by J. Nathan
Drew’s eyes lifted from his glass to me. “Didn’t realize I propositioned a ringer.”
“Guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
He stared me down as he dug the quarter out of his glass. Grasping the coin by the rim between his thumb and middle finger, like he’d perfected the fine art of Quarters a long time ago, his eyes shifted to the table. With finesse, he bounced the coin directly into my empty glass.
“Looks like we’ve both had some practice.” I slid it from my glass, readying for my next shot. I lifted the coin, searching for the perfect spot on the table. As I was about to release it, Drew choked out an obnoxious cough. My coin bounced off the table, over the glass, and across the floor.
“Oops.” He didn’t even try faking remorse as he jumped to his feet.
“Oops my ass.”
He stood over me with his lips twitching. “You think I did that on purpose?” Instead of grabbing the coin from its spot on the floor, he lifted the bottle and filled my glass to the brim.
“I think you’re scared.” I grabbed the shot, spilling some as I lifted it hastily to my lips. The alcohol singed my nose hairs. But I didn’t let on. I tipped back my head and let the liquid flow down my throat. Ughhh.
Drew chuckled as he retrieved the quarter and dropped back into the chair. “I’ll show you scared.” He pushed himself to the edge of the seat, eyeing the glass like it required deep concentration to determine the distance between the quarter in his hand and the glass in front of me. Then he eyed it some more.
“Get on with it, would you?” I acted bored, but in all honesty, I needed to prolong the game. If not, I’d be drunk off my ass in no time. I stayed away from alcohol while training. So to say I was a lightweight would be an understatement.
Drew’s eyes captured mine from across the table. “Good things come to those who wait.”
Was it bad I wanted him to be talking about more than just getting the quarter in the glass?
His coin bounced off the table and sailed right into the glass in front of me. Again.
Dammit.
I dumped the coin into my hand like the thought of me being the only drunk one didn’t faze me at all. I held the quarter for a second before bouncing it down on the table. It hit the rim of his glass and bounced off. Drew caught it before it hit the floor.
Fuuuck.
He didn’t even hesitate. He just lifted the bottle and filled my glass to the top with a grin. “Drink up.”
“Fuck off.”
He threw back his head and howled. “She’s feisty when she’s drunk.”
“She’s not drunk. She’s pissed.” I threw back the shot. Thankfully, it stung a little less than the last.
“Can I just say, I like your feisty side. It’s turning me on.”
“I thought guys are genetically-predisposed to be turned on all day as it is?”
“All day. And now all night.” That cocky smile slid across his face, the one I’d started to really like…or hate—I couldn’t tell with my head’s sudden fogginess. Not to mention, its sudden jump to things it had no business jumping to. Like the gray Henley tightly gripping his broad chest. His long fingers gripping the edge of the tray table. The zipper of his jeans—
“Ahem.”
My eyes shot up. With the number of shots I’d ingested in a matter of minutes, with no end to our game in sight, I knew I was screwed. Why not embrace it. “Your turn.”
His eyes never left mine as he picked up the quarter and aimed it at the table. It bounced and landed in the glass.
I threw up my hands. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”
He laughed as he settled back in the chair and crossed his sculpted arms.
Oh, yeah. He was hot.
“I hate you.”
“But just think how nice my fingers are going to feel all over your skin.”
Just the thought of his fingers anywhere near my skin sent shivers coursing through me. “A sponge bath implies a sponge will be used. No one said anything about fingers touching skin.”
He nodded toward the coin in my glass.
I flipped him off which only made him laugh harder. “I’m serious. I hate you.” I ignored the coin in my glass and for the hell of it—and because I was feeling a little feisty and didn’t feel like missing again—I picked up the bottle and lifted it to my lips. I tipped back my head and took a nice long swig. When I lowered the bottle, Drew’s clapping echoed off the empty walls.
“You’re seriously my dream girl.”
“Because I can drink you under the table?”
