Beautiful Player
Page 86
“Because you’re my friend . . . you’ve become my best friend.”
His expression softened. “Is that bad?”
“I don’t have a lot of friends and I don’t want to screw things up with you. It’s important.”
He smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from where it clung to my sweaty cheek. “It is.”
“I’m scared that this whole friends-who-bang thing will, as Max says, ‘go tits up.’?”
He laughed, but didn’t say anything in response to this.
“Aren’t you?” I asked, eyes searching his.
“Not for the same reasons you are, I don’t think.”
What did that even mean? I loved Will’s ability to remain contained, but right now I wanted to throttle him.
“But is it weird that even though you’re my best friend, I can’t stop thinking about you naked? Me naked. Us naked together and the way you make me feel when we’re naked? The way I hope I make you feel when we’re naked? I think about that a lot.”
He took a step closer, resting one hand on my hip and the other on my jaw. “It’s not weird. And Hanna?”
When he swept his thumb down over the pulse in my neck, I knew he was trying to tell me that he knew how much this scared me. I swallowed, whispering, “Yeah?”
“You know it’s important for me to be up front about things.”
I nodded.
“But . . . do you want to talk about this now? We can if you want but,” he said, squeezing my hip in reassurance, “we don’t have to.”
A tiny spike of panic went through me. We’d had this conversation before and it hadn’t gone well. I’d panicked and he’d taken it back. Would it be different this time? And how would I respond if he said he wanted me, but he didn’t want only me? I knew what I would say. I would tell him it wasn’t working for me anymore. That eventually . . . I’d walk away from this.
Smiling, I shook my head. “Not yet.”
He tilted his head, his lips moving to the shell of my ear. “Fine. But in that case I should tell you: nobody makes me feel like you do.” He said each word carefully, as if each one were placed on his tongue and he had to inspect them before he could let them go. “And I think about sex with you, too. A lot.”
It wasn’t exactly that it surprised me he thought about sex with me; that was fairly clear, given his ongoing commentary. But I suspected he wanted to be with me in some clarified, almost contract-oriented way as he did with all of his women, where it was discussed, and laid out in some sterile mutual agreement. I simply wasn’t sure whether for Will that meant committed f**king, or . . . less-committed f**king. After all, if nobody made him feel the way I did, then obviously someone else was out there trying, right?
“I realize you may have . . . plans for this weekend,” I started and his brows pulled together in frustration or confusion, I couldn’t tell, but I barreled on: “But if you do but you don’t want to have plans, or if you don’t have plans but would like to have plans, then you should come home with me for Easter.”
He pulled back just enough to see my face. “What?”
“I want you to come home with me. Mom always does an amazing Easter brunch. We can head up Saturday and head home Sunday afternoon. Do you have plans?”
“Uh—no,” he said, shaking his head. “No plans. You’re serious?”
“Would it be weird for you?” I asked.
“Not weird. It would be great to see Jensen, and your folks.” Mischief lit up his eyes. “I realize we probably won’t be telling the family about our recent sexcapades, but do I get to see your boobs while I’m there?”
“In private?” I asked. “Maybe.”
He tapped his chin, pretending to consider this. “Hmm . . . This is going to make me sound totally creepy, but . . . in your room?”
“My childhood room? You are a pervert,” I said, shaking my head. “But perhaps.”
“Then I’m in.”
“That’s all it took? Boobs? You’re that easy?”
He leaned in, pressed a kiss to my mouth, and said, “If you have to ask, then you still don’t know me very well.”Will showed up at my apartment Saturday morning, having parked an ancient green Subaru Outback at the fire hydrant gap. I lifted my brows as I looked from the car to him, at the way he proudly spun the keys around his finger.
“Very nice,” I said, stepping back through the door long enough to grab my bag.
His expression softened. “Is that bad?”
“I don’t have a lot of friends and I don’t want to screw things up with you. It’s important.”
He smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from where it clung to my sweaty cheek. “It is.”
“I’m scared that this whole friends-who-bang thing will, as Max says, ‘go tits up.’?”
He laughed, but didn’t say anything in response to this.
“Aren’t you?” I asked, eyes searching his.
“Not for the same reasons you are, I don’t think.”
What did that even mean? I loved Will’s ability to remain contained, but right now I wanted to throttle him.
“But is it weird that even though you’re my best friend, I can’t stop thinking about you naked? Me naked. Us naked together and the way you make me feel when we’re naked? The way I hope I make you feel when we’re naked? I think about that a lot.”
He took a step closer, resting one hand on my hip and the other on my jaw. “It’s not weird. And Hanna?”
When he swept his thumb down over the pulse in my neck, I knew he was trying to tell me that he knew how much this scared me. I swallowed, whispering, “Yeah?”
“You know it’s important for me to be up front about things.”
I nodded.
“But . . . do you want to talk about this now? We can if you want but,” he said, squeezing my hip in reassurance, “we don’t have to.”
A tiny spike of panic went through me. We’d had this conversation before and it hadn’t gone well. I’d panicked and he’d taken it back. Would it be different this time? And how would I respond if he said he wanted me, but he didn’t want only me? I knew what I would say. I would tell him it wasn’t working for me anymore. That eventually . . . I’d walk away from this.
Smiling, I shook my head. “Not yet.”
He tilted his head, his lips moving to the shell of my ear. “Fine. But in that case I should tell you: nobody makes me feel like you do.” He said each word carefully, as if each one were placed on his tongue and he had to inspect them before he could let them go. “And I think about sex with you, too. A lot.”
It wasn’t exactly that it surprised me he thought about sex with me; that was fairly clear, given his ongoing commentary. But I suspected he wanted to be with me in some clarified, almost contract-oriented way as he did with all of his women, where it was discussed, and laid out in some sterile mutual agreement. I simply wasn’t sure whether for Will that meant committed f**king, or . . . less-committed f**king. After all, if nobody made him feel the way I did, then obviously someone else was out there trying, right?
“I realize you may have . . . plans for this weekend,” I started and his brows pulled together in frustration or confusion, I couldn’t tell, but I barreled on: “But if you do but you don’t want to have plans, or if you don’t have plans but would like to have plans, then you should come home with me for Easter.”
He pulled back just enough to see my face. “What?”
“I want you to come home with me. Mom always does an amazing Easter brunch. We can head up Saturday and head home Sunday afternoon. Do you have plans?”
“Uh—no,” he said, shaking his head. “No plans. You’re serious?”
“Would it be weird for you?” I asked.
“Not weird. It would be great to see Jensen, and your folks.” Mischief lit up his eyes. “I realize we probably won’t be telling the family about our recent sexcapades, but do I get to see your boobs while I’m there?”
“In private?” I asked. “Maybe.”
He tapped his chin, pretending to consider this. “Hmm . . . This is going to make me sound totally creepy, but . . . in your room?”
“My childhood room? You are a pervert,” I said, shaking my head. “But perhaps.”
“Then I’m in.”
“That’s all it took? Boobs? You’re that easy?”
He leaned in, pressed a kiss to my mouth, and said, “If you have to ask, then you still don’t know me very well.”Will showed up at my apartment Saturday morning, having parked an ancient green Subaru Outback at the fire hydrant gap. I lifted my brows as I looked from the car to him, at the way he proudly spun the keys around his finger.
“Very nice,” I said, stepping back through the door long enough to grab my bag.
