Page 66 of Fair Catch

Pressing my hand to his chest, I manage to actually put some distance between us again.

“You’re not gonna get any sleep if we keep that up.”

“It’s not my fault I wanna keep kissing you.”

“Well, if you can’t figure out a way to control your urges, you’ll be a zombie at practice because you were too busy spending the night making out with me in the kitchen.”

He pauses for all of two seconds, barely thinking through his answer before whispering, “So fucking worth it.”

And then his lips are on mine, claiming them all over again.

Sixteen

Kason

I’m out of practice an hour later than normal thanks to Coach deciding we needed to watch film after we’d showered, and while I usually don’t care about that kinda thing, it had to betodaywhen he decided to do this.

The one day I’m actually itching to get home.

But today only gets weirder when I do finally get home, only to find Hayes not in his room gaming or watching a movie on the couch. Instead, he’s in the middle of scrubbing down the microwave like it personally offended him.

What the hell?

I open my mouth to greet him, considering he’s making so much noise that he obviously didn’t hear me come in, but I think better of it when I catch the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing beneath his form-fitting shirt while he works.

Those same muscles that my hands mapped and traced last night have been on my mind all day, spinning on repeat like a broken record, along with every roll of his hips, bite of his teeth, and taunting kiss he’d peppered over my skin. It’s a wonder I even made it through practice, let alone my classes with all the daydreaming I did.

And now that I have the subject of those fantasies in front of me, it’s taking all my willpower not to cross the room and plant one on him, talking or consequences be damned. After all, that seems to be a theme with us. Might as well keep with the MO.

But gauging where both our heads are at now, in the light of day, is the more responsible thing to do, so I keep my libido reined in and stick to innocent, shameless ogling instead.

It’s not until he’s completely finished cleaning the damn thing that he finally turns around, jumping when he notices me standing in the entryway. He even does the thing where his hand lands on his chest, and I pretend it’s from seeing me there, not because I just scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

“Jesus Christ, how long have you been home?” he snaps, tossing the cleaning supplies back under the kitchen sink.

“Long enough to wonder if that microwave would end up pregnant with how hard you were going at it.” I drop my duffle on one of the bar stools at the counter and motion toward the now-spotless microwave. “I never took you for a stress cleaner.”

He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, and once again, it draws my notice to his toned muscles—this time, of his biceps.

Get a fucking grip, Fuller.

“How do you know I wasn’t just cleaning because it needed to be done?” he counters, cocking his head.

Well, that’s because if the roles were reversed, I’d be doing the exact same thing.

Otherwise I’d be going damn near insane waiting on him to get back from the library or class or wherever else, brimming with nervous energy. And no matter how much Hayes wishes he could hide that he’s feeling it, I can see it in his eyes as he looks at me. They aren’t their usual sharp, crisp cobalt. There’s a softness around the edges that’s usually not there.

“We’re a lot more alike than you’d care to admit, Hayes,” I murmur, leaning forward on the counter. “So while I’m doing my best to play it cool, in reality, I’ve spent the entire day thinking about last night. About what it means for us going forward. And I have the feeling you’re in a pretty similar place.”

“You’re not wrong, even if it might kill me to admit it.”

I offer him the same out he offered me yesterday after I’d returned from my date—which, fuck, already feels like a lifetime ago. It’s an out I’m praying to any god who will listen that he doesn’t use it, but I’m prepared regardless.

“So should we talk about it, get it all out in the open? Or would you rather pretend it never happened and go back to being roommates?”

“I don’t want to pretend that it didn’t happen,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on the granite counter. “But I also worry I might’ve set a precedent last night that I can’t keep up.”

My brows collide in a frown. “What do you mean?”

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