I don’t know if she thinks that’s against the rules, but I’d bleed her if she asked me to.

Her thigh muscles tense on either side of mine, and she peers down at me, dark hair framing her face, when I roll my shoulders against the cushions of the couch and rip open the stupid wrapper.

“Can you—will you go on top?” I breathe, voice rough. “I want to watch you.”

She hesitates, head tilting to the side.

“If you’re not comfortable—”

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