Page 107 of Fumbling for Perfection

“I don’t see why you can’t.” I take one of my shirts out of my drawer and work it over her head. “But if you insist on covering those perfect tits, you can do so with one of my shirts.”

“Okay.” She beams up at me like I just made her day. “But that means you’re not allowed to wear a shirt.”

“We playing that game?” I step into my joggers, sans my boxers. “That means since I’m wearing bottoms, you’re not allowed to.”

“Okay,” she quickly agrees.

I follow her down the hall and lift her shirt, getting an eye full of the ass that I love.

“Hey. No fair.”

“It seems fair to me since you have full visionary access to my chest. I need to be able to see your ass and pussy. Fair is fair.”

She shakes her head at me, but I don’t miss her shy smile. We wash up and I help carry the lasagna to the dining room table while she brings a salad and garlic bread.

“I didn’t know I had candles.”

“I figured since they had never been lit.”

We sit next to each other in comfortable silence while we eat. I could come home to this every day and die a happy man. Not just the food or the orgasms, but Riley.

“Oh my God. I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this yet.” She turns in her seat so she’s sideways. “You’ll never guess what was delivered today at work.”

“Tell me.” I love the excitement etched all over her face. She’s adorable.

“Not only did Nike donate ten boxes of sneakers and athleticwear,tenboxes, Walker, but they also wrote us a check.”

“That’s awesome. Having their backing is huge. I’m proud of you.” I give her a kiss, which I can’t wait to take deeper, but we’re enjoying a dinner she worked hard making and I don’t want to ruin it by ravishing her. Instead, I’ll ravish the damn good lasagna.

No one has ever made a home cooked meal especially for me. Sure, I’ve had them at Coach’s house, or on the few times I’ve accepted a dinner invitation to a teammate’s home, but never from my mother and never from a girlfriend.

“Guess how much the check is for?”

“Ten grand?” When she shakes her head I ask, “Did they match my donation?”

“Nope.” She makes a popping sound with theP.

“Cheapskates.”

Her cheeks are rosy, possibly still from the orgasm, maybe from the warm lasagna, most likely from her excitement.

“I mean, close. If you add another zero to the end.”

My eyes bug out of their sockets. “Nike cut you a check for half a million dollars?”

She bites her bottom lip and nods. “I don’t even know what to do with so much money.”

“Riley.” I scoop her off her chair and place her on my lap so I can wrap my arms around her. “I’m so happy for you. Your hard work has paid off.”

“I have you to thank, Walker. If it weren’t for you, Nike wouldn’t even know Boston Strong or I exist.” She straddles my lap and rests her wrists on my shoulders.

“Not true.” I brush her hair out of her face, all too aware that the only thing separating her naked pussy from my cock is my thin joggers. “I don’t have a contract with Nike. It’s a dream of mine, but you beat me to it.”

“There’s no need to be so modest. You’re what made the event go viral. You’re why I need to hire more staff. You’re why I need to stay up all night and make a detailed expenditure report for how we’re going to spend the donation. It’s a stipulation that goes along with the chunk of change.”

“Let me hire an accountant for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

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