by Cassie James
“Hey, remember Rebecca?”
“Who?”
I’m half expecting her to tell me it’s some girl we met in a bar that I’ll never remember, but she doesn’t.
“The blonde that lived at the end of the hall from us that year we were in the dorms?”
I wrack my brain until a memory presents itself. “You mean the one that wore the headbands?”
“Yes!” She fist-pumps the air.
“What about her?” We were casual friends with that girl at best. I haven’t thought about her in years. We lost touch after Cara and I moved into an apartment together.
“Have you seen her Instagram? She’s always posting all these McHottie photos because she’s got not only a hot ass husband, but a hot ass boyfriend, too!”
“Seriously?”
She was always so straight-laced. Spending her time studying when Cara was dragging me off to parties because she had a big crush on a frat president. But hey, good for Rebecca. I’m sure I’d be bragging on Instagram, too, if I had two hot men in my life.
Just imagine what it would be like to have twenty-five, Gemma.
“I totally get it,” Cara keeps rambling on, clearly missing the slightly pained look I’m currently wearing on my face. “Think about how much respect you have for your partners in a relationship like that. And god, the communication. Think about how much communication there is to make sure no one’s feelings are ever hurt.”
I try to ignore the way she punctuates her rambling with a light moan. As if the very idea of a healthy relationship is enough to turn her on.
Not that I don’t get it.
After the disaster my relationship with Colin turned into, the idea of someone—multiple someones—respecting and communicating with me is just… unimaginable.
And maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to bring myself to say yes yet.
There are so many things that could go wrong. The Strudford Storms are my whole life. Not only is the team my job, they’re some of my best friends. The whole lot of them. Losing even one of them would be a heartbreak I’m not sure I’m ready for.
My break-up with Colin felt like nothing—because we’d spent most of our relationship being nothing.
The Storms?
They’re my everything.
“You should say yes,” Cara announces flippantly, as if we’re talking about some other person’s life and not mine. She squints then while the wheels in her head seem to turn. She blurts out in a sudden moment of complete clarity, “I can’t believe you’re out here in the trenches slumming it with me when you could be out there sowing your wild oats with the hottest gathering of men since Magic Mike was filmed.” She wags her finger at me. “Relationships come and go, but hot rugby players are forever.”
I can’t help but laugh at how serious she looks. The sentiment doesn’t make all that much sense, but it’s actually sort of comforting anyway. My relationship with Colin was so boring, so easily tossed aside when I realized how bad things had gotten. But the Storms? Do I really want to risk everything for some short term fun?
Because the arrangement Cyrus proposed, it’s not like it could work long term. Twenty-five dates, sure. But then what? Where do we even go from there?
I turn Cara’s revelation about Rebecca over in my mind but…
“There’s still a big difference between dating two men versus dating an entire rugby team.”
She studies me for a long moment, long enough that I start to mistakenly think she’s going to impart some sage wisdom on me or something.
“You know what you need? Another drink!”
Cara grabs my arm and pretty much drags me out of the bathroom. My feet stumble over the threshold before I gather my bearings and start moving along beside her. She’s right, I do need another drink. And then another one after that.
Getting smashed might just be the only way I make a decision one way or another. I can’t very well walk into practice two days from now and pretend nothing has changed.
“We’re back, boys. Did you miss us?” Cara goes right back to batting her eyelashes—she’s absolutely shameless.
The two guys she’s been entertaining herself with both perk back up, but my new buddy keeps a wary distance. I guess he picked up on more of my mood than I thought he had. Still, if we’re going to be stuck here together for the night while Cara busies herself with what’s looking suspiciously like a future devil’s threesome, the least I can do is try to be a little friendlier.
I do my best to ignore the feeling of dread settling heavy in my stomach. I haven’t officially answered Cyrus about his proposition. And I haven’t had a conversation with the other guys about any of it. I could flirt with Mark-Matt if I wanted, I don’t owe the Storms anything.
So why did my heart apparently not get the memo?
Nine
Wolfie
The guys have always teased me for having the patience of a saint, but for once, I don’t give a damn. My extraordinary patience is the only thing standing in the way of me mauling the woman currently sleeping half-dressed in my bed.
A little fact my dick can’t seem to forgive and forget. I’ve been sporting a hard-on for nearly an hour.
Every time I think I’ve gotten it under control, I remember all over again how she stripped out of her clothes last night.
“Too hot,” she’d mumbled.
I just counted my blessings that she wasn’t in that damn red dress. I would never have survived the night otherwise.
I glare over the island to the couch where the blanket I used last night is still wadded up in one corner. I tossed and turned all night while my dick tried to convince me there would be no harm in spooning her in the bed…
Fat fucking chance.
I would never have been able to help myself once I got a feel of her against me. Not even with the patience of a saint the other guys all seem to think I have. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to put the moves on her for the first time while she was drunk out of her mind and bitching about some other guy.
