Finally, Otis calms down and I can kiss Lilly, and yeah, I’m starving. Starving for the taste of her, the feel of her mouth and tongue, and her body against mine. Ravenous for her scent, and desperate to have her. It feels like she’s just as hungry, melting against me, sliding her hands into my hair, and kissing me back with the same fervor.
When we’re both panting, we lean our foreheads together. “Bed?” she whispers. “Or food?”
“Bed first.” I lead her to my room. “We’ll order food after.”
Chapter 18
Lilly
After some toe-curling, heart-pounding, soul-melting sex, then the best shishito peppers, spicy salmon tartare, and vegetable bibimbap, which is delivered from a nearby restaurant, we go back to bed and snuggle.
“Naked cuddles are the best cuddles,” I tell him, settling in against his chest, his super-soft sheets tucked around us.
“I agree.”
He tells me about the road trip, about how much fun they had, and how he felt like he really bonded with the guys. I sense there’s something more on his mind, though, and finally he gets to it and tells me what happened with Jamal.
I’m horrified, and I sit up and shift to face him, my eyes wide. “That’s terrible.”
“Yeah.” He rolls his head on the pillow. “Totally fucked up.”
I touch my fingertips to my lips, appalled on Jamal’s behalf. But also just generally sickened.
Then he tells me the rest—what he said in the dressing room. How pissed off his coach was. And I can see how distraught he is about the whole thing.
I am falling in love. I am falling like the snowflakes outside, like leaves in the autumn and petals in the summer. Like stars that you make a wish on. I know what I wish for. I wish for him.
My heart expands, warm in my chest, and my throat tightens. I lean over and touch my lips to his. “You did good,” I whisper. “I’m proud. You’re a good man.”
He makes a noise of disagreement. “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have done it in front of the whole team. Coach is pissed and I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“He can’t fire you.”
“He can trade me. Again.” Easton’s jaw tightens and he doesn’t meet my eyes. “But he can also make it so that nobody else wants me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. Other teams can see what a great player you are.”
His lips quirk, even though his eyes are still dark with worry. “I appreciate your faith in me.”
“You should have faith in yourself.” I touch his cheek. “You did the right thing.”
“It’s not going to change anything.” His tone is laced with bitterness. “He’s still going to be an asshole.”
I nod slowly. “Maybe calling him on the racist bullshit will make him think.”
“I doubt it.” He sighs. “I expect I’ll find out what’s in store for me tomorrow, now we’re home.”
Worry dries up my mouth. But I really do have faith in him. I believe in him and his talent and his honor and integrity. “It’ll be fine.” I kiss him again. “You’ll be fine. But what about Jamal?”
He closes his eyes. “He says he’s fine. He’s used to it.”
I sigh. “You have to report him, Easton.”
His eyes fly open. “What? Report him? To who?”
“I don’t know. The manager of the team? You said that’s his boss, right? Nobody can say things like that in the workplace. Not to mention actually physically attacking someone. God!” I put both my hands to my head. “I thought I was dealing with unethical crap at Lexington, but at least people weren’t kicking each other!”
“I can’t do that. I can’t go over his head.”
“But why?” I throw my hands up, my temples pulsing. “Why can’t you? Someone has to.”
His jaw tightens, his lips thinning. “No, Lilly. I can’t.”
I stare at him. “I don’t understand,” I whisper.
“I guess I’m not that big of a person.”
He is, though. I just don’t get it. But what do I know about the world of professional sports? Nothing, that’s what. Easton knows better than I do, so I let it go.
Easton
I arrive at the arena at my usual time, around four o’clock. I stick to my routine, warming up on the bike, stretching, playing some soccer with the other guys. But when I walk into the dressing room in my shorts and sandals, I stop short at seeing my stall empty. There’s no jersey hanging there like there is in the other stalls, everything lined up perfectly.
What. The. Fuck.
I can’t move for a moment, frozen in place. Then heat blasts through me like an inferno. I spin and stalk into the players’ lounge, heading to Coach’s office, but then I stop short. My breath is coming fast, my hands curled into fists. I have to calm down. I have to handle this right. There’s no fucking way he’s scratching me tonight. Is there?
What other explanation is there for no jersey hanging in my stall?
“What up, Mills?” Russ asks, sitting on a couch with a bowl of yogurt and granola.
I’m standing there like an idiot, clenching and unclenching my hands. I turn to him and give him a blank look. “I don’t know.”
“Huh?” His eyebrows pull down over his nose.
Taking a deep breath, I walk to Coach’s office and stand in the door. “Hey, Coach.”
He looks up. “Millar. Glad you’re here. You’re out tonight.”
My gut cramps up. “Why?”
He frowns. “Coach’s decision.”
I step inside his office and close the sliding door behind me. The room becomes private and soundproof. “Look, I apologize for saying what I did the other night in front of the guys.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“I should have waited and had the conversation in private.”
His eyebrow dips and joins the other over his nose.
“You kicked him,” I say quietly, holding his gaze. “That’s abuse.”
“Toughen up, buttercup.”
My fingers curl against my palms, my blood heating. “And the racial slur. That’s fucked up.”