Page 58 of Not Just a Trick Play

As I shift, trying to play it cool, the driver catches my eye in the mirror. “Wait a minute…aren’t you Jake Cunningham? From the Titans?”

I slap on a grin and nod, doing my best to act like a professional instead of a guy on the brink of turning this ride into an X-rated special. “Yep, that’s me.”

His face lights up. “Man, I can’t believe it! The season’s barely started, and you’re already killing it. Ready for what comes next?”

I heave in a deep breath, trying to focus even though my attention’s glued on Amelia, who’s sitting there, all calm andcollected, like she’s not feeling the same thing. Oh, she’s good. Challenge accepted.

“So ready,” I say, my voice dropping low. Amelia’s eyes flick to mine, and I hold her gaze before letting it drag over her, slow and thorough. Her body tightens, and is that a little flush creeping up her throat?

My hand finds the space between us. “But here’s the thing,” I murmur. “Every game is different. You always start with the basics. First rule? Read the other side.”

The driver nods enthusiastically, completely unaware of the tension building in the backseat. “Smart. Gotta make sure everything’s lined up for the big plays.”

“Exactly.” My fingers drift over the leather until my pinkie grazes the edge of her stocking, right under her skirt. It’s the slightest contact, but enough that her breath hitches. “Timing is everything. And when you see your chance? You take it.” My hand slides over her knee, and I begin drawing lazy circles on the inside.

She cuts me a look. I know her inner Mary Poppins thinks she should protest. But then her legs part just a fraction, like she can’t help it. A smirk tugs at my lips—I’m getting to her, but fuck if she isn’t getting to me, too.

I drag my fingers up her thigh, feeling the heat of her skin radiating through the sheer material. Her leg trembles beneath my hand. Then, I stop at the edge. Her eyes snap to mine in outrage, and I almost laugh.

I catch the driver’s gaze again. “But you gotta pace yourself. Can’t go in too hard, too fast.”

Out of the corner of my eye, her lips purse. A faint “harrumph” follows.

“You guys are gonna crush it! Super Bowl, for sure,” the driver says.

I squeeze her leg, shooting her a look loaded with promise. “Thanks,” I reply, my voice low and rough. “But trust me, it’s not just about the end-goal. The real fun’s in the lead up.”

On cue, my finger glides up one more inch, slipping right beneath the hem. Amelia gasps. It’s soft, almost inaudible, but enough to send a jolt straight through me.

The man continues to pepper me with questions as the car crawls through traffic. Fuck. I should’ve scooped her up and run for her apartment.

By the time we get to her block, I’m buzzing. I scribble an autograph for the driver, then practically drag her to the entrance of her building. She punches in the code, and the moment the door shuts behind us is, she spins to me, hands on her hips. “Hetotallyknew what you were up to!”

“Couldn’t resist, Sweets.” I haul her close, crashing my lips against hers. Immediately, she melts into me, her breathy moan sending another surge of heat rocketing up my spine.

She returns my kiss with the same wild hunger, her tongue delving into my mouth, teasing and tasting. She’s warm, sweet, and it’s driving me insane.

“The other thing to remember,” I mange between kisses. “Is that, at its core, football’s exactly like sex. It’s primal, animalistic. Raw. You need to embrace your inner caveman.”

“I’m a fan of more civilized pursuits, actually,” she quips, retreating only enough to quirk an eyebrow, her eyes doing that dancing, sparkly thing that tells me she’s enjoying this as much as I am.

“There’s no room for that,” I growl, yanking her into me again and kissing her even harder. Every single inch of me aches for more. She whimpers against me, and I dig into her hips, pulling her closer until her breasts are crushed against my pounding chest.

We’re both panting when I draw back. “Where to?”

“Fourth floor.” The building’s a walkup, so I catch her hand and pull her up the stairs, pausing on each landing for more kisses. By the third level, I’m over the whole stopping thing. I scoop her up, and she winds her legs around my waist, so we don’t need to disengage for the rest of the journey. Way more efficient.

On her floor, I set her down. She turns and rummages through her bag. I press up behind her, my body flush against hers, my hard-on digging into her ass. Her hands are unsteady when she eventually fishes out the key. My lips find the back of her neck, teasing her with soft kisses as she tries to fit it into the lock. I nip at the delicate skin, and the harsh scrape of metal against metal echoes in the empty hallway.

“Focus, rookie,” I whisper, grazing her ear. “Don’t fumble just yet.”

A shaky breath whooshes out of her when she finally slots the key in. The door swings open, and we step inside. I close it behind me, leaning against the wood, watching as she sets down her bag and shrugs off her jacket before facing me again. The quiet of her apartment wraps around us like a blanket, the tension thick and undeniable.

All I want is to rip off her clothes and dive in, but I keep it together, reminding myself that we have all the time in the world. When I finally grasp a sliver of control, I push off the door and step toward her, my gaze heavy with intent. I stop just short of touching her, close enough to feel her warmth, but not quite making contact.

I take in the way her chest rises and falls, the soft flush coloring her cheeks. Amelia quirks a brow, feigning nonchalance, but I can hear the subtle tremor in her voice. “Is this one of those slow starts?” Her fingers twitch at her sides, as if she’s not sure whether to hold back or give in.

I cup her face, grinning as I brush my thumb over her lower lip. “Getting to the other side isn’t quick. We’ve got lots of ground to cover.”

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