Page 17 of Good Guy Gabe

“Really?” I croak out, my throat dried from the emotions I refused to let myself succumb to in the ballroom in front of everyone else. He looks so sympathetic and supportive that I could forget about it all.

Except I can’t. Gabe does need to know. The sooner the better. Rip that Band-Aid right off before it’s completely buried beneath the skin.

“I do need to tell you. Emily isn’t wrong. I’m . . . I’m hated in Wilmington.” Everything I’ve done in the last six years was with that in mind. It’s why I started out in social media before opening my shop in the remnants of my ex-nightmare’s practice. It hits different saying it out loud, though.

My sinuses tingle. I tell myself not to make a big, soppy mess of myself, but the only thing that stops it from happening is Gabe’s lips.

Crashing into mine.

I’m not a prude. I’ve had my share of first kisses. The ones I’m most familiar with are the end of the date, in the front seat of the car or at my doorstep. There have been a couple terribly romantic, impulsive ones in public places. But this kiss?

This is a different beast entirely.

This isn’t romantic, this ispassionate. The way Gabe’s thick, soft lips slide over my gloss, I wouldn’t say it’s a desperate motion, but it’s an intense one. One of his hands goes to the back of my neck, digging into the base there, the other at my waist, supporting me and keeping me close.

I take hold of his shirt, keeping him close as I demand more from him and he obliges, flicking his tongue over my teeth, seeking passage I happily give. Our tongues meet and tangle like this is what they were meant for, like this is shared space, like everything that’s his and mine is ours. Like we haven’t only just met but have always known each other; it’s only taken this long to finally share the space that was always designated for us both.

It’s so damn easy for me to lose myself in our kiss and forget that there’s a whole world out there that hates me, that I can’t just curl myself up inside him and vanish for more than these couple stolen moments.

But when he pulls away so we can rest our foreheads against each other as we catch our breaths, it all comes right back. I reach up into his beard, enjoying the softness of it even as I perversely hope the scratch of it shows around my mouth. I don’t want everyone to know we snuck off to make out in the bathroom like teenagers, but I want them to see his mark on me. “Why did you bring me in here? We have to go.”

His hand has somehow made its way through the slit in my skirt to my upper thigh, so natural I didn’t notice it except to be thankful it’s finally where it belongs, on my bare skin. His hand has been mostly on my waist tonight, and despite the divide in my dress, he’s been careful to keep his fingers atop the fabric when it would have been oh so easy to slide a digit beneath my bodice. “We all have bad shit in our past,” he says, tilting my head up for a softer kiss as he kneads into my thigh with slow,hypnotic circles. “Maybe yours is worse. I don’t know, and I don’t care. It sounds like it was a long time ago and nothing you had control over. And even if you did, it’s the past. The only thing I care about is your future. Our future.”

It’s such a big word.Our. I’ve been amyfor a very long time. When my nightmare came to life, I had no choice except to dig my roots into salted earth. Cora and Tilly are immune only because their world isn’t here, just their homes. And Tilly’s about to be glued to this spot for long enough that I’m concerned about what my reputation is going to do to her as well. She doesn’t have a choice now, either, not when her family may as well be in the bottom of the ocean for as useful as they are, but she might end up wrecked by her association with me.

Gabe will end up wrecked, too.

But I want him. The very second I first saw him, even while I was so startled I couldn’t catch my breath, I felt something I don’t know that I’ve ever felt before. It’s taking everything I have not to launch myself at him.

“We can’t have a future,” I protest, although the words are short and cut off by heavy breaths as Gabe’s thumb shifts a critical inch to rest against my panties. It’s all overwhelming, and the rumbling sound he makes, no doubt at the discovery that my panties are damp, is enough to make me whimper. “You don’t understand. I’ll ruin you.”

His thumb stays separated from me by the thin stretch of cotton between my legs, but it finds the path of my labia and traces it up and down, making me clench at the delicate pressure. “Ma’am, I was undrafted.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“My football career might never have happened. I wasn’t good enough in college. No one wanted me. It took five years to get signed. Most men give up. Some pros are already retiring, or their contracts ended and they weren’t picked up again.”

He pinches the crotch of my panties, forcing it between my labia so the fabric which seemed so slick a moment ago is rough against my clit.

I should stop him. This is terribly inappropriate. We’re in a bathroom anyone could walk into with a phone and turn this into the biggest scandal the Jugs have had since Blaise slapping a senator’s ass and inviting her up to his room at last year’s formal event.

I should push him away and insist he let me go for both our sakes, but I wrap my arms around his neck. It’s as much to bring him closer as to dispel the chokehold he put on my heart by saying no one wanted him. I know he’s talking about football, but it feels deeper than that.

He rubs his free hand briskly across my shoulder blades, skin on skin, as he slides a finger in the crevice alongside the cotton, sending shivers through me. I can’t stop this, no matter how inappropriate this is.

“It’s a miracle I got signed, and it was another miracle when the Jugs picked me up. This is my last season I’m contracted for, and if that miracle doesn’t happen again, it’ll be because of what I did on the field, not because of anything that happened in your life before I ever met you. I promise you that.”

With a pinch of my clit between his fingers, I cry out, and he takes the chance to claim my mouth roughly. Our teeth clash as he drags his thumb along my clit and folds his middle finger to dig the whole knuckle into the rim of my pussy.

I want his words to be true. He’s so big and bold and demanding, but just as laid-back and unruffled that it’s impressive that my tiny life could impact his. It all seems so ridiculously plausible right now.

I can have this life.

I can be his girl.

I can stand right behind him, where his spotlight won’t touch me.

I can come right here on the counter of the employee restroom.

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