of her very tiny shorts. The damn things were so small the pockets hung beneath the hem, exposing her incredible thighs. “I want it to be you, Hendrix. But make no mistake—this is a decision I’m making for me. I’m done carrying around my virginity like some designer purse for someone to steal like it’s a trophy. If you don’t want it to be you, that’s okay. I’ll just have to choose someone else.” She turned and walked out of the boathouse.
A few moments later, I heard her car drive away.
“Fuck!” I shouted to the heavens, to my own demons, to whomever was willing to listen.
I wanted it to be me, but that didn’t mean it could be.
“Holy shit, you almost took my head off with that one,” Weston cursed, winding up and throwing the football back at me.
“Sorry.” I caught it easily—that was my job, after all. A job he paid me millions a year to do with as much accuracy as possible.
“It’s okay, but if I wanted to die in my own backyard, I’d ask Nixon to throw with me,” He called across the twenty feet that separated us in his backyard.
“Nixon is in Brazil.” I tossed it back in a perfect spiral. “Besides, you’ve been throwing with me since high school. You’re just a creature of habit.”
“You know what I mean, jackass.” He grinned as he caught it this time, sporting a Raptor tee and athletic shorts instead of his normal business suit.
Usually, we used our once-a-week facetime to catch up. The fact that we’d been friends since high school wasn’t broadly advertised among the Raptors. Not because I was embarrassed, but because I didn’t want anyone thinking that’s how I’d gotten my contract. The fact that Weston’s dad had died our senior year of college, leaving him more money than God and an NFL team was a coincidence. Kind of.
But today, I was distracted. Itchy. Tense.
It had been two days since Savannah had shown up at the boathouse, offering her body on a silver platter with a polite little please. But there was nothing polite about the things I wanted to do to her—the things playing over and over in my mind.
“What’s your issue?” Weston tossed the ball.
“I’m fine.” I caught it.
“Say that to someone who doesn’t know you. You’ll have a better chance at playing them off with a little smirk.”
I threw it a little harder.
“Oof.” He grunted as he caught it, then tilted his head at me, doing that little appraisal he was known for. Weston’s dad had been a numbers guy—turned money into more money while he slept. Weston, however, had a unique ability to read people.
An ability I cursed as he crossed the grass.
“Spill it,” he said when he got close enough to stop shouting. Not that there was anyone around.
“There’s nothing.” My jaw ticked. Since signing with the Raptors, there were definite lines I couldn’t cross with Weston, and this was one of them. Giving in to Savannah jeopardized my position on the team. Even if we kept it quiet, there was always the chance of Coach finding out.
“You have the same look on your face that you did junior year when Daisy Rodriguez dumped you after the state finals.” He stuck the ball under his arm and lowered his sunglasses, staring at me over the frames.
“She’d moved on to the next sport,” I joked. “Besides, we handled that with punching bags and what? Cliff diving, right?”
Weston laughed. “Yeah, well, those hands are insured for a million dollars, and I’m pretty sure your contract keeps you from doing stupid shit with me these days.” The guy was an adrenaline junkie—that hadn’t changed.
“You can’t help me with