Page 93 of Touchdown, Tennessee
“What makes you think I’m a good date for a formal party, anyway? You really want me to be your date, around all your football friends? Isn’t Coach Ennick going to be pissed if you’re dating the article writer?”
“No. He’ll probably jump for joy if he finds out.”
I pulled in a breath of cold air.
I’m not supposed to let myself trust anyone, but it’s like I can’t help myself with you.
My heart was racing like a thumping rabbit now.
“Fine. I’ll go to the stupid fucking party.”
His face lit up and my heart went wild for him all over again.
“It’s going to be so fun. They’ll have great food. Champagne. A live band.”
I shook my head. “You realize that I could still publish an article on you that will directly cause your career to come to a screeching halt, right? Why aren’t you still staring daggers at me every time you see me?”
He pulled in a long breath, looking up at the moon then back at me. He tucked a finger under the strap of his backpack, then shrugged.
“I know you could still do it,” he said. “Honestly, Part of me thinks youwill, just to prove a point. But I’ve realized something else, too.”
“That you’recrazyfor thinking I’m a good date?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve realized that there are some things I’ll justneverbe able to control.”
I clenched my jaw, looking him up and down. “I’ve always felt that way.”
He gave me a nod. “And I’ve always felt the opposite. I’ve always felt like I had to control everything in my life, to make it good. But I’m starting to think the things I don’t control might be just as good.”
“Like…”
“Like my sexuality,” he said. “Or… this.”
He grabbed the bulge at the front of his pants, showing me the thick outline of his cock.
“Always hard for me.”
He grabbed mine, squeezing around the base. “You’re always hard for me, too.”
I leaned in and bit down on his lower lip, sucking on it.
An impulse I couldn’t control.
He moaned at the contact and let me do it, skating his palm along my cock again.
“I cannot fucking handle you,” I whispered.
“Yeah. And I can’t control my feelings for you.”
I felt like I was entering territory that had warning signs everywhere, blinking bright in my eyes. I was ignoring all of them, barreling ahead.
This is going to be bad, isn’t it?
“The live band at the party better be good,” I said.
The fuck am I doing?
Why am I trusting this?
