What If (Willowbrook Book 2)

by Mathews, Ashlyn

  “The one you lost your virginity to? The last guy you saw before we became exclusive?” His words came out too rough. He could have been her first. Instead, he’d let some other guy have that privilege.

  “Drew—”

  By the determined tone in her voice, she wasn’t going to confirm or deny his accusation. He could be a jerk and text Eve for the answer, circumventing Emma. But a different tactic came to mind.

  He got off the bed, grabbed the tray with the tips of his fingers, and took their empty plates into the kitchen before returning to the bedroom. He sat alongside her. She cast him a sideways stare with suspicion in her eyes. Yep, he was up to no good.

  He took her hand in his. His cast pressed against her palm. He let go and began to stroke her small fingers, enjoying the skin-to-skin contact. She cleared her throat. In the corner of his eye, her skin flushed a pretty pink. He brought her knuckles to his mouth.

  “I’m sorry, Em.”

  “For what?”

  “For being a jerk. If you have some other guy in mind, that’s none of my business anymore, right?”

  She picked at the covers. “Right.”

  He let go and splayed his open palm on the covers, next to hers, a peace offering of sorts. “I’ve got nowhere I need to be until training starts in July. I can help from behind the scenes. What do you say?”

  She began to trace the lines on his palm. “You’ll leave the guy alone?”

  No. “Sure, sweetheart.” A guy she’d known from college. Possibly the one she’d lost her virginity to. Could this guy be the one in the truck from two nights ago?

  His phone, or maybe hers, buzzed on the nightstand next to the bed. She leaned over, grabbed the cell and handed it to him. “It fell out of your jacket pocket. I thought you might need it in case you got an important message or phone call.”

  He punched in the security code and glanced at the text messages on the screen. One was from Tess wondering why he wasn’t answering. The other was from Jones asking about Emma. He gave Emma the phone. “Help a guy out, will you?”

  She looked from the screen to his face with a death glare he welcomed. As he’d promised himself, he’d break Emma’s heart.

  “Text her that I’m with my girl in a remote, romantic place. Do the same for Jones.”

  Her eyes widened before she typed then sent the text. Her fingers shook. He stilled them with his hand over hers. “Let’s make a fire.” He nodded in the direction of the wood-burning fireplace in the bedroom.

  The house had been his first big purchase after he was drafted into the NFL. With a field separating their places, the location had been perfect for the secret relationship Emma had wanted.

  She slipped her hand out from under his. “No. You’re planning something devious.”

  He smiled big. Yeah, he was. On cold nights, he’d used the fireplace to keep them warm but not to purposefully seduce her.

  “Say yes.” He got up off the bed. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.” He put his clenched hands in front of his face as though ready to do some kick-ass boxing moves. “I can’t do much with these casts on, anyway.”

  The heat in their place kicked in. She raised a brow at the racket. He shrugged. “We can still have a fire.”

  With wariness in her eyes, she nodded. After she put on her shoes, Emma followed close on his heels as he made his way toward the back of the house for firewood.

  The sun was starting to set. Rather than grabbing the firewood and going inside, he sat on the steps and patted the spot next to him. She hesitated before surprising him by taking a seat on the step below his, cocooning herself between his legs.

  Slowly exhaling, he rested his chin on the top of her head. This was what had been missing from his life since their breakup—moments of contentment and calm he’d remember for days after. But he’d only ever felt at peace when he was with Emma.

  His chest tightened at all the memories of their time together in this house that came rushing forward. He slung his arms over her shoulders and pulled her body against his. She turned and rubbed her face on his arm. The hairs stood on end, as though an electric current ran the length of his body.

  “Em, you might want to stop.”

  She didn’t stop. She grasped his swollen fingers and brought them to her lips. Her tongue teased his fingertips. Soft and wet, like he’d remembered her to be before he pushed inside her, filling her. When he was inside her, she’d tremble beneath him. Her full lips would part, the opportunity perfect for him to claim her mouth and rile her up until they were a mess of teeth and tongue.

