Page 48 of How to Score Off Field

“Chelsea,” I supply.

“Ahh. There’s always a Chelsea, isn’t there?” Drew studies the road, and I appreciate the fact that safety is his primary concern. He’s not flirting with me, but a stolen glance at my rack would be nice. “Sure, I wouldn’t mind the peace and quiet.” His hands grip my steering wheel. “And maybe rinsing off in the shower?”

My face gets red. “Doesn’t a shower sound amazing? I think Miranda’s rock drummer wannabe boyfriend has probably left some clothes behind.”

“That dude?” Drew laughs. “He’s tiny, man. He’s like half my size.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful. You aren’t gonna wanna lie around in that stinky gross polo shirt after you’ve rinsed off.”

He pulls at the collar. “What? You think I’m stinky and gross?”

“I haven’t gotten a proper whiff of you,” I tease. “I’ll smell you when we get to my place.”

I catch his smile and study his profile.

So handsome.

“At the light, turn right.”

He nods. “Gotcha.”

CHAPTER18

DREW

WOULD YOU BELIEVE ME IF I TOLD YOU I’M SINGLE BECAUSE NO ONE BELIEVES I’M SINGLE?

I barely fitbeneath the showerhead, but I manage, only needing to rinse my lower half anyway and dipping my head to wet my hair. I told myself this was going to be quick, not wanting to make it weird with a full-on shower. Water sluices down my body and pools at my feet before disappearing down the drain.

I stare at my limp cock.

“Sorry, dude. We’re not goin’ to have any privacy tonight.”

My dick doesn’t respond, only continues to rest against my thigh, pouting.

Neglected little bastard.

Tess was able to scrounge up a pair of clean boxer shorts, and beggars can’t be choosers so when I’m toweled off, I lift them from the bathroom counter and give them a once-over.

“These are not going to fit me,” I grumble. “Is she high?”

No shirt, just the shorts, which is fine. I walk around the gym sometimes with no shirt on, and this is far less public than that.

And not to like, humblebrag, but I’ve got a great physique and have nothing to be ashamed of.

She’s on the spare bedroom bed when I walk through the bathroom door, steam billowing around me like a smoke machine. And when she sits up—remote for the TV in her hand—her stare has me rethinking the wisdom of not throwing on a tee shirt.

“Sorry that I’m wearing this,” she starts. “But it’s all I had and I wasn’t expecting company.”

I swallow, my feet inching forward on the carpet toward the bed, eyes daring around for oh, I don’t know—a chair or a table or a desk. Something other than the bed while she’s sitting there in that… That…

Is that lingerie?

No, can’t be. She wouldn’t be traveling with that, would she?

But it’s thin, and it’s a tank top, and those shorts leave little to the imagination. Lavender silk bottoms that barely cover her ass.

Shirt dipping low.

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