Scoring Position (Daytona Fury #2)

7. Lark

SEVEN

LARK

Soft snores slowly bring me to consciousness, and the first thing I register is how stiff my neck is. When I was in my twenties, I could sleep wherever I wanted—no pillow or blanket necessary—and wake up feeling rested and refreshed. Now, if I turn my head wrong for ten minutes, I can’t move for a week.

This is thirty-one, I guess.

The snoring gets louder, and I stop focusing on my sore neck long enough to realize that I’m not alone. My eyes shoot open, and the first things I see are the head of thick hair on my chest and the muscular arm banded around my waist. I’m sitting halfway up, slouched against the headboard, and Ace is on his side, cuddled into me like I’m his favorite life-sized teddy bear. His laptop is lying on the other side of him, wide open as if it slid off before he rolled my way.

I take a moment to replay the events of last night, trying to recall exactly how I got here. The last thing I remember is Ace deleting his essay to start over and asking me to stay in case he needed extra help. Everything after that is a complete blank, which isn’t really a surprise since I was already exhausted when I got to his room. I tried to play it cool and act like I don’t have a strict nine o’clock bedtime routine, but I guess the jig is up since I fell asleep as soon as we were done with our lesson.

How fucking embarrassing, Lark.

I attempt to slide away from him, hoping I can sneak out of the room before he realizes that I stayed all night, but as soon as I move, his arm tightens around me. His head slips down, resting on my boob before he nuzzles his face into it, sighing contentedly. The tank top I’m wearing has a low-cut neckline, leaving his mouth directly on my bare skin as warm puffs of air ricochet off it with every exhale from his open lips.

Realizing I’m not escaping his iron grip without waking him, I muster up all the courage I can find and wiggle my body, nudging him in the process.

“Ace,” I say quietly, hoping to get out of this in the least embarrassing way possible, but he doesn’t rouse. He just presses his mouth even tighter to my breast, the low rumble of a satisfied moan coming from his chest. His lips move just slightly as a small amount of drool slides across my skin, and my traitorous nipple hardens under the thin lace of my bra. I point my head up to the sky, praying for the heavens to just open up and take me wherever I’m headed.

Hell, probably. What with the hard nipples for this unassuming guy who’s ten years younger than me and all.

“Ace,” I try again, louder this time. He stirs, humming against my skin before he stiffens, clearly aware of the position we’re in.

He sits up straight, pointing directly at my boob. “I had my mouth on your?—”

“Yeah,” I say, not allowing him to finish. Whatever embarrassment I thought I’d feel in this moment skyrockets as he reaches out, swiping his thumb across the saliva he left behind and making my nipples harden even further right before his eyes.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Just kill me. Right now.

“Sorry,” he whispers, not removing his gaze from my tits. “I don’t know how that happened.”

I cross my arms over my chest and clear my throat, snapping him out of the staring contest he’s having with my boobs. He brings his eyes up to mine as a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“What?” I ask, my brows pulled tight in confusion. He went from deer-in-headlights to cool, calm and collected , when I’m anything but.

“I’ve never had a girl spend the night before,” he replies.

I roll my eyes. Why am I not surprised that he’s the kind who makes them leave when he’s done with them? He’s so hot that he probably has a calendar with time slots for all his hookups. Good for him, though. He’s young, rich, attractive and single. He should be living it up while he can.

“I’m not a girl. I’m your tutor. Me falling asleep in your bed was purely accidental and extremely unprofessional. That can’t happen again, Ace.”

He tilts his head, pressing his lips into a tight line. “Why not, Lark? We can do this and be friends. It doesn’t have to be this stuffy situation where you show up, get me through an assignment and leave. We can enjoy spending time together. Maybe even hang out when we’re not working, especially since we’ll be stuck in hotels a lot of the time.”

