#Score (27 page)

I
feel kind of ridiculous
, sitting outside in the car, waiting for Paige to come down. I stare at the front of the hotel, checking out its rustic old brick structure, and I have to wonder if I'm just playing myself here. There's so much ridiculous hope inside me that it feels like it's crushing the rest of my ego—a pretty big endeavor, for sure.

I'm not the kind of guy who wants to fuck one chick on Monday and then three more by the end of the week. I mean, sure, that's all fun and whatnot, but I've got too much to work on, and I’m never quite satisfied until I perfect it. And let me tell you, it's not easy to perfect anything in a game like football.

The driver catches my attention, pointing out the window. "Is this the young lady we’re waiting for?" he says to me, my eyes following his hand.

And there she is, standing there with her arms pulled across her chest, vainly trying to cover up the nice amount of cleavage she’s showing off in the pretty green dress she's wearing.

I take a deep breath. "Yes, sir. That's the one. Just a moment." I hop out of the car and give Paige a little wave as she makes her way over. She's twenty feet away, and I can already tell that something is off. The smile she was wearing for me yesterday is turned into a frown and setting off the guy alarms in my head. This doesn't seem to be off to a good start.

"Hey," she says to me softly, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. "Sorry if I’m late.”

I don't have my watch on me, but I know that's not true, so I just shrug. "You're fine. Is everything okay?"

The laugh she allows herself is sarcastic, and she slowly shakes her head at me. It startles me just how much she has both changed and stayed the same.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I don’t get involved in anyone else’s shit, but she can tell me whatever she wants to tell me if she wants to, and I know I’ll sit here and listen the whole time. Old habits die hard.

"It's kind of a long and boring story," she begins, looking at me as if she's asking for permission to tell it.

"By all means," I reply. I’ve got all night, after all.

"Well . . . I came here to San Antonio to try to attend this FitCon thing. At the convention center? I'm actually a physical therapist, and I just opened my own practice back home."

It's not as though I can help it as this image of Paige scantily dressed in something highly provocative and ridiculously sexy slowly crosses my mind, teasing me. Paige dressed up and ready to help soothe my aching muscles . . .
all
of them.

I quickly clear my throat. "Wow, that's really cool. I mean, I'm proud of you. Opening up your own business and all takes a lot of guts."

Even through the sadness in her face, I can see that my comment brightens her up inside.

"Thank you, I'm pretty proud of myself too. Anyway, the whole point is that I came here to this expo of sorts to try to get some ideas on what I could do to branch out within my business and try something different. I was actually thinking of making, or at least
having them made
. . . these special workout clothes for . . .
curvier
women, I guess you would say. We don’t have a whole lot to really choose from, and I wanted to try and remedy that, but . . . oh, it's stupid. Just forget I said anything."

I get it, and I can tell from the deep flush of her cheeks that it's embarrassing for her to admit it, although she shouldn't be embarrassed. "That's really cool of you, trying to provide for others who need something like that but don't have access to it. And going to this convention thing didn't help any?"

She shakes her head. "Yeah, no. Not very much help. I kind of got laughed at. I asked around and was basically given the cold shoulder. Which doesn't exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

She says this with a short laugh at the end, but I know what it means that she's been humiliated, and the fact that she is already opening up to me kind of speaks volumes for the friendship we had in the past.

"Well, if you ask me—”

"And I mean, there were only these perfect skinny bitches there to speak with about my idea for the yoga pants. All these expensive brands and their reps were such assholes about their materials, and you know what? I like prints too, dammit. Just because I'm not skinny or anything doesn't mean that I don't exercise my ass off too. And believe me, I have to if I want to eat even one slice of cheesecake at the restaurant, and it's really hard when everyone else is going to have a piece but you tell yourself no, no, no, Paige, you can't have that because you know that if you eat it, it’ll go straight to your . . .” She stops and immediately covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I interrupted you, and I'm just rambling here like a damn idiot. I'm just so angry —"

I hold my hand up, having to laugh. "It's okay. Don't worry about it." Yes, Paige may have changed in the curves department, and believe me, I’m definitely not complaining about that, but this whole funny rambling thing she does? I'm no stranger to that.

