Game For Love: Gridiron Heartbreaker (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Gridiron Bad Boys Book 2) (4 page)

“A lot of days when I'm not home and all the frustration and insecurities that can follow.”

Sounded lonely for him. “So you keep things...superficial?”

“Light,” he corrected her, his gaze steady on the road ahead.

“Semantics.”

A glance her way then, “And you and your ex?”

She laughed at how he'd primed the ground for a confession. “I should hate how you're so good at this.”

“I told you, I'm the best man to cure a heart break.”

She didn't doubt it. She uncrossed her arms then placed her hands between her thighs to warm them and maybe keep them to herself. “And revealing things about yourself is of no consequence?”

“No,” he answered hard and fast. He pushed out a breath then added, “It's the truth and I don't feel shame about the reality of my situation. It is what it is.”

A pang of sympathy pulsed through her. “Andrew and I met in college.”

“College sweethearts, how cute.”

“No. Study buddies.” She looked at him and added, “We actually studied and no one groped each other in the library late at night.”

“Full scholarship to Michigan State. My teammates were a mix of Caucasian and African American students. We were all smart, had some kind of scholarship to pay for school and we were all corn-fed bulky. I know what studying is.”

The ability to charm didn't come from stupidity, but it also came from practice. “And partying?”

He grinned and notched his head in agreement. “That, too.”

Despite herself, a smile crept out. “Anyway, we went our separate ways after graduation. Then met again at culinary school when our degrees didn't get us far.”

“What did you study?”

“He was pre-med and I was history. We fell in love over feta and truffles.”

He gave her a small chuckle. “How quaint.”

Not offended at all, she snorted. “You're supposed to be listening, not judging.”

“Feta and truffles? If I said I fell in love on the fifty-yard line?”

“I would have mocked you mercilessly.” A laugh bubbled up. “And I know, but we clicked.” She sighed, her mind wandering over the years she'd spent with Andrew. Not all bad, but definitely not all good. At least now she'd stopped regretting the time she'd wasted on him.

“But he was always more of a snob,” she said. “I feel horrible saying that, because I loved him. He must have had some redeemable qualities and he did. But...I don't know. He never got the appeal of a taco shack on the corner. It was high end meals or nothing. After a while I felt like I had to be perfect for him to love me. I could never be the taco shack—as good and filling but no starched-white napkins.”

The small confession was met with silence, so tense she turned her head to look at him. The streetlights whipped by highlighting his face in fractured flashes. He still appeared handsome, breathtaking, but the charming bad boy was gone. This was a man sifting through every word she said and didn't say.

Alyssa held her breath and waited for his reply. When did his opinion matter? She'd literally met him hours ago.

Finally he said, “If you didn't feel like you could be yourself, then he wasn't the right guy.”

True, but late at night she'd wondered if she made a mistake by walking away. By now she'd be married, well on her way to having children—a family. Her sisters had that bliss. She'd listened to them complain and it wasn't all swoons and roses. Had she given up? Would she ever find true happiness?

Her life now and the choices she made felt so...serious. Taking the job with Charlotte had to work, because failing at something, anything else was not an option. It was illogical to put so much pressure on a job and a home in a new place, but she did, every morning she woke up.

Alyssa glanced out the window and recognized the mom and pop stores, the neighborhood—hers. At the rate they were going, she'd be home in less than two minutes. Relief should have flooded her veins, but tension climbed up her spine.

Alyssa had to know. “How often do you help women suffering from the end of a bad relationship?”

“The real question is what fantasy do I somehow fulfill that a women will feel more confident after being with me? But I'm sure that's too deep for a man with dimples and an easy smile.”

His words didn't sound bitter but thoughtful. And now she wanted to know everything about him. Was his confession, that flash of vulnerability, a part of the game he played or honesty? “Blaine, you're interesting.”

“A high compliment from the Nut Chopper.”

She laughed. It was so easy to do that with him. “You're welcome.”

He slowed to a stop in front of her house. Their time had come to an end. Maybe she'd see him on the wedding day since Charlotte had tasked Alyssa to be head chef for the reception.

But
they were done. He'd be gone from her life—this time for good. She'd never know what his tongue felt like anywhere else on her body. Her heart stuttered at the thought. Despite his over-the-top charm, he'd interested her. There was more to him than a smile, and a wicked streak.

And she was...Alyssa hadn't flirted or looked too hard at any man in over five months.

“I...” she said, with the intent to invite him into her home.

What was she doing? Welcoming him into her little condo was rash and she didn't do
crazy
impulsive, but he sat there quietly, waiting for her to come to a final decision.

Her mind happily offered up the memory of his mouth trailing along the shell of her ear. Her nipples tingled and would harden if she let herself linger over what else his mouth could do to her.

Brushing aside the lust for a moment, she let her mind work through all the possible complications. The thing that swayed her the most was that he sat there, not pushing or getting impatient with her indecision. He could have used charm or other means to shift her to the...easy way, but he hadn't.

With a deep inhalation, she let the question spill out, “Do you want a night cap before...heading to wherever home is for you tonight?”

“Alyssa, I would really like that.”

Unsure and anxious, she climbed out of the car. With her feet screaming the whole way, she shuffled to her door. He followed behind her, so silent. Wasn't he supposed to put her at ease? Wasn't he supposed to outrageously charm her until serious thought lay by the wayside?

