Page 62 of Hometown Touchdown
And Jesus, I just came in my pants like a teenager.
I don’t even care.
She’s on top of me, tangled and glowing and grinning like maybe she feels it too—that whatever this is between us, it never really died. It just went dormant. Waiting.
I run my hand up her back, brushing my fingers lightly over the dip at the base of her spine. “Just so we’re clear,” I murmur, still a little breathless, “I’m in love with you. Not just your hips. Or that dress. Or the way you grind like it’s a competitive sport.”
She laughs into my neck. “You say the most romantic things.”
“Don’t act like you don’t love it.”
Her breath hitches—just a tiny sound, but I catch it. She lifts her head and meets my eyes, and for a second, everything stills.
“I do,” she says softly. “I really do.”
Yeah. That’s it. That’s the moment I know I’m never letting her go again.
But the fact remains that I’m sticky, sweaty, and somewhere in the region offeral golden retrieverlevels of post-makeout disheveled. Also, my dog’s probably judging me from next door.
“I should…” I clear my throat and gesture vaguely. “Change. And grab Priscilla before she eats my couch cushions in protest.”
Brynn sits up, still in just her bra and panties and looking like sin wrapped in silk, and it takes everything I’ve got to not drag her right back down.
Instead, she grins. “Want some company?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” I respond. She squeals when I haul her against me for one more kiss, fast and playful, before letting her go.
“I’ll pack a bag,” she says, standing and scooping up her dress from the floor. “Are you good with me staying the night?”
I can’t help the stupid smile stretching across my face. “Only if you wear one of my shirts to bed.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Deal.”
She scurries up the stairs and I manage to sit upright, wincing when I feel the wet spot in my pants. Once she returns, I stand. “Don’t look at me until I’ve changed.”
She walks toward me. “Oh, Coach, I’ve seen your cum before and I’m pretty sure I’ll see it again. Wear those pants with pride, Champ.” She taps my chest with her hand and heads for the door.
“Jesus, woman,” I say under my breath as I follow behind.
We cross the driveway to my door. Priscilla must’ve heard us coming because I hear her barking the second I step onto the porch.
“She’s gonna tackle you,” I warn as I unlock the door. “She’s been deprived of belly rubs and emotionally available humans all day.”
Brynn snorts. “You mean she’s just like you?”
“Exactly. Which is why she’s the perfect dog.”
I barely get the door open before she’s there—my girl, all golden fur and soulful eyes and so much excitement she nearly spins in a circle.
Brynn kneels before I can say anything. “Well hello, beautiful!” she coos, and I swear Priscilla swoons. Full-on belly-up, tail-wagging, immediate betrayal.
“Traitor,” I mutter, watching my dog sell me out in real time.
Brynn looks over her shoulder, one hand buried in fur. “She loves me.”
“I see that. She’s already planning to leave me for you.”
“She has taste.”
