Page 144 of How to Prevent a Fumble

I think it is, too.

42

LEO

Before the game, Briar disappears into her room, leaving me to stew in my thoughts alone.

I’m still not sure what she wants, because she won’t explicitly state it. Sure, she had asked about her wanting me that night a week ago. But that was the last I had heard, and since then, she hasn’t once let on that she may want this to be more.

I’ve fucked up enough in my life that I don’t want to test my luck. Pressing her too hard just seems like a great way to drive her away, but the constant push and pull, the constant tip-toeing around our actual feelings has been draining.

The quiet pitter patter of her footsteps coming down the fall alert me to her arrival, and I watch as she rounds the corner in an oversized jersey, her long legs bare, the hem of her fabric shorts peeking out just enough to calm my raging boner.

It takes me a second to realize which jersey she’s wearing, the gianteighton her chest somehow originally looked over.

“Where’s your brother’s jersey?” I ask, shocked.

She shrugs her slender shoulder, one of her braids falling over it. “Just grabbed this out of my closet.”

There’s a glint in her eye that I recognize, though. The choice was intentional.

I look at the clock, realizing that we have just enough time for me to give her exactly what she wants.

She walks by me to the kitchen, grabbing some popcorn from the cabinet. I get up, heading over to grab some water. Taking a long sip, I set my cup next to her before caging her in against the counter.

Her back stiffens as my lips flutter over her neck.

“The game’s starting soon,” she mutters, trying to turn.

“So you’re going to sit here and lie to me by saying that walking this perfect ass in front of me while wearing my jersey wasn’t intentional?” I growl into her ear, nipping at it.

She presses her ass into me, rocking her hips into me.

“I wouldn’t say that, no,” she says quietly.

I back away, shrugging. “Alright,” I say with a shrug, grabbing my cup and heading back to the couch.

I listen for her movement, and don’t hear anything for what feels like a couple of minutes. Finally, I hear the popcorn pour into a bowl, and Briar makes her way back to the couch.

She sits.

She sets the bowl in her lap.

Ten.

Nine.

She takes a bite, flexing her legs out in front of her, fidgeting with her hair.

Eight.

Six—

Wait, fuck, Seven…

She sighs loudly.

Six.

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