Chapter 6
Hadrian
When I wake with a raging erection, it takes me a moment to remember that Bluebell’s in the bedroom, which is why I’m out here in the living room.
We fell asleep on the sofa last night, but I worried about her comfort, so eventually I picked her up.
Carrying her to the bedroom and tucking her in was the most sensual thing I’ve done in a long time, feeling that trim body wrapped in my arms. Taking care of her came so naturally to me, my protective nature loving every second of it. I didn’t want it to end.
I’m sure that’s why my dick’s throbbing and leaking precum all over my sweats.
It’s not because I’ve fantasized about her for years, a secret I’d told myself I’d be taking to my grave.
Soft snores ring from my room. Without really thinking, I rise and tuck my cock down one leg of the sweatpants. Stalking past the kitchen, I open the bedroom door, telling myself I just want to make sure she’s okay, that she’s not cold.
A lump in the middle of the bed makes the blood rush to my dick, and I resist the urge to fist it and get off right here. I can’t do that. I can’t do that. But she’s curled up all tiny, still wearing my sweater. Our combined scents are everywhere in the room.
I jacked off four times in that bed before the game. The smell of my pleasure in the same room where she’s sleeping has me so hard, I could almost come just looking at her.
She groans and rolls over. Hard nipples pebble beneath the soft fabric of my clothing as she stretches long in the bed. She’s waking, and if she wakes up to find me staring at her with a hard-on, things are gonna get weird.
Holding her on the sofa last night was probably a step too far, but I couldn’t help myself when she was shaking with cold.
But now it’s this morning. Forcing myself away, I return to the kitchen and put a cup of coffee on, thinking about anything I can to get the erection to go down.
Jasper.
Skyball plays.
My dumb parents.
Not to mention the fact that Bluebell and I have been friends for almost three decades. I’d be crazy to risk fucking that up…right?
By the time the coffee’s done brewing, I’ve got things as under control as is possible with her wearing my clothing in my bed.
But she’s perfect for me, I think as I sigh aloud and step out onto the porch. It’s no longer chilly, and the courtyard below is full of monsters eating breakfast that smells delicious from up here. That devil on my shoulder telling me to make a move on my best friend’s sister? He’s gotta go.
Faint footsteps echo from inside the suite. Closing my eyes, I suck in a steadying breath along with a big gulp of hot coffee. I can do this.
Bluebell appears on the porch next to me, tan legs sticking out from underneath my sweatshirt.
“Are you wearing shorts?” I bark out, sputtering as I choke on a second mouthful of coffee.
She slaps my stomach as she rolls her eyes. “Of fucking course I’m wearing shorts. How awkward would that be if I was, like, naked in your clothing? Better not let Jasper find out. He’ll flip his wig.”
“He’d rip my wings off,” I mutter, thinking about the last time Jasper got it in his head that I looked at his sister wrong.
It’s been a solid five years since that argument, but I’m careful not to stare too hard at her because of it.
He’s very…protective. Bill and Elena have always drilled that into him as the oldest.
She lifts her arms over her head and stretches.
My eyes drift to where the move exposes a few inches of her flat stomach. A floral tattoo swirls down her entire left side and thigh. How high up does it go? I don’t know.
I’d like to know, though.
“Is your tit tattooed?”
Fuck. Did I just say that out loud?
Bluebell roars with laughter but blushes and tucks a long chunk of bright blue hair behind her delicate, round ear.
“Umm, yeah. The tattoo goes up the side and over my shoulder.”
“Damn, that must have hurt.”
She winks. “You still not a tattoo guy?”
I shake my head. “Can’t think of anything I like enough to put it on my body like that. Piercings, though, those interest me a whole lot more.”
Her playful smile drops, and she lifts both hands in shock. “Wait, wait. And I’m just hearing about this now? Where the hell do you have piercings?! I saw you shirtless last night.”
It’s my turn to wink. “They’re all places you can’t see when I’m shirtless, Bluebell.”
