Page 94 of Not Just a Trick Play

Peals of laughter bounce off the walls, multiplying with each snapshot. The poses escalate from cheeky to downright scandalous, fueled by a steady stream of alcohol. As the beat picks up, the crowd gravitates toward the dance floor.

Jake grabs my hand and tugs at it.

“Oh, no.” I pull back. Memories of drunkenly dancing at Halloween flood back in painful detail, and I cringe at how foolish I must have looked. Here, now, the stakes are even higher—no costumes or masks to shield. I am totally vulnerable.

“Oh, yes. Trust me, Sweets. Just follow my lead.”

I arch a brow at him. “I’d hate to think of where that will get me.”

His grin broadens, all mischief and promise. “Good places only,” he pledges, his eyes sparkling.

His steadfast assurance wraps around me, a gentle but firm embrace that begins to dissolve my doubts, leaving a budding excitement in its wake.

Surrendering to the inevitable, I let him steer us to the center. At first, my steps are unsure, but bit by bit, he has me moving faster and faster, my confidence blooming with each step. Soon, he is twirling me around, the world blurring into a wheel of colors and light, and laughter spills from me as I reel from the joy of it all. Dancing with him, in the heart of the festivities, I stake my claim.

As the hours slip by, I whirl between partners, going from the playful antics with his sisters to the boisterous moves of his teammates to people I’d never met before tonight—yet I always end up spinning back into Jake’s embrace.

The beat shifts, slipping into a rhythm that’s all sultry undertones and velvet caresses, wrapping us in an intimate cocoon. Our movements slow, bodies swaying in perfect sync. When the music deepens, Jake dips me with a theatrical flourish.

Our gazes lock, and it’s as if the world fades away, leaving only the electric charge that crackles in the space between us. Then, as I hang in the air in his arms, he leans in, his lips finding mine. This time, I don’t care who sees.

Gently, he rights me, and even though my feet find the ground, I’m still soaring.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

AMELIA

Sunday,I wake up, slightly hungover but still happy. My eyes flutter open, meeting Jake’s sleepy grin.

“Heya, Sweets,” he murmurs, his voice husky from sleep.

He leans in, but I turn and the kiss lands on my cheek instead. “Morning breath. Be right back.”

I scamper off to the loo. When I return, it’s to find Jake, bare-chested with only a sheet to cover the part I’m very familiar with, scrolling through his phone. He looks up and grins, melting me.

“Check this out.” He flips his screen to me, revealing a photo of us, mid-twirl on the dance floor. “We look goooood. I’m especially hot.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Now come here.”

I laugh and evade his reaching hands, grabbing the phone to see for myself.

He’s not wrong—we do look fantastic. There’s a lot of oohing and ahhing in the comments. And lots of #JAMs. Even some mentions of RhythmRoutes.

He snatches it right back and flicks through a few more images before picking one with us kissing and making it his background.

I slip into bed, grabbing my own phone from the nightstand, shocked to see a surge in interest in my tours overnight, with a full roster for Monday, and everyone’s paid up. I guess all of Jake’s peddling and plugging from the gala worked, and I turn to show him my screen with a big smile.

His brilliant returning one just breaks me. “We should celebrate.” It’s a low, enticing purr. He rolls over me, his body a shield of warmth as he braces himself on an elbow. His free hand slides to my thighs, urging them gently apart as he settles between my knees.

His lips skim up my neck even as his hard cock presses against my core, and everything short circuits. He’s all smooth skin and solid muscle. I need him again. Now.

In a daze, I reflect on fortune and how mine has always seemed slightly askew. I think of how happy I am in this moment, and how much more there is to look forward to. My phone slips from my grasp. And then I’m not thinking at all.

We spend the remainder of the day in bed. Somehow, Jake has unearthed all forty-plus seasons ofSurvivor, especially proud when he presents to me the first season of the UK edition with a flourish. There goes another ten thousand or so hours of my life. But I glance at him. Worth it.

We indulge in Thai food between binging episodes, having sex. Ordering sweets. Having sex again.

Monday morning, I wake up cocooned in Jake’s arms. I’m brimming with excitement, ready to spring up and get going, but I resist, not wanting to disturb him. He’s got a big week ahead too.

As soon as his alarm goes off, I extract myself from his embrace. His eyes flash open, momentarily clouded with the remnants of sleep and a flicker of protest.

---