Page 47 of Game Face

“Good.” I smirk. “Now, let’s finish this lap and get back to my room so we can cuddle.”

“Girl, you’re just trying to get me killed,” he laughs out. He slides his hand along my lower back anyhow, just below my brace, and together we make it back to my room at the fastest pace I’ve traveled since my surgery.

Once my various contraptions are put away, Wyatt helps me lie back down before he nestles himself along my side, tucking his arm under my pillow to keep my neck cushioned while he trails his fingers up and down my body. I’ve missed his touch so much.

“You want to tell me why you’re here instead of hitting film or the weight room? And don’t forget, I can see right through you because you lie about as good as my father does.”

Wyatt winces at my scrutiny.

“I am a shitty liar, huh?” He’s avoiding my question.

“Yeah, and an equally terrible dodger. Spill it. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?”

I hate to complain because I’ve missed him so much. Over the two days or so since I saw him last, I feel as though so much has happened to both of us. I want to tell him about every single win, like the way I held a fork last night and was able to feed myself with my right hand. But I’m willing to save all those stories up, to keep a journal if I must, if it keeps him from bailing on football just to get to me.

“Today was optional. No coaches, and Bryce and Whiskey will cover for me.”

“Hmm.” I’m quick with my skepticism, my mouth a flat line.

“Nohmm,” he insists, scooting in close and pressing soft kisses into my neck. His face still looks guilty when he pulls away, so I give him side eyes, at least as best I can. My mobility is improving, but my movements are still stiff.

“And what’s to keep Bryce from ratting you out?”

“He won’t.” His insistence is genuine, but still . . . my trust with Bryce is thin. It’s based on a lot of history, and maybe the scales are tilted because of how much I want this season to be perfect for Wyatt. He deserves it.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t want you here. Because I do. But Wy, you can’t keep this up. You can’t be in two places at once. And as much as I am glad to see you?—”

His fingertips brush my lip, and I lose my momentum. Also, I forgot how nice it feels for him to touch me softly. We haven’t been alone much lately. And when we are, I haven’t exactly been in a condition tobetouched.

“I am willing to bet on Bryce. Because seeing you is everything to me.”

He shifts his arm under my head, bracing himself enough to lift his body and bring his mouth just over mine. His eyes pause on mine before dipping to my lips.

“Okay?” he prompts.

“Okay,” I whisper back, my lips suddenly buzzing with desire. I haven’t ached to be kissed this intensely since the first time I kissed Wyatt Stone.

His gaze flits up to mine one last time before his eyes close and his lips brush against me with a feather-light touch that sends goose bumps down my arms. Both arms. I feel it.

“More,” I utter, my mouth forming a smile against his.

“You can have as much as you want,” he laughs softly against me. His mouth sucks in my bottom lip, the rough edge of his teeth grazing me as I slip loose of his hold.

“You taste like lemon,” he muses.

I lick my lips and squeeze my eyes shut tight before popping them open.

“I had a sucker! I earned it for throwing a ball.”

Wyatt sits up a little, a proud smile taking over the sexy one for a moment. I like them both, but right now, I’m really craving the seductive side of him.

“You threw a ball? That’s amazing!” He lowers his head until it rests on mine, our eyelashes tangling as we blink. It makes me giggle, and that . . . that feels good.

“I didn’t throw it hard, or anywhere near the target. But it was the motion. I squeezed it. And then I sort of dropped it as my arm fell. So, it counts as a throw.”

His free hand cups the side of my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek as he pins me with his awe-struck stare. From anyone else I might feel placated, maybe even patronized, but from Wyatt? That look means everything.

“It absolutely counts. They should see what you’d be willing to do for a T-shirt,” he teases.

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