“Drinking me under the table would mean I’ve had more than one shot. And…” He leveled me with those pretty green eyes. “I’ve only had one shot.”
I dumped the coin from my glass and held it out to him. He reached out, but instead of taking it, he held onto my hand, brushing his thumb lightly over my knuckles, leaving a numbness in its wake. And as much as I wanted to prolong it, to savor it, to see where it led, I needed to show strong. “Time to drink up, pretty boy.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
I tilted my head, very aware that my hand remained in his strong grasp. “You know you are.”
He stared at me long and hard, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. He wanted to say something. Something important. Something that could make the moment better if he only uttered the words. But just like that, the look disappeared, and his playfulness returned. “I just wanted to hear you admit it.”
He released my hand and took the coin. This time the coin bounced to the side of the glass and into my lap. Part of me wondered if he’d missed intentionally.
Too many shots later, my eyes were mere slits. It was a miracle I could see anything.
“Do you give up?”
I tried to settle on one of the two Drews in front of me, before shaking my head. “I never give up.” Oh, God. My words were ridiculously slurred.
He laughed. “Good to know. Because neither do I.”
Even in my drunken stupor, I hoped his words referred to more than just our game. What was wrong with me? “Whose turn is it?”
“Asks the sober one?” he pointed out.
I stuck my tongue out at him. Oh, yeah. I was totally sober.
“Actually…” He stood up, stretching his arms over his head for no other reason than to give me a glimpse of the taut skin above his jeans as his shirt lifted. “I’m pretty beat.”
Yummmm.
Shit. Did I say that out loud?
“I’m gonna head out,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides.
My mouth parted. “What about my sponge bath?”
“You admit defeat?”
My eyes narrowed, trying to settle on a witty response. But since my drunken stupor rendered me incapable of a single coherent thought, a witty response was not happening.
“Tomorrow,” Drew assured me. “I want you perfectly sober when I have my way with you.”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus.
CHAPTER FIVE
I woke around noon sporting a head-pounding, stomach-churning hangover. Immediately, I rolled over and fell back to sleep. Luckily, the nurses and therapist left me alone. By dinner time, I felt good enough to keep down the saltine crackers that arrived with my broth.
“Someone have a rough night?”
My eyes slowly shifted to the door.
Drew, looking more than fine in his cargo shorts and black T-shirt, stood there with bouncing brows.
Bastard.
“I’m ready to collect.”
“I still hate you.”
He laughed as he entered my room. “You might change your mind once you hear what I have to offer.” My eyes studied him curiously. Still hot. Still cocky. Still a pain in the ass. “I’ve decided I’d be willing to forgo the sponge bath.”
“Oh?” A tinge of disappointment formed in the pit of my stomach.
“Why bother with a sponge bath when I can just jump right in the shower with you? I’m
great with a loofah.”
My body relaxed, though I’d never admit it. “Great idea.”
The smug smile slipped off his face. “Seriously?”
I leveled him with a look I hoped conveyed, “Get real.”
“Yeah, I figured.” He disappeared into the hallway.
Staring at the empty doorway, I wondered why I’d felt so let down by the notion of not getting a sponge bath. Had he already worked his way under my skin that much?
Within seconds, Drew returned with a bucket, washcloth, and towel. I could’ve sworn he shot me a wink before disappearing inside the bathroom.
As soon as the water sputtered, I let out a shaky breath. What was I doing? Was I really going to let this happen? Let some guy I barely knew put his hands all over my body?
My thoughts jumped to Logan. She had relationships—or at least relations—with strangers she took home from bars. By comparison, I’d known Drew far longer. And really? He wanted to give me a sponge bath. Big deal.
But the longer he remained in the bathroom, the harder my heart knocked against my chest. I tried focusing my breathing. Panting like a dog was so not cool. I was a grown woman for God’s sake. It’s not like I’d never been touched by a guy before.
Drew stepped out of the bathroom, moving toward me with such confidence. Such finesse. Such swagger. No way he learned it. People like him were born with it.
