Page 22 of Fever Dream
He says nothing but it’s almost like I can feel the smile spreading across his cheeks and I pull him in closer. This right here is why professional boundaries are required. But I can’t bring myself to regret anything when Casey finally pulls back, not hiding his glassy eyes from me. That’s another thing I loveabout this guy. He has absolutely no issues sharing his emotions and that’s a beautiful thing.
“The media is going to have a field day,” he says, lips almost tugging up in a grin at the idea.
“I know. Mick’s going to feed them some line about you pulling up sore from a training session,” I tell him. My hand is still in his hair and I know I need to pull it away but the way he leans into my touch has those fleeting morals dissipating in the breeze.
And seeing as my morals have already gone to the dogs, I say the words I had already promised myself I would not utter. The ones I’d drilled into my head even as I stood on his doorstep not ten minutes ago.
“Do you want me to say?”
He just nods but I see the way the tension in his shoulders eases at my words, almost like I knew he wouldn’t want to be alone with his thoughts tonight. And damn if I am going to let him go through this alone.
***
The problem with my offer to keep Casey company tonight is that I clearly underestimated his need for coddling. He doesn’t leave my side for more than a minute all night until we finally part ways in the hallway and I make my way to the guest room—the one that is way too close to his room.
I should have known better. Because less than an hour later I hear the soft pads of his footsteps down the hall before he pulls back the covers of the bed I am sleeping in and crawls in beside me. I know this is stupid. I know I should not have put myself in this position to begin with. But what do I do? I just roll over, pull him in closer and fall asleep to his soft sighs.
I am an idiot.
The state of my idiocy is far more apparent the next morning as the sun starts to peek in through the curtains and I become more aware of the firm body pressed to my side. My cock is aware though, standing at full attention under the sheet. I quickly roll onto my other side so that it is not poking into Casey’s thigh—the one that is currently draped over my hip.
My jostling wakes him, and he shuffles in his sleep before he opens his big sad eyes, and I am forced to swallow. How he can look so damn delicious after a night cuddled up beside me is anyone’s guess.
“Morning,” he mumbles, his usual early morning pep missing today. I know why though so I give him a break.
“How did you sleep?” I ask, smoothing back the hair from his eyes. Okay what? I pull my hand back as fast as I can, reminding my brain that just because we woke up with a hot guy in our bed, he is not ours to touch.
“As well as can be expected,” he sighs. I rein in the smile that wants to appear at his words. Football players can be so dramatic. Despite my understanding of his pain, itisjust a game of football after all. Nobody died.
He sighs a big old sigh and flops onto his back, taking some of the covers with him. Of course, that just leaves his delicious naked chest exposed to me and I am nowhere near man enough to not let my eyes wander down all that expanse of chiselled pecs and abs. His hand rubs against his stomach before he shifts lower to squeeze his dick over his boxers which are doing a terrible job at concealing his erection. But his action is so absent I don’t think he’s even aware that he’s just given me an aneurism over here.
“Thanks for keeping me company last night,” he says, utterly oblivious as he rolls back over and cuddles into my side.
“You’re welcome,” I choke back, doing everything in my mortal power to not rub up against him.
“I don’t do so well on my own sometimes,” he chuffs. “Get way too far up in my head. I really needed you last night.”
“I get it,” I manage. That just encourages him to snuggle in closer, just the slightest press of his erection on my leg. I can’t move as sweat pools on my back from the exertion of not moving while trying to ignore every inch of skin he’s touching. Of course, sweet, utterly oblivious Casey just closes his eyes and drifts back off to sleep while I burn in a pool of sweat.
An idiot. That’s what I am. An idiot with a capital I.
CHAPTER 10
casey
Mick Brabham calls me into his office the moment I arrive at the club on Friday morning. I know why he’s calling me in, and I am unaccountably glad that Harrison gave me a heads-up last night.
I still feel terrible with the news that I’m not playing this week, and I’m a little achy from sleeping in this morning and missing dawn Pilates. I blame Harrison for that though. Turns out he is very cosy to snuggle up to at night.
I don’t know what I would have done without him last night. I wasn’t lying when I told him I am not good company for myself. And that’s at the best of times. Throw in the most devastating news you can give a footballer and, well, yeah, I needed him last night.
Not that missing one single game is the most devastating news a footballer can hear. I know I spiral quickly, and I know I need to keep this in perspective. It’s not like it’s theactualmost devastating news a footballer can hear (which is the dreaded ACL—touch wood). Still.
“Hi, Coach,” I say as I knock on his open door. He glances up at me from where he’s peering at his screen with his readingglasses, his face taking on a fatherly concern as I step into the room. Despite his incredible AFL legacy as a hard man of the game, Mick Brabham has turned into quite a cute and cuddly older man with his dusting of grey hair and lined eyes. Age suits him well.
“Calloway,” he replies, smiling the smile of the deliverer of bad news. Harrison told me he wasn’t meant to be the one to deliver the news to me last night, so I know I’m not actually supposed to know yet.
I sigh for his benefit. “I’m not playing, am I?”
