Page 82 of What If I Hate You
He lets out a low groan. “Jesus, Rivers. Don’t say that or I’m gonna get hard again.”
I smile against his skin. “So don’t make me say it. Just know it.”
He pulls me tighter against him, tucks my head under his chin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “I know it.”
And somehow, that feels more intimate than the sex ever was.
Because this? This quiet warmth in the dark? This is what it feels like tobelong.
And I’m starting to think… maybe I want to.
With him.
The room is quiet except for the low hum of the city beyond the window and the steady thump of Barrett’s heartbeat under my ear.
And then, like the man has no sense of self-preservation, he says casually, “So…should I retire these sheets? Or maybe bronze them?”
I groan and bury my face in his chest. “Barrett.”
“What?” His voice is pure amusement. “I’m just saying. My girl was badass and I’m going to remember this night one way or another.”
My girl.
I didn’t think I’d ever enjoy hearing those two words come from Barrett Cunningham’s mouth. Especially in regard to me.
But I think it might be my new favorite thing.
I smack him in the ribs, but he just laughs, low and smug and thoroughly pleased with himself.
“You’re such an ass.”
He kisses the top of my head. “An ass who got you to soak my mattress. You’re welcome.”
I glance up at him, trying and failing to look unimpressed. “You realize now I can never look your teammates in the eye again without thinking about the fact that I turned your bed into a kiddie pool.”
He raises a brow, grinning. “Oh, they’re definitely going to know.”
I swat at him again, but he just rolls out of bed with a groan, stark naked and zero shame, and starts tugging the damp sheets off the mattress.
“Stop looking at my ass like that,” he says without looking at me.
“I’m not!” I lie very poorly.
I roll off the bed and he tosses the ruined top sheet into a pile, then shoots me a grin over his shoulder. “You know you’re lucky you’re hot, Rivers. Otherwise, I might’ve madeyouwash the sheets.”
“You’re lucky you’re good at what you do, Cunningham, or I might’ve walked out mid-orgasm and left you to deal with your swamp bed alone.”
That gets a laugh out of him, deep and unfiltered, and I feel a ridiculous sense of pride knowing I can makehimlaugh like that.
Once the bed is stripped, he pulls on a fresh pair of sweatpants and tosses me one of his hoodies this time, leaving my clothes dispersed all over the floor of his apartment. Oversized, soft as hell, and smelling perfectly like Bear, I pull it on over my head without thinking.
His eyes darken a little when he sees me in it, but he wisely says nothing. I pretend not to notice, even though I feel it like a spark across my skin.
He disappears down the hallway and I take a minute to use the restroom and clean myself up. When I’m done I sneak a pair of his boxer briefs from his dresser drawer—what he doesn’t know won’t kill him—and pull them on before making my way down the hall to the kitchen. He picks up a couple slices of pizza on paper plates and a cold beer in each hand and then turns to find me standing in the doorway watching. I laugh when he nearly stumbles and drops the pizza when he sees me wearing his underwear along with his hoodie.
“Jesus fucking Christ, woman. Warn a man when you’re looking that hot.”
Killer weaves in and out of my feet so I bend down to pick him up, snuggling him into my arms. My eyes flit to Barrett and then I playfully lift my shoulder. “Sorry not sorry. I needed pants and found these.”
