I shouldn’t have hit Aiden so hard, but at the time, it felt good as fuck.
Would I do it again?
Hell, yes.
Will Aiden ever let me?
Fuck, no.
Paige: Is this a booty call?
At six in the evening? Maybe that’s the reason for her no-casual-sex rule.
Me: Nope
Paige: Booty text?
Me: Nope
Paige: You literally want to Netflix and chill?
Me: I’m literally too fucking sore to even kiss your sweet lips.
Paige: I’ll be right over… after you give me your address.
I grin and send her the information.
Me: I’ll provide dinner, if you haven’t eaten.
Paige: Starving!
Me: I’ll be ready for you at 6:30. It’ll take you that long to get to my place.
Paige: I’ll bring the event-planning stuff, too. See you in thirty minutes!
“Oh good—she’s blocking me with shop talk,” I mutter, then curse myself for being a dick. The charity event is important to me, and there are a lot of families depending on my foundation’s financial support.
I make it home in fifteen minutes and change into a pair of loose pajama pants. At the last second, I throw on a t-shirt so Paige doesn’t get the wrong idea and leave as soon as she catches me shirtless.
Normally, shirtless gets me sex.
Normally, I don’t date women with no-casual-sex rules.
I don’t date women because of a bet either, but look at me now.
The food-delivery service guy shows up about five minutes before Paige is supposed to arrive, giving me time to make things a little more presentable for her around the house. I’m not a slob by any means, but I’m not OCD about leaving my shoes in the hallway or a ball cap on the coffee table. Plus, my cleaning service comes three times a week, so I’m guaranteed that everything is above board when it comes to beds, kitchen, and bathrooms.
My security system alerts me to Paige’s presence, and I press the button to open the gates to my drive. Next time she comes over, and there will be a next time, I’ll make sure she has the code to get in.
I jog outside, hoping to catch her before she gets out so I can walk with her inside. This craving to be with her every second of every day is getting bad. We were together last night. While I’m not opposed to multiple dates, in the past, I could take or leave when I saw a woman again.
And I sure as shit didn’t text them as soon as I was done for the day. Yeah, I’m guilty of booty texting, but the women who responded to said texts were in complete agreement with the terms of our relationship.
The door to Paige’s car opens and one long leg at a time appears, making me run faster. I get to her car just as she starts to stand and hold out my hand.
“Hey, gorgeous.” I lift her up, not giving a damn that her grip is putting pressure on my banged-up hand. “Can I carry anything inside for you?”
“Hi.” She hoists a large bag onto her shoulder, smiling. “I’m fine.” Her sunshine-colored hair glows in the waning light of the sun. Maybe I should tell her that. It’s pretty damn close to poetry.
“Your hair is glowing, like a light bulb.” Shit. That did not come out right. Probably because I’ve never used that line before, and I didn’t have time to rehearse. “That sounded a lot different and better in my head.”
She blinks up at me, her head tilting to one side. “Thanks for trying to give me poetry.”
“I’d say any time, but I’m pretty sure I suck at it.” I let my gaze travel down her curves, taking in the matching sweater set and form-fitting black pants she’s wearing. “If the librarians at any of the schools I attended looked like you, I would have read a lot more books.”
Paige laughs. “That probably sounds exactly like you said it in your head.”
“Didn’t say that in my head first,” I mutter, then shrug. She doesn’t seem offended, so I’ll put this one in the approved-for-Paige-only column. “Hope you brought your appetite, because I had Pan-Mako deliver.”
“The Asian bistro?” she asks, her eyes lighting up when I nod. “It’s one of my favorite places to go on payday.”
“Only on payday?”
“It’s either eat there once, or go without groceries for a week.” She tips her head toward the house. “Are you going to tease me with food, or are we allowed to go inside and actually eat?”
I place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the side entrance that I prefer to use. “Whatever my girl wants, she gets.” Looks like I need to make sure she has Pan-Mako more often than once or twice a month.
“Your girl?”
“I consider date three to be pretty serious.”
She rolls her eyes. “Do you propose on date six?”
“Nah, I save that for number seven, when I hope to get lucky.”
To my surprise, annoyance flashes in her eyes. She doesn’t even try to hide it. “Is seven your lucky number?” she asks tightly.
Son of a bitch. I’d forgotten about her mom calling Paige and her siblings her lucky sevens. I must have sounded like an asshole.
“My lucky number is the one on the back of my jersey.”
“Remind me of your lucky number.”
“Seventy-eight.”
She eyes me.
I eye her back, then open the door. “If you want to have a staring contest, I’m down, but our food will get cold if we play out here.”
Paige sighs, then rubs her temples. “Forgive my hangriness. I thought you were making a joke at the expense of my family.”
“No matter what you think about me, I don’t crap on anyone’s family.” I bend my knees a little so she can see up close and personal that I’m serious. “Your sister busts my balls, and she has good reason to at times, but even with all that going on, I wouldn’t be disrespectful.”