I’d thought it was the ex at first until she started mumbling every guys name with an M that her drunken mind could conjure up.
Eventually, I’d managed to realize she was complaining about the guy from the bar.
The asshole that was trying to put his hands on her when I’d shown up last night. He disappeared in a flash when I showed up to haul her ass home. I’d nearly turned right the fuck around when she started whining about how he wouldn’t leave her alone all night.
But then she’d leaned across the console of my car to rest her head against my arm and promptly fallen asleep. I was a goner after that.
I’d told Cyrus I would take her home, and I did. Sort of.
It just happened to be my home I took her to instead of her own.
And now I’m stomping around loudly in the kitchen like an asshole hoping that the noise will wake her up. All because I’m scared to go back in the bedroom and risk getting a glimpse of her that sends all my willpower careening out of control.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, hoping against all reason that one deep breath might be enough to calm my boner from hell.
“Shit,” I mutter as grease pops on the stove and lands on my bare arm.
My eyes fly open at the same time a soft voice asks, “Are you okay?”
I step away from the hot grease danger zone as I turn to look at Gemma hovering in the doorway. Her curves are barely concealed under one of my shirts, which is just long enough to cover her to mid-thigh. I suddenly really, really wish I’d put on jeans instead of sweatpants.
When her gaze starts to drop, I clear my throat in the hopes of deterring her from looking me over too closely. The last thing I want to do is scare her off first thing in the morning because I’m sporting a raging erection.
I really should have just given in and jerked off before she woke up.
“I’m really glad to see you.”
Her words nearly give me a stroke,
I’m so floored to hear them leave her mouth. The feeling is short-lived as she continues.
“When I woke up in a strange bed I was worried maybe…”
I nearly choke on a pain-filled laugh. She’s not happy to wake up at my place, she’s happy to wake up at my place instead of a stranger’s—because she knows without a doubt nothing would have happened between the two of us.
Just fucking great.
Even my dick finally gets the memo and starts to deflate like the rest of me.
I shift so my back is to her. I don’t want to be an asshole, but now that she’s up I almost wish she weren’t. At least then I could have kept pretending this scenario would somehow end with me taking her breakfast in bed and then devouring her right there on top of my sheets.
So dumb.
“So, last night…”
“Nothing happened,” I confirm for her. She’s obviously really worried about it.
The apartment falls silent for so long I start to think she walked away. That maybe she wanted to put her own clothes on or something. I glance over to check only to find her right where I left her. Except now her cheeks are flushed and she’s looking anywhere but at me.
She must feel my eyes on her though because after a second she seems to make an effort to focus her eyes on me once more.
She mumbles something.
“Huh?”
Her cheeks go from pink to bright red.
“I said that wasn’t what I was asking.”
I stare dumbfounded at her as she drops her head to stare at her feet. I let my eyes drop, too, admiring the way her slender feet look against the dark wood floors of my apartment. Her feet are a couple shades lighter than the rest of her. Protected by tennis shoes, no doubt, knowing her.
Just like an athlete.
It doesn’t matter that she only works around sports now and doesn’t play them, she might as well still be the high school softball player running laps after dinner against the backdrop of the setting sun.
We grew up close to each other, Gemma and I.
I was several years older, but I lived at my parents’ place well through college. I was there when she started growing up, becoming the woman that became impossible to ignore.
I should have made my move then, but I chickened out.
“Wolfie.” My nickname rolls over her tongue, sending a zap of electricity down my spine.
“I’ve never brought a woman back here before,” I blurt out before she can get her actual question out. The words fight their way out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Ah hell, now I’m the one turning red.
Gemma sure does have a way of making me feel like a bumbling kid again. Transporting me right back to when everyone thought I was too quiet, too dumb, and too damn big.
“What about that Rachel chick?”
I think back to the woman she’s talking about, the blonde waif with a bad attitude. The exact opposite of Gemma, which was probably the only thing I’d actually liked about her. At the time, I’d needed a distraction. Rachel did an okay job of being that, though it still was never good enough.
My inability to hide my feelings for Gemma was literally the reason she’d left me after a few months of dating. But…
“No, I never brought her home. We went to her place.”
“That sounds kind of sleazy,” Gemma teases, clearly wanting to lighten this morning’s awkward tension.
Cyrus’ words haunt me.
“She said she’d think about it. If she didn’t feel anything, don’t you think she would have just gotten up and walked away? I wasn’t holding her hostage.”
He’s convinced she wants it. That she wants us.
But as much as I trust Cyrus, it’s just not the same hearing the words as it would be seeing for myself. I drag my eyes back up to meet Gemma’s.
I could take a risk, say something suggestive, maybe. I won’t, though. I’ve been playing it safe for far too damn long. It’s the reason I don’t deserve a woman like Gemma because I’ve never been man enough to just put myself out there.
Cyrus obviously doesn’t have that problem.
