Page 10 of Falling for 42
By the way he’s got his eyebrow quirked and his arms crossed, revealing two sleeves of ink that have probably been there a good ten or fifteen years, it’s hard not to notice he’s a good-looking guy. But I don’t even fight the pull Malik has on me.
Everything about Malik, from his sweet humor to the slight twang he has and the way he lit up during the pregame warm-ups when our gazes collided does it for me.
Over the past two weeks, I’ve been scraping every spare moment of my day talking and texting and getting to know everything about him. I’ll be honest, it’s not the ideal time for me to even think about a serious relationship. Life’s manic, and so is trying to set up the second shop that Paulie greenlighted after I finally spoke to him about it a week or so ago.
But none of that stops me.
Beyond hours of conversation and a few stolen, heated kisses, there’s a lot to discover about Malik, and I want that. Desperately. Maybe even frighteningly so.
How the fuck a guy I barely know can already be so far under my skin is something I should be shitting a brick about. I’m pretty damn sure there’s something wrong with me and how much time I spend thinking about the guy. But here I am. Watching Malik now as whatever he planned to say to his coach so he doesn’t have to jump on the team bus backfires.
I’m at the edge of the court, the small stadium already practically empty. After the final buzzer went and the away team—Malik and my brother’s team—won, it didn’t take long for the fans to grumble and clear out. I fight to not step forward and intervene, see if I can come up with some sort of bullshit excuse that’s not me simply saying to his coach that I plan to spend the next few hours with Malik underneath me before I finally get the chance to put my needle to his virgin skin.
Hell, my dick twinges just thinking about the latter, let alone the idea of him under me, so it’s best I stop thinking how hot and tight he’s going to feel before I humiliate myself.
My lips twitch when Malik’s gaze darts to mine before confusion has me stilling. He’s looking at me like…. Hell, that’s definitely an “oh shit” expression. I look to his right. His coach’s assessing eyes are on me, and I can’t make out what he’s saying, but whatever it is, he peers back at Malik, his phone in hand, and seems to ask a question.
How the fuck I feel like a damn kid in this situation is both annoying and confusing. But I need to get my head out of my ass and find out what the hell is going on. With a crack of my neck, I head their way, hoping my shitkicker boots don’t create scuffs. That’ll be just what I need—being run off and cussed out for ruining a court.
As I draw nearer, I meet Malik’s gaze. His flush is instant. I drink in the shade, wondering if he’ll blush as sexily when he’s underneath me. Trying to banish the thought is hard—a little like my overeager cock—but I keep myself in check as I tug my lips into a smile, finally saying, “Hey, we all good here?”
“Hey, Kobe.” Malik’s eyes go wide. “Yeah, all good.” He side-eyes his coach, and I follow his gaze, but it quickly snags on his neck and the ink there. A cogged skull. I recognize the inkwork immediately. It’s as familiar to me as my own.
“No shit.” I make eye contact with Coach Tiller. “That looks like Paulie’s work.”
An easy smile appears on the coach’s face, and he extends his arm to me. I shake his hand as he says, “Yeah, Paulie at Black Vein.” He tilts his head at me. “Kobe, right?”
“Yeah.”
Coach Tiller’s handshake is firm, the kind that saysI’ve seen some shit, and his smirk has just enough edge to tell me he knows exactly what’s going on here. He crosses his arms again, the motion making the falcon inked on his bicep flex like it might take flight.
“Paulie taught you, didn’t he?” his coach asks, his tone casual, but there’s a knowing gleam in his eye.
“Yep. Still works at the original shop, though we’re branching out,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the conversation and not on how Malik’s shifting uncomfortably next to him, his gaze flicking between us. “Small world, huh?”
Coach’s smirk widens. “Small world. And now you’re here to put ink on one ofmystar players, huh?”
“Lucky enough to be the first,” I say smoothly, my grin sharp as I slide my hand to Malik’s hip and tug him closer. The move is as deliberate as it is instinctive. I want Coach Tiller—and anyone else for that matter—to know exactly what my intentions are.
Malik flushes again, a deeper red now, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, his hand brushes mine, almost tentative, like he’s still testing the waters of this thing between us.
Coach’s gaze flickers to the spot where my fingers rest, and for a second, I think he’s going to comment. Instead, he shrugs and lets out a low chuckle. “Well, Malik’s an adult. He’s earned his free time. Just make sure he doesn’t come back with any, uh… regrettable ink.”
“Regrettable?” I arch a brow, feigning offense. “Come on, Coach, give me some credit. NoLive, Laugh, Loveon my watch. Malik’s in good hands.”
“I bet he is,” Coach says with a smirk so sharp, it’s practically a wink before clapping Malik on the shoulder. “Be ready for film review Monday. Don’t make me regret this.”
“Yes, sir,” Malik says, his voice even, though his ears are red as hell.
With that, Coach gives us a final once-over before turning and walking toward the locker room, leaving me and Malik alone on the emptying court.
The second he’s out of sight, Malik lets out a breath and glances at me, his expression somewhere between mortified and amused. “Could younotflirt with my coach?”
“Flirt?” I drawl, my lips tugging into a slow, deliberate grin. “That wasn’t flirting. That was just me staking my claim.”
Malik huffs a laugh, but he doesn’t move away when I step closer, my hand still resting on his hip. “You know, he wasthis closeto ripping into me for trying to bail on the bus. Then you showed up with your boots and your cocky smile and….” He trails off, shaking his head.
“And?” I prompt, leaning in just enough to make his breath hitch.