“Oh, Dallas, that’s the type of non-line that deserves a kiss.” Her blue eyes glint with mischief. “Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work since you’re too fucking sore.”
“No rules about mixing business with pleasure?” I risk the question, but I know she’s going to reward me—no matter what. It’s written all over her beautiful face.
“Should I start having one?” Her breasts brush against my chest, and my cock salutes her like she’s holding the flag during the national anthem.
I dip my head lower so she doesn’t have to rise so far. “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from breaking them if you did.”
“Can’t have that, then.”
She touches her lips to mine, in the second sweetest kiss I’ve been given by her.
Sweet… that’s the only way to describe how she does it. She likes to take her time and enjoy the moment.
Her tongue licks my bottom lip and my mouth parts, eager to take it inside. The moment I slide my tongue against hers, she hums a little in her throat.
That fucking sound. Gets me every time.
I slide my fingers into her hair, palming the back of her skull to hold her in place. My kisses aren’t sweet. They’re demanding, and I take everything she gives.
She pulls away slightly. “I had my doubts that we’d be like this a second time.”
“Not me. I knew it from the start.”
“You sound so sure of yourself.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Please. You were born this way.” Paige’s stomach rumbles, and she presses her hands against it. “That’s the sound I want to make while we’re flirting and making out.”
“Sounds like you need to eat.” I need to eat, but I’d rather make out with her… and flirt some more.
“I can wait a minute or two.” She searches for my mouth. I let her have it until she’s more than a little breathless… and I’m ready to carry her sweet ass to my bed. “Time’s up, or I’m going to eat your face.”
“Not really into that sort of kink.”
“Walking Dead sex not appealing to you?”
“This is such great pre-dinner game talk.”
“You’re the one who brought it up. I don’t eat faces. I eat—” She presses her fingers against my mouth, but I jerk back and gently nip at the tips. With a little yelp, she snatches them away. “Food.”
Her mouth twists as she fists one hand on her hip. “Was that your first choice?”
“I wasn’t aware that you’d given me a choice between food and…” I rub my jaw and pretend to be confused by her meaning. “What other choice could there be, Paige?”
Her cheeks flush. “Asian or Italian. American. French. The list goes on.”
“French sounds good.”
Her flush gets even redder. “You would pick French. You probably are French.”
Although she doesn’t mean it as a compliment, I’m going to take it as one… and set her straight. “I’m Scandinavian and Irish, bright eyes. Proud of it.”
“Is Dallas a name that’s been handed down in your family?” she asks teasingly.
“Actually, Dallas is a nickname that I got when I was eight years old. It stuck.”
She sits down on a barstool, plops her purse on the counter, and opens the first covered plate. “Do tell because none of the fan pages I visited said anything about your real name or how you got a nickname to stick.”
I join her at the island. “I was slightly obsessed with the movie The Fifth Element and one of the main characters—Korben Dallas. I was already a die-hard, pun intended, fan of the Cowboys, so when Bruce Willis appeared on screen—shit-talking and taking names while he helped save the world and got the girl, I started making everyone call me Dallas.
“My brother thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, so even after I outgrew that phase, he still called me Dallas to mess with me. Eventually, no one called me Patrick Thomas anymore.”
“You don’t look like a Patrick to me,” she says. “But I’d never tell your momma that.”
“I don’t know. Patrick and Paige have a certain ring to it. We could be P-squared if word got around about us.”
Her face pales. “I don’t want word to get around about us.”
I clench my jaw, but then relax. Who gives a fuck if she wants to be quiet about what we’re doing? I shouldn’t give a fuck. I should be thanking God because there have been plenty of women who hadn’t bothered to do me a solid of waiting until the next morning to post on social media that they’d bagged a player.
Hell, I had one woman take my picture while I slept and brag about us on Instagram so much that it went viral. It wasn’t awkward at all when my mom got tagged in the original post by some well-meaning friends.
By well-meaning, I mean dicks.
“We don’t have to make an official announcement if that’s what concerns you.”
“I don’t mean to be difficult, but…”
“You don’t want your sister to find out.”
She sighs. “I sound ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, and we’ve only been on three dates.”
“How about this? I propose that we take each date as it comes and do what feels right for us.”
“You sure are confident for a fourth date.” She grabs one of the two pairs of chopsticks and breaks them apart, rubbing them together to take care of any lingering splinters.
“You’ve already agreed to a fourth date,” I remind her.
“Wow. You’re pretty sneaky.” She sets the chopsticks down and rummages through her purse, pulling out an iPad a few seconds later. “I brought Layton’s iPad with me. She has everything on here we could possibly need to help your event run smoothly.”
“You do know I have an assistant who actually takes care of all this, don’t you?”
She frowns. “Why did you come to the library yourself, then?”
I dive into the chicken-and-garlic stir fry. “I do like to be somewhat involved, but during the season, I barely have time for a social life, much less plan something like Night to Play. I want it to be a success. I know I don’t have the skills for what goes on behind the scenes, which is why I call in a special team to handle it for me.”
