Chapter 20 Oliver
OLIVER
Icouldn’t sleep.
Didn’t even bother trying after the third time I rolled over and stared at the hotel ceiling like that would somehow help me settle the spiraling in my chest. My legs were too tight, my shoulders ached, and the noise in my head refused to quiet down.
Game day was tomorrow. I should’ve been in bed, focused, resting, but my body wasn’t listening to logic. Neither was my brain.
Everything felt a half-step out of sync.
I’d been good all week. Kept my distance. Got my treatment. Didn’t push too hard. Smiled for cameras, nodded through walk-throughs, stuck to my playbook, and didn’t let my eyes linger on Sloane longer than they should’ve.
Except they always lingered longer than they should’ve.
She’d been everywhere. Locker room hallway. Meeting room. Sidelines. Always out of reach. Professional and composed and guarded—but her mouth still went soft when she smiled, and her voice still scraped against something deep in my chest every time she said my name.
I didn’t regret what happened between us. Not even a little.
But I regretted the distance that followed.
And the truth was? I was scared. About tomorrow. About my body holding up. About her slipping further away the longer I let her pretend we didn’t have something worth fighting for.
So I threw on a T-shirt, slid on my shorts, and left my room to get some air.
The elevator hummed softly. The hallway smelled like chlorine and lemon-scented cleaner. I padded down the back stairwell toward the pool deck, hoping the heat might loosen up the tension in my legs. Hoping the quiet might clear my head.
The doors opened, and the first thing I noticed was the steam rising from the hot tub.
The second thing I noticed was her.
Sloane. Alone.
She sat in the far corner of the hot tub, water rippling gently around her bare shoulders.
Her hair was piled into a messy knot on top of her head, a few damp strands clinging to her neck.
Steam curled up around her face like a damn halo.
She hadn’t seen me yet—her eyes were closed, her mouth parted slightly, and her head tilted back like she was finally letting herself breathe.
I stopped moving. Literally. My feet froze to the tile.
She looked... fuck. She looked peaceful.
And glowing. And unfairly hot in a simple black two piece that showed a lot of skin.
I had no business standing there staring, but I couldn’t help it.
Not after the flight. Not after that steamy book.
Not after the way she bit her lip during the barn scene and pretended not to notice me watching her read the filthiest chapter.
My body moved before I could talk myself out of it. She looked too good to walk away now. Not when I had a chance to see her like this.
She opened her eyes as I approached and blinked once, like maybe she thought I was a hallucination. Then her lips curved, soft and surprised. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
I shook my head, my body tight and coiled. The swells of her breasts were mouthwatering, and the way her eyes softened for me…the pulse at the base of her neck raced, and her teeth came down on her bottom lip, like she too felt the pull between us.
Without thinking of all the reasons why I shouldn’t join her, I tossed my shirt to the side chair and slid my sweats off, wearing my black boxer briefs. Sloane sucked in a breath, her lips parting as she watched me slide into the hot tub next to her.
“Don’t recall giving you an invitation to join me,” she teased, her cheeks pinker than before.
I grinned, enjoying the hell out of her attraction to me. She might fight our connection, but she couldn’t deny our chemistry.
“Wasn’t waiting for one, Doc.” I sighed, leaning back against the jets so the pressure touched my back. “Shit, this feels nice. I was tossing and turning in my room, not resting for shit.”
She glanced over, her eyes tracing my face. “Yeah. I’m a little unsettled too. Are you nervous about the game? Are you feeling okay?”
She didn’t say physically, but that was what she insinuated. I hated that she had to ask, shifting to work mode where she was so clinical. But she looked worried, like she cared about me.
I shifted slightly, resting my elbow on the edge of the hot tub. The water sloshed low around us, heat rising in gentle waves off the surface. “Yeah,” I said, my voice quieter than before. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot though.”
Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I pushed too hard,” I admitted. “I knew I was hitting a wall. I could feel it in my chest, behind my eyes. I just… didn’t want to stop. I don’t want that to happen tomorrow. It fucking can’t happen.”
Her foot bumped mine under the water. It was a graze, but I felt it like a spark.
“I can’t be the guy who gets pulled,” I continued, “especially not the week after everything went down with Hayes. Everyone’s still on edge.”
