Page 47 of Play the Last Track
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When I wake up the next morning, I’m sprawled across the couch. One leg dangles over the edge, my foot resting on the floor.
A weight presses into my side, my arm numb, and that side of my body warm. I am desperate to stretch out, to wriggle my fingers and toes and get the feeling back into my body, but something in me warns me to go slow, to be careful.
I crack an eyelid open, and then the other. Blinking in the low light, the room comes into focus. I inhale cinnamon and whiskey.Katie.
I look down. Her body is wedged between me and the back of the couch, her legs tangled with mine. Her face is pressed into my chest, eyelashes fluttering as she sleeps. Her hair is thrown over my arm, covering some of the back of the couch. One of my arms, the numb one, is curled around her, holding her to me. The other is thrown up and behind my head. As I wake up properly, I realize that there’s something warm pressed against my crotch. It could be a pillow; the throw from the couch could be bundled right on top of it. I stare at the roof and take a deep breath. When I look down, a grin spreads across my face.
Katie’s hand is on my dick.
Her hand, so warm and relaxed, is down my shorts, her fingers splayed over my cock. Her hands are warm and relaxed. And, in case you missed it, resting against my cock.
Jesus fucking Christ.
We fell asleep watchingWicked, and at some point, we tangled together. What a way to wake up. I close my eyes and will myself to go back to sleep, to savor this moment. My feelings for Katie have only grown since having her in my space. I want to unlock her secrets and get into her head just like she has mine. I’m starting with friends, and I’ll respect it if she puts her foot down and says that’s all we are, but until that day, I’m going to keep trying.
Fake relationship or not, there’s nothing fake about what happened in Italy.
That felt—that was—all real.
I stare at the ceiling for what feels like another hour. The sun is fully risen, and the room is bathed in light. I haven’t been able tofall back asleep, but I close my eyes and just lie here, breathing her in. Gently, so as not to wake her, I stroke my fingers through her long hair.
It’s soft and silky to the touch. I wrap one of the loose curls around my finger, twisting the strands before letting them fall loose again.
I can pinpoint the moment Katie wakes. Her breathing changes, her body freezes. She goes impossibly still against me. My eyes are still closed, and I force myself to relax. I do not want to embarrass her, or let on to the fact that I knew her hand was on my dick and I did nothing about it. I feel her move, her hand twitching against me. I start counting backwards from a hundred to keep myself in check.
Her hand moves again, her fingers flexing, and I have to hold in a groan.
Ninety-seven … ninety-six … ninety-five …
Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard.Don’t get hard.
Her hand starts to slide away and over my hip, and I feel the breath I was holding in my chest release. Once her hand is clear, I feign a stretch and open my eyes.
Bright blue stares up at me through long lashes. Her cheeks are flushed, rosy pink, and her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth. It’s so cute, I want to tug her lip free and devour her mouth.
But I won’t.
She’s not there yet.
“Morning,” I say, my throat dry and my voice deep. I feel her shiver against me, still staring.
“Hi,” she whispers. “We fell asleep.”
“You may have been right about the three-hour movie.”
“I’m always right,” she says, a smile forming on her lips.
I smile down at her, and the hand I still have wrapped around her gently traces a path down her arm. She shivers again and then pushes a palm into my chest and sits up. “Oh my god, what time is it?”
I look around for my phone. “No idea.”
Katie finds hers first, gasps, and then turns the screen toward me. Eight oh one.
Shit.
“Fuck, I’m going to be late.” Untangling our legs, I rush off the couch, throwing cushions on the ground in search of my phone. I find it buried under a few in the corner at our feet. Thankfully, no missed calls or texts. I shoot off a text to my offensive coach and tell him I might be late. I’ll get fined, but if I rush, I might just make it to walk out.
