Page 21 of The Players Next Door

I shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not where we can get caught. But I can’t find the words to make him stop because, deep down, I don’t want him to.

My mind swirls with conflicting thoughts, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. Deacon’s touch is both thrilling and dangerous, forbidden yet undeniably enticing. Beside me, Cameron seems engrossed in the movie, unaware of the covert intimacy unfolding in the dimly lit cabin.

But his hand lands heavily on my other knee, giving it a squeeze. The tension between us crackles like a live wire, the air heavy with unspoken desires. I want this, want more. I turn to face Deacon, capturing his lips as he leans forward to press them into my neck once more.

Cameron’s hand squeezes my knee again as Deacon’s starts sliding towards the place my thighs meet. I squirm, anticipating what’s next when the plane jolts. A wave of dizziness and nausea sweeps through me as the plane does it again.

My stomach churns as the plane hits turbulence, mirroring the storm inside me. I grip the armrests, trying to steady my swirling thoughts. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I can't tell if it's from the bumpy flight or the anxiety eating at me.

The plane evens out, but my anxiety doesn’t.

"Hey, you okay?" Cameron's voice is a soft hum beside me.

"Fine," I lie. The word feels like sandpaper in my throat. I'm not fine. Far from it.

"Here." Deacon presses a cold water bottle into my hand. "Drink up."

I nod, taking small sips, grateful for the distraction. But even the cool liquid can't wash away the worry gnawing at my insides.

The team. My job. My brother's trust. Everything could crumble because of what we're doing. Because of what I'm feeling for these three incredible, impossible men.

"Your hands are shaking," Jaxon notes from across the aisle. His frown lines are deep, eyes narrowed with concern.

"Hey," Deacon whispers, squeezing my hand. "We’re here for you, Holly. You know that, right?"

"I know." And I do. Despite the fear, the risk, there's no denying the bond we share. They’re more than just flings to me, more than forbidden fruit. I’m falling for each of them, and it terrifies me as much as it thrills me.

"Good," he smiles, the warmth of the expression chasing away the chill of doubt.

"Try to get some sleep," Cameron advises, his tone gentle.

I lean back, closing my eyes, trying to obey. But sleep proves elusive. I'm too caught up in the mess of emotions, theundeniable desire, and the deep, irrevocable connection that binds me to these three men.

"Thank you," I whisper, not sure if they hear me.

"Anytime," comes the chorus of replies, wrapping around me like a blanket.

And as I sit there, sandwiched between love and fear, I dare to hope that maybe I won't have to choose. Maybe, somehow, we can navigate this crazy game without losing everything.

I close my eyes, leaning into their strength, their warmth. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, we can have it all.

"Sleep, Hol," Deacon whispers again, and this time I drift off to the sound of his voice, their presence beside me my comfort and my curse.

Chapter 8

Jaxon

The ice is mine. I skate, shoot, score. It's what I do. The crowd roars, but the sound fades to a buzz in my ears. One thought cuts through the noise—Holly. She's here somewhere, lost in the sea of cheering fans. Well, maybe not lost. I know she’s either in the broadcast booth or waiting in the hall near the lockers for post-game interviews.

"Jax! Hell of a game!" Cameron slaps my shoulder as we glide off the ice, but my eyes scan the hall, hunting for her.

"Thanks, man," I grunt, not really feeling it. It's like my body's here, celebrating with the guys, but my mind's stuck on Holly.

"Earth to Jaxon," Deacon waves his hand in front of my face, and I blink him back into focus.

"Sorry, what?"

"Never seen you this distracted after a win," he says, eyebrows raised. "You good?"

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