She scoffs. “Does Jasper know? Wait, scratch that. If you’ve got a bunch of asshole piercings, and y’all got them together, I don’t need that mental image.” She scrunches her nose and shakes her head like she’s dispelling that vision that’s most surely in her head right now.
I jerk my head toward the kitchen. “Coffee’s ready. There’s cream and plenty of sugar so you can ruin yours with all that shit you love.”
“Spank you very much,” she chirps as she turns to pick her way across the living room.
Jasper ain’t here, so I allow myself to watch her as she walks. Long, tan legs are trim with muscle, and the floral tattoo curls down her left thigh. She might be wearing shorts, but they’re short enough that I can almost see the swell of her ass beneath my sweatshirt.
And now something else is swelling too, because Bluebell looks really damn fuckable right now.
Masking a groan beneath a cough, I force myself to glance back down into the courtyard, pretending I care about what’s going on below until she returns with coffee in hand.
She blows on the steaming cup, and I try not to focus on the purse of her lips. They’re blue right now too, part of the spell she uses to dye her hair and freckles. Looking up, she smiles. “So, what’s on your docket for today?”
I shrug and lean against the stucco railing of the small porch. “Some guys are sticking around to do a day of practice with the local team. I was planning to head home and take a couple days off before our next home game. It’s been a long few weeks of traveling.”
She sips the coffee.
I smile. “You wanna go back together? We can—”
A rustle and flash of light from down below grabs my attention. Flaring my right wing protectively around Bluebell, I crush her to my side as I look for a threat. In the courtyard below us, a small group of photographers have their cameras pointed upward, and they’re snapping pic after pic.
I usher her back inside, knowing she won’t appreciate what they’re doing.
“Alk, Alk!” she shouts, pushing against the leathery skin of my wings. “What are you doing?!”
I unfurl them and tuck them back behind me, surprise rushing through me at how strong my protective instinct was in that moment. No heartbeat pounds in my chest, but it might as well for the tension in my muscles.
“Photographers,” I grit out. “Taking photos of us. I just assumed you wouldn’t want that, sorry. I’m used to it, but I’m sure you’re not.”
Her mouth drops open, and she looks at the porch, then back at me. Lifting a hand, she places it on my chest. “It didn’t bother me, but thank you for thinking it might have. Do you deal with that a lot?”
I nod. “It’s near constant, but it’s one of the things I love about PG. Nobody there really cares all that much. I’ve never seen a photographer around with the exception of the Gulch Gossip gals. They’re pretty harmless, though.”
She looks back toward the porch. “I was going to ask if you wanted to grab breakfast, but maybe we’d better not if that makes you uncomfortable.”
I laugh. “It doesn’t bother me, but imagine if the Tuckers see us splashed all over some newspaper somewhere having breakfast.”
She rolls her eyes. “Good point. I don’t have the energy to deal with a Tucker inquisition right now. I got enough nonsense going on.”
Her comment about the Tucker inquisition is spot on. They’re a nosy bunch. That doesn’t bother me. But the comment about nonsense pings my instinct.
“What’s going on; what do you mean?” I slide my hands into my pockets to resist touching her.
She sighs, taking another sip of coffee before she answers. “The Bodice is messy. She’s mad at being sold, and even though I’ve known her my whole life, she’s not interested in our new partnership. It’s going to be a rough transition, I fear.”
“But we live upstairs,” I manage, thinking about how she seems perfectly peaceful in the apartment across the hall from mine.
“And that seems fine,” she says with an exasperated look and a shrug. “But she won’t let me fix or organize anything, and she makes all sorts of awful noises. I’m sure it’ll work out in the end, but we’re not off to a strong start.”
I take a sip of my coffee, letting its temperature burn all the way down my throat. “If anyone can fix it, Bluebell, it’s you.”
I mean it as a vote of confidence, but some of the light seems to die in her eyes when I say it. It occurs to me that maybe that’s because Bluebell fixes so fucking much, for not just herself, but the entire Tucker clan.
And maybe…just maybe…she doesn’t like it that way.