  As he drove into her hard, he’d look down into eyes half-closed and a gorgeous face that openly revealed her desire. Close to coming, she’d tilt her hips up. He’d grasp what she’d offered him and pound into her over and over until they came hard, together.

  He shifted in his seat, the memories too vivid. Dammit, he had a raging hard-on just thinking of the sex with her.

  “Tell me why your fingers are swollen, why you hurt so badly earlier?”

  It’d be easy to run his mouth off to her. Emma was always a good listener. But if he answered, he’d have to tell her the reason why he ignored the blasted pain in his fingers and kept on chucking footballs. His need for her eased into a simmering boil.

  The reason—a fucked up emotion called jealousy—would lead to a confession about seeing her with another guy. Then he’d fess up about how shitty he felt at throwing away the key to her heart, as though it’d meant nothing to him.

  The key meant everything. Since she’d given it to him when they went exclusive, the key had become his talisman. Tossing it aside was like losing a part of who he’d become.

  Maybe once Emma began trusting him to keep her safe and stop giving him excuses for what scared her, he’d let down his guard and tell her what ate at him. Trust flowed both ways.

  Chapter Ten

  Cradled between Drew’s legs, Emma couldn’t think; she felt. Felt his erection pressed against her back. Felt his jealousy, palpable in the cool air.

  “Let’s not do a fire, okay?” She stood and grabbed the flashlight from behind the flower pot. Drew might’ve changed the lock but he’d left her flashlight in the same spot.

  During her busiest months, when she would cover three, sometimes four counties and have a presentation almost every other day, a walk in the dark, alone, helped her recharge. Label her crazy for needing time alone away from sexy Drew. Or, just call her an introvert.

  He got the message. The back door slammed shut. She gripped the flashlight and turned it on. The sun had disappeared. Goose bumps covered her skin. She’d have to make her walk a quick one.

  Inhaling the cool air, she followed her normal route. There were so many questions floating in her mind since Drew had asked her to text Tess and Jones.

  For some reason, the one about his swollen fingers had taken priority. Why? She kicked at the ground. Small rocks flew and hit the trees alongside the dirt path. Suspicious, she shone the light high. Her attention riveted to the metal targets nailed to large tree branches.

  The targets were off-kilter and dented. They weren’t like that the last time she’d seen them months ago. Was it desperation or stupidity that had driven Drew to pound the footballs into them? Gritting her teeth, she hurried past the targets. Forget football. She wanted to mull over their conversation.

  First, he wasn’t with Tess. He was with “my girl in a remote, romantic place.” What the hell did that mean for them, anyway? Remote, sure, but romantic? Drew didn’t have a romantic inkling in his body. Except, he had suggested a fire. Romantic. She shook her head. That had been an exception.

  Second, Drew had said he’d leave Emma’s perfect guy alone. He wouldn’t. She knew him better than that. His jealousy surprised her.

  When had he ever been jealous of a guy she hung out with? Even when she’d told him he wasn’t her first, he’d acted all casual, giving her a barely convincing, “Doesn’t matter as long as I’m your last.”
>
  Third, he wanted to help behind the scenes. Sure. Like she’d let that happen after getting a glimpse of his jealousy earlier. She’d have to tell him no-go on the help. She wouldn’t let him risk his career by getting into a fight with her guy friend.

  Finally, she wouldn’t tell Drew she was pregnant. Not until she had gathered enough courage to tell him what she and Chris had been doing together when Drew wasn’t around. Both were tough subjects she wasn’t ready to tackle. Plus, she still had questions for Drew. Why’d you leave the chain and key where I’d find it? Why do I love and miss you so much I hurt?

  Her mind a tad clearer and her decision made, she trekked back to the house. She let herself in through the back door. Drew had left it unlocked. She took off her boots then stopped in the kitchen to get a large glass of water.

  The sound of running water came from the bathroom down the hall, followed by Drew’s booming voice. Emma tiptoed over.

  “You told her what?” She heard from the other side of the closed door. “Shit man, I was in too much pain to take in what your girl had said about my junk. Is it gonna be a problem? No, it’s not. Yeah, things are fine. Yeah, I’m taking your advice. Any more damn questions?”

