If It's Only Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 6)

“You can stay as long as you want.” When she shifts her hips forward, she presses against the hard length of my cock through my jeans, and my breath rushes out of me.

“You’re killing my newfound ego. You know that, right?”

I arch a brow, curling my fingers into the arms of the chair. “How so?”

“I’m here thinking I’m all cute now, thinking that if I strip, you’ll want to touch me again. You don’t seem to mind that I’m almost naked, and yet . . .” She tosses the empty bottle onto the bed before cocking her head to the side and studying me. “I’m on your lap like this, and you’re not putting even a finger on me.” Something like regret flashes in her eyes. “Do you want me to leave?” The question is asked in a whisper so quiet it’s almost like she wants to hide from the possibility that I might.

I release the arms of the chair and place my hands gently on her waist. “Not unless you want to.” She presses into my erection, and my eyes float closed. Fuck. “But Shay, we shouldn’t have sex tonight.”

She stills. “Shouldn’t? Or you don’t want to?”

I try to laugh, but it catches in my throat and comes out like a grunt. “Trust me, there’s not much I want more right now.” I tighten my grip on her waist. “But I’ve fucked up with you before, and I don’t want to do it again. Jesus, you haven’t even talked to me in years, and now you’re on my lap.”

She bites her lip. “I’ve always been an all-or-nothing girl. You know that.”

“I do.” I trace the soft lace waistband of her panties with my thumb, my brain warring with my baser instincts. “Let me get through this mess with Scarlett. Let me . . . fix my life. Then I can give you what you deserve.”

She threads her fingers through my hair and tugs lightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you after Paris.” She looks away. “I am sorry about that.”

“Hey.” I take her chin in my hand and turn her face back to mine. “I’m the one who’s sorry. You don’t owe me an apology.”

She reaches for the hem of my shirt and tugs until it’s off. She traces invisible paths down my chest with her fingertips, circling the cluster of bruises over my ribs. “What’s this from?”

“Nasty hit.”

“Don’t you wear pads?”

I laugh. “Yeah, but even pads can’t save you when a two-hundred-sixty-pound lineman pummels you.”

She scoots off my lap and bends, placing the smallest, gentlest kiss to the nasty purple-and-red skin. Pleasure bolts down my spine like her mouth’s on my cock and not my ribcage.

When she looks up at me, her eyes are full of lust and desperation. And maybe grief. “I’m so scared and lonely,” she whispers. “All I want is to lie with you and lose myself for a few hours. The rest can come later.”

I slide a hand into her hair and lead her mouth to mine. My muscles tense then relax at the contact. She tastes like tequila and smells like lemon and lavender, and I’ve missed her so much. “You’re an all-or-nothing girl, and you deserve the all.”

She draws in a breath right against my mouth. “I don’t want another night of nothing.”

I wrap my arms around her, stand, and carry her to the bed. I don’t know when I’ll be able to give her everything she deserves, but tonight, I can give her this.

Easton

I spent the beginning of the week unpacking and trying to make the house feel a little more like home, but on Wednesday, I had to drive to Grand Rapids to go to a few meetings. I’m not officially starting until this summer, but I’m being kept in the loop regarding recruitment, and I like to be at all the coaching and athlete meetings.

I head into the house from the garage and drop my keys in the mudroom. I follow the smell of homemade spaghetti sauce and find Tori in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. Abi’s nowhere to be seen.

“How was my girl’s day?”

“It was okay. She’s upstairs now,” Tori says. “I think she might be a little homesick tonight.”

“Hence the sauce?” I motion to the makings of my daughter’s favorite meal.

She shrugs. “Maybe it will help.”

This was bound to happen sooner or later, but my chest aches nevertheless. Even though I know it’ll be for the best in the long run, I hate that this transition is going to be tough for Abi on any level. “Thanks, Tori.”

I head to the twisting stairwell at the front of the house. When I was a kid, I used to drive by the big houses that line Jackson Harbor’s Lakeshore Drive and dream of what it must be like to own a place like this, to have a big enough family to fill it. One out of two isn’t bad, and even if it’s only me and Abi forever, I can be okay with that.