“Josey?”

“That’s right. She’s driving me nuts.” Reaching the phone, I switched it to vibrate and shoved it in my purse.

“Why is she calling?”

I turned back to Bryan, not quite able to meet his eyes as I explained, “I made the mistake of telling her we—you and I—were going on a date.”

Bryan was quiet for a moment and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks, embarrassed for reasons I didn’t understand.

When I finally found the courage to look at him, he was glaring at the wall behind me, and I didn’t like the set of his jaw.

“Bryan?”

“I should go.” He nodded at his own assertion, his eyes flickering over me, his smile not reaching them as he strolled toward me and placed a light kiss on my cheek. “Tell Patrick I’ll see him tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. Sure,” I said, a sinking sensation in my stomach had me wrapping my arms around my torso.

Bryan paused, looking down at me distractedly. But then after a moment, his gaze warmed and his smile became true.

“I had a great time tonight,” he whispered, pulling my hand from my body and tangling our fingers together. He bent forward to brush a sensual kiss over my mouth, hot and soft.

I felt myself sway toward him, melt under his touch.

“Me, too,” I whispered when he drew away.

“I know,” he said, wagging his eyebrows.

And, despite everything—my uncertainties, my worries, my fears—that made me laugh.

“You’re wicked.”

“The wickedest,” he agreed, pulling the neck of my top to one side and peeking down my shirt.

I smacked his hand away, still laughing. “Go. Get out of here, pervert.”

“Fine. I’ll leave.” He held his hands up as though surrendering. But then he pointed at me as he backed away toward the door. “But you should know, I’m only pervy for you.”

***

Bryan did come over on Saturday and we did build a blanket fort. And then the three of us ate ice cream inside it.

But I caught him giving me strange looks. He’d stare at me, frowning, as though concentrating or working through a problem.

He left after dinner, making an excuse about having work to do around his apartment despite my invitation for him to stay and watch a movie with us. And when he left, he gave me a light peck on the cheek.

A peck. On the cheek. Nearly twenty-four hours ago, he’d had his hand in my pants, begging to stay the night.

His behavior since had continued to be unsettling.

At work he was very polite, but distant. And then he was all friendly flirtation when we were at my apartment. He hadn’t asked me on another date, but he came over almost every night to see Patrick.

I wondered if it was the upcoming match that had him acting so strangely. It was the first of the season and everyone seemed to be a little more on edge, talking a little louder, pushing themselves harder.

With these thoughts plaguing and distracting me, I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. So when I was walking out of the locker room after an urgent session with Daly two hours before the big match, a hand reached out and grabbed me by the wrist, catching me completely off guard. The mysterious hand tugged me firmly behind the wall leading to the showers.

I stumbled, colliding ungracefully into a familiar chest. Bryan’s rumbly chuckle met my ears. “Hello, love. Fancy meeting you here.”

I glanced up at him, becoming aware of several things all at the same time.

One: he hadn’t shaved this morning and it made him devilishly handsome.

Two: his hand had released mine and he was palming and grabbing my arse.

Three: he was wearing just a towel.

“Bryan!”

“Were you expecting someone else? Maybe Alice from the front office?” He grinned wolfishly, then lowered his lips to my neck and squeezed my backside.

“What are you doing?” I whispered harshly. “Daly and Moore are in the locker room. They’ll hear us.”

“Not if we’re really quiet.” He grabbed my hand and moved it to the front of his towel. “Can you be quiet?”

Instinctively, I gripped his cock through the fabric, my breathing coming ragged. He felt so good.

And he would feel even better if I just gave in.

Give in!

“Wait,” I breathed, shaking my head for some sobriety from my lust. “We shouldn’t do this here.”

Bryan’s reputation would survive a tryst in the locker room, but mine would not. I already had Connors making comments about me spreading my legs for players.

“Fine.” He rocked his hips forward, pressing himself into my hand. “Where should we go? The showers?”

“I don’t know,” I said weakly, biting my lip as an image of us taking this to the showers floated through my mind.

God, yes!

Damn.

Damn damn damn.

“Bryan, please,” I whimpered, because he’d bent lower, nuzzling my breasts and biting my nipple through the fabric of my long sleeved polo.

“Anything you want.” His voice was a rumble, thick with promise. “I need you, I need the feel of you. I miss your taste.” His hands delved into my pants, his fingers finding my clit. I was already aching and wet.

FORKS!

“Please,” I mewled, tilting my hips mindlessly, the back of my head falling to the wall. This was so wrong. We were at work. He had a match in less than two hours. Why did he always make me so mindless? So thoughtless?