I scoff. “What are you going to do? Put a sock on the door when you’re hooking up, so I know to go back to my room? I’m not here to cramp your style,” I say. “I’m here to help you graduate. Plus, I’ve already promised you a night of wholesome, fully clothed fun for every passing grade. Anything more than that, and I can guarantee you’ll be sick of me.”

“First of all,” he says, putting a finger in the air, “I don’t hook up—and even if I did, I wouldn’t if I knew you wanted to see me. Secondly,”—he adds another finger—“we never discussed our fun being fully clothed, but I can respect that. I guess I’ll have to cross naked Twister off my list. And third,” he says with another finger, “I’ll never get sick of you, Sweets. You’re way too pretty for that.”

“You’re a flirt,” I deadpan. “Quit it.”

He smirks, nudging my shoulder with his. “Come on, Lark. Let’s be friends.”

Wrinkling my nose, I consider what he’s offering. He’s right. I don’t work for the school, and I can’t alter his grades in any way. I really will be alone a lot when we’re traveling to away games, which will be often. It wouldn’t hurt to be alone… together. It’s not like it’ll go beyond that. It can’t.

I attempt to nudge him back, but he’s practically a brick wall. I ignore the warmth that seeps from his skin to mine through the sleeve of his t-shirt, chalking it up to the fact that I’m in a tank top and it’s a chilly room. “Fine,” I reply on an exhale. “Since you’re obviously so hard-up for friends, I guess I could help you out.”

A wide grin blooms across his face, and he brings a muscled arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him. “I’m going to friend you so hard, Sweets. You won’t regret it.”

I roll my eyes. “We’ll see. Did you get everything done last night?”

“Yep,” he replies with a nod. “Turned it in at eleven forty-five, and I’m officially an expert on the female orgasm. Seriously. Quiz me.”

“Okay,” I say, turning my body toward him. His arm falls from my shoulder, and I immediately regret not staying still, even though it’s probably better that I didn’t. “How long does the typical female orgasm last?”

“I’m glad you asked,” he replies confidently, straightening himself and angling toward me. “Generally, they last anywhere from three to fifteen seconds. However,” he says, pointing a knowing finger in my direction, “if you incorporate acts such as edging, regular exercise of the Kegel muscles during and after sex, and stroking of the upper left quadrant of the clitoris, you can achieve extended orgasms, which have been known to last minutes.”

My brows shoot up. I honestly didn’t know that last part. He must’ve done very in-depth research. “Wow,” I reply, trying to contain my surprise. “Good job. That’s very…informative.”

He clicks his tongue, nodding his head with a cocky grin. “It is, isn’t it? I definitely learned a lot.”

“I’m sure you did.” I snort a laugh. “I bet the next girl you bang will be very grateful.”

His expression goes solemn, and I fear that I may have overstepped. I probably shouldn’t have said that, but all this talk of being friends has me acting like I can just blurt out anything. I shake my head. “I’m sorry. That was?—”

“No, it’s good,” he rushes out, putting a cautious hand between us. “It’s just…I don’t really…”

“It’s none of my business, Ace,” I say softly. “I don’t even know why the thought popped into my head.”

“No, it’s not that at all, Lark,” he replies. “I like that you’re joking around with me. I want that.” A sincere smile spreads across his lips as his bright blue eyes connect with mine. “Really.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I should go. I’ll see you after your game tonight, friend .”

He gives me a tight nod. “Yeah. See you then.”

I slide out of bed, gather my belongings, and give him an awkward wave before leaving the room and heading to the elevator. As I wait, I replay the last twelve hours, wondering if I made a mistake agreeing to be friends with Ace. We’re ten years apart, in completely different places in our lives, and I have no idea what’s okay to say and what’s going to make him uncomfortable. The way his whole demeanor changed when I talked about him hooking up with someone was strange, even though he said it was fine.

I cringe at the memory as the metal doors open, welcoming me to return to my own floor, where I should’ve gone last night. Instead, I’m doing a walk of shame that has a whole other meaning.

Fuck my life.