Page 129 of Overtime
Slowly, he lifts his eyes. “What’s under the jersey?”
My lips twitch. “What do you think?”
“Hopefully nothing. Say it’s nothing.”
“Underwear, Aran. I wouldn’t go out wearing your jersey and nothing else.”
“That’s a good point. Let’s keep the nudity only between us.” Aran dumps the rest of the ingredients into the blender and turns it on. I feel like that’s a metaphor that applies to me too.
Shaking my head, I head back to my room and put on the jeans I should’ve been wearing all along. It’s not like Aran is a one-track-mind kind of guy, but it’s very easy to send it into the gutter. The problem, I’m finding, is that when he getsmymind in the gutter, it can get very dangerous. Like at the lake this time around. If it hadn’t been for his semifinal game, we would’ve taken things a step further right there in the wild.
Which… maybe wouldn’t have been so bad.
I shake my head and smack my cheeks, looking at myself in the mirror. Maybe the perv has been me all along.
“Focus, Maddie,” I whisper at my reflection. “We’re here to get studying done before his big game. Nothing else.”
“Why not?” I jump out of my skin. Aran’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. “We could study our mouths some more. And so many other parts that we could study with our hands or our mouths—preferably both. According to research, such activities help athletes focus before their games.”
“Are you trying to sound academic while pitching sex to me?”
His eyebrows go up. “Is it working?”
“No.”
“That’s fine. Academic research is all about trying again and again.” Aran shrugs.
“Good gravy,” I mutter, barely biting back my smile. “Let’s go put your mind on your very last essay, okay?”
He stretches out one hand, and I immediately slide my fingers between his. They’re so big they stretch mine out a bit. Yet there’s nothing more perfect than when we hold hands likethis. Not with a weak grip that can be broken easily, but all in. Tight. As if our lives depend on it.
I pull him to the living room, and we settle on the floor with our backs against the couch. Aran lets my hand go only to put his arm around my shoulders and pull me against his side. With the other hand, he fires his laptop back up. He’ll have to type one-handed, because there’s no way I’m getting out of this embrace. I lean my head on his shoulder and pick up my reading packet from the coffee table.
We get maybe ten minutes of actual work done, with Aran reading his business case and me studying the material for my advanced creative writing elective, before he decides my neck is more interesting. He brushes my hair away, and I feel his breath against my skin.
“Aran.”
“Maddie?” he whispers against my ear.
I can’t possibly think of what to say when he closes his teeth softly around my earlobe. Turns out we both like to bite and, um, be bitten. Because I shudder so hard it makes him chuckle.
I grab his knee, but it’s not the warning I was hoping for. Not when his muscles feel so delectable under his sweatpants. And the fabric is very thin. I knead, trying to map them all in my mind.
“Careful with that hand, Strawberry.”
“Or what?”
I feel him curl a finger into the jersey’s neck and pull, brushing my skin until it hits the strap of my bra. Then he pulls on that too. My eyes roll shut as he kisses my shoulder. Softly. So softly it’s barely a whisper. And now every inch of my skin has goose bumps.
My tongue’s heavy, and my words come out weird. “Aran, we only have a couple of hours before your game.”
He smiles against my neck. “You’re right. This deserves a lot more time.”
I clear my throat. Twice. “Right. So can we get back to studying?”
“No.”
Not only was I not expecting that answer, but I also wasn’t expecting him to pull me up and against him, grabbing my thighs and spreading them apart until I’m on his lap. Straddling him. And facing him. With his hands all cozy on my hips. Under the jersey.