Bastard.
He placed the bucket full of sudsy water on my tray table, rolling it to the side of my bed. He kept his eyes on mine as he steeped the washcloth in the bucket and squeezed out the excess water.
Was he calling my bluff?
News flash. If anyone planned to back down, it’d be him.
“Close your eyes,” he said with an irresistible rasp to his voice.
I did as told. His footsteps slowly retreated to the foot of the bed. I imagined him either staring down at me in my “booty shorts” and the white camisole Logan brought, evaluating my curves and bare skin. Or laughing at me for expecting an actual sponge bath.
I flinched when the warm cloth pressed to my right heel and moved slowly up the arch of my foot. A giggle burst out of me as I scrunched up my toes.
Drew yanked away the cloth. “Did you just giggle?”
My eyes snapped open, staring at his amused face at the foot of my bed. “I’m ticklish.”
“Apparently. I’ve never had a girl giggle before.”
“You’ve given a lot of sponge baths?”
He flashed that cocky grin. “Nope. You’re definitely my first.”
My belly quivered. Knowing I was his first anything did crazy things to my body.
I closed my eyes, accepting the fact that I was getting a sponge bath from a hot guy. This massage would be relaxing. I willed myself with all I possessed not to giggle again like a little girl. I was twenty-two years old, God dammit.
Drew moved the cloth over the top of my foot. Thankfully, I wasn’t ticklish there. He circled my ankle and dragged it back up to my toes, gently tugging on each one. Within seconds, the cloth disappeared from my skin.
Was that it? Was he done? Or was he contemplating his next move? With my cast covering most of my right leg, and my left knee still so sensitive, his options were limited.
Without warning, the cloth settled above my cast on top of my right thigh—almost searing my skin. Tiny tingles resonated not only there, but in all the sensitive spots above it. It would be nearly impossible to have his hand that close to my crotch without making a fool of myself.
I’d be the first to admit, it had been months since I’d had sex. But God. I was an embarrassment waiting to happen.
I steeled myself, focusing all my energy on breathing. Not the feeling of the cloth coasting over the top of my bare thigh. Not its journey down to my knee. Not the circular movement around my kneecap before moving to the side and gliding up to my hip in one slow stroke. Not the voyage back down to the side of my knee.
Without removing the cloth, Drew slipped it underneath, dampening the soft bend in my knee. From there, he slid it up the back of my thigh to the bottom of my shorts. I was no perv, but my mind instinctively jumped to indecent places. And knowing he’d yet to venture to my inner thigh, my traitorous heart pounded something fierce.
As if reading my thoughts, the cloth settled inches from the sensitive apex between my legs. I inhaled a sharp breath. Drew did the same. We were in dangerous territory and we both knew it.
I barely had time to focus on the too-intense-for-primetime-throbbing before he moved the cloth down to my inner knee. That’s when it disappeared. The cloth. Not the sensation. That was there to stay, pulsing like the second hand on a clock.
A silence passed.
It took everything in me not to open my eyes. Where was he? What was he thinking? Was he having the same thoughts as me?
I heard a soft rustling then the cloth being submerged in the water. Within seconds, it ran up the arch of my left foot. This time I bit down on my bottom lip, stopping myself from even thinking of giggling.
Drew repeated the same path he’d taken on my right foot. But with no cast on my left calf, he trailed the cloth over my shin, skipping my knee and stopping on the top of my left thigh. There he grazed it down from my hip to my ankle, then underneath from my calf to the bottom of my shorts.
One would think I’d become accustomed to his touch, but the deep throbbing between my legs intensified, expanding out to my fingertips and toes.
The cloth settled on the inside of my left thigh. My breath hitched again. Drew had to have heard it.
Slowly—painfully slowly—he moved the cloth from the bottom of my shorts to the inside of my knee. At that point, my ball of nerves pulsed in tandem with my heartbeat.
