Double Score

My breath hitched and my heart pounded. My body was pulling me in two. The brain that told me to run like hell and get out of Wes’s apartment, and the fire raging in my veins that told me to give myself to this man as long as he wanted me. Nothing had ever felt so good as him.

His lips brushed over my mouth. “Tell me you want me, Doc. Tell me you don’t want me to stop.”

It was like lightning starting a fire. There was no way to put it out until I was completely spent in his arms. “I want you, Wes.”

He slammed into me maybe three or four times, I couldn’t count. We were both so high from each other the peak was only vibrations away. I clung to him, spiraling out of control as he sliced through me.

“Fuck,” he growled in my ear.

I looked in his glowing eyes, wishing to hell this was all real, but knowing I was only his Sunday football distraction.

11

Wes

I couldn’t figure her out. But fuck, I’d never tried to figure a woman out before. I was in new territory. Overnight guests never stayed past lunch. It was dinner, the next day.

Lennon sat on the kitchen stool, twirling Chinese noodles on a pair of chopsticks.

“So, I have some questions for you, Mr. Quarterback.”

She was still wearing my jersey and I fucking loved it. Her ass was firm and round. I couldn’t get enough of it. I tried to focus on her words and not all the things I wanted to do to that ass of hers.

“I’m sure you do.” I popped half an eggroll in my mouth.

“Longest relationship?” She poured herself a second glass of wine and waited for my answer.

“Relationship?” I was standing on the other side of the counter, wearing only my jeans. She had convinced me to put my sling back on with another round of ice for my hand.

“Yeah, as in a girlfriend.”

“Oh, right. No, can’t say that I’ve had one of those.”

She sputtered on the wine. “No girlfriend, ever?”

I shook my head. “No, why?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little strange? You’re not sixteen. You’re not in college anymore. You’ve never had a girlfriend? Never lived with someone?”

“Never.”

“Oh God.” She finished off the wine. “Shit.” She slid off the stool.

“What? I’m being honest.”

She spun to face me. “I appreciate that part. But I don’t know what I was thinking. I-I overanalyzed this entire weekend, and now I know I should have done the analyzing and the questioning before I got here, not after, and now I know what an idiot I am for just now asking relationship questions after we’ve slept together five times.”

“Actually six,” I corrected her. The floor had happened after the end of the last game.

“Right, six.” She glared at me. “We slept together six times, and I never bothered to ask if you ever had a girlfriend before or knew the meaning of commitment or dating, or monogamy or….”

“Hold on, hold on.” I walked around from behind the bar. “What’s happening in that pretty head of yours?”

“God, I’m an idiot.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Doc. You’re a brilliant, hot-as-fuck surgeon.”

She pursed her lips, and for a second, I thought she might try to slap me. “Thanks.”