I sigh to myself, and something inside me feels like I've dusted it off and opened it back up. I usually don’t give a shit about anybody else’s problems with who said what about them and why. You have to hold your own in this world. It's something that I had to learn at an awfully young age myself, and I'll be damned if I'm going to enable somebody else to go ranting and whining about something they could fix themselves if they really tried. But something in the way she says things and the way that they make me feel calms that part in me and makes me want to listen to what she says. I actually do feel bad for her, and I can’t imagine how it feels to put yourself out there like that only to have it thrown back in your face. Humiliating, to say the least.

It's not something I've ever had to deal with myself, luckily enough, but Paige . . . let’s just say she’s had her share of that.

When she glances past me and out the window, I immediately take notice of those wide blue eyes of hers. Even now, I can tell there’s a small sadness in them, and it reminds me of all the times I’ve seen it before. Her sad blue eyes silently thanking me as I help her up from the floor in our school’s hallway. The way she would wince when I would get frustrated from trying to read the same sentence over and over without her help. And how those kind baby blues regarded me with the deepest of pity and concern when she looked up at me from the lower branches of the tree at Mom’s funeral.

Her bottom lip trembles, a telltale sign that she might be getting ready to cry, and even though it wouldn’t bother me that much, I have a feeling it might bother her.

I twist in my seat and look at her. “You know what? You should just tell ‘em to kiss your ass. Seriously. You don’t need them and their stupid ideas of what works and what doesn’t. Cut out the middle man and go straight to the supplier for the fabric or whatever. Those bitches who ignored you or just wrote you off don’t know shit. And you know what you’re doing, I can tell. So don’t worry about them.”

The trembling is replaced with a sweet, shy smile, and dammit, I’m doing it again. Every single time she flashes any hint of teeth, I’m losing my train of thought. Because a smile can lead to a touch, can lead to a kiss, can lead to me taking her back to my house and finally getting a peek at that gorgeous, curvy body of hers. The things I could do to make her moan . . .

“Thank you—that does kind of make me feel better. Because fuck them, right?”

I didn’t think hearing Paige talk like that would ever do anything but make me laugh, but I was wrong. She bites her lip, looking for me to agree, but all I really want to do is bite her lip, too.

“Fuck ‘em,” I reply, giving her a quick grin. I don’t know where it came from, but it feels right to finally break out a smile in her presence.

--

It doesn’t take long for us to get to Harley Dee’s Barbeque, and when we sit down and start to eat, I’m happy to see that Paige is in a better mood. Good food always cheers me up too.

“I get it,” Paige says around a mouthful of pulled pork.

I shovel some more of my own food into my mouth, savoring the smoky taste of the ribs.

“Hmm?”

“I get the whole barbeque debate thing. You know? This stuff is really good, but I don’t know.”

I already know what she’s about to say, and I snort when she leans back, folding her pale arms across her chest.

“I still think nothing beats Carolina barbeque.”

I glance around and lean in. “Don’t say that too loud. They might kick us out of the state.”

Paige giggles into her napkin, shaking her head. “Maybe me, but definitely not you. You’re like their golden child or something.”

It’s not a label I really want to claim, but I know she’s partly right. “I do miss my mom’s barbeque. You remember that one time when—”

“—we had to help her make it? Oh my God, it took
forever
. She made us stir that pork and wait, and wait. We were so damn hungry.” Her face lights up with the memory, and I swallow my food too quickly and nearly choke when it almost goes down the wrong pipe.

“I tried to sneak a bite, but I got caught. And then, being the particular brand of dumbass I was, I thought it was smart to go straight for the meat without the ladle, and boy, did I get burned. Mom was so pissed with me over that.”

Paige nods along with me, chuckling to herself. “I told you it was too hot. You had a bad habit of not listening very well.”

