Page 47 of Matched By My Rival
He grinned, and holy shit…had Ieverseen Simon Prentiss smile before? If I had, it hadn’t been this kind of smile, the kind that transformed his entire face from stoic, serious Simon to cute, happy Simon.
“It’s called the Haymaker for a reason,” he said as he sat a bottle of water on the bar.
I cracked it open, guzzling half of it one go. My head was still spinning from the first shot. Not to mention the beer I had before it. What was that saying, beer then liquor, never sicker? I forced myself to drink the rest of the water.
Simon drifted away to serve a few more drinks while last call went out, and I selfishly stayed wedged against the bar instead of making room for someone else.
I swiped at the water that had dripped down my chin and onto my bare chest. When I looked up, Simon was back. Watching me.
“It’s closing time,” he said.
I locked eyes with him. “Good. I have plans for you.”
“Plans?”
“Yeah. I think you should let me into that backroom again, don’t you?”
Simon licked his lips. Was he nervous? My admittedly drunk brain tried to process his reaction. He’d never been with a guy before a week ago. Maybe I was coming on too strong.
He glanced over at the other bartender, who gave him a nod in return. Then without another word, he raised the gate to the bar and beckoned me through.
Silently, he led me into the backroom—only this time there were still people in the bar. Last call had wrapped up, but the other bartender was right outside, surely knowing why Simon had brought me back here.
Simon turned to face me. “I’m sorry about last week.”
My heart sank. Had he brought me back here just to reject me in private?
“I’m not.”
Determination blazed through me. I wasn’t going to let Simon deny the charge between us. He could resent me if he wanted, blame me for stepping into his shoes on the field.
But he couldn’t deny he wanted me. It was in his eyes.
“More than last week, really. I shouldn’t have—”
“Shut up, Simon,” I said, putting a hand to his chest and pushing him back into a stretch of bare wall between a stack of boxes and a shelving unit.
“What?” He laughed a little. “Parker, I’m just trying to tell you that I’m an asshole.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“Fine.” His glare was back. “I want you to—”
But he didn’t need to finish. My lips were already on his.
He made a soft noise of relief that went straight to my head, and pulled me closer, tighter, until I could feel every ridge and plane of his body against mine.
* * *
SIMON
Parker kissed me, and it felt different than the last time he’d followed me into this dingy backroom. For one thing, it was less angry. I’d spent the past week thinking of nothing but the explosion of lust between us. The disconnect between who I always thought he was and who he might actually be.
Parker was the football player I wanted to be, strong and successful and the twinkle in our coach’s eye. He was also the guy who’d had the bad taste to take my ex-girlfriend to a party, metaphorically kicking me when I was down. But he was more than that too. He was sweet and funny. He was patient and respectful. Even when I’d attempted to ghost him, he’d remained loyal, messaging me, waiting for me.
ParkerwasHotPan. And whatever my past with Parker, HotPan was my friend. Was my confidante.
Was my sexy tutor willing to lead me through a bisexual exploration.
