27. Nude Sewing
27
NUDE SEWING
Beck
My costume rocks.
Jeans, a foam finger, and the number twelve painted on my bare chest for the twelfth man.
I am a certified fan, and I’m prepped to have a damn good time at Jason’s party. I’ll get to know new people. I’ll talk to teammates. I’ll have a blast.
Doesn’t matter if I speak to the host or not. Hell, who cares if I even see him? I’ve spent the last few days shutting down my emotions. That’s not cruel—it’s necessary to get through tonight as just one of the guests.
Carter should be here any minute, so I settle into the beanbag and read till he knocks, a deafening sound. I set down my phone and head to the door, letting in my friend.
And... whoa. “I just went blind,” I say, shielding my eyes from the intensity of the fuchsia.
He’s wearing black shorts and, I think, an upside-down pink thong. “What the fuck is that?”
The bearded receiver groans, plucking at the pink nylon strings on his shoulders, or maybe they’re straps. “I’m the Super Bowl stripper.”
Oh, right! A dude in a bright pink mankini and black shorts streaked across the field a couple of years ago during the big game. “If Jason is having a costume contest, you win,” I say, then I want to kick myself. I make a mental note to call the host McKay next time.
But Carter is too busy fiddling with the crotch of his get-up to care. “This thing is too loose. Do you have a sewing kit?”
“I do,” I say, heading for the kitchen. Griffin loved to camp deep in the woods, so he taught me to always be prepared, including a sewing kit. “But I’m not sewing your mankini.”
Carter sighs, relieved. “I can sew. I just need a needle and thread. I forgot to try this on when it arrived in the mail, and my balls are dangling.”
I hold up a stop sign hand. “I didn’t need to know about the free-ranging.” I find the kit in a drawer and toss it to him. He catches it one-handed, naturally. “And maybe do your nude sewing in the bathroom or bedroom.”
“Will do.”
As Carter repairs his costume, I flop onto the beanbag again, about to click over to my book when I catch the time. Shit. We’re going to be more than fashionably late.
I should let Jason know. That’s just polite.
But when I thumb over to my texts, my phone buzzes.
It’s like it can see inside my soul. The name Mister Social appears at the top of my screen.
I click on his note so fast, then groan in anticipation as I read.
Are you coming? I can’t stand not seeing you here. I need to see you. I need to talk to you. And I need to touch you.
I read it again, once more, then I have to close my eyes and experience the heat flashing through my body.
It’s bone-rattlingly good.
I wasn’t waiting for a note from him. I tried to stuff any hopes on a top shelf in the closet, far out of reach.
But I can’t lie. This is the greatest text message in the history of the cellular world. As I’m about to respond, the bathroom door swings open, and Carter marches out. “Say it! I look good.”
He saunters through my living room, his costume fitting now.
“You look good. Let’s go.” I stuff my phone into my back pocket, and we take off.
Even though I’m the passenger in his car, I don’t risk replying as Carter drives us to Jason’s house. I don’t take a chance, either, as we park and walk down the street in the October night.
I don’t dare respond as we bound up the steps.
The second Jason opens the door, my pulse skyrockets. I’ve never been so affected by a person. I don’t know if it’s the residual effect of that text or what he’s wearing.
Or not wearing.
Either way, my brain is toast.
Jason McKay is not a friend. I am not detached. I didn’t shut down a single emotion. They rage inside me. They rattle their cages. They fight to escape my mouth. Any second, I’m going to tell him he’s mine.
First, though, the host admires Carter’s costume. “You. Win,” Jason tells the Super Bowl stripper. “But word to the wise—do not post a pic of that on your Date Night profile.”
Carter pumps a fist. “I don’t know about that, McKay. Some women like mankinis.”
“No. No, they don’t,” someone calls from the living room. A pretty redhead in a tennis skirt laughs at Carter as he struts past us and joins the sea of race car drivers, team mascots, and umpires downing shots in Jason’s home.
The other guests seem so far away they might as well be on Mars. Here in the doorway, it’s just the quarterback and me.
Two shirtless guys in their costumes. I want to pounce on him. He wants me too.
His blue eyes are flames. He parts his lips to speak but barely gets out a sound beyond, “Hey, you .”