“Who knew football and event planning went so well together?” She pops some sweet-and-spicy shrimp into her mouth, moaning as she chews. “I love their food.”
“I’m jealous of their food.” And turned on.
“Says the man who gets to eat it anytime he wants.” She sends a playful smile my way. “I don’t feel sorry for you.”
“Out of all the things I want you to feel for me, sorry isn’t one of them.”
She snags a piece of chicken from my plate and tosses it in her mouth, moaning so loudly while she chews that I’m pretty sure my neighbors think I’m having sex right now.
I wish I were the reason for those moans.
“How did you hurt your hand?” she asks.
“Punched Aiden as hard as I could in the jaw. Went down like someone pulled out his chair from under him.”
She blinks at me. “Are y’all fighting?”
“Only in the ring.” I twist off the lid of a water bottle and take a quick drink. “I shouldn’t have hit him as hard as I did.”
“You shouldn’t feel bad about hitting him; I’m sure he said or did something that pissed you off.”
Spoken like a woman loyal to her sister. Man, I like her… a lot. “I don’t feel bad at all. It was satisfying as hell when he didn’t get up.”
Her mouth drops open a little. Okay, so she’s a loyal sister, but she has a heart, even for those who don’t deserve it. “Not even a little?”
“Maybe a little, but only because of these.” I hold up my hands, my knuckles covered in medical tape and ointment. “My hands are my moneymakers, and it wasn’t the smartest move to put them in jeopardy. Without them, I can’t play.” I can’t support my foundation. Pay for Mikey’s treatments and physical therapy. Secure a future for him and his wife. Take care of my parents while they finally enjoy their retirement.
“At least you have a modeling career to fall back on.”
“Did that come up in your Snoogling?”
Her gaze skitters away. “It did.”
“Did you like what you saw?” Most of my modeling gigs involved me, one or three women, and not much in the way of clothes.
“I did.”
I turn to her and grab the edge of her seat, swiveling it around so she has to look at me. “What was your favorite picture?”
“The boat one…” She licks her lips. “The ocean view was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”
The boat picture is one of my most infamous pictures. I’m bare-assed, standing on the bow of the boat with my arms splayed wide. Not much is left to the imagination, and the photographer managed to capture every part of me but my junk.
Although, I’m ninety-nine percent sure an outtake with my face cropped out managed to make it to Tumblr. Whatever, it’s not like I can prove it’s my dick and balls.
Nor do I want to. I get enough creepy-as-shit emails that my poor assistant has to wade through as it is. God love him.
“You know… I can recreate that for you, right here, if you want…”
Her baby blues darken. “But you don’t have a boat.”
I pat the island countertop. “I can make do with this.”
“You’re just going to strip in front of me?”
“Do you know another way to get naked?”
She giggles, covering her mouth with one hand. “Photoshop?”
Leave it to me to break the mood with the one woman who wants more from me than just my body. I don’t take it personally; she wants a man with depth.
Most people think I’m as deep as a puddle. I was fine with it before because only my family had bigger expectations from me.
“You’re killing my ego, woman.”
“Sorry.” She winces. “You took me by surprise.”
“Won’t happen again.” I bite
my lip to keep from grinning.
“No! I don’t mean you shouldn’t do that. It was… you are so bad and make me think of—”
“Me naked?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Well, yeah, almost all the way naked. On a boat.” She chomps down on some broccoli. “Obviously, my brain is muddled by hunger. We can revisit this topic when we’re done.”
“Wow, Paige. I thought you were here to help me plan my event, not get me out of my pants.” I give her a stern look. “I’m not that kind of guy.”
She freezes, then deliberately scoops up some rice with her fingers and throws it, hitting me directly in the face.
“I can’t believe you wasted food that makes you moan.” Then I scoop up some rice and toss it right back, hitting her in the nose. “Oooh, he scores.”
Her eyes cross comically as she looks down at the tip of her nose, then mock glares at me. “I’d take you down, Drake, but I honestly can’t waste anymore of this delicious dinner.” She takes a ladylike bite, tempting me to show her that what I have for her tastes even better.
“Next time, then.”
“Are you serious about not going over event stuff with me?” she asks. There’s a bit of a pleading note in her voice.
“Do you need to go over it with me?”
“You or your assistant. I need the practice.” Her eyes turn sad. “Layton probably won’t come back after she gets married, so that means I’ll have to take her position over until they replace her.”
“I take it events aren’t your thing.”
“The only thing I’m good at organizing are books.”
“How about this? I put you in contact with my assistant so he can help you, but if you need more direction, come to me.” I have no idea what kind of direction she might need, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try to be there for her.
“That’s really sweet of you.”
“Dallas Drake, sweetheart of the Renegades, at your service.”
She laughs again, then sobers a little. “I like you even more when you don’t use lines on me.”
I wait a beat before replying. “I like you so much that I don’t want to use any.”
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