  She rasped her fist on the door. The conversation had to be about her, Drew, and holding his junk while he peed. When he didn’t answer or open the door, she let herself in. She found him bare-chested, hunched over the bathroom counter, texting. He tapped one letter then the next, his slow movements painful to watch when she knew he could text a response in seconds flat.

  “Need help?”

  “Not with this one.” He tapped again. “Done.” He straightened and stretched his arms high above his head, like he’d just scored a touchdown before he glanced over his shoulder. Her attention shifted from the triumphant expression on his face to the toilet. The seat was up.

  Swallowing, she pointed to the toilet. “Um, do you need help with that?” Really, was he going to ask her to hold his junk while he relieved himself?

  Seeming to be on the same train of thought, he looked down at his zipper. Seconds passed. She couldn’t move. Should she stay? Or should she call Eve to send Lucas here ASAP?

  Drew looked up. A smolder darkened his blue eyes. “Yeah,” he said, one corner of his mouth kicking upward, “I’m gonna need some assistance.”

  She forced air into her lungs. Damn him! She found his lop-sided grins utterly irresistible. And he knew it too, as his grin grew wider. He was the cat who’d swallowed the bird.

  “Em?” His voice came out low and husky with anticipation.

  A similar, but different thrill pulsed through her. Images of the dented targets surfaced through her haze of desire. His fingers weren’t useless.

  The growl of annoyance stuck in her throat as another idea replaced the one of her walking away from him with a dismissive wave. The man needed to be put in his place. She crooked her finger. “Come here, lover.”

  His smile faltered, and his eyes widened, as though he couldn’t decide whether to be suspicious or seriously turned on. He stepped forward, and she resisted the urge to shout out, “Gotcha, you sneaky bastard!” Instead, she grabbed him by the belt loops then started to unzip his jeans. She wouldn’t disappoint him. Emma would give him what he deserved.

  After unzipping his jeans, she tugged them down until they pooled at his bare feet. She glanced up and met his searing gaze. “What now?” she asked in a low purr.

  “The boxers . . .” He cleared his throat. “It’s gotta come off.”

  The boxers only came off all the way when Drew wanted a BJ. “Of course,” she said with forced enthusiasm.

  She stood and, encircling his thick waist with her arms, she stuck her hands inside the elastic band and palmed his butt cheeks. He sucked in a breath.

  “Are my hands cold?” She pouted, learning from Eve.

  His eyes dipped to her lips, and he licked his. He was thinking of what was to come, she was sure of it. She grabbed hold of his ass. The muscles clenched then relaxed beneath her touch. Emma looked down. The front of his boxers tented.

  She looked up. Bad idea. He wouldn’t disappoint her, if given the chance. That was the unspoken message on his face.

  “Give me your hands, Em.”

  Enthralled by the change in him, she let go of his ass and gave him her hands. He brought her knuckles to his lips and trailed wet kisses along her skin, sending tingles down to her toes.

  “I apologize twice over.”

  “For what?” she asked, caught off guard by his apology.

  “For breaking my promise. I can’t keep my hands off you, babe.”

  “And the second apology?” she asked, breathless.

  “For misleading you. I can handle myself just fine in the bathroom.” He kicked off his jeans. “Let me show you what I can do with my fingers.” He led her to the bedroom.

  A fire burned low in the fireplace. There were no roses strewn across the bed. No boxes of chocolates waiting for her on the nightstand. It was just Drew in his heart-covered boxers. And she realized he didn’t have to have romantic inklings. With his intelligent, intense blue eyes, boyish yet wolfish smile, tender yet passionate words, and smoking hot body, Drew was her romance.

  Hand-in-hand, they stopped next to the bed. He sat and pulled her to him, cradling her between his strong thighs.

  “I—” Holy cow, having sex with him would change everything. She swallowed down her nervousness.

  “I want you.” He searched her face with the force of the sun high in the sky. “You want me. Tomorrow, we’ll have a long talk about the past, the present, and our future. How about it?”

