The Endgame (Atlanta Lightning 1)

“Have fun, brother. I’ll probably rub one out while you’re gone and then pass the fuck out.”

I chuckled. “You do that.”

And then I left. West had texted me his room number earlier in the day. My fingers trembled as I pushed the button for the elevator, which pissed me off. I was losing my shit over a hookup. That was all this was. No one would know who it was. It was just sex.

When the doors slid open on West’s floor and no one was in the hallway, I blew out a sigh of relief. He’d left an envelope for me at the front desk, which I’d already picked up. It had a room key inside. I was slightly nervous, but I figured the employees didn’t know he was a senator, and it wasn’t as if they knew what was in the envelope. When I pulled it from my pocket, it fluttered to the floor. I heard a door open, and I automatically turned away from the sound so whoever it was only saw my back.

Nerves attacked in full force, and honestly, I hated myself for them. My breathing picked up as I used the card to open the door and hurried inside. West had gotten a suite, and he sat on the couch in the sitting area, laptop in front of him on a low coffee table, his cell to his ear. He looked over, smiled, and waved. The simple gesture made my knees weak because it felt so natural. Like we’d done this a thousand times—me coming home or to our room while he was working. It felt right, like we were together.

“No, we can’t do that,” he was saying. “The language is too easy to misinterpret. I’m telling you, it’ll come back to bite us. I’ll work on it some more before we’re in session.”

He leaned back on the couch with his legs spread as he listened. He was wearing jeans that hugged his crotch and my jersey, which I loved. I liked seeing my name on him as much as I’d liked it when we’d marked each other with our mouths and hands when we’d been together.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” West said. “I’m going to get to work. No, I can do it. I’ll take care of it. Bye.” He ended the call and tossed his cell on the couch beside him. “Hey, Bashful.”

His voice wrapped around me, settled inside me, and my cock was already beginning to take notice. “Hey, Stalker.”

He winked, then let his head fall back and rubbed a hand over his face. “Ugh. Why can’t anyone do anything as well as I can?”

It was such a typical thing for West to say. “Because you’re cocky and think you’re the best at everything?”

He turned his head in my direction, keeping it against the back of the couch. “Because I’m cocky, and I know I’m the best at everything.” He patted the cushion beside him, and I walked over to sit down. “You were fucking incredible tonight. I watched the game with a hard-on as I mentally plotted out all the things I wanted to do to you.”

And, yep, my dick was definitely awake now. Heat spread through me and settled in my groin. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I did it for you,” I admitted, which might have been a mistake and was slightly embarrassing, but I went with it. “Wanted you to see how badass I am. Thought maybe it would turn you on.” I was clearly going there, and I liked it.

“I already know how badass you are, and I can’t even look at you on TV without getting hard. You don’t have to try for that.”

West moved, hiked his leg up, and straddled my lap. Just as he leaned in, his mouth less than an inch from mine, his cell rang. He glanced to where it sat on the couch. “Fuck. I have to get that.” Disappointment must have shown on my face because he added, “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to. Jesus, I never thought I’d get to be here with you again, but—”

“It’s fine, West. You have a demanding job. I would never fault you for that.”

He nodded, got off my lap, and answered the call, pacing the room as he spoke. Ten minutes later West was still on the phone, so I got on my own cell, looking up my social media accounts and shit like that. I could tell West was getting frustrated because he kept sighing and raising his voice and saying he’d deal with it. Half an hour later, he finally ended the call.

“Where were we?” he asked.

“You shouldn’t have left, huh?” It was a Sunday, so I hadn’t even considered that he might have things going on. But I should have. He was a fucking senator. It wasn’t as if he worked Monday through Friday, nine to five.