Beautiful Player
Page 17
“Yes, but lately you’re always talking my ear off.”
With a little wink, she leaned forward to whisper, “But maybe you kind of love it?”
Unbidden, my mind flooded with the fantasy of her neck arched, her mouth open in a hoarse plea while I licked a line from the hollow of her throat to her jaw. I imagined her nails digging into my shoulders, the sharp sting of pain . . . and blinked, standing and pushing my chair back so quickly that it hit the chair behind me. I apologized to the man seated there, apologized to Ziggy, and practically sprinted to the restroom.
Locking the door behind me, I wheeled around on my reflection. “What the actual f**k was that, Sumner?” I bent to splash a handful of cold water over my face.
Bracing my hands on the sink, I met my own eyes in the mirror again. “It was just an image. It wasn’t anything. She’s a sweet kid. She’s pretty. But, one: she’s Jensen’s sister. Two: she’s Liv’s sister, and you practically dry-humped Liv in a shed when she was seventeen. I think you cashed in your single Bergstrom-Sister-Hookup Card already. And three . . .” I bent my head, took a deep breath. “Three. You wear track pants around her way too often to be having sexual fantasies without her getting wise. Put a lid on it. Go home, call Kitty or Kristy, get some head, call it a day.”
When I returned to the table, Ziggy had nearly polished off her salad and was watching people move down the sidewalk. She looked up when I sat down, concern etching her features. “Stomach troubles?”
“What? No. No, I . . . had to call someone.”
Fuck. That sounded douchey. I winced, and then sighed. “I actually should probably go, Ziggs. I’ve been here for a couple of hours, and was planning to get a few things done this afternoon.”
Damnit. That sounded even douchier.
She pulled her wallet from her purse and put down a few fives. “Of course. God, I have a ton to do, too. Thanks so much for letting me meet you here. And thanks so much for hooking me up with Chloe and Sara.” With one more smile she stood, hitched her bag over her shoulder, collected her shopping bags, and walked to the door.
Her sandy hair shone and fell most of the way down her back. Her spine was straight, her gait steady. Her ass looked f**king amazing in the jeans she wore.
Holy f**k, Will. You are so goddamn screwed.
Chapter Three
This running thing really wasn’t getting any easier.
“This running thing will get easier,” Will insisted, looking down at where I sat, slumped over in a whiny pile on the ground. “Have some patience.”
I pulled a few blades of brown grass from the frost, mumbling to myself exactly what Will could do with his patience. It was early, the sky was still dull and gray and not even the birds seemed willing to venture out into the cold. We’d run together almost every morning for the past week and a half, and I was sore in places I didn’t even know I owned.
“And stop being a brat,” he added.
Looking up at him, eyes narrowed, I asked, “What did you say?”
“I said get your ass up here.”
I stood, lagging behind a few steps before jogging to catch up. He glanced over at me, assessing. “Still stiff?”
I shrugged. “A little.”
“As stiff as you were on Friday?”
I considered this, rolling my shoulders and stretching my arms over my head. “Not really.”
“And does your chest still feel like—how did you put it—like someone doused your lungs in gasoline and lit them on fire?”
I glared at him. “No.”
“See? And next week it’ll get easier. And the week after that you’ll crave running the way I bet you sometimes crave chocolate.”
I opened my mouth to lie but he quieted me with a knowing look.
“This week we’ll call and get you with someone who’ll keep you on track and before you know it—”
“What do you mean ‘we’ll get me with someone’?” We moved into a jog and I lengthened my stride to match his.
He gave me a brief glance. “Someone to run with you. Like a trainer.”
The bare trees seemed enough to insulate us because, though I could see the tops of buildings and the skyline in the distance, the sounds of the city felt miles away. Our feet pounded over fallen leaves and bits of loose gravel in the path, and it narrowed just enough that I had to adjust my steps. My shoulder brushed against his and I was close enough to smell him, the scent of soap and mint and a hint of coffee clinging to his skin.