“Don’t expect it to change any time soon, either,” I reply, earning another sly grin from Paige.

Dinner is an unexpectedly easy time, especially with how we fell back into our old ways. It’s almost eerie how well Paige can recall things from the past, and when I chime in from time to time, it just about takes my breath away each time she smiles at me, like she’s pleasantly surprised to see how much I remember too. Then again, the ease of talking might have something to do with the pitcher of beer we ordered.

Sure, there’s plenty of stuff to remember, but there’s this not-so-small part of me that’s itching to see if we can make some new memories together, the kind of memories you can’t just rehash at a public restaurant. The green dress Paige is wearing isn’t helping my imagination any, especially when she leans forward, getting all animated with how she talks. Her hands start gesturing, and they accidentally push more of her delicious-looking freckled cleavage out into view. I don’t think she realizes it, so I try my best not to stare and give it away. Hey, I’m allowing myself this one little thing because I’m not really sure Paige is on the same wavelength as I am right now.

It’s a constant battle in my head because I’m digging the conversation between us. Hell, I’m even enjoying it. But every time Paige wraps her lips around her straw for a drink, or bites them, as she has a habit of doing, I’m having to tell myself to calm down and to stop imagining her full, red lips around my cock.

When we get back into the car, the topic turns to how my football career is doing, and the anxiety is already starting to wash over me. “Call me crazy, but you don’t seem too happy when you’re talking about football.”

Crazy? Nope, not even in the slightest. She’s hit the nail right on the head. “It’s just not something I always like to chat about, is all. I guess I’m just a private person.”

Paige rolls her eyes. “A private person? You? Never. I bet it gets pretty lonely there at your house, though, with all that huge space just for yourself . . . and the occasional guest, I guess.”

I look over at her and take stock of how her cheeks are flushed. Yeah, no wonder she is feeling more open to saying whatever she wants. “I wouldn’t say lonely, but sometimes, I get bored. Then I remember I have a shit ton of books to read or something else I can do by myself. Then it’s all good again.”

“A shit ton of books, huh? I saw a few. They were all first editions, right? Man, I didn’t see that one coming. I wish that I could have a huge library of my own. I would never get bored.”

I think about the big empty space in my house that she’s referring to and how much she likes books. A room that I have on the second story starts to spring to the front of my mind, the half-empty shelves, the dusty surfaces . . . and I smile to myself. The words tumble from my mouth before I get a chance to grasp onto them. “I can show you something else in my house that I think you’ll really like.” God help me. Please tell me I do not sound like the psychopath I just imagined myself sounding like.

Paige fumbles around with her small purse, clasping it shut, then open, over and over again, before finally looking back up at me. “Well, I’m not busy doing anything else tonight, so . . . okay.”

My heart is racing during the remainder of the ride home, as though I’m getting ready to go skydiving or something extreme like that, when in reality, I’m just spending time with Paige in my house. Alone.

I try to play it off when my hand shakes as I put in the code for the side door. The latch slides open, and I pull the door toward us, letting Paige in first. As I close the door behind us, I turn and am met with those insanely beautiful blue eyes of hers looking up at me.

It’s only a moment, but I take in the way a few strands of red hair stick out from the rest, how even in the dim lighting from the kitchen we just walked into, I can see a hint of blue in her eyes. And my hands are yearning so badly to pull her toward me, to finally touch what I have only been able to fantasize about all these years. It takes every bit of strength in me to hold my ground. I don’t want to scare her, and I don’t know if she’s ready for that next step.

Thank God, because Paige is nowhere near as hesitant as I am. She surprises me by walking right up to me and throwing her arms around me, pausing only one small second and letting her luscious lips hover over mine before she goes in for the kill.

T
here are
a million tiny thoughts rushing through my mind that tell me—no,
scream
at me—to kiss Elijah. The young girl that remembers those sweet kisses from our childhood. The woman that I have now become, who is demanding that I touch this incredible, sexy body. Most importantly, the emptiness inside me that seeks to heal from the wounds that even time couldn’t fix. I’m not about to let him slip through my fingers again.

