Page 66 of Fumbled Into Love

Maybe she needs something else. Pain medication or something to eat.

Nathalie pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I-I know it’s against rule number two,” she starts, eyes flicking to the drawer where she stashed the paper, “but will you hold my belly for a little while? It helps with the pain.”

The question is so fucking hesitant that my chest cracks, and I spread my legs open and pat the space between them.

“Come here.” I slip a hand beneath her sweatshirt to palm her lower abdomen. “For as long as you need,” I respond.

Nathalie’s small palm covers my hand, and she intertwines our fingers.

This moment with her is more intimate than any moment I’ve had with Savannah, and my brain and heart are struggling to compartmentalize this, to put it into a box and label it as ‘casual.’

Nothing about taking care of her feels ‘casual,’ but that’s what I need to be. That’s what I said I could be.

Casual.

Just sex.

Those words are beginning to haunt me.

We haven’t done anything but kiss since Halloween, and the feelings are already deepening. I need to nip them in the bud before they get worse. Even with the rules she put into place at GameChangers a few days ago, it’s done nothing to banish the feelings. It’s because my feelings have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with who she is as a person.

I can be casual. If I follow her rules, I can do it.

Maybe if I think it enough, it will become true.

“How was practice?”

“It was fine. Spent some time with Tommy.”

“Who’s Tommy?”

“The rookie quarterback we drafted. Addie also made a new smoothie flavor today, and it wassogood. I’m going to dream about the smoothie.”

Nathalie giggles, her body jostling.

“Do I need to be jealous of Addie?” she teases, “Have you found a new fake girlfriend?”

You’re the only one I want,I think to myself,The only one who has ever made me feel this alive in years.

“Not my type,” I say, tapping my fingers against her stomach. Nathalie’s head bends backward.

“What is your type?”

“Short brunettes with blue glasses and an over-appreciation for Orlando Bloom do something for me,” I admit, nothing but truth in my words. She is stunningly beautiful. Warm, brown eyes flecked with gold. Plump lips paired with soft cheeks. Long, thick hair, the hue of freshly brewed coffee.

Her beauty is a shock to the system, but her personality—her humor and compassion—is what I like about her most.

Nathalie smacks my arm, assuming I’m joking.

“Well, I’m into stubborn quarterbacks with geriatric cats, an endless stomach, and a concerning relationship with a label maker.”

She laughs deeply, and my stomach sours. I want her to be into me.

More than in a physical way.

I know she finds me physically attractive, but what does she think ofme?

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