He winces and gingerly touches his jaw. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” It’s dark in here, the only illumination coming through the window and the streetlight. I flip on the lamp.
Ben’s jaw is mottled black and green. My eyes bug out. “That happened at practice?”
His eyes dart away. “So to speak.”
I study him. “What does that mean?”
“It means I was technically at practice when Winston and I got into it.”
“You got in a fight with Cal?”
He shrugs. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Sit your ass down and tell me everything right this minute. Wait. You need some ice.”
“I have ice. I need you more. Come here.” He grabs me and pulls me down on top of him as he falls back onto a sad little couch.
“I’m sorry you got hurt.” I gently kiss his stubbled jaw and run my hands through his hair. He groans and leans back.
“I love when you do that.”
My heart stutters in my chest. For a second, I thought he was going to tell me he loved me. But that’s stupid. He would never say it now. We agreed we wouldn’t make any big promises and those words carry all kinds of obligations.
The thought that I might never hear such declarations from him brings a sharp pain to my chest, but I ignore it. Live in the now, I remind myself.
As I straddle his lap, I massage his scalp and breathe in his sexy sandalwood scent.
“Missed you,” I whisper, trailing kisses across his jaw, careful not to press on the bruise.
He grabs my hips and pulls me tighter to him. His gaze is ravenous as he looks me over. I sit up and let him look. My skirt is hiked up to my waist and my black thong is already damp, but then I am sitting on a huge erection.
His eyes are so dark, they’re black. I watch him as I pull off my top and fling it to the ground. I pull my hair out of my ponytail and shake it out.
“You have no idea how hard it’s been to not see you every day. I miss waking up to you every morning. Practice sucks and sometimes all I can think is that everything would be okay if I could come home to you.” He stares at my boobs, which are playing peekaboo between my hair as he reaches between my legs and rubs me through my panties.
“I’m all yours. And you just have to get through one more week and then you’ll be home again.”
It feels so normal to talk like this. To call my place our home as though we’re some long-term couple. Maybe it’s crazy, but I don’t care. I want to take a chance on this. When Cal tried to shatter my self-respect and pride, Ben was there to pick up the pieces. It’s my turn to be there for him.
His hand slides beneath my underwear and gently circles my clit before he sinks two thick fingers into me. “Fuck yeah, baby. You’re ready.”
We come together in a kiss that’s almost frantic. Our tongues clash, our bodies grind, moans spill from both of us.
Breathless, I pull back to shove off the rest of my clothes. He lifts his body to lower his boxer briefs, releasing his erection. I start to kiss down his body as I lower myself to my knees between his spread thighs. I take him in hand, hard and hot and thick, and swipe my tongue across his crown.
I expect him to be riveted by what I’m doing because he always watches. Always. Instead, his head is tilted back, his eyes squeezed shut.
After repeating the motion a few times, after he doesn’t glance down, I pause. “Ben?” I ask hesitantly.
He blows out a breath and finally looks at me. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I... Can we not do this?”
“Do what?”
“Come up here. Let’s just... let’s do something different.”
“You don’t want head?” I ask, confused. “I thought you said...” He told me on the phone the other day that he was fantasizing about me going down on him. It’s the reason I dressed up like this and snuck up to his room.
He pulls me into his lap and kisses me. “Forget the blowjob,” he whispers against my mouth.
His kisses are just as passionate as they were a few minutes ago, but something has changed, only I can’t pinpoint what it is. He doesn’t make eye contact the way he usually does or say anything sexy. He flips me onto my back and goes down on me like eating pussy is an Olympic sport. I come with a shriek before he fucks me so hard, the couch bangs against the wall.
But Ben never tells me what upset him.
And he denies anything’s wrong.
Only the deep sense of melancholy that overwhelms me when we’re done and he still doesn’t want to talk tells me he’s lying.
40
BEN
I’m an ass. I know this. Sienna sneaks into my room, brings me dinner, lets me fuck her into oblivion, and the only thing she wants to know is what’s wrong.
Do I tell her I can’t get Winston’s poisonous words out of my mind? That it bothers me more than I can articulate to know she gave him mind-blowing head too?
It’s total bullshit. There’s no way someone with a track record like mine should be giving Sienna shit for hooking up with anyone. She could’ve fucked the whole football team, and it would literally be none of my business. This shit is completely hypocritical of me on so many levels.
But that doesn’t diminish the wild streak of jealousy pounding through me. The fact that I’m being edged out on the field by Winston and a new transfer doesn’t do anything to lessen my shitty mood. And I take meager comfort in the black eye that fucker will be sporting tomorrow.
I feel it, how Winston’s vitriol has burrowed under my skin and spread like a virus. How the hell do I dig it out?
Dr. Patricia always tells me I have to unearth my feelings before they fester. I don’t know what that means in this case. I don’t think I can bring myself to tell Sienna about the crap Winston said about her. Unloading my shit on her will only hurt her feelings. And I made one promise to myself when we got this thing started—that I would never hurt her. So no fucking way am I going to tell her about that conversation.
All I can hope is that I’m over it by the time I move back in with her once camp ends.
My mood is grim when I stretch my swollen hand, which, thankfully, Sienna didn’t notice last night. With a swipe of my towel, I wipe the condensation from my shower off the bathroom mirror and study the bruise on my face.
Coach might bench my ass for what happened yesterday, but I lucked out that no one really saw what happened besides two of my buddies.
From the glances I get in the locker room, the guys know what happened, but no one brings it up.
Krud looks pissed when he storms into the meeting room. I glance at Winston, whose busted lip and black eye perversely make me smile. He doesn’t look like a peacock today.
When he peers over at me, I’m sure my expression tells him everything he needs to know because he looks away first.
Krud glares at me, then at Winston, before he pounds once on the podium. “In case it isn’t clear, fighting is not tolerated. Anyone who has proof of a fight can bring it to me.”
When no one says anything, I smirk.
Fuck Winston.
Sienna deserves better than that piece of shit trash-talking about her. The more I think about it, the more I realize he made several veiled references to her sexually last year in the locker room. Beating his ass was worth the swollen hand and jaw.