Okay, so maybe it was slightly more than a hookup. It was a really good hookup. An exceptional one. Not that I’d expect anything else with someone as—what did he call it? Boxer briefs–melting?—hot as West.
“How many hookups have you had with a professional athlete?” Dave asks.
“None, because that’s usually a turnoff for me.”
“Exactly. Which brings me to my next point of what makes him so special?”
I shrug. “He’s hot.”
Very hot. So hot. And it’s not only his body I’m talking about. West says he was a man slut and out of control, and maybe he used to be—Google certainly supports his story—but now I’m not so sure. It’s clearly been a while since he’d been with someone, and like hockey, I assume he gave it up because of his family.
A man who puts his family first? Definitely, definitely, hot.
“At least tell me he was as good as I’m imagining he was.”
“Knowing you, no one could live up to your sordid imagination.”
“Greg does.”
Dave is something else.
“Please remember I need to look your husband in the eye, so you definitely don’t need to elaborate.”
“Fine.” He sighs and leans back in his chair. “If you won’t give me details, I’ll let my mind take over.” He lets his eyes fall closed. “Oh, you two are kinky.”
“Please get out of my office,” I say dryly.
“West, stop, you’re making me blush.” Dave peeks out at me, grin making his dimples appear through his beard. “You haven’t sworn at me yet. You are in a good mood.”
“Sex will do that to a man.” Especially sex like that. Fuck. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m going to have to figure out how to stop soon, though, because I have class in half an hour, where I’m going to have to face Asher without thinking about how I had my dick buried in his brother a few nights ago.
“You seeing him again?” Dave asks.
“Nope.”
“Why the hell not?”
“You obviously haven’t googled him.” The reunion wasn’t the last time I looked him up. Now, when I actually don’t need to know anything about him, I can’t stop myself from slipping. Now that I know the abundance of thirst traps he has online, it’s way too tempting. “West made it clear it was a one-night thing, and I’m okay with that.” Mostly. Because if he wanted a repeat, I wouldn’t say no.
“Damn, huh? But at least you got to tap that—”
“Don’t say tap that—”
“And I got to live vicariously through you.” Dave stands up and grabs the pad of Post-its off my desk. “Thanks for these.”
He disappears as quickly as he came, and I hurry to finish preparing for the lesson I’m now unprepared for, thanks to his visit.
Thankfully I make it through my morning without any inappropriate flashbacks, though I refuse to look in Asher’s direction for his whole class, but when I get to Bean There and join the line, there’s a very familiar profile two people ahead.
My nerves kick me deep in the gut.
While we discussed that nothing else would happen, we didn’t cover what we should do if we crossed paths, so naturally, that’s exactly what’s happened.
I remind myself that this shouldn’t be weird. We can say hi and head our own separate ways.
West orders and steps aside, and I feel the exact moment he spots me. I give him a thin smile and quickly turn away, acting as though I’m trying to decide what to order, like I don’t get a latte every time I come here.
The person ahead of me finishes up, and the closer I get to ordering my coffee, the more heightened my nerves become.
Maybe sleeping with someone on campus wasn’t my smartest decision, but I can get through this.
As long as he doesn’t try to act like he doesn’t know me, which might be a bit too much for me to handle when my gut is already yoyoing.
I tap my card, then move aside, and when I look up and clash eyes with West, I find him smiling at me. Okay then. That’s a sign that I can join him, right?
What’s wrong with me?
“Coach Dalton,” I say, keeping my tone level.
He leans toward me, filling my nose with his cologne. “Jasper.”
Jesus fuck. He’s dropped his voice, and the way he pronounces every letter of my name makes it sound sexy as hell. His scent, his low voice, apparently it’s all too much for my poor dick. I shift to try and discourage it.
“No tweed today,” he says.
“Apparently it’s a stereotype.”
He laughs softly. “I don’t think a knitted sweater is that much better.”
“Is there anything I can wear that would meet your approval?”
“Nothing. You looked amazing in it.”
My cheeks heat as I shake my head. “Careful, it almost sounds like you’re flirting.”
“Oh good, I’m doing it right, then.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “What are you doing, West?”