Taking her out and asking her to do the unthinkable.
I could use an ounce of that confidence.
Gemma startles me out of my own head as she trails a few steps further into the kitchen. The space isn’t that big—I’m used to being the only one in here. Now we’re practically touching. I silently curse my dick for its renewed attempt at saluting her.
“Wolfie, how’d I end up here?”
Gemma’s voice sounds so helpless that I temporarily forget my own predicament. My hand flexes as if to reach out and comfort her, but I turn and flip the bacon on the stove, instead.
She’s just woken up in a strange place with probably little to no recollection of the night before. The only thing she needs right now is answers. She doesn’t need me getting lost in the feel of what I’m sure would be her extraordinarily soft skin.
“Cyrus called last night. He was furious because you’d started drunk texting him from the bar.” I glance over to see her face paling. “I’m sure he would have liked to have dragged you out of there himself, but he knew I lived closer. He didn’t want you in there a second longer than you needed to be.”
“Right. Uh… did I lose my keys or something?”
“What? No. I don’t think so, why?”
She hesitates before pointing out, “Because you didn’t have to bring me here. You could have taken me home last night.”
“Yeah.” I nod slowly. “But, uh, your friend went home with a guy, so I just thought you should be here in case you needed something. Since you wouldn’t be able to call her if you needed someone or whatever.”
Lie. Lie. Lie.
I feel like there should be a neon sign over my head pointing to me as it flashes liar.
She doesn’t call me out on the flimsy excuse, for which I’m grateful. She smirks a little before her next question.
“Just one?”
“One what?”
“Did Cara go home with just one guy? Because the one thing I distinctly remember was that she was courting two. It felt very scandalous. I did wonder how she’d settle things at the end of the night.”
“There was just one guy when I got there.” The words taste like lead coming out of me. If she felt awkward about her friend with two guys…
Gemma seems to shrink in on herself as she starts to backtrack. “Not that it wouldn’t have been fine if she went home with both of them. They were all consenting adults. It wouldn’t have hurt anyone. They probably would have had a lot of fun. Things could have gotten really crazy—or calm. Maybe it would have just been calm and normal having more than one partner.”
I have to stop her before her train-wreck rambling makes either of us any more uncomfortable.
“Anyway,” I interrupt louder than necessary, “breakfast is almost ready. I fixed a bunch of different things since I wasn’t sure what you’d be up to eating this morning. I was worried you’d be hungover, but you honestly look really good.”
Well that didn’t come out quite the way I meant for it to.
I quickly turn away and bury my head in the cabinet as I pretend to search twice as long as necessary for the bread. This whole morning is turning out to be way more of a shitshow than I expected.
Maybe I should just go back to the couch and force myself to fall back asleep. Then I can wake up again and this will all have been a bad dream.
“Hey, Wolfie?” I turn slowly back to Gemma, never able to deny her when she says my name in a soft voice like that. She takes a step closer to me. “Thanks for saving me last night.”
I open my mouth to tell her it was no big deal—my pleasure, really.
Her lips brush mine and for one horrible second I have the most ridiculous thought that she must have tripped and fallen into me or something.
But no.
She strains on her tiptoes, putting in a real effort to reach my mouth as she
kisses me hesitantly, trying it on for size. I kiss her back softly, as if she might break. I’m terrified of scaring her off. Still, I bend my head toward her, letting her settle back to the ground instead of straining her legs to reach me. I’m considerably bigger than she is.
I’m kissing Gemma.
Holy fucking hell, I’m kissing Gemma.
It feels too good. So good that I consider letting it go on for as long as she’s willing. It wouldn’t be so hard to say fuck the other guys. They’ve been waiting a few years. It feels like I’ve been waiting a lifetime.
But I just can’t.
I’m a team player, I always have been. And no matter how good it feels now to have Gemma’s breasts brushing just barely against my chest—as she wears what feels like nothing but my shirt—I can’t screw over my teammates. Not even for the woman of my dreams.
“Gemma, wait.”
It physically pains me to put a hand on her shoulder and push her back slightly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this.”
Her eyes go wide with hurt and embarrassment.
“I am so sorry, I thought…”
Even though I feel like a bit of an asshole doing it, I grab her hand and bring it to my crotch, letting her feel exactly how much I want her.
“It physically hurts me, how bad I want you,” I explain, “but the team has an agreement. I don’t want to break that.”
“An agreement?”
The words sound hollow when she says them.
I nod.
“Does this have something to do with Cyrus at the bar the other night?” Her question is just abstract enough that she can feign it as something else. She’s fishing, trying to see if the arrangement Cyrus proposed on our behalf was for real.
And if she’s fishing for that answer… maybe our chances are higher than I initially thought. Maybe Cyrus is right and the feelings have been there all along, just waiting for a chance to turn everything around.
This is my shot. If I don’t say something right now, I might be the reason she gets scared off and never actually gives it a chance.
