The Two Week Stand (Sizzling Beach 1)

He picks up a bottle of water from the cooler in front of us and chugs some back. “Coach is running us pretty hard today.”

“No kidding. Did someone piss him off?” I look out over some of the guys still out on the field, sweat dripping from them.

First day back training, and he’s had us running drills for the last hour straight. I’m in shape; I keep up with my gym time, even when I’m not here at our training facility—and all the sex I’ve been having with Dillon counts as some serious workouts—but even I’m feeling it today.

I crack open another bottle of water and down half of it.

“Probably Knox,” Brooks says, referring to our right guard, who also sidelines as a comedian. “How was the trip?” he asks.

“Yeah, it was good. Beautiful place.” Beautiful women vacation there. Well, woman. Namely one—Dillon.

“I’ve always wanted to go. Really need to get my ass out there.”

“You do. It’s a fuck of a journey, but the reefs alone make it worth it.”

“You go diving while you were there?”

“Yeah. Did a night dive too. Was cool as fuck.”

“Sounds it.” He drains his water and crumples the plastic bottle in his hand. “What else is there to do there, aside from diving?” There’s a tone to his voice that tells me this is leading somewhere, and I’m pretty sure I know exactly where.

“Not much. Good place to relax.”

“What was the pussy like there?”

“It was mostly couples.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he says, “Heard you brought a souvenir back with you. Dark hair, hot …”

I slide him a look. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Miles.”

Roman Miles is the tight end and team gossiper.

“Miles needs to watch more ESPN and less E!”

Brooks chuckles. “So, it’s not true?”

“I didn’t say that …” I put the bottle to my lips and drain off the last of the water as he laughs.

“No shit! I thought Miles was talking bullshit. Didn’t sound like something you’d do—meet some chick on vacay and bring her back here with you. So, is it serious?”

I give him a look. “Fuck no.”

“But she came back here with you. She’s English, right?”

Fuck me. How much does the press already know? See, this is what I get for not reading the news. Maybe I should start watching E!, like Miles.

“Yeah, she’s from the UK. But she’s only here on an extended vacation. She wasn’t ready to go back home after her vacation was up.” And I wasn’t ready to stop seeing or screwing her. “So, I invited her to come stay with me for a while. No big deal.” I shrug and toss my empty water bottle into the nearby trash can.

“Does she know that?”

“What?”

“That it’s no big deal.”

I glance at him. “She knows.”

“And she’s okay with it?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? Because in my experience, sometimes, women say they’re fine with things when in fact they’re really not.”

“That’s not the case with Dillon. She and I are on the same page. We’re just having some fun.”

Yeah, I asked her to come here with me, but it was only because I wasn’t ready to stop fucking her. Not because I want a relationship with her.

She’s staying in your place, sleeping in your bed. That’s about as relationshippy as it gets.

But it’s not forever. It’s only temporary. And temporary I can do.

I might like Dillon. More than I’ve ever liked any woman. But I also have nothing to offer her. I can’t be in a relationship and then risk hurting someone the way my father hurt my mom time and time again. I like women. Fucking love them. Or more to the point, I love fucking them. And what if I were in a relationship with Dillon and my head got turned and I ended up hurting her? I would never cheat on her, like my father did to my mother. But I would have to end things with her, and that would hurt her. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt Dillon. Not like that. She’s been hurt enough.

Although I’ve not looked at or thought about any other woman since I met her.

It’s been three weeks, man. That doesn’t mean anything.

It’s fucking nuts that it’s only been three weeks since I met her. It feels like so much longer.

“So, do I get to meet this Dillon?”

“No.”

He laughs. “You ashamed of her or something?”

“Quite the opposite. I just don’t trust you.” I smirk.

Brooks is an all-American good ol’ boy from Texas. Women love his Southern accent, baby blues, and pretty-boy face, and I know for a fact that Dillon would. Not that I think she’d do anything with him. I’m just not willing to put it to the test. I want to keep her to myself while I have her.

“I’m wounded.” He slaps a hand to his chest.

“Shut up, pretty boy.”