There was a small moment of hesitation where I thought that maybe Elijah wouldn’t want this, that I may be overstepping some invisible boundary between us. When I saw the way he was looking at me, I could tell there was something more hidden behind his eyes than just friendship.

So I kiss him full on the lips, braving everything I’ve ever had inside me and all the self-doubt I’ve ever had. And I’ve got to say, I’ve really fucking done it now.

Elijah is shocked, and he rocks back on his heels without pulling away from my mouth. The shock doesn’t last very long, and his hands immediately go to my thick waist, bunching his fingers in the fabric of my light green dress. It’s such an intimate touch, and I don’t expect it. I gasp.

This noise of mine drives something deep inside Elijah, and his tongue sweeps past mine, making me tilt my head to the other side to give him better access to me. I cling tightly to him, my hands almost clawing at him to get closer. I can’t stand to be any farther away from him than I am right now.

He breaks the kiss only to take a few breaths, giving me some time to look into his eyes. They’re the same eyes that struck me down dead as a child, whether because he was mischievously looking at me as he snuck some cookies for us, or when he kissed me for the very last time before he moved away.

Elijah brushes his soft, full lips against mine, slowly kissing from one corner to the next. I melt instantly. I’m almost embarrassed at how wet I am.

Elijah’s warm hands emanate heat everywhere he touches me, even through the fabric of my dress. His hands move from my waist around to the small of my back, gliding upward as my exposed skin blazes from his fingertip-light touch. It’s as though my nerves are being drowned in his body heat.

I unfreeze my own limbs, reminding myself that I’m very much allowed to touch him too. I tentatively run my fingers through his messy hair, grabbing ahold and slightly tugging to bring him even closer, tighter against me. He responds enthusiastically by crushing me between him and the door behind us, his mouth moving down my neck, zig-zagging across my throat and back. Elijah nips and sucks at the soft skin under my earlobe.

His mouth is everywhere, exploring and encompassing everything from my shoulders up. He slips his fingers under the dip in the back of my dress, skirting over the dimples I have right above my ass cheeks.

“Are those . . . dimples?” he breathes into my ear. “No fucking way.”

I raise my brow, pulled out of the lustful moment for a minute to look at him. “Is there a problem with that?”

Elijah quickly shakes his head no. “I find it pretty funny, that’s all. I think you’ll find out why here shortly.” He covers my mouth with his own as soon as I open it to reply, effectively drowning out my words. It’s a good way to shut me up, that’s for sure.

I send a little prayer up each time Elijah drags his teeth across my skin and each time his fingers trail down my spine.
Please let this be real. Please let this be real.

I have become putty in his capable hands, unable to move except to wobble when he fumbles with the top clasp of my dress. At this very moment, as our eyes lock together, I sense he is overwhelmed with the same emotions as I am. I’ve always dreamed it but never imagined that I would be back in the arms of the boy who stole my heart and then vanished from my life so many years ago.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” My voice is soft, hesitant. It’s not that I don’t
want
to do this, because clearly, I do . . . but to give up everything that I’ve known about him to explore everything I don’t . . . how does that even work?

In the most reassuring way, Elijah cups my face, looking back and forth between my eyes as he lets out a sigh. He sounds so content just standing here with me, as if we’ve been doing this with each other for the past fifteen years instead of being apart. “Don’t you?”

I don’t need to search for the answer. “Absolutely.”
Sure, you might smash my heart into a billion little pieces in a way that I probably won’t be able to recover from after this, but why the hell not?
It could most certainly end in a dizzying heartbreak, and really, what else could happen? I have to eventually go home. That’s a fact that I can’t exactly escape, especially with my new business finally coming together. And if I do this—if
we
do this—then there’s no turning back.

There’s a beat before another breath passes my lips and I’m kissing him all over again.

Elijah groans against my mouth, causing my heart and mind to race with deep-felt passion. I briefly think back to the few not-so-serious boyfriends I’ve had and understand now why I could never feel happy or complete with them.

