Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“Right. Yup. I’m gonna leave you for Rafe. Thought I would tell you by giving you some hot underwear. Because, oh yes, you do look smoking,” he says, eyeing me salaciously.
I head out of the bathroom and grab the jeans he left on our bed for me. After I pull them on, he hands me a shirt. “I didn’t even have to pick it out. The shopkeeper at Sage chose it for you.”
I furrow my brow. “How?”
Grant gives an easy shrug as he grabs the fabric from the bed and tosses it my way. “I described you. Basically, I told him how hot my boyfriend is, how good you look in certain shirts, and how much I’d want to take it off, and he found the perfect one.”
“You really do like to talk us up, don’t you?”
His eyes narrow. “I didn’t use your name.”
I shoot him a no-you-didn’t look. “I don’t care if you did. That’s not what I’m saying.”
He tilts his head and our eyes lock. “What are you saying then?”
“I’m saying you like to talk us up.”
“Yes, I do, Declan.” His tone underlines the statement with a Sharpie.
After sliding my arms into the shirt, I button it up, but Grant shakes his finger. “No. Leave a couple open.”
“Really?” I ask, uncertain.
“Dude, it’s not a post-game presser. It’s a dance club,” he says with a laugh.
“Yep. It’s definitely a dance club.” I work open a few buttons, fiddling with them as I go. I am so far out of my comfort zone.
“Perfect,” Grant approves with a nod before he heads into the closet. “So, the guy at the store I mentioned—he helped pick out a shirt for me too, but I changed my mind.”
“About what to wear?” I call.
“Yes. You’ve seen it before. Sorry, not sorry.”
A few seconds later, he ambles out, and I forget my momentary irritation. I let go of my dread. Instead, I close the distance in a hot second, sliding my hands down Grant’s strong arms then roaming them up his chest. When I reach his nipple piercing, I flick it through the fabric.
His breath hitches. His palms curl over my hips. “You like?”
“I love,” I whisper. He’s wearing the same black shirt he had on the night we got back together—the night after the Sports Network Awards when I met him at a tapas bar and he wore this for me because it was tight, because it revealed the outline of his piercing, because he wanted to turn me on.
I bury my face in his neck, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. “Don’t know if I can tear myself away from you.”
Hell, maybe I can convince him to stay home with the promise of electric, indulgent sex.
“Mmm. Guess I’ll have to be strong for both of us,” he says.
I’ll have to try harder. As I skim my lips across his neck, under his jaw, and along his chin, I squeeze and knead his pecs, playing with his nipples through the fabric until he’s gasping and panting. I draw a sharp breath. “Maybe we should just stay in and finish what I’m starting,” I suggest. “I could throw you on the bed, taste you everywhere, suck you off till you’re about to come, then stop.” I dip my voice to a low and smoky tone. “We could watch that video we made last night. Tease the fuck out of each other. I could edge you all night instead of going to Edge.”
Please say yes.
He hums, a dirty sound, like he’s considering my alternative, then he seems to snap out of it. He leans back from me, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you sure you want to go?”
This is my chance to say it.
But I’m wearing a shirt he bought me. He’s been planning this with Reese for two months. All our friends are going. Most of all, Grant wants this.
I reach into my bag of mental tricks, fishing around for a few handy lines from Walt Whitman’s anthemic poem.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells.
“Yes. Let’s do it.”
Grant shoots me a big grin. “We’re going to have a great time.”
I adopt a cocky expression and smack his ass. “Can’t wait to get out on the floor and dance with you,” I say, the words tasting like a lie.
***
Electronic music pulses through the club. It rattles my bones. It’s so goddamn loud we’re all shouting at each other and still can’t hear.
But thankfully we aren’t dancing yet.
I hold on to the hope that maybe we’ll skip that part and just hang. Sure, someone might recognize us, or stop and stare, but that’s fine. At least I won’t be making a fool of myself.
The entire crew is here at the bar—Grant’s sister, Sierra; Crosby, Chance, and Sullivan from the Cougars; Holden and Gunnar from my team; River, who’s Grant’s business partner in a chain of gay bars; along with Reese, her friends Layla and Tia, and Crosby’s girlfriend, Nadia.