CHAPTER FORTY
Emery
The hotel room feels too quiet.
I’m sprawled across the bed with my phone pressed to my ear, staring out at the glow of the city through the window.
“What are the chances I’d get caught if I snuck over to your room right now?” Lucas asks and then chuckles in that rough tone that makes me ache for him.
I smile like a lovesick teenager. “You know that’s not possible.”
“I know but it doesn’t stop me from wishing.”
I roll onto my side, tucking the pillow closer. “How’s your shoulder feeling?”
He barks out a laugh. “You know you always resort to shoulder questions when I make you uncomfortable, right?”
“I do not.” I’m sure I probably do.
“Whatever you say, Doc.” He pauses. “It feels good. A little tight but manageable.”
An honest response. I’ll take it.
“Team dinner was good?” I ask.
“Yeah. The usual spiel about showing them everything because they’re making final roster decisions next week. Loud. Predictable. Too much chicken. Yada, yada, yada.”
“Sounds thrilling.”
“It was missing one key element though.”
“What’s that?”
“You.”
My chest tightens as my smile widens. How can he make me feel like this with a simple word?
“You know how to make a girl feel loved,” I say. I realize what I said—the word I used—but for some reason, I don’t think it will freak him out like it would other guys.
“Someone has to,” he says, unfazed. “Did you have a good dinner with your friend?”
“I did. Lots of catching up. Lots of gossip—”
“About me I presume?” he adds.
“Maybe a time or two.”
“Good. I’d be worried if I wasn’t brought up at all.” He laughs.
“Hey, speaking about you—”
“Uh-oh. I spoke too soon.”
“No. It’s nothing bad, but . . . can I ask you something?”
“Always.” No hesitation.
“The other night. With Cole.”
“Oh God. What else has been said online that I need to worry about?” he jokes.
“Um, nothing? Everything I’ve seen basically said he’s a loud-mouth belligerent drunk with a penchant to start fights.”
“Well, look at that? They finally got something right.” He sighs but there’s amusement in it. “What about it though?”
“Why did they call you? I mean, I know you’re his unspoken mentor and all, but you didn’t have to drop what you were doing. You could just have left him there to get even worse press,” I say softly.
“I could have, yes,” he says cautiously.
“He’s your competition. Why didn’t you let him screw up and get himself in serious trouble? And then suddenly . . . there would be your starting position.” It’s a ridiculous question, his actions show he’s not that person, and yet his response matters to me.
Maybe it’s a litmus test to validate he’s who I think he is.
There’s a long pause. “That would’ve felt wrong,” he finally says.
“But possibly warranted to teach him a lesson and show him everything has consequences when you step in and are given a chance.”
“No. He’s a kid. He was making a mistake. He’s going to make more of them.” He pauses. “If no one had stepped in to help me when I was younger, I probably wouldn’t have the career I have. Sometimes being a better human matters more than being a starting QB, no matter how competitive I am.”
My throat tightens. See? He is a good guy.
The kind I thought were a fairy tale.
“I’m glad it was you who went and got him,” I say.
Silence settles again. He’s so uncomfortable with compliments, and I love that about him.
“I hate this,” he says. “Being a few floors apart but not being able to see you.”
“Definitely agree on that.”
Another pause.
“There are other ways we could have fun,” he says with a hint of desire weighing down his tone.
I close my eyes as my body heats. “Fun?” I cup one of my breasts. “Why, Mr. Hale, are you suggesting that we have phone sex?”
A low laugh rumbles through the line. “Maybe.”
Heat coils low in my stomach. “And how exactly would we do that?” The words are breathless. I’m already turned on.
“I’d tell you exactly how much I want you right now.”
My breath stutters. “That’s vague.”
“Mm,” he says in a partial groan, and I swear my skin tightens at the sound. “How about I get more specific? I want you to slide your fingers down to that pink pussy of yours and imagine it’s me.”
“Oh. Well.” My fingers are already there. “Only if you tell me your hand is sliding back and forth on your cock the way my mouth should be.”
“Dear God,” he groans. “Tell me what you want me to do to you . . .”