He’s all rasp and fire. He looks like he’s about to combust. Good. His lust thrills me, and I take charge. “How’s your cat?”
Jason blinks at the question, but I don’t need an answer. It’s only a means to an end.
“Is he in the downstairs guest room?”
Understanding jolts Jason into action. “Let me show you.”
“I know the way,” I say as a mirage of heat wraps around me. I weave through the crowd as if heading into the downstairs bathroom, but instead, I duck into the guest room beyond, snicking the door shut.
I set the foam finger on the floor, then count for an eon.
Thirty interminable seconds later, the door creaks open. When Jason comes in and shuts it behind him, my libido tries to Incredible Hulk its way out of my chest. “Hey?—”
“I threw this party for you,” he blurts.
I barely have time to react to that confession. He grabs my face, and I burn. His voice is pure desperation. “When I left your house last Friday, all I knew was I wanted to make plans to see you again. I had to find a way, so I threw this party just so I could see you again. Do something with you.”
“You didn’t need a party to see me. I’d have come over any night,” I admit, matching his confession with my own.
“Fuck,” he says, his tone thick with regret. “I should have just texted you on Monday and asked you to spend the night then. I knew I should have, but I stewed on it instead. But do you get it, Beck? I was dying for a chance to see you, even with other people around. I wanted to see you again so badly, I planned a fucking party.”
I’m buzzing all over. I’m going to rocket to the moon. It’s extraordinary to want and to be wanted. It’s exhilarating in ways football has only ever been to me.
Music pulses beyond the door. Voices float from the other rooms. He doesn’t seem to care. I don’t either. He dips his face closer to mine and brushes his mouth along my jaw. His lips worship me.
I want to climb him. But I’ve also learned a thing or two about Jason McKay—he likes a good, long tease. “Well, when does the party end?” I ask in a low and growly voice.
“Not soon enough.”
I slide a hand down his chest, over his abs, on a fast track for his cock. He groans when I squeeze his dick.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Don’t die. Let’s fuck instead,” I whisper.
“God,” he growls, then jerks up his gaze, staring hotly at me. “I’m not letting anyone stop me now. Most of all— me . Stay, Beck. Spend the night with me. Spend the morning with me. Don’t leave at five. Don’t leave tonight.”
Jason McKay begging me to stay is the most surreal thing that’s happened in my life.
I slide my hands up his chest, my fingers electric as I explore. I want to tease him. I want to drag out my yes . But my throat is dry, my body is aching, and my emotions can’t handle the on-again-off-again of the last several weeks. I want us all the way on even if it’s just after-hours . “I’ll stay, but tonight isn’t going to be the only time I spend the night with you,” I tell him, my voice hoarse as I lay myself on the line. “You better know that.”
“I know that. I want that too,” he says, and he sounds like he’s begging me.
I want to hold on to that sound forever. Only, it vanishes when he crushes my lips in the neediest kiss. As he consumes my mouth, I hear his desire in his sighs, his murmurs.
I hear, too, the risk of this kiss. One hundred people are beyond that door, and he’s kissing me like he’ll go mad without me.
I clutch at him, grabbing at his swim trunks, jerking him against me, feeling the hot, hard length of him against my jeans.
Then feeling the bare skin of his chest against mine.
When I break the kiss, I glance down at his shorts. He won’t be able to leave this room for a bit. I’m feeling pretty cocky about that as my eyes travel up his abs and torso, but I stop at the blue paint. A splotch of my number twelve marks his chest.
Evidence of us.
“Hold on,” I say, then wet a finger, and wipe it off. He’s protected me. I can protect him.
“Thanks,” he says, and it sounds like he’s swooning.
“I’ll see you later,” I say.
Then I go and do my best to blend into the party. Once I have a beer in hand, I duck into the living room corner, near a shelf of books.
Wait. Is that my hat? I glance around furtively. No one’s looking, so I back up against the purple Seductive hat, then push it behind some books.
Whew. With that out of sight, I take out my phone and finally answer Jason’s text, fire scorching my veins as I type.
I want to fuck you so badly. But when I top you, I want you to feel amazing, so I want you to top me tonight. And I want you to teach me how to make a man moan with pleasure. Show me how to make you feel so damn good with the way you fuck me.
A few minutes later, his name lands on my phone, followed by ten fire emojis.