Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Drake
“Don’t even think of opening that door yourself,” I say as I turn off my SUV.
Gianna withdraws her hand from the handle and places it in her lap. “My apologies.”
I slip out of my seat and step into the brisk autumnal air, pausing to stretch my arms overhead.
Mid-stretch, I feel her attention on me.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and catch her watching me with a slight tilt to her lip.
I let the stretch last a moment longer than necessary, smirking as her gaze travels down the length of my torso.
So, that’s why she agreed to stay put.
I stifle a chuckle and reorientate myself. I should’ve known she let me have my way because Gianna Bardot doesn’t do anything that she doesn’t want to do.
She agreed to date me …
The evening went far too quickly … and far too perfectly. My mind keeps searching for something to focus on—a moment of poor conversation, a bored look on her face, or if she seemed not to be into me. Only one thing comes to mind, but I’ll think about that later.
Our gazes meet through the passenger’s window as I round the side of my vehicle.
A sheet of steel separates us, but her stare crashes into mine so hard that it nearly knocks me off balance. My heartbeat quickens. I’m aware of every pulse in my temples. A war commences inside me, logic versus lust—instinct versus reason, and the push and pull of it is an exquisite torture.
Honestly, I’m not sure how I’ve resisted her innuendo. It’s like having the gift you’ve always wanted right in front of you, and you manage not to peek. Fuck, how I want to unwrap her and play with her all damn night.
But if this is how she operates with other men, it’s easy to see why she refuses to wear a life preserver and risk going down with the ship. The ship isn’t worth it. Hell, it would be a waste of resources.
Men are going to generally put forth the least amount of effort that they can get away with to reap the maximum reward. Gianna? She’s the ultimate prize. Why would she, or should she, be willing to fight for something, or someone, if they weren’t willing to do the most for her?
I get it now. That part makes sense. Eject the hell out of there.
But I fail to comprehend why she’s complacent with this setup. Why doesn’t she demand more? Is she scared of falling in love, so she pretends she can control it? Is she just so jaded about relationships that she feels like this is the best it’s going to get?
I don’t want to think that I know what’s best for her because she’s an intelligent, grown woman who can make those decisions for herself.
But I have an inkling that she does want to be pursued.
Just like flowers, I think she’s afraid to ask for more—or even to expect it.
That maybe it’s not worth the hassle or disappointment.
“Let me help you,” I say, offering her my hand.
Her fingertips lay in my palm as she steps out of my vehicle.
“Ooh,” she says, shivering. “It got cool fast.”
I retrieve her cardigan from the seat and close the door behind her. “Turn around.”
I brush her hair off her shoulders, sweeping my knuckles against her bare skin.
She shivers again, and I wonder if it’s from the chill or my touch.
I drape her cardigan over her narrow shoulders, letting the tops of my hands run the length of her arms as I draw them away from her body.
The contact does nothing to help my internal battle.
My blood grows hotter, and my cock grows harder.
Walking away from her tonight is going to take every bit of restraint that I can find. But I must do it.
“So this is the Goal House?” I ask as we walk up the sidewalk toward the brick home with black shutters.
The shrubs could use a trim, and my dad would have a fit over the leaves in her yard.
But it’s a nice home with a big front yard tucked into the end of a cul-de-sac.
Not what I expected from her, but it still somehow fits.
“Yup. This is Goal House.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “I love that name for it.”
“I’ve always liked it when people name their houses. It’s so elite.”
She giggles. “Does your house have a name?”
We take the steps to her porch, and she fishes her keys out of her purse. My breath tastes hot as anticipation kicks in. How will this go? Do I kiss her? Do I go in?
Internally, I groan. I can’t go in. If I go in, I’ll fuck her.
“No,” I say, my balls beginning to ache. “I live in an apartment. When I moved back to Tennessee after I retired from football, I didn’t really know how long the podcast would last or where I wanted to end up. So I just rented until I get a long-term plan in place.”
“And you were on my case about not having a plan,” she teases.
“I have one now.”
She hums, twisting the knob and letting the door swing open. “Does it include coming inside for a drink?”
Fuck. Me.
Her tongue drags along her bottom lip, leaving a wet trail behind it. My eyes are glued to that sexy little mouth, and all I can think about is having those lips wrapped around my cock. Life is so unfair.
“I can’t,” I say, clearing my throat.
She arches a brow. “What do you mean that you can’t?”
“I don’t fuck on the first date.”
“That’s fine,” she says, tracing my jawline with the tip of her finger. “I do.”
My chuckle is strangled with need and regret.
This is the start to a scene that I’ve fantasized about a thousand times while coming in my hand.
It starts here and moves just over the threshold, where she falls to her knees, looking up at me through those fucking lashes while sucking my cock down her throat.
“See,” I say, nipping at her finger. Her giggle is nearly my undoing. “That’s why we can’t. This is supposed to be a new experience for you.”
She groans, rolling her eyes. “Fine. We’ll do anal on the first date. That’s never happened before.”
I grip the doorframe to keep myself from grabbing her.
“You’re the one who said this was real,” she says breathily, standing so close to me that if I breathe too deeply, we’ll touch. “What’s wrong with fucking your boyfriend?”
It’s now or never. I either walk off this porch and drive away in the next five seconds, or she’s going to be bent over the first surface in her house. And as much as I want, maybe even need to do that, I can’t. Because if I do that, I’m just like every other fucker in her life.
Tonight has been better than I hoped. Gianna has surprised me at every turn.
I knew she was interesting and that we had things in common, but I didn’t expect her to be such easy company.
The conversation flowed like water from one topic to the next.
And she was so great to the restaurant staff, even straightening the table as much as she could so it would be simpler for them to clear after we left.
And watching her try each plate, tasting each dish as if it were a work of art? Yeah, I can’t be thinking about her lips wrapped around anything right now.
“Good night,” I say, pushing away from her and walking down the sidewalk.
“Are you serious?”
“Get inside and lock the door.”
“I don’t even get a kiss good night?”
Once I’m on the other side of my SUV, I pause. She’s on the porch, hands on her hips, clearly upset with me … and it’s the cutest, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“One of these days, I’ll make it up to you.” I smirk.
“Fine.” She drops her hands and smirks back at me. “I’ll make you regret this.”
“I have no doubt.”
Gianna sighs as if she’s done with my games. “Stop messing around. You’re not really going to leave.”
Before I can banter with her anymore and find myself climbing those steps once again, I hop in my vehicle, wait until she’s in the house, and then speed away while I still can.