Page 15 of Not By the Playbook

I scoff, “It's not rocket science. ESPN needs to work on their shitty commentary. They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about half the time.”

She lets out a small giggle and tucks the notebook into the bag at her feet. When she looks up, I’m in the process of peeling off my shirt. Her eyes widen, and my lips twitch. I flex, and she startles at the movement then jumps up and shuffles to the shelf in the corner.

“Ummm. Can I borrow something to sleep in?” She peers at a photo of me with my teammates, then lifts the signed football and studies it in an excuse to look away.

“Last night’s sleepwear won’t work?” I make my voice low and seductive.

She spins around, her mouth gaping. “I ah, no I…I—”

I chuckle. “No, I didn’t thinkthatwould be part of this arrangement.” I already have one of my jerseys in hand. But my lips curl up in a devious grin. “But as you know, I can adapt to a change in play.”

She flings the ball at me. I laugh, reaching up and plucking it out of the air with my right hand then tossing her the shirt with my left. Her eyes spring wide, and she ducks.

I nod at the material on the floor, then raise my gaze back to hers. “Changed your mind?”

“Nope.” She’s already scooping it off the ground.

“Then why’d you move?”

“Instinct. Thought it would hit me. Never had any eye-hand coordination when I was a kid.” She blushes, but then raises an eyebrow in challenge, “So much for that, what? Forty-million-dollar arm?” she snarks.

“Fifty.”

Her mouth drops.

I smirk at her shock.

Her tongue sticks out, and she crosses her eyes, making me laugh. “You want to go first?”

I motion to the bathroom.

“Um…”

I begin to unbuckle my belt and grin when her face goes slack. “Or you can stay.”

Her eyes double in size before she catches herself. “I’m going.”

I end up using one of the guest bathrooms to shower. When I’m back, Becs is in bed, huddled under the sheets and so far to the edge she’s in danger of toppling off. Deep, unconvincing exhalations sound from her petite frame, and I’m tempted to rile her up again but decide against it. She’s had plenty to deal with today between my sister and me.

In deference to her presence, I keep my boxers on and settle in. Eventually, her breath evens out and a small moan escapes her. The little sound has my dick twitching. I anchor my eyes to the ceiling and my hands to my sides like a goddamn mummy to stop from reaching for her or touching myself. What the fuck is wrong with me?

It’s the proximity. Repeats aren’t my thing. I slide a look at her. Though, if she’s going to stick around, we might as well make the most of our time together—get her to rethink our plan for maximum productivity. My dick. Her pussy.

Chapter Eight

Saturday

BECS

I wakeup skin-to-skin with Logan. This time, I'm the limpet holding him hostage with a thigh draped over his legs, and my face nuzzled against his chest. The T-shirt I have on must have ridden up during the night. Logan's hand is splayed wide against my lower back, his pinky finger just under the edge of my underwear.

The offending limb inches off him, the fine hairs on his leg causing pinpricks on mine. My lashes lift in trepidation. Don't be awake.

But because this is me, and we already know I have the shittiest luck, Logan is staring right at me. “Good morning.”

His husky tone sends a shiver through me. “Ah…good morning.” I can feel the flush rising on my cheeks.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. He is so gorgeous. You know how beautiful people don't look as good close up? Not Logan. He's all tousle-haired and blue-eyed magic. The soft smile on his lips only makes him more appealing.

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