Chapter 7 Ellis
Ellis
My head buzzes when I come to.
It takes me too long to realize that I’m curled up against a warm body. A warm, muscle-bound, giant body.
Damon.
He’s on his back, but my arm’s swung over his bare torso, my face nuzzling his shoulder…
And my semi-stiff cock’s pressed up against his hip.
I blink slowly, trying to make sense of things. Last night’s clear in my mind. I wasn’t lying when I told him I wasn’t intoxicated and I knew what I was doing.
What’s not clear to me is why I’m cuddling him, and not for the first time this week.
And why are the curtains wide open? It’s okay to leave them like that during the night because the city lights are pretty and calming, but it’s only sensible to shut them before actually sleeping.
The sunlight’s making my head throb, and I carefully extract myself from the hot, naked man next to me to close the damn things, only for Damon to stir slightly.
He mumbles incoherent words under his breath then suddenly pulls me to him.
“Stop moving,” he mumbles.
For some reason, I obey. I stop trying to free myself, and I simply lie there.
What is it with this man that I always end up listening? Damon could ask me to rob a bank with him and I’d probably make suggestions about how we should do it.
He could ask me to kiss him, and I’d do it in a heartbeat.
That realization makes something swirl in my chest. I’m not sure what that is.
I’m pretty sure I’ve recovered from my silly cold, so it’s likely not related to that.
It intensifies even more when I give myself the permission to watch Damon as he sleeps.
He looks relaxed like this, his expression calm and his mouth slightly parted.
I let my eyes drift down, over the hard planes of his chest and to the dark trail on his lower stomach that leads down.
Some time through the night, he pulled a blanket over us.
It’s thrown haphazardly over our hips, stopping me from getting a good view of his cock—a cock that I, unfortunately or not, feel I’m well-acquainted with at this point.
The way the blanket tents slightly over his groin makes my throat dry up.
I want him. Again. It’s fucking ridiculous. My fingers shake with the effort to not slip my hand under the sheets and cup him, to wake him up by teasing him until he’s the one begging to have me.
Fuck. I begged. Again.
I talked big and taunted him last night, but he was right—he had me begging without even trying.
It’s not my fault, though. I’ve been thinking about him since we met years ago.
No amount of one-night stands afterwards ever came close.
A few times, I even tried to give the dating thing a shot.
I broke my rules and let one or two kiss me.
It didn’t feel right. Ever. His face always popped up in my memories as if taunting me.
What does it say about me that I’ve been this hung up over a man who’s made it abundantly clear that he dislikes me? And even if he fucked me into the mattress last night, I don’t think it changed a thing.
I’m probably going to spend another two years trying to pretend I’m not wishing he’d show me what a real date was like.
Closing my eyes, I lean down and press my face against his shoulder.
Whatever. This is fine, for now. I’ll take what I can.
“Ellis.” Fingers thread into my hair. I didn’t even realize Damon was awake. “I’m getting up.”
“Okay,” I mumble. I extract myself away from him with great effort. As soon as I’m no longer pressed against him, I immediately miss his warmth. Totally not exaggerating when I say the temperature drops exponentially. Might even be the cause of me getting another cold.
Damon gives me a flat-lipped look as he swings his legs over the bed. I watch as he grabs his pants from the floor and pulls them on, though not quick enough for me to miss the fact that he definitely has a semi like I do. Smirking, I bury my face against the pillow.
We move quietly for the rest of the morning. He cleans up while I’m in the bathroom, putting away yesterday’s take-out containers. He made the bed too, as if room service wouldn’t do it for us, and it does nothing to hide our night. I could point out every spot on the sheets where we came.
“Heather was able to get both of us flights on the twenty-seventh,” he tells me. Damon’s seated on his side of the bed, chewing on something. He’s holding a slice of banana bread between a napkin. “Three p.m. flight for me to Anchorage, twelve p.m. flight for you back to Tampa.”
“Great.”
Not that great, really. There’s nothing but an empty apartment waiting for me back home. I could probably hit up some old friends, but they’re most likely with their families for the rest of the year. You know, like most people.
The loneliness hits me all at once again, and I look away before Damon can read my face.
Maybe he notices it though, because he asks, “Is your dad back in Florida?”
“My dad’s in the Bahamas with his new chick.”
