Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Colt
Her mouth curves.
Then she leans in. “Thank you.”
Suddenly, the ache in my dick is far more severe than any of my injuries. “Give me that mouth, Teach,” I order softly.
Her cheeks go pink, but she drifts closer, brushes her lips over mine.
“Pathetic,” I say when she pulls back.
“I think you’ve forgotten about the three dozen stitches in your head and the dislocated shoulder and the concussion.”
“It’s not dislocated any longer,” I say, trailing the fingers of my uninjured arm along her side.
“And the concussion?”
“What concussion?”
Her eyes widen slightly and I struggle to smother my smile. She clocks it anyway, her nose wrinkling and her eyes narrowing into a slight scowl. “You’re terrible.”
“I thought you said I was rather wonderful?”
A sharp sigh, but I can see she’s fighting a smile.
“Give me a taste of that.”
“Of wh-what?”
“Your smile. Your mouth. You.”
“Honey, you’re hurt.”
“Yeah.” I flick my eyes down toward where my dick is straining against the fabric of my jeans. “I am.”
Her gaze follows mine then jerks back up, cheeks going pink. “Terrible, I say. Terrible.”
“Kiss me, Teach.”
“I already did.”
“A real kiss.”
“Again,” she says exasperation in her words. “Concussion.” Her lips press lightly to my temple. “And stitches.” To the bruised skin near the injury. “And shoulder.” Her mouth brushes over the top of the brace.
“Fine.”
She blinks, leans back slightly. “Fine?”
“Yup. I’ll just kiss you.”
Her eyes go wide, mouth dropping open.
And I take full advantage, plunging my hand into her hair, bringing her lips to mine, stroking my tongue inside. Sleek and wet, like I know the rest of her will be, her moan tumbling from her mouth to mine, the taste of her pleasure the strongest aphrodisiac.
I want to take her.
Need to. Need it more than my next thought, my next breath.
My next heartbeat.
And that’s when pain lances through me.
I tear my lips from hers on an agonized groan and she winces as I sink back into the couch, trying to breathe through the bursts of red-hot hurt.
“Rest,” she murmurs. “I’ll get your pain meds and antibiotics.”
“I don’t need—”
“And food. You want a sandwich and soup or something more substantial?”
“I don’t need—”
“Cool. Sandwich and soup it is.”
“You know,” I mutter as she gently pushes back the hair that’s fallen into my face, “I always thought you were quiet and shy, not as stubborn as a dog to a bone.”
Her mouth hitches up. “Good thing you’re learning the real me then, huh?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, knowing it’s better than good.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
More.
“Now text your brother.” Her smile widens, her voice in a stage-whisper. “And just FYI, I’ve got bossy down pat too.”
“You sure that you’re going to be okay?” she asks two days later.
I’m holding her backpack in my free hand and she’s worrying herself silly.
I wish I could say I’ve had a miraculous recovery and I’m ready to hit the ice, but I spent most of the weekend laying on the couch, watching Kylie’s crappy—but yes, I’ve become addicted to it—reality TV shows, and sleeping.
And Ky has barely left my side.
She has gotten through a lot of her students’ papers, however.
She’s told me she’s caught up for the first time ever.
One thing I could give her—forced confinement to finish her grading.
Go, me.
“I promise I’m okay. The guys are coming over in a bit and then Doc’s going to get me started on some simple PT later this afternoon.”
Her brows drag together. “So soon? You’ve barely begun to heal.”
“Doc and Ivy have me covered, plus you know Sam would never let one of her players”—because our head trainer is a pit bull when it comes to protecting us—“rush through their recovery.”
That calms her.
Because she knows Sam.
“Right.”
“Baby?”
She nibbles at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
She frowns, the vee between her brows deepening. “For what?”
“For being here even when I was being a dick. For caring enough to stick around.”
“Blake and I made a deal,” she says, taking the bag from me and tossing it into the back seat of her car.
Worry coils in my belly. “About what?”
“We’re going to get you used to it.” She turns toward me, coming close, resting her hand on my chest, just above my heart.
“Get used to it meaning…what exactly?”
“Having people take care of you.”
I rock back on my heels. “Kylie—”
“And that right there.” She lifts on tiptoe, presses her lips to my cheek. “That’s what you have to get used to, honey.”
“I don’t need—”
“I know.” Her fingers find mine, squeeze. “But I need to give it to my boyfriend.”
My heart’s pounding, skin stretched too tight around my body, discomfort in every fucking cell. I do things on my own. I’m fine on my own.
Except…I haven’t really been on my own since I came to the Sierra.
First, it was the locker room that Lake and Joey created and fostered, impossible to hang on the outskirts when they were determined to bind us together.
Then it was Knox and his demands that I join in on Game Nights, the way Riggs and the others all accepted me without thought.
And finally, it was Kylie with the shadows in her eyes and all that shy wielded as a shield to keep me away.
Shy that’s gone now.
Replaced by mischievous eyes and a smile I want to taste and a budding relationship with my brother.
Fuck, I never so much as stood a chance, did I?
“Resignation,” she teases. “Finally.”
I touch her cheek. “More like relief that I finally managed to convince you to use the B-word.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Too late. It’s out there.” A beat. “It’s been out there.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The fundraiser. The hospital. Just now.”
She taps a finger to her lips. “Hmm. Have the pain meds addled your brain?”
“Brat,” I mock-grumble, tugging at the end of her ponytail. “Now kiss me and get out of here before you’re late.”
For once, she doesn’t give me sass, just lays a kiss on me that threatens to turn all my good intentions about her going to work to ash then calmly steps back and drops into the driver’s seat.
A moment later, she’s gone.
But less than twenty minutes after that my phone buzzes and the message has my mouth tipping up.
Kylie: I’ll consider the boyfriend label.
Colt: Too late. You’re already mine.