Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend 4)

God, I hate my head right now.

“Shane?” I keep using his first name because I can’t help loving the way he looks at me when I do. Like he can’t believe I’m either being serious or looking at him differently from the rest of the team, who are all on last-name basis only.

He stares at me expectantly. “Yeah?”

“Why’d you call tonight?”

Miller sighs. “Pure jealousy.”

“Huh?”

“I was talking to this guy, Maddox, and he told me the story of how he and his boyfriend got together. It made me realize that if you didn’t explore with me, you might go to some other guy, and I can’t handle that even more than the thought of fucking everything up.”

I don’t know what that means for us or if I should be flattered or insulted. “Why?” I manage to get out.

“Because even though this is the worst idea in the history of ideas … it’s always been you. Those hookups in college might’ve shown me that I’m attracted to guys, but you’re the only one I’ve ever truly wanted.”

My eyes widen, and he backtracks.

“That’s probably too much pressure to put on you right now, but I don’t mean it in any other way than what I’ve said. I’m not going to push you or ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, and I have no expectations of a future.” He blows out a loud breath. “I wanted you to know you can use me. I’m at your disposal to help figure whatever’s going on in that head of yours.”

God, I want that. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more, but I’m still wary. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I say softly.

“You never could.”

Even I can hear the doubt in his words, but that doesn’t stop me from going for this. Right now is a time to be selfless for once and put everything and everyone else first.

Instead, I find myself whispering, “Can we do this again?”

Miller’s smile makes the risk worth it.

Chapter Twelve

MILLER

Talon: I need to change my pregame ritual.

Me: To?

Talon: You.

Me: I’m your new pregame ritual?

Talon: Getting off with you is. Did you SEE that game?

Me: Wouldn’t have missed it. You guys were on fire, and I hate I’m not there with you.

Talon: We’re finally clicking. Everything was smooth, and it was one of those games where everything fell into place. Like the football gods were watching over us.

Me: And I’m somehow to thank for that? Are you saying I’m a football god, because I’ll take it.

Talon: Dunno, but we should do it again next game. You know … just in case.

Me: Right. Just in case.

* * *

Talon: 5 for 5, baby!

Me: My football god powers are strong.

Talon: Correction: your powers in getting me off are strong.

Me: How talented of me. Although, can I really take credit when I haven’t even touched you?

Talon: Trust me. It’s all you.

After texting every day and a weekly FaceTime call before game nights, we’ve created this little bubble where the rest of the world doesn’t exist and we don’t talk about anything real. It’s all football and getting off.

I’m letting this go at Talon’s pace and not pushing for things I really want, because even though he hasn’t freaked out yet, I don’t want to overstep. Which is why I hesitate before hitting the Send button on my next text.

Me: What’s your stance on celebratory video calls?

The call comes in seconds later, and I answer with a grin.

“That was quick.”

Talon pans the camera down his body. “I was already appropriately undressed and two seconds away from asking you the same thing.”

I swallow a groan. My cock goes from a semi to full mast instantly, and his camera isn’t even pointing at the good stuff. His bare chest, chiseled arms, and that gorgeous face fill my phone screen, and Talon’s blond hair sticks up at all angles from lying in bed.

It’s been weeks of staring at him this way—of being allowed to take advantage of it—but I can’t get enough. I want more. If only I had the balls to ask for it.

“Eight hundred miles is too far,” I complain.

“Ten weeks.”

If I weren’t so distracted by Talon’s body and raspy tone, I’d already have my hand in my boxers.

Ten weeks is way too long.

“Maybe I could skip PT one day this week and fly out—”

“No. Your leg needs to get better for next season. No skipping sessions.”

“But—”

“No,” Talon barks.

“There’s quarterback Talon again, Mr. Bossy.”

“You know it.” Talon’s eyes meet mine, the blue in them taking on a mischievous glimmer. “But I had something else in mind tonight.”

My heart hammers as I tell myself to be cool. “Yeah?” Apparently my voice didn’t get the message and comes out all gruff with a high-pitched squeak at the end.

“Yeah.” Talon’s tone is tentative, and he bites his lip.