Page 61 of The Game Plan

“Please…”

He tugs at the fabric, and I lift my hips to help him.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admits, before he presses a kiss to the top of my mound. “You have to tell me if you don’t like it.”

He’s been excellent at everything we’ve tried so far, and more than that, he’s eager to learn. I thread my hand through his hair. “I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of this.”

Chapter twenty-three

Miles

Itwasamistakebringing the guys with me. People are staring. They can’t stop staring.

Greg and Barrett are 6’4” and both over three hundred pounds. Wes is as big as a pissed off grizzly bear. Tucker and Amir are like children in a candy store, throwing everything into our cart.

We came here with one simple task: find date night food. To me, that’s something I can easily cook and won’t result in me burning down the house. I’m a passable cook. I can make eggs. I can make chicken. I can make a handful of dishes. I just don’t do it often. It’s easier to walk the mile and a half across campus in the snow to the ASC and the dining hall than it is to make enough food that will satisfy me. And if I want to cook for my roommates? Forget about it. I’d be standing at the stove all night.

“So what’s the game plan?” Amir asks. “What do you want to do?”

We usually use our kitchen for making popcorn, sandwiches, and the occasional frozen burrito. Wes has a very exacting preference as to how he makes his tea. The rest of us will drink hot cocoa when there’s a chill in the air. I make Sam a cup every night she’s over… which is most nights now.

“What about steak?” Greg suggests. He’s pushing the cart with the weariness of a haggard stay at home mother of five. Which, to be fair, is not far off.

“And mashed potatoes,” Barrett adds. “That’s easy enough to do.”

Amir tosses some broccoli into the cart. “Fiber,” he says, like that’s an explanation.

“Not broccoli,” Wes says. “No cruciferous vegetables. Too gassy.”

Oh, good call. I didn’t even think of that.

“What’s your idea then, Mr. Chef?” Amir fires back.

“Green beans or—”

“How about a nice kale salad,” Tucker jumps in. “That’s easy enough you can’t fuck it up.”

“Thanks, asshole,” I tell him. A mom with two little kids in her cart a few feet away glares at us and pushes her delicate little offspring away from our terrible influence.

We make our way through the store. The guys throw anything and everything into the cart. Even though we get the bulk of our food on campus in the dining halls and the grab and go nutrition stations, sometimes it’s nice to have snacks at home. Especially when the weather starts getting colder and wetter and it starts getting dark at, like, three o’clock in the afternoon, and we don’t want to walk the mile and a half to the dining hall in the snow and wet.

Fuck, I hate winter. It’s only October. I’m not ready yet.

“Maybe you should light a fire,” Tucker suggests. “Get all nice and cozy on the couch.”

“Not the couch,” Barrett and Amir say together.

“No fire,” Wes adds.

“We’re not going to hook up on the couch,” I tell them, a little self-consciously. “We’ve been trying to keep it on the down low.”

“Yeah, except we can hear her through the walls,” Greg says. “She certainly sounds like she’s enjoying herself.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s her job,” he grins, clapping me on the back. “You seem happier lately.”

I grunt my agreement. “She makes me happy.”

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