  Our future. Drew, her and their baby. She nodded.

  With unsteady fingers, he unbuttoned her shirt. As he pushed aside the material, she held her breath. Would he notice her girls were bigger?

  Seemingly oblivious to the size of her boobs, he unclasped her bra and threw it onto the chair. She followed the trajectory of her bra. The pink fluff landed smack dab in the middle of the chair. His baby blues gleamed at the spot-on contact before his attention shifted to her breasts.

  As he stared at their roundness, their heaviness, the gleam in his eyes faded, replaced with the intensity she remembered well when it came to sex with Drew. He planned on doing her good and hard just to watch her girls bounce. Wow. Her legs trembled.

  He cupped her breasts then coasted the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. They tightened into little balls, waiting to be tugged and pinched. She shivered in anticipation.

  With his thumb, he pulled down her bottom lip. She opened her mouth, and he eased in his index finger. She wrapped her lips around his finger and sucked—in and out with the slightest suction and a tad of friction with her teeth. A feral growl burst from him. He tangled his fingers into her hair and tugged back her head, forcing her to release his finger.

  “You were gonna make me come,” he said, breathing hard.

  Good. Her panties were soaked. The room spun. She stripped off her jeans and her panties and literally jumped him. As she balanced on his strong thighs, she fumbled for his erection through the opening in his boxers.

  Encircling the throbbing, thick head with her fingers, she glided her hand up and down the length of him. Slow. Slower. Faster. Harder. He threw back his head. Lifting her hips, she guided him inside her. His thick length stretched her insides, and Emma couldn’t breathe.

  She was wet. He was hard. She wanted him to do her against the wall. Or the door. Whatever. Wherever. She just needed to feel alive and reckless with him. Only him, her Drew.

  Chapter Eleven

  God, Emma was like an untamed cat, and Drew fucking loved her wild side. He hooked his arms under her round and perfect ass, stood, and headed for the wall, any wall.

  “Hang on tight, baby doll. I’m gonna crash your world.”

  Low, throaty laughter slipped past her luscious lips. “Promise?”

  “On a pinky swear.”

  “Aw, Drew.” Her eyes
shone with unshed tears. “You break my heart.”

  Of course he did. Their relationship had started on a pinky swear, on his promise to date just her. The pinky swear had meant the world to her. That was what she’d told him that day. Now he realized he hadn’t given her one since.

  If he had put more effort into them instead of letting their relationship coast on cruise control, would she have trusted him enough to give him the truth rather than excuses? Damn right.

  As though she understood the realization he’d come to, she squeezed her eyes shut. Tears gathered at their corners, and his chest ached at how much she hurt.

  The wild side of her had disappeared and was replaced by the Emma he remembered well. The one who wanted . . . no, needed love with her sex.

  How had he been so wrong? One last time with Emma wouldn’t get her out of his system. Sex with Emma would come with strings attached. Yet after being without her, he welcomed the strings that had kept him grounded.

  Unlike Emma though, he wouldn’t openly reveal his hurt. If he spoke of how lost he’d felt after she’d ditched his ass, he’d lose the tight reins on his emotions. Sure, he had a healthy ego. But the thought of appearing weak to a woman he wanted to win over didn’t sit well with him.

  Her eyes still closed, he licked at the tears dampening her flushed cheeks before he dropped kisses across her eyelids, an apology of sorts.

  “Drew—”

  “Hush.” His voice shook. “Let me make love to you.”

  “Yes.” She whispered next to his ear.

  On unsteady legs, he made his way to the bed. The wall would have to wait. He’d do her nice and slow rather than fast and furious—the way she liked her sex. Fast and furious reminded him too much of that night. That night had been a desperate mix of tongue, teeth, hands, and a fast come.

  Afterward, she had flipped onto her side with her back to him. Her silence had killed him. Normally, she had wanted to “cuddle” after sex.

  When he had attempted to get her to look at him by promising her multiple orgasms, she’d blurted out that they were through. The pressure from him to go public with their relationship was too much for her to handle. What pressure? He’d only asked the one time.