“With me buried deep inside you and you screaming my name while I fuck you so hard you think we’ll both ignite.”
Oh God. My legs wobbled. I couldn’t form words. I needed a witty retort. Something sarcastic and quick, but the image he painted played over and over. Maybe I wanted that instead of food.
He held the door open for me. “Ready?”
I nodded. He had stolen every word right from my mouth.
The restaurant served Tex-Mex and enormous margaritas. I licked the salt on the edge of the glass. Wes smiled at me.
“How was work today?” he asked.
I stifled a laugh.
“What?”
“It’s just such a normal question. You really want to know about what I did at the hospital today?”
“Sure. Tell me. Save a life?”
“As a matter of fact, I helped a man walk again.” The tequila tasted good. I dipped a chip in a bowl of queso. We were still looking over the menus.
“That’s fucking awesome.”
I looked around to see if anyone had heard him. Wes didn’t seem to care what language he used or where he was when he used it.
“Thanks. It was pretty awesome. What about your day?”
“Me? Not much. We have a bye week. That means no game on Sunday,” he explained. “And I can’t practice. I spent a few hours at the office, then hung out at the apartment. Not really comparable to helping a man walk again.”
My hand landed on his. “Don’t compare what I do to what you do. You’re basically a god in this city. No one cares if I stitch bones back together.”
“Until they’re the ones who need you.” He leaned closer. “And I sure as hell needed you.”
I felt a rush of adrenaline shoot down my spine. “You know people are staring at us.”
He nodded. “They always stare when I go out. And I guarantee our picture is already on every social media site.” He kissed me long and hard until I had to break away to breathe.
“What was that for?”
“If they’re going to take pictures, might as well give them something hot.” He winked at me.
My heart was still pounding, and he had awakened that deep ache between my legs. I took another sip of the cold margarita. I tried to be casual and not look around at the cell phones snapping pictures of us, or listen to the whispers at the table one over from ours.
“You really live like this?”
“Always have. Growing up in a small town and being the first quarterback to take the team to state, it started early.”
“And you don’t mind the invasion of privacy?”
“Comes with the territory. If this is the price of winning, I’m okay with that.”
I was stunned. I could think of lots of tradeoffs that would make this difficult.
“Why is winning so important to you, Wes?”
“Is there anything else?”
I folded my menu in half and placed it on the table. “I hope so.”