Page 19 of Final Down

Wyatt turns the water on for the double shower heads and pops open the glass door before turning his attention to me. He lifts my T-shirt up my body, and I lift my arms so he can remove it completely. I start to slide my shorts down my hips, but he moves my hands out of the way, taking over the job and dropping soft kisses on my belly as he pulls my shorts and unflattering granny panties down my legs. He drops his towel to the floor, then unties my sneakers and slips them off my feet, allowing me to step out of my clothes before he rolls my socks over my arches and tosses them to the side.

I slide my bra straps from my shoulders and reach behind my back to unhook the silk bralette, letting it fall to the floor between us. Wyatt’s palms slide up the length of my legs, tracing the curves of my hips before slowly creeping up my sides until his thumbs brush over my nipples. My lips part with a soft breath and he tips my chin up to meet his mouth, sucking in my top lip and holding it hostage until his stretching grin breaks his hold.

“You know I love trying to make a baby with you, right?” His smoldering voice helps erase the lingering distress, and I tilt my head to the side, stretching my neck for him to taste. His tongue takes a swipe at my skin, and the low rumble of his sinister laugh fills my ears.

Wyatt walks me backward into the shower, the warm water pelting my back and soon cascading over my head. He fills his hand with a few pumps of lavender shampoo and works the lather into my scalp and hair. My eyes fall shut at the sensation. Sometimes this type of touch is what I crave—to be cared for and eased away from my spiraling thoughts for a little while.

“I love you so much,” I whisper, my eyes still shut. I’m finding it hard to open them. I had a lot to drink today, and I fear I may pay for it in the morning. My vision is swirling, but Wyatt’shand is on my back, bracing me. I’m not afraid. I’m simply . . . tired.

“I will always love you more.”

And those are the last words I remember before his lips press to my head and he shuts off the water.

Cool air blows a few stray hairs across my forehead, waking me from the deepest sleep I’ve had in days, maybe weeks. I blink my eyes open, glad that the room is still dim. Wyatt steps out of the bathroom, fully showered and dressed to take the field. I’m not entirely sure what day it is or how long I was out.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says with a wry smirk.

He steps back into the bathroom briefly then comes out with a glass of water and what I presume is a handful of Advil. He hands me three pills, and I quirk a brow.

“I’m not the one taking hits on the field this week. I think two will do,” I say, squinting as I pry my eyes open wider. He spills all three pills into my palm and closes my hand around them.

“I’m pretty sure you’re in three-Advil territory. You sounded like Whiskey last night when I put you to bed.” He chuckles and I wince, knowing full well what Whiskey sounds like when he sleeps. Like a bear. A fucking bear . . . gargling. A fucking gargling bear.

I toss the pills in my mouth and gulp down half of the water. That slight movement of my head sends a throb to my temples. I quickly hand Wyatt the glass and press my palms to the sides of my head before falling back into the pillow.

“Maybe four-Advil territory,” I admit.

He laughs, setting the glass on the nightstand before crawling into the bed and nestling next to me. He smells fresh and clean, and like the hotel’s lavender body wash. I’m thinking of plucking that bottle right off the wall, I like it so much.

“Why don’t you go back to sleep. It’s five, and I have a long day ahead. Then, maybe tonight we blow off Whiskey and Tashafor a date night all our own. How does that sound?” He nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his nose grazing my jawline before he nips lightly at my skin.

“Mmm, maybe we order in,” I say, my body tingling with desire. If I didn’t think I’d fall over from vertigo by doing it, I’d pounce on this man and pull those sweatpants he’s wearing down far enough for me to sit on that hard-on pressing against my thigh. But moving any more than I already have might kill me. And nothing kills the mood more than a grown-ass woman rushing to the bathroom with a hangover.

“Only if you wear that dress I saw you pack. You know the one, with the low back, and that slit that goes up the side, and?—”

“The red one?” I quirk a brow, my right eye opening a little wider than the left.

Wyatt lets out a guilty chuckle, then kisses my lips before getting up from the bed.

“That’s the one. Six o’clock. Be ready. I’ll take care of everything.” He winks as he backs away, like the damn teenager he was the first time he did that. And I fall for him all over again, right before falling back asleep.

Chapter Nine

It wasn’t Peyton’s snoring that kept me up last night, though I didn’t lie to her—she was sawing logs so loudly she may as well have been building a cabin. I’ve slept through her post-wine nights out, though, and what kept me up until two in the morning had nothing to do with my environment and everything to do with my head.

I know how much Peyton’s heart hurts, and every time a month goes by without a hint that we may finally be pregnant, the hope and joy that lives behind her eyes grows a bit dimmer. Last night, seeing her fall apart with disappointment . . . I couldn’t help but ask myself what the hell I’m doing here. The dinner with Coach, Mickey, and Phillips didn’t help. I feel I’m being used, and in the process, it’s taking a toll on Peyton. It would be one thing if it were just me here going through the ropes only to get let down in the end. I’m not sure I can take Peyton getting let down again.

Yesterday’s workout was a joke. It’s a good thing I had an hour to myself to cool off in the shower before Peyton got back to the hotel. I was pretty lit. I spent the afternoon running routesand throwing the ball at targets, and the entire thing felt like those pro-games Bryce and I would get invited to during college. Sure, my arm was fine. I think I looked fast, and I felt agile. But I could see it in everyone’s face who was watching.Indifference.Fuck, even Bryce looked indifferent, and his job is to sell my ass.

“Pumped for today, man! Let’s do this!” Whiskey flattens his palm into the center of my chest, knocking some of my wind away.

“Hell, yeah! See you out there, brother!” I put on a good face for my friend, but when he leaves the locker room, I drop my forearms to my thighs, balling my hands as I stare at the Cyclones emblem swirled in a mix of red, black, and blue in the carpet in the center of the room.

I can’t walk away from this. It’s not in my fabric. My dad would be disappointed, and I live my life by his creed. You finish what you start. And there are people who believe in me. I don’t want to let them down. But I can’t help this feeling that this game is rigged. I’m not sure I have a fair shot.

“Hey, there’s my favorite client.”

I chuckle silently at the sound of Bryce’s salesman voice. Lifting my head, I snag my helmet from beside me and get to my feet.

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