Right now, this minute, this feeling of total and complete trust I feel with Elijah—I have never experienced it before with another man. I’m consumed by his touch, his kisses. I want more. I need more.

He pulls the top part of my dress down, and my bra with it. My first instinct is to cover up. With my size, I have
a lot
going on there, but Elijah’s eyes don’t lie. They widen, and he’s touching me, caressing my soft flesh. The contrast between Elijah’s suntanned skin and my own pale skin is a beautiful thing, reminding me of warm shadows falling across my room in the daytime. I bite my lip, not meaning to, and I’m not able to help myself as I grind my hips against his.

Elijah squeezes my breasts, pinching my pink nipples until they become hard and tight between his fingers. He lightly pulls at them, one at a time, and all the while, his other hand has traveled back down the backless part of my dress until he’s tracing those dimples again. Being touched from the front and back sends uncontrollable shivers up and down my body, my nerves not knowing which way to go.

But that’s nothing,
nothing
compared to when Elijah drops his mouth down to my nipple and flicks his tongue out against it. I throw my head back, accidentally knocking into the wall, the brief pain gone instantly as his tongue lavishes from one side of my breast to the other.

“Jesus, you have no idea how perfect your tits are. They’re . . . I just can’t pull myself away from them,” he growls into my cleavage as he reaches up under my dress to firmly grab each of my round cheeks. The way his fingers dig deep into the underside of my ass, so close to where my legs part, has me eagerly ready to spread my thighs for him. If he only knew how wet he was making me.

I take it back. He knows. He fucking knows, because he’s just trailed his mouth down my ribcage and yanked my dress all the way down so that I’m standing here in nothing but my white panties and heels. “Oh fuck, Paige. Look at you,” he says, looking directly at the wet spot that’s dampened my panties before looking back up at me with those sexy hazel eyes of his. With a sexy grin, he says, “Did I do this?”

I bite my lip and nod. “That’s all you, Elijah.”

He chuckles to himself in disbelief. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of this moment in my head. I don’t even know how many times . . .” He slowly shakes his head before bolting straight up and scooping me into his arms in one swift move.

“Holy shit.” I screech as I grab ahold of his neck. I’m in such shock from literally being swept off my feet that it takes me a second to realize just how strong this man is. His muscles are impressive, to be sure, but I never imagined anyone would be able to carry my butt all the way up a long, winding staircase.

When we reach the master suite and as he carries me through the open double doors, I’m awestruck by the vast span of the room. The setting sun allows just enough light to glow through the wall to wall and floor to ceiling windows, casting a soft and romantic ambiance. The room’s beautiful furnishings are impeccable, including its focal point—a massive, king-size, four-poster bed. He softly and carefully places me on his bed and directs me to scoot back into the center of the bed. Hovering over me, he pulls the hem of his shirt over his head, and before tossing the shirt off to the side, he says, “I don’t know which part of you I want first.”

I smile up at him, knowing exactly what he means. “I thought the common rule of thumb was
ladies first
?”

He pretends to tip a hat at me. “Yes, ma’am.”

Taking my time, I spread my fingers out across his tanned skin, stretched taut over thick muscles. He is incredibly firm everywhere as I feel him move against me. I close my eyes and let my hands slide across his sides until I’m grabbing his tight, sexy ass through his pants.

“Are you really groping my ass?” He laughs quietly into my ear. “I didn’t realize that was a thing.”

I pull back from him as if he’s said something completely outrageous. Mainly, because he has. “Yes, of course it is. Women like nice asses too, you know. And I’m happy to report that I am very much satisfied with this one.” I give him a pat and firmly grab ahold of both cheeks again.

Elijah smiles before dropping another kiss on my collarbone. “Well then. Grab away.”

Oh, he has
no
idea. And just to show him that I’m definitely prepared to
grab away,
as he puts it, I unbutton his pants, slowly pulling the zipper down until I can feel it—the massive cock he’s got hiding beneath them. His mouth forms into a small ‘o’ when I push down his pants, freeing him from his dark-patterned boxer-briefs.

