Although, given her earlier display with Kory, she could use help in that area, which she’d also mentioned. “Brad’s a total tool, and come to think of it, Smitts lives in Mesa, Arizona, so not too far out of the way. I wonder if he’d do me a solid and go kick his ass for me.”
“That’s the only thing you got out of my entire spiel?” Her voice cracked, and it shot him right through the heart.
He placed his hand over hers. “Sorry. My anger made me fixate on what a jerk your ex is, and I went straight to plotting payback on your behalf. As for that other stuff, the fact that he said something so cruel to you”—he exhaled as his blood pumped in hot, quick bursts—“means that he obviously doesn’t know how to please a woman, so don’t you dare take that out on yourself.”
Her eyes turned glossy, a clear sign she was fighting her emotions. “What if it’s true, though? I like sex, and happened to think I was good at it, but maybe he was the only guy willing to tell me the truth. Even if he didn’t have to put the brutal part in being so brutally honest.”
“I don’t buy it. Any guy who’s worth your time, even if it’s just a fling, should study your reactions and take a few fucking seconds to figure out what you like. Did he ever ask you what you wanted? Did you ever have a discussion about it?”
Julie’s shoulders sagged. “No. I guess that’s on me, too. There were times I…” Her cheeks flared red, the same way they’d done earlier. “I had to take matters into my own hands, if you catch my drift. I didn’t talk to him about that, either, because I didn’t want to bruise his ego. Ironic, considering he had no problem shattering mine.”
Gavin cupped her chin and gently turned her face to his. They’d always spoken frankly about their hookups and dating lives—or lack thereof—but they’d never gotten into the nitty-gritty details about the actual sex. Still, any decent guy would care if the woman he was with didn’t finish.
As a dude, he probably shouldn’t admit that he often wondered why women put up with so much bullshit from men in general, but he’d heard plenty of disrespectful comments in the locker room and seen a lot of instances of infidelity. Not so much in the Mustangs’ locker room, but before that, with his college team and with the Pythons. As much as he admired the QB he’d trained under, it was hard to look past the way he constantly cheated on his wife.
That was why the rumor that his and Kristin’s breakup was due to him stepping out on her stabbed extra deep. Vehemently refuting it only made him appear guiltier in the press, so he’d given up on damage control. When it came down to it, even though he’d never cheated, he knew he was far from innocent.
He hadn’t taken care of Kristin’s emotional well-being the way she deserved. His strenuous schedule, determination to take his career to an even higher-profile level, and the pressure cooker known as the NFL had damaged everything they used to be.
So yeah, there were plenty of things he should’ve done differently, but it wouldn’t have mattered in the end.
After six years of coupledom, it’d been strange to be single. A bit of a relief, too, over which he experienced a twinge of guilt every time he dared to think it. While he did his best to be discreet out of respect for his ex, he’d taken advantage of his single status the year following their breakup, diving into the club and party scenes he’d always avoided before.
It got old fast, though, and once his contract was eligible for renegotiating, his ambitious side took over once again. Which led to his current stance on the dating front. Women were a distraction, and relationships required more effort than he could give. Life didn’t hand out extra chances, and he didn’t want to look in the mirror one day and be disappointed in himself and who he’d failed to become.
This wasn’t about him, though. “If you want to have a fling, Jules, go ahead. But only if you’re really truly doing it because it’s something you want. You don’t have to prove anything, got it?”
She nodded, more on the automatic than convinced side, unfortunately. With every “for me” and “to myself” mention, the protest-too-much vibe had grown stronger, and it seemed like she was trying to convince herself it was the truth. What else was he supposed to say, though? Far be it for him to deny her sex simply because he was experiencing a self-imposed dry spell as he proved himself to the Mustangs and the entire NFL.
Julie sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, so I’m gonna ask a question, and I’ll probably blush and be unable to maintain eye contact, but I need you to be completely honest.” She skirted her fingers over the lace at her thigh. “Can I pull off this skimpy nightie?”
“Totally. But not with those pants.”
A grunt escaped when she backhanded his chest. He dropped his jaw and rubbed at the spot. “Ouch.”
She clucked her tongue. “Like that hurt. And of course I’m not planning to wear these pants with this top in front of a sexy-times friend. You were just coming into the room, so I yanked them on to avoid making you uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable? You forget that I share a locker room with fifty dudes.”
The heaved sigh meant he’d said something wrong, although a quick replay of their conversation failed to pinpoint anything deserving exasperation. “So glad that seeing me in lingerie is the same as watching naked sweaty dudes trounce around a locker room.” With a huff, she stood. “Anyway, I’m tired, so—”
“Jules, I didn’t mean it like that.” He snagged her hand and tugged until she spun around, and from this angle, the outfit definitely hit differently. Over the years, he rarely paid much mind to how Julie dressed. Except for the instances when she’d demanded his honest opinion.
A brief side glance hadn’t been a big deal, although yes, he’d noticed the tiny straps, hint of cleavage, and the lace.
But with him still seated on the futon and her standing directly in front of him, he couldn’t help noticing the way the silk clung to her breasts—a part of her he usually did his best to avoid homing in on out of respect. Every breath and fidget shifted the clingy fabric, drawing his attention to her bare shoulders, collarbone, and the flare of her hips. Before he could stop the dirty-thoughts train, a spark of interest ignited over seeing those bare legs.
And that was his cue to fixate on her cat.
Gavin gave his head a rapid shake, attempting to erase his brain the same way one would an Etch a Sketch. Much like the toy, the faint outline of the woman in front of him remained, the image engrained deep enough that no amount of shaking would completely clear it away.
“It’s not the same,” he said, his voice gruff, and why was his throat so damn tight? “It’s just that you’re my best friend, so I try not to check you out like that. But surely you know that you’re a knockout.”