“I’m confused, why can’t I just run with you?”
With a little wink, she leaned forward to whisper, “But maybe you kind of love it?”
Unbidden, my mind flooded with the fantasy of her neck arched, her mouth open in a hoarse plea while I licked a line from the hollow of her throat to her jaw. I imagined her nails digging into my shoulders, the sharp sting of pain . . . and blinked, standing and pushing my chair back so quickly that it hit the chair behind me. I apologized to the man seated there, apologized to Ziggy, and practically sprinted to the restroom.
Locking the door behind me, I wheeled around on my reflection. “What the actual f**k was that, Sumner?” I bent to splash a handful of cold water over my face.
Bracing my hands on the sink, I met my own eyes in the mirror again. “It was just an image. It wasn’t anything. She’s a sweet kid. She’s pretty. But, one: she’s Jensen’s sister. Two: she’s Liv’s sister, and you practically dry-humped Liv in a shed when she was seventeen. I think you cashed in your single Bergstrom-Sister-Hookup Card already. And three . . .” I bent my head, took a deep breath. “Three. You wear track pants around her way too often to be having sexual fantasies without her getting wise. Put a lid on it. Go home, call Kitty or Kristy, get some head, call it a day.”
When I returned to the table, Ziggy had nearly polished off her salad and was watching people move down the sidewalk. She looked up when I sat down, concern etching her features. “Stomach troubles?”
“What? No. No, I . . . had to call someone.”
Fuck. That sounded douchey. I winced, and then sighed. “I actually should probably go, Ziggs. I’ve been here for a couple of hours, and was planning to get a few things done this afternoon.”
Damnit. That sounded even douchier.
She pulled her wallet from her purse and put down a few fives. “Of course. God, I have a ton to do, too. Thanks so much for letting me meet you here. And thanks so much for hooking me up with Chloe and Sara.” With one more smile she stood, hitched her bag over her shoulder, collected her shopping bags, and walked to the door.
Her sandy hair shone and fell most of the way down her back. Her spine was straight, her gait steady. Her ass looked f**king amazing in the jeans she wore.
Holy f**k, Will. You are so goddamn screwed.
Chapter Three
This running thing really wasn’t getting any easier.
“This running thing will get easier,” Will insisted, looking down at where I sat, slumped over in a whiny pile on the ground. “Have some patience.”
I pulled a few blades of brown grass from the frost, mumbling to myself exactly what Will could do with his patience. It was early, the sky was still dull and gray and not even the birds seemed willing to venture out into the cold. We’d run together almost every morning for the past week and a half, and I was sore in places I didn’t even know I owned.
“And stop being a brat,” he added.
Looking up at him, eyes narrowed, I asked, “What did you say?”
“I said get your ass up here.”
I stood, lagging behind a few steps before jogging to catch up. He glanced over at me, assessing. “Still stiff?”
I shrugged. “A little.”
“As stiff as you were on Friday?”
I considered this, rolling my shoulders and stretching my arms over my head. “Not really.”
“And does your chest still feel like—how did you put it—like someone doused your lungs in gasoline and lit them on fire?”
I glared at him. “No.”
“See? And next week it’ll get easier. And the week after that you’ll crave running the way I bet you sometimes crave chocolate.”
I opened my mouth to lie but he quieted me with a knowing look.
“This week we’ll call and get you with someone who’ll keep you on track and before you know it—”
“What do you mean ‘we’ll get me with someone’?” We moved into a jog and I lengthened my stride to match his.
He gave me a brief glance. “Someone to run with you. Like a trainer.”
The bare trees seemed enough to insulate us because, though I could see the tops of buildings and the skyline in the distance, the sounds of the city felt miles away. Our feet pounded over fallen leaves and bits of loose gravel in the path, and it narrowed just enough that I had to adjust my steps. My shoulder brushed against his and I was close enough to smell him, the scent of soap and mint and a hint of coffee clinging to his skin.
“I’m confused, why can’t I just run with you?”