Instead, he was a steady presence behind her as she unlocked the door to her home. Worry didn't skittered over her nerves as she stepped inside her place. The house was clean mostly because she hadn't spent much time in the condo since moving in. She also kept a hamper near the door for when she stripped down. That kept clothes from being strewn everywhere.

Her steps halted after a second. He was the first visitor, the first man in her home since she'd moved in half a year ago. Seven months ago she would have decorated with warm browns, neon greens and purple. Her décor was post-engagement though and there were tans, golds and dark greens.

Her couch was comfortable, but not a single throw pillow brightened the place. No art decorated the walls and there was barely a handful of family photos. She'd taken exactly what she went into the relationship with Andrew—her TV, her books and her clothes. And that's what decorated her condo.

How...depressing.

Likely not expecting her to have stopped at the threshold, Blaine bumped into her from behind. He closed his hands around her hips and for two heartbeats they stood like that. His fingers pressed into her hips, and with the slightest tug, her ass pressed into his cock. The thick, hard ridge forced her to suck in a breath.

Alyssa might have stood there for the rest of her life with the warmth and strength in his fingers holding her tight, but he dropped his hands.

She exhaled and stepped toward the kitchen. “You can have a seat. I'm pretty sure the remote is somewhere in the couch cushions.”

When alone in the kitchen, she leaned against the counter. Her head didn't feel like it was attached to her neck as the world spun a little. His cock pressed into her had done that. She scrubbed a hand over her mouth and tried to remember what she was doing—hell, her name. Didn't take her long to fill two glasses with ice, soda and a splash of whiskey.

He took the offering without comment as he flipped through the channels. No surprise, he stopped on ESPN. But that would work to her benefit. She had to get out of her socks and shoes. Not another movement until she was freed.

Well, first she finished her drink to brace herself for the pain then she undid the laces and struggled out of the socks. Her feet look wrinkled, and lines from the fabric had etched themselves into her skin. After a quick inspection, no blisters would form.

She straightened and realized Blaine had watched her, probably the entire time, which meant he'd heard her relieved groan.

“What?” she asked, with all the attitude she could scrounge up as her face flushed.

“Give me your feet.”

She expected a joke, but his expression was serious. “What? Why?”

“I'm not going to put your arches into my crotch and have my way with them, if that's your worry.”

A laugh burst out. The thought hadn't occurred to her. “I will keep an eye on my socks to make sure they don't disappear into your pockets.”

It wasn't a full smile, but a dimple peeked out. God, he was too handsome, and in her house. They had a moment's worth of a connection and she'd lost her mind. But her feet ached and there was no point in lying to herself—she wanted him to touch her.

No. She simply wanted to be touched again. She'd been so focused on rebuilding her life the past few months, she hadn't let anything else sink in. Sleepless nights weren't filled with counting sheep but to-do lists to achieve her goal of moving on.
Really this time, she'd move the hell on.

Alyssa pointed her finger at him to emphasize her next words. “One dry hump and you're out of the door.” She placed her feet across his lap.

He chuckled. “Promise I will keep all foot-gyrating to myself.” He glanced down and closed his hand on the top of her foot.

Her breath hitched. He gentled the touch and turned his focus back to the TV. She had no idea what they were talking about on the sports channel. That was okay. He was gliding his fingers down her arch and finding magical spots of pleasure.

“You okay?” he asked and she could hear the laughter in his voice.

“Fine. Fine.”
Can I have your babies?
“A little to the left...”
All your babies?
“Thanks. That...feels nice.”

She bit her lip and tried not to moan. Didn't work and his hand stilled. A second later, he turned down the TV and went back to work. His fingertips pressed into her heel and dragged up until he was tugging gently on her toes. Without the voices on the TV to drown out her heavy sighs, the simple foot rub sounded so damn erotic.

Alyssa knew the way her clit swelled, the sudden dampness in her panties were all a natural response—he was touching her in an arousing, comforting way. Didn't stop her cheeks from heating or avoiding his gaze every time he glanced at her after a sigh. But the massage felt so good as he switched to the other foot and worked his magic. How could she tell him to stop?

“Where'd you learn to do this?” Her voice was barely a husky whisper.

“It's in the manual.” Another quirk of his lips.

“Manual?”

“Every boy gets one at sixteen. It's a step-by-step plan of seduction. You know you've succeeded if your hand is under her shirt.”

He pressed his knuckle into a spot that made her bite the inside of her lip. Her gaze flicked to his and the smile was gone as he watched her face. He was turning her into putty in his hands.

Get it together.

She said, “I shouldn't be remotely amused by you.”

“But you are.”

She wanted to argue but his thumb skimmed up and she gasped. “You're not getting under my shirt.”

“Uh-huh,” he said in a knowing tone.

He pressed something that shot straight to her pussy, making it clench. She jerked her foot to the side so she could  breathe. Unfortunately, that slight movement brought her arch right against his cock.

His hard cock.

Measuring the length with her foot probably wasn't too reliable, but the intensity of his erection couldn't be faked. He was hard as steel, likely from her moans alone. He'd turned down the TV to hear every single one, and she hadn't disappointed him. Knowing that, having proof of it, made her panties feel two-sizes too small and much more damp.

With what seemed to be great patience, he moved her foot lower on his lap. “How about you get me another glass before I head home.”

Once again she was struck with why was he there. She knew her yearning for company, and he made her laugh. He wasn't at all pushy. Why did
he
decide to come into her condo? A football star had decided to take a regular Jane home. What was it about her that interested a man like him?

She had to ask, “What do you want from me?”

“Right now? A drink.”