6
Liberty
Nixon’s lips on mine.
The primal yet tender way he’d claimed my mouth.
The taste of icing on his tongue.
The feel of his fingers on my skin.
The way he’d effortlessly hefted me onto that kitchen island and filled the space between my legs with heat and rock-hard muscle.
How could anyone be that hot with all their clothes on?
A warm shiver raced down the length of my spine as the memory assaulted me for the umpteenth time since he’d kissed me in the kitchen three days ago. I could barely focus on my classes—school or the sessions I taught at the yoga studio. Between the memory, my raging hormones, and the morning sickness, I was a tangled mess of crackling nerves.
The team party I had to attend tonight didn’t help the uncertainties swarming my mind either.
Nixon’s laugh echoed from the kitchen, the rich sound propelling me faster down the stairs. I’d just finished drying my hair and was about to start contemplating outfits for tonight when I’d heard the sound.
“It’s always great to see you,” Nixon said. “Thank you for coming over to help with this.”
“Help with what?” I asked as I rounded the corner. My eyes flared at the man and woman sitting at the kitchen island. Roman Padilla I knew from my being a diehard Raptors fan—as well as his gracious offer of moving me into Nixon’s home last week—but seeing him outside of his gear? Good God, the man was gorgeous—golden brown skin covered tons of corded muscle, jet black hair and eyes to match. And the way he smiled at the girl while her friendly focus was on me? Damn. Being around Nixon’s friends would never get old.
Still, even with how delectable Roman was, nothing but friendly appreciation stirred in my blood? One look at Nixon, leaning casually against that kitchen island? Heat blazed down the center of me—a sweeping need that threatened to bring me to my knees.
“Hi!” the girl said, drawing me out of my X-rated thoughts as she popped up from her seat to greet me. She had long blonde hair, fierce blue eyes, and a bombshell body that was curved in all the places I wished mine could be. “I’m Teagan,” she said, jutting her hand out toward mine.
I shook it, returning her warm smile.
“I tagged along with Roman,” she said, motioning to where Roman still sat at the island, next to Nixon. “Nixon said you’re going to be his date to the team party tonight.”
Warmth rushed to my cheeks, and I absently smoothed a hand over my stomach as it swirled. We hadn’t said the word date. We hadn’t put a label on what we were or weren’t. And we most certainly hadn’t discussed the kiss that happened pretty damn close to where Roman sat right now.
“I…uh…yes. I’m going to that.” Brilliant words. Where was my profound insight into the psyche now?
“Great! I am too. I can help get you prepped.”
“Prepped?” I arched a brow in Nixon’s direction. He simply smiled that damn perfect smile of his.
“Yeah,” Teagan said, returning to her spot by Roman. Her legs automatically turned toward his body as if gravity had pulled her that direction. “Plenty of paparazzi will be there, as per the norm. We want to make sure you have a killer dress to get your press-photo-cherry popped.”
I gaped at her, but Roman laughed a full belly laugh that made his entire face light up.
“I think I need a new dress,” Teagan continued, glancing down at herself with an expression only a woman could recognize—worry, doubt. But why? She was beyond gorgeous. “Something that makes me look a bit…” She shook her head, returning her focus to me. “The caliber of women there are serious celeb territory.”
Roman rolled his eyes, turning to face her. “You look stunning now, T,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if you showed up in a brand-new dress or that Nirvana shirt you love so much. You’re perfect.”
Teagan waved him off, but I smiled at the two. “You two are adorable. How long have you been together?”
Roman’s eyes widened, and he cleared his throat.
Nixon snorted.
And Teagan waved her arms back and forth like she was a ref declaring someone safe on third base. “No,” she said. “No, we’re just friends.” She nudged him with her elbow. “I’ve known this one since preschool.”
I tilted my head, narrowing my gaze as I studied their body language. The effortless way they were around each other, the hint of longing in Roman’s—
Nope. Not going there. I cursed my psychoanalytic brain and my inability to not look beneath the surface level sometimes.
“I’m actually with Rick Baker,” Teagan said.
Tight end for the Raptors?
Rick The dick?
Or at least, that is what the press referred to him as because of his attitude on and off the field. Though, to be fair, as I slowly was being acclimated to this new life alongside Nixon, it couldn’t be easy living in the public light. Having everyone judge and comment on every single decision you ever made was pretty heavy.
“Oh,” I said, clearing my throat as I motioned between the two. “My bad. I just assumed—”
“Happens all the time,” Roman said, waving me off. “Bound to,” he continued. “With how long we’ve been friends.”
I nodded.
“Anyway,” Teagan said. “Let’s go check out your closet, shall we?” She tugged on my arm, ushering me toward the stairs, but paused and let me lead the way when I hadn’t turned into Nixon’s master bedroom like she’d assumed.
“I’m down this way,” I said, laughing at her silent apology for the blunder.
Teagan hurried to the closet once I opened the door to the room I’d claimed when I’d moved in. “This is all you have?” she asked, her eyes wide as she checked out the few outfits I had on hangers in the closet.
I shrugged. “I don’t need much,” I said. “My mom raised me on the road, so I’ve always only purchased what was necessary. Moving with a ton of stuff is a hindrance when you do it often.”
Teagan nodded. “Okay, well, tonight’s dress is absolutely necessary. And lucky for you—and me—Rick is out of town, so I’m free for the entire day.” Something sharp passed across her features, but it was gone in a blink. She hurried past me, heading back down the stairs toward the guys. “We’re going shopping!” she declared with such gusto and excitement I wondered how many times she actually got to go out and do it.
“We don’t have to,” I said, not wanting to bring her down but thinking about the amount of money I had in my savings. I had a little, but likely not enough to buy a dress worthy of the type of event she’d described. “Maybe I should just sit the party out. I feel like I’m already causing a problem with my lack of ball gown attire.”
Nixon shook his head and pushed off from the kitchen island. He reached into his back pocket, thumbing through his wallet before he handed me a thin piece of plastic. I glared up at him as he all but forced it into my hand. “Buy whatever you want,” he said.
I shook my head. “I don’t want your money.”