Page 28 of Off Season

Because what thefuckam I doing?

Taking a sip of the coffee I made for the drive, I wait at the bottom of the stairs for Jacob. We’re heading into London for the day to hit up a few of the tourist hot spots and one of the bookstores Jacob wants to visit.

Except our agreed departure time is long gone.

I glance at my watch, then back up the stairs. “J? You gonna be much longer?”

“Two minutes!” he replies.

Sighing, I take another sip and wait, and just as I’m about to call up again to see if he’s okay or needs help, he appears wearing ripped jeans and a worn Fleetwood Mac t-shirt, his sunglasses perched on his head. When he reaches the bottom step, he grins and looks at me expectantly.

“Ready?”

“I’ve been ready for the last twenty minutes,” I grumble, but he ignores me and takes the coffee from my hand.

I should turn away and head to the door so we can get on the road, but I don’t. I decide torture is the better option. I stare as his lips purse around the lid of the travel cup,where my own mouth was only seconds ago. His lips are glossy, almost fuller, like he’s wearing some kind of balm, accentuating his bow-shaped lips, all pouty and pillowy.

And that deviant part of my mind wonders how good they would look wrapped around my cock.

Fuck.Said cock twitches in my jeans at the idea. It likes that thought a lot.

I internally groan, willing my half-hard dick to go down.

“Let’s go,” I say through gritted teeth.

Five minutes later, we’re driving toward Central London. Jacob fiddles with the radio, humming along to whatever song is playing. He’s been taking photos out of the window and tapping away on his phone. He’s practically bouncing with energy, and it’s the only excuse I can think of for why I keep sneaking glances at him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he announces.

I cast a quick glance and arch a brow at him. “Sounds dangerous.”

He rolls his eyes and snorts, lightly slapping my bicep with his fingers. “So, for your family to believe we’re a real couple, we need to be convincing, right?”

“Right,” I say, focusing back on the road.

“I think we need to use our chemistry to our advantage. I mean, I already think there’s something simmering between us, so what if we just…” He pauses, pulling his top lip between his teeth, before continuing. “I think we should treat today like we’re going on a date.”

I almost slam on the brakes. I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I clear my throat, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Uh, sure. We can do that.”

“I’ll be quite a touchy boyfriend, holding hands,touching your arm or chest, that kinda thing, so you can’t be stiff or look uncomfortable around me.”

Small chance of that happening, considering there’s part of me that’s oftenstiffaround Jacob, and it’s definitely not because I’m uncomfortable.

I hate being a tourist.

It’s not that I don’t like London; I do. It’s a great city. I just don’t like people, and there are hundreds of them outside Buckingham Palace. Tourists don’t seem to understand the concept of personal space, and I’m about two seconds away from telling the next person who pushes into me to fuck off.

Jacob, though?

Jacob is on cloud fucking nine.

He’s taken what must be nearly a million photos of the palace, the fountains, the horse guards—even one of a pigeon.

“London pigeons are different from Chicago pigeons, and I think Elliot will appreciate it,” was his reasoning.

Our goalie does get amused by the weirdest shit, so I can’t fault him for his thought process.

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