“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“What changed your mind?” I’m staring at his lips willing them to come closer, to touch mine, but needing him to answer the question equally as bad.
“You.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is, Bria. You’re captivating and all-consuming. Your spark and drive is unmatched. I’ve put you through hell for weeks and you’ve done it all. You’ve surpassed all of my expectations. There’s something about you. I’ve been drawn to you since the first practice and it’s more than your looks. But when we kissed, it’s like you branded me and now it’s all I think about. I was pissed off. I’m stuck in a messy situation, and I don’t want to bring you into it. But you’re here.” His pointer taps his temple. “And you’re not leaving and all I want to do is grab you and kiss the fuck out of you.”
And that’s exactly what he does.
I moan into his mouth. We’re both sticky and sweaty, but I don’t care. I grip his shirt in my fists and tug his body against mine. His left hand cradles my face while his right pulls on my ponytail, angling my head to where he wants it.
I open my mouth and his tongue invades mine. He tastes like coffee and I’m addicted in an instant. I want more than this. I want his mouth exploring every other area of my body, not giving a fuck that I just finished running miles upon miles and I desperately need a shower.
My hands release his shirt, exploring over the contours of his back. He’s so muscular and big compared to me. My hands come to a rest against the curve of his ass and I grab him like I’ve been fantasizing about.
I rub against him, trying to gain more friction, when I feel it. His cock is long and hard, pressed against my abdomen and begging for attention. I slide my hands around from his ass and manage to squeeze my hand between our bodies. I cup him through his shorts and a guttural groan pours out from his throat. It’s the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard and I want to hear it again.
I palm him, rubbing him through the shorts, giving me a certain level of friction he obviously enjoys.
He breaks the kiss. “Bria, if you don’t stop I’m going to come in my pants.”
Fuck. Hearing him say those words, to know how much I’m affecting him, arouses me to levels I never knew existed. I want to take him home and have my wicked way with him.
But I can’t because I live in the soccer house and asking him to take me home seems slutty and presumptuous. Not to mention, I really do need to shower.
I look into his eyes and lick my lips.
“We should stop.” He nods. I garner all of my strength to step away from him since it’s the last thing I want to do. His eyes don’t leave my mouth and I bite down on my plump bottom lip. “I have to get ready for class.”
He nods again.
I grab my bag and back away. Once I turn to walk to my car, he calls my name. “One last thing.” He half-jogs to catch up to me.
In an instant, his mouth is back on mine and my bag slips down my shoulder, falling to the ground. We make out for what simultaneously feels like forever and yet is nowhere near long enough.
“I told you, once I started kissing you I wouldn’t be able to stop.” I chuckle and run a hand through my hair, flattening out the wisps. A sexy grin pulls at his lips after he plants one last gentle kiss on mine. “Remember the game I was telling you about up in San Francisco? It’s next weekend. Do you still want to come?”
I forgot about it and didn’t believe the invite was ever serious. “Do you want me to come?” Considering everything happening between us, it feels like a stupid question but one I needed to ask.
“I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t.”
“Then I’m in.”
“Were you going to bring any of your friends?” He’s reaching, looking for a particular answer
“No.”
“Good.”
My cheeks heat further and this time when I head to my car he doesn’t stop me. I don’t know the logistics of what next weekend will bring; are we flying there? Driving? Am I driving myself? Do I need to book a hotel room or is he booking one for me? Or, oh my God, does he think I’m going to stay with him? I can’t bunk in his room. Shit.
I make a mental note to ask him all of these things as soon as possible. But in the meantime, I’m going to count down the days until the game. One way or another I’m getting an uninterrupted weekend with Tatum.
Sexy-as-sin pro soccer player slash my coach, Tatum Trevino.
I shouldn’t want him and I shouldn’t be excited by the prospect of going away with him. I also can’t freak out about it or tell anyone.
Regardless, I am excited and I do want him, and next weekend can hurry the hell up already.
Chapter Eighteen
Tatum
The room is tense as I sit and stare at my friends sitting across from me. I spilled my guts out, told the entire ugly story from start to finish in hopes of getting legal advice. Or any advice at this rate. Or any words able to fill the air and break the unbearable tension threatening to swallow me whole.
“Are you going to say anything?”
Chance looks at his wife, waiting for her to say something. She’s the reason we’re here and why I finally spilled the beans about my suspension. She can give me an unbiased, outside opinion and with her background as an attorney, I’m hopeful she can offer some guidance.
Her lips are pursed, but she stays quiet as she studies me. Her green eyes scrutinize me and I feel the weight of her judgment. With a sigh, she sits back in her chair. Chance’s hand rubs circles on her back while Aubrey rubs her forehead with one hand.
“Could you make this situation any more difficult?” I rub a hand through my hair while I wait to see if she’ll continue. “I know Mitch is your friend or teammate or whatever, but I urge you to come forward with your side of the story. Mitch got himself into this situation. He didn’t have to cheat on his wife, but he chose to, and still chooses to, and he should deal with the repercussions. You didn’t choose this and now it’s affecting your life and career, your livelihood. It’s not fair to you to let this ruin your life.”
“That’s the thing. It’s my side. Will it even matter unless she recants her story? I’m fucked. Once the word gets out, it’s all over for me. Fuck.” No one will believe me over her. No one. And, yeah, when situations like these arise, I do think there should be investigations, but when you’re the one in it and it’s false, God it fucking sucks. “Even if I do come forward with Mitch, wouldn’t he be like, an unreliable witness or something since he was drunk? I mean we all were. Son of a bitch. How do we make her tell the truth?”
I’m rambling because I’m pissed. The thoughts are firing in my head in rapid succession and I’m not even sure they’re coherent. I’ve been pushed between a rock and a hard place and I keep searching for a soft spot, for something to give, just a little, but I keep coming up empty.
“First of all, you cannot make her tell the truth. Imagine the media field day if they discovered you tried to coerce your accuser. You’d look guiltier then Weinstein.” She makes a good point, but it’s not what I wanted to hear. “What does your lawyer say?”