Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend 4)

Like I always do when I defile hotel room sheets, I send up a silent apology to the housekeeping staff and make a mental note to leave a big tip.

“Seriously, Marc, pull away.”

I shake my head.

“Fuck … fuck … fuck! I can’t …” Miller lets out the guttural roar I wanted and bucks into my mouth. More saltiness coats my taste buds, and I remind myself to breathe through my nose when I swallow.

His cock slips from between my lips, and Miller taps my shoulder to get me to climb up the bed.

I wriggle my way up, and Miller’s arms come around me. One of his hands moves between us, moving to my softening cock.

“Want me to—”

“Yeah, bit late for that. Making you come was apparently too much for me to handle.”

“In that case, you’re welcome to do it any time you want. Like, any time. All the time.”

I’m surprised he doesn’t call me on being fast on the trigger, but no way am I bringing that to his attention. “Well, we have until July to take advantage. In between training, I’ll blow you. Make it like a reward system.”

“That might not be the best idea. I’m already terrified of getting a hard-on on the field from just being near you. Every time we complete a pass, I might try to push your head into my crotch.”

“That’d be a nice halftime show.”

We laugh, but Miller’s dies quickly.

“Fuck.” Miller’s tone is dejected. “I’m still talking as if I’m gonna be on the field next season.”

“You will be.” I’ll make sure of it.

Chapter Eighteen

MILLER

The day after the Super Bowl, Talon flies back to Chicago while I go home again. He needs a few days to straighten his shit out and then a few more to visit his family in Colorado, so I’m taken off guard when he turns up on my doorstep a day earlier than planned.

Yet, there he is, in all his Talon glory, still basking in his Super Bowl win which has his killer smile on display. His blond hair is covered by a beanie, and his warm breath comes out in puffs of steam. “New York is colder than Colorado.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” I say. “What are you—”

“Who’s ready for some training?” He pushes his way into the house and is way too excited for this time of morning.

I close the door to stop the cold air from coming in. “I guess the correct answer here is me? You’re a day early.”

“I knew you had your PT appointment today, and I wanted to come so I can talk strategy with your therapist.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were gonna ride me hard, were you?”

Talon’s eyes fill with lust, and I shove him.

“I meant with training, you dick.”

He shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts. “Don’t say dick and ride and hard in the span of fifteen seconds. It short-circuits my brain, and I need a reboot.”

“Ah. So, it all comes out. You’re a sex robot sent from the future.”

“Here at your service for whenever you want.” Talon’s eyes drift down my body. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to him looking at me that way. “Seriously, whenever you want.”

A little voice from behind me startles me. “What’s a sech robot?”

Oh, fuck.

I turn to my niece with a really big smile. “I’ll give you a lollipop to never repeat that again.”

“Is it a bad word? Mommy says bad words.”

“It is a bad word.”

“What’s a bad word?” Mom says from the other end of the hallway.

“Nothing.” I stand up straight.

“I forget already,” Gabby says.

I owe that kid a lollipop.

“Marcus Talon, get your butt in here,” Mom says when she spots him.

We move away from the entranceway and Talon approaches my mom.

“Hi, Gloria. It’s good to see you again.” He kisses her cheek.

They met back when we were in college and Mom flew out to check on Vanessa and me.

Mom pats Talon’s cheek. “Last time I saw you, the NFL was just out of reach. It’s crazy how far you’ve come since then. And to think, I thought all those conversations about Talon this and Talon that, Talon, Talon, Talon were over. Then you had to go and sign with Chicago, and now it’s all I ever hear again.”

I run a hand over the back of my neck. “Thanks for the obligatory embarrassment, Mom, and I’d love to stay for more, but we’ve gotta go now. PT appointment. What a shame.”

Talon laughs and follows me back to the door where I put on my jacket and scarf.

He leans in, the smugness in his eyes more prominent than normal—which is saying something. “Talk about me, huh?”

“Shut up,” I grumble.

We make our way out to his rental SUV, and I don’t miss the way Talon eyes my ever-present limp as we get into the car. It’s getting better, and some days, I don’t limp at all, but the sciatic nerve is still healing from the second surgery, so I get shooting pain down my leg every now and then, and it’s easier to not put pressure on it.