Sloane’s brows pinched. She looked away for a second, then back at me. “Oliver, if you feel yourself getting worked up, you need to step away. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
I gave her a slow smile, even though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Tell that to the part of me that thinks about you watching me, Doc.”
Her breath caught. There it was.
“You matter to me,” I said, voice low. “What you think… it matters. It really fucking matters both on and off the field, Sloane.”
The silence thickened between us, steam curling around our shoulders.
Her throat worked as she swallowed, eyes flicking down toward the bubbles.
She was so fucking beautiful and strong and brilliant.
I traced the curve of her neck, wishing more than hell I could lick my way down it and settle between her breasts for a solid hour.
My skin was way too tight on my body being next to her like this, in her suit, where she was all soft.
“You’re not just some player on the team,” she whispered. “Not to me and that terrifies me, Oliver.”
I leaned in an inch, chest twisting with how goddamn honest she sounded. “Then we’re even.”
She didn’t speak again, but her legs shifted beneath the water. Her foot brushed mine again, slower this time. Purposeful.
I reached under the surface and found her ankle, curling my fingers gently around it.
She stilled.
“Let me?” I asked.
She nodded once, and I lifted her foot into my lap, water dripping down her calf. I began massaging the arch, thumb pressing slow, firm circles into her skin.
Her head tipped back on a moan that hit me straight in the gut. “Jesus, Oliver.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She laughed breathlessly, and I watched her—really watched her—as I worked my fingers up her foot, across the ball, then along the curve of her ankle. Her skin was smooth, soft, and perfect. Her calf tensed under my grip, her toes curling once, and it wasn’t about relaxing anymore.
It was about touch.
Connection.
Trust.
I ran my finger over her toe with the toe ring, and my fingers twitched with need. I traced the toe ring once, then twice, my mouth practically watering with need and lust.
Her gaze locked with mine again, and neither of us said a word. I moved my hand up her shin, my other hand sliding to her knee. She didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned into my touch.
I kept my voice low, reverent. “Don’t be afraid with me, please. I’ll take care of you.”
Her breath came out shaky. Her lips parted. “Okay,” she whispered.
I kept my hands on her—one resting against her knee, the other sliding a little higher along the back of her calf. Her skin was slick from the water, smooth under my palm. The tension in her body didn’t feel like fear anymore. It was something else…something hungrier.
She exhaled through her nose, shifting her hips slightly, her foot still propped across my lap. Her eyes darted to my mouth, then back up. She caught herself doing it, and her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away this time.
“If you keep looking at me like that,” I murmured, “I’m gonna stop pretending I’m polite.”
Her brows arched, but she didn’t challenge me.
“You’re in charge, honey. You say stop, I stop,” I said, sliding my hand slowly up her leg, fingers brushing beneath the hem of her suit.
“I won’t,” she said, barely audible.
I swallowed hard and leaned forward, my other hand skimming the water until it found her hip. I slid my fingers along her waist, the heat of her skin rising off the space between us.
“I’ve been thinking about your book,” I whispered. “Chapter twenty-seven.”
She groaned, pressing a hand to her face. “Oh my god.”
“You were blushing so hard I thought you were gonna combust.” I leaned in, my mouth brushing her ear. “What was it about that scene? The hayloft? The hand on the throat? The way he didn’t stop until she begged?”
“Oliver.” Her voice cracked slightly, half warning, half plea.
I turned her face toward mine gently. “Tell me.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, pupils blown wide. “It was the trust,” she whispered. “It’s the fact she trusted him enough to let him take over. That’s…that’s my kink.”
I nodded slowly, letting that settle between us. “Can you trust me, Sloane?”
I didn’t kiss her yet. I hovered there, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, the pulse thrumming in her neck.
My thumb brushed under the band of her bikini, barely grazing the skin beneath her breast. She shivered.
I lowered my head and licked her neck, doing what I’d longed to do the last ten minutes.
She arched into me, letting out a sexy moan as I kissed up her neck, over her jaw, and right next to her mouth. “Waiting on an answer, honey,” I said, then kissed her skin again. Until I heard her answer, I wouldn’t go further. I needed that assurance.
“Y-yes, Oliver. I trust you.”
“Mm, I like that answer, baby.” I chuckled against her cheek, then my mouth hovered over hers for one long second—testing, asking, waiting. And then she surged forward, lips brushing mine with a hunger that made my blood catch fire.