He removed the cloth from my skin and dunked it back in the bucket. “So far so good?” he asked, his voice holding the deep rasp of someone just as turned on as me.
“Mmmhmm.” Couldn’t he see my heaving chest?
The bed dipped as he sat beside me, the pressure of his muscular thigh resting up against my hip. With my eyes still closed, I could feel him shift toward me.
My body jolted when the damp cloth settled below my ear. I couldn’t help imagining his lips in the same spot. Would they be tender caresses or open-mouthed bites? God, I wanted to find out. Now more than ever.
As the cloth skated down my neck, I wondered if he felt my quickened pulse protruding from my skin. If he did, he didn’t let on as he slipped the skinny straps of my camisole off my shoulders.
With my eyes closed, my sense of sound became heightened. It’s probably why I could hear Drew’s shallow breathing as he followed the path over my collarbone and down to my shoulder.
Glad I’m not the only one affected.
He moved to my opposite ear, again dragging the cloth down my neck to my shoulder in one long sweep. Leaving my straps down, he trailed the cloth beneath my chin to the top of my cami. He stayed at my upper chest, gliding the cloth over my skin from left to right for a couple passes.
If only nothing existed between us. If only I knew what his actual touch felt like.
He lifted the cloth from my skin and pulled my straps back up.
I could hear the water splashing in the bucket as he steeped the cloth and twisted out the excess water. This time it landed on the top of my shoulder and glided down my arm in a slow torturous stroke to my fingertips. Goose bumps erupted all over my damp skin as the cool air attacked it, kick-starting major buzzing throughout my body.
He grasped my wrist and flipped over my arm, repeating the same path up theinside. When he moved over the sensitive bend in my arm, a giggle burst out of me.
“Again?” he laughed.
“Uh huh.”
“You’re so adorable.”
I could feel myself grimace as he switched to my other arm. No one called Logan adorable. She was gorgeous. Beautiful. Hot. Those descriptions just weren’t me. They’d never be me. I was too lanky. My hair hung poker-str
aight and never fell in pretty curls. And makeup rarely concealed the freckles dotting my nose. I needed to face the facts. While Drew held the power to make me forget what I’d lost—as well as the pain, anger, and bitterness that accompanied such a loss—he merely saw me as his buddy.
The realization tightened my chest and sobered the amazing feelings he’d been creating all over my body. My eyes popped open. “That felt amazing, but you can stop now.”
Drew’s eyes narrowed. “Are you kidding me? I don’t half-ass anything. Especially when I’ve got a girl in bed. Now lay there and enjoy it.” He dampened the cloth. “And keep your eyes closed.”
Since I was in no position to get up and walk out of the room, I was truly at his mercy. It’s why I begrudgingly closed my eyes.
No sooner had I, the cloth touched down on my forehead, drifting over it gently. I squeezed my eyes tighter, enjoying the unexpected warmth as it moved from my forehead, down to my right cheek, and over my nose. He removed the cloth and tugged gently on the bandage on my left cheek, slightly stinging the skin as he peeled it away.
I shuddered at the thought of the skin underneath. I’d been too afraid to look at it. Too afraid to discover I’d be left with a scar. A permanent reminder of my accident.
Drew didn’t seem to mind what he saw, pressing the cloth to it for a long moment. “Relax. It’s just a few scratches. It’s almost healed.”
I exhaled a deep breath, relieved his voice held no disgust.
Then, as if that hadn’t relaxed me enough, he laid the cloth across my eyes and pressed gently into them. The pressure created a stillness throughout my body. My limbs hung limply. My mind became a blank slate.
Now I’d had massages before, especially after big races. But nothing—nothing—compared to the attention Drew paid to my body.
He lifted the cloth from my eyes and moved it to my lips. The pressure of his fingers drifting across my lips, the roughness of the cloth, and the warmth of the water prickled like the aftermath of a mind-blowing kiss.
“Mmmm,” I murmured into the cloth, incapable of not uttering a sound.