“Oh.” He bites into his bread. “Who’s waiting for you back home, then?”
“My liquor cabinet.”
Damon’s eyebrows furrow, and he chews his food very, very slowly. “Do you want to come to Anchorage with me? My family wouldn’t mind.”
A surprised laugh escapes me. “What? No! We don’t—that’s not our—”
His smile makes me snap my mouth shut. “Relax, Ellis. I won’t force you, and you don’t need to explain yourself.”
“Thanks, though.” I let out a breath and look away. “I’ll probably just catch up on work. I’d like to get approval to send Killian Schultz an offer.”
“I think Killian Schultz is going to be difficult to sign,” Damon says. “I was doing some research… he quit junior hockey before he got drafted, so maybe he’s not that interested in playing long-term.”
“He got homesick. That’s why he quit.” I plop down on the bed, and Damon gives me a puzzled look as he turns his body toward me.
“I was sitting behind his brothers at the last game and kind of chatted with them, fishing about him. It turns out he quit junior hockey because he was on a team states away from his family, and he didn’t thrive because of that. ”
“I see.” Damon is about to take another bite of his food when he pauses. After a moment of contemplation, he pinches off a small piece and holds it up to my mouth. “Eat,” he says, too softly. “You’re still recovering.”
“What? I’m perfectly fine now.”
“Even if you are, you still need to take care of yourself.”
Jesus Christ. He needs to stop this shit because it’s making both my heart and my dick perk up. I part my mouth anyway, and he pops the bite of bread into my mouth, his fingers brushing against my lips.
“It’d be a waste if Killian decided not to go pro,” Damon says.
“With the year he’s having, I imagine any minor league team who has a weak defense would want him.
And in a couple of years, he could work himself up the ladder and be playing in the major league.
I was watching his tapes, and it seems like he has a knack for reading his opponents and letting his teammates know where they should be. ”
Even if I’m not as great as Damon when it comes to the sports side of things—I don’t spend time watching tapes and instead rely on scouting reports—I at least know this part. I nod, and he pops another piece of bread in my mouth.
“I heard a few agents have tried speaking to him but he seems uninterested,” Damon says.
I chew thoughtfully, and before he can put more food in me, I say, “Because of the homesickness. Offer him a team close to home with a no-trade clause and he might take it.”
“There’s no way a team would agree to a no-trade clause for a free agent straight out of college. It would be too risky for them.”
“They don’t have to put it on paper.”
Damon stiffens. “A handshake deal? Then that would be dangerous for Killian.”
“It’s risky, but even a handshake deal would give Killian the stability he wants.”
“I don’t like this,” he murmurs. “You’d be promising Killian something that’s not set in stone.”
“I’d never make the deal if I didn’t think I couldn’t protect him, and I know well enough which teams to trust. I’m good at my job and I take care of my clients, Damon. I’ve told you this.”
Damon’s silent for a long moment. His eyes unfocused, he puts the food to the side. “I see your point. I really do. I just don’t agree with it.”
I narrow my eyes. I could argue with him all day if I wanted, but it’s clear that both Damon and I have very different ways of approaching our jobs.
He thinks my techniques are underhanded, but really, all I do is look for ways to keep my clients happy.
Westley and Vaughn? They wanted to play together, and I found a way to make it happen even if it never went down on paper.
Killian? He wants to play close to home, and even if I can’t promise him a no-trade clause, I can give him the closest thing to it.
God, Damon really is obsessed with stability and protection. He can’t deal with the risky way I do things.
It’s irritating.
Maybe I’m not doing such an incredible job hiding how I truly feel because Damon’s eyes soften when they collide with mine. “Don’t be angry,” he says.
“Pretty annoying when you’ve had this misconception of me from the start and you’ve stuck with it.”
“I don’t agree with your tactics. They’re dangerous for your players. One wrong move, like owners or management moving around who don’t care for your handshake deals, and it’s over.”
I glower at him. “How many times do I have to tell you that I protect my clients? Have I ever failed your friends?”
Damon smiles and shakes his head. “No, and they think you’re an incredible agent.”
“Huh?”
And, just like that, the ball of tension that was expanding in my chest implodes. It’s gone. That easily. Instead, it’s replaced with confusion. My posture slackens as I stare at Damon.