Page 56 of Play the Last Track
“I—” I can see him searching my face, trying to figure out what I’m thinking, but the mask is on now. I am playing pretend again.
“But I also really liked you making me come,” I say, my voice low. My face is certainly blushing a deep red, but I hold my ground. “We can do that again, friend.”
“Like … you want to be friends with benefits?” He sounds confused, eyes still flickering over my features, but I just smile up at him. After a beat, he seems to come to a decision, and his features relax. The set line of his lips curls into a smile, and his eyes shine as he asks, “What are your rules?”
Chapter Fifteen
Flynn
Myjobcomeswitha natural high.
The stadium’s full of people. The yelling, the chanting. The high after a win, after a play that shouldn’t have worked but pays off. Adrenaline rushes through my veins. It makes me bounce on my toes and warms my body. Every time I work out, train on the field, or play, I feel the high that is professional football.
In the early days of my career, I didn’t think anything else could feel this good.
Until Katie.
Fucking her. Laughing with her. Getting to be in her orbit.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
I crave her. I want to be around her constantly. I want to touch her whenever she’s in the same room, to kiss her whenever she’ll let me. In a matter of weeks, my life oriented itself around Katie Murphy. Even now, I feel her presence before I see her. I look over to the seats just behind the team’s bench on the fifty-yard line, and there she is. She’s wearing a white knitted beanie and probably the largest puffer jacket I’ve ever seen. Her curls fall over her shoulder, and the ends lift with the wind. She and Ivy stand with the rest of the crowd, taking part in whatever celebration is going on as the offense walks off the field and changes over. As we get closer, thered on the tip of her nose becomes clear, and I get the urge to run over to the barrier and kiss her.
She’s just so damn adorable.
I won’t. Coach would kill me. Hell, Scott would kill me, but only after reminding me how whipped I am by my girl. I grin, running a hand through my hair as I take off my helmet and shake the strands loose. One of the assistant coaches passes me a team beanie, and I shove it on and over my ears.
Since Thanksgiving, Katie and I have practically been playing house. She calls us friends with benefits, but I’ve decided to ignore that part. She sleeps in my bed. She lets me cook for her, lets me distract her at work, and lets me kiss her whenever I like.
I’m not sure what it is, but it’s definitely not fucking friends with benefits.
She laid out new rules. Don’t get too handsy in front of her family if they’re at the bar, don’t get attached, and don’t fall in love. I waved them all off and grinned like an idiot. Just as I had been dragging her out of the charity ball, bailing early so I could take her home and give her a few more orgasms, she’d said the one thing that could make my heart stop.
Don’t forget the end date. You get re-signed, I make a decision about the future, and we end after the season is over. Go our separate ways.
That’s the only rule I’m not sure I can brush off.
I don’t want to let her go now that I’ve got her. I don’t think I can.
We’re in the fourth quarter, and with less than a minute on the clock, my knee starts to bounce. Not because it’s a relatively close game—we’re smashing them—but because I know as soon as thewhistle goes, I get to have her back in my arms. She’s become the adrenaline I chase more so than football, the better natural high.
Kissing her, being with her, is better than anything, and I could probably be happy spending the rest of my days trying to convince her that she should want that with me, too.
So she’s put an end date on thisfun—her words, not mine—that we’re having. And yes, she’s stubborn and opinionated and does whatever the hell she wants, so I have no doubt that if, at the end of this season, she wants to walk away, she’ll do it.
But I don’t want that.
I want her to stay.
The whistle goes, the game ends, and I clap my teammates on the back, celebrating a hard-earned win. Another game that cements our position at the top of the leaderboards and will likely help us clinch an early playoffs spot. Something I wanted before, but am desperate for now, because if Katie only wants to give me until the end of the season, then I’m going to make this season the longest one I possibly can.
***
I can hear the music the moment I step out of my car.
Wednesdays are annoyingly long, especially the closer we get to the playoffs. We have morning practice, lunch, meetings, strength training, tape, and more meetings. Game tape sessions can go on forever, knowing who else is likely to get through. I practically ran from the stadium, sped home, just so I could make sure I was in time to cook Katie dinner.
Apart from when I’ve had to travel for away games this month, I’ve cooked her a meal every night. I used to hate cooking; it seemed pointless when it was only me. It was a waste because I never felt like eating all the leftovers. But it feels easier now. Last weekend, as we flew home from Atlanta, I spent the entire time on a recipe website, saving all the meals I thought she might like.
