First and Tension (Summersweet Island 4)

“She’s also too good for you,” Tyler adds, both of us glancing over at Emily when the sound of her laughter fills the air. My chest gets tight, and I have to take a couple of deep breaths to stop myself from shoving Patrick’s wife out of the way and yanking Emily’s body against mine, so I can taste her lips again. “You’re totally going to fuck this up.”

Tyler’s loud, obnoxious laugh makes me pull my eyes away from Emily to glare at him.

He just continues laughing as he pats me on the back, then walks away to talk to one of my teammates who just signed with him.

The sad thing is, he’s right. She is too good for me. I think I knew it the night I met her, when she made me forget about all my responsibilities and the pressure I was under. She understands the world I live in and my hectic schedule better than anyone, and she fits into my life so seamlessly I almost forget she hasn’t been here by my side, supporting me all this time. I know she’s too good for me, but goddamn, she makes me want to be the best that I can be, just so she has another person in her corner, cheering her on for once. I want to be that person, and I refuse to fuck this up.

“When you said band, I thought it would be something fun and upbeat we could dance to,” Emily says, stepping back up next to me, her arm brushing against mine when she takes a sip of her champagne, making me want to lean down and kiss every inch of her smooth, bare skin that’s on display.

The “band” is actually a small orchestra of a few violinists, cello players, and bassists the Sharks hired to play once dinner started in the conference center. When all the interviews were out of the way, photos were taken, autographs were signed, and the cornhole tournament was completed out on the field, we moved inside to a huge room on the ground floor of the stadium, with one whole wall of windows that look out onto the field. The room has been dressed up with fancy linens on the tables and expensive flower arrangements everywhere, with the orchestra over in front of the windows, giving it the final, elegant touch worthy of a charity event, regardless of the music they’re playing.

“I know it seems a little pretentious, but do you know of any other orchestra that can play such a beautiful rendition of ‘WAP’?” I ask, suddenly mesmerized by the smooth column of Emily’s throat, watching her swallow her sip of champagne and then laugh softly when she pulls the glass away from her lips.

Jesus Christ, she’s becoming more of an obsession to me than football, after just one earth-shattering kiss. What the hell would she even do to my sanity if she trusted me enough for more?

“I seriously cannot believe they’re playing this right now, along with all the other covers they’ve played tonight. Did you hear ‘Blank Space’ during dessert? What am I saying? Of course you heard them playing Taylor Swift.” Emily smiles, turning her face back to me and bringing her mouth only a few inches away from mine.

I’ve kissed her on the cheek several times tonight, acting like I was playing it up in front of the cameras, when I really just needed to put my mouth on any part of her I could. The cheek seemed like the safest bet that wouldn’t make me crave more in front of all of these people. But the smell of her skin, and the way her body would melt into my side while she rested her palm territorially on my chest for every cheek-kiss photo, made me want to drag her into the closest empty room and lick every inch of her sexy body she’s been torturing me with all night.

Standing here right now, with Emily’s lips a breath away from mine, in a room full of people, with an orchestra playing an enchanting song about wet pussies, I don’t know how much more I can take of this game we’ve been playing, without completely losing my mind.

As if she senses I’m about two seconds away from saying, fuck it, and just devouring her in front of all these people, she pulls back from me a little, looking out at the crowd to take another sip of her champagne.

“Thank you again for donating the money to Shepherd’s charity,” Emily says, pulling me out of my dirty thoughts as I stare at her profile, while she smiles and returns a wave to one of the many sports reporters she had eating out of her hand tonight before looking at me again. “Shepherd is seriously going to freak out, and now you’ll never be able to get rid of him.”