Elijah’s thick length sways between us, brushing up against the hem of my panties. It really is difficult to figure out what I want to do next. There’s so much of him that I want to explore, and I’m practically squirming underneath him just thinking about what he wants to do to me.

“What do you want? Tell me what you want me to do. I can’t even think straight right now.”

A fire burns behind his hazel eyes in response to my question. “There’s a whole lot I want you to do.” He traces the curve of my hip and the swell of my breast. “But what I
need
you to do—well, I need you to spread your sexy legs.”

I lean back on my elbows and do what I’m told, watching his every movement. He settles up against me, his thickness swollen against my soft belly.

“Now you tell me what
you
want,” he says. “Just don’t make me wait.”

Don’t make him wait? I wouldn’t dream of it. “Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”

It’s like someone has turned the flame up to high heat in his eyes, and Elijah parts my slick folds, lining himself up just right before pushing the head of his cock so that it’s just inside my aching center. “So warm,” he mumbles, stretching his arms out on either side of me as he slowly slides the rest of his throbbing length inside me.

I bite the inside of my lip, desperately trying not to cry out. It’s hard to make out where one of us ends and the other begins. I’m so full of Elijah’s wide cock, stretched to my comfort levels.

He hooks my legs over his shoulders, his hands spanning the width of my thighs to hold me in place as he drives his cock into me, hitting deep spots I’d never known before. It sends all sorts of new and erotic nerve-endings straight into my groin, and I grind myself against him. It’s so easy to get lost in his eyes when he looks at me the way he does.

When he hits that same spot inside me with the head of his cock, I moan loudly, unable to hold anything back. “Right there,” I say hoarsely. “Right where you keep . . . oh,
God
. Yes, fuck yes.”

“Watching your pretty lips say those dirty things is almost as good as your tight pussy squeezing me from the inside.”

I use my muscles again to clamp around his cock, pleased to hear him groan.

He shakes his head at me. “You’re a bad girl, Paige.”

Maybe I should feel slightly ridiculous, but instead, I’m intensely turned on. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

Elijah chuckles darkly before slamming home with such force that I’m sure I’ll be walking bowlegged in the morning. And he doesn’t stop there. Oh, no. He pushes my legs off his shoulders and secures my ankles together in one hand, pushing my legs back until I can barely breathe with my D-cups being shoved in my face. Who needs oxygen anyway?

There’s a loud
thwack
as Elijah smacks my ass cheek, watching as it jiggles under the pink handprint.

“Ouch,” I yell, surprised that he went there. Surprised, but crying out for him to do the other side even harder.

Another thwack, and my other cheek gets the smack. At the same time, he shoves himself deep into me, his position making it look and feel like he’s drilling my pussy with his cock.

My eyes roll in the back of my head because I’ve never felt this wanted, this sexy before. He’s fucking me so hard that we’re scooting across the bed with every solid thrust. Most importantly, I’ve never wanted this more than with Elijah.

Stars start lighting up the backs of my eyelids, the pinks and reds turning black as I squeeze my eyes shut. “Please,
please
don’t stop!” The pent-up tension in my body finds a way to release, and I’m writhing underneath Elijah, the orgasm sending me thrashing around as though I can’t find anything to hold onto while I fall into a deep canyon.

“Jesus!” Elijah manages to roar as his body stiffens up with each. Final. Thrust. He releases his load deep inside me, coating my insides with a warmth I’ve never allowed before.

A moment passes between us when Elijah opens my legs and leans down over me, our foreheads touching. Even though he’s still inside me, his hot seed spilling out of me, I see something fresh and new in his face. He searches mine for something before looking away and pulling out.

So I just had sex with my old best friend turned famous football player/sex god. That just happened.

--

T
he pillow talk
was maybe the most unexpected part. I look over at Elijah, who’s sleeping on his stomach, giving me a particularly lovely view of his tight ass. God bless squats and football.
And
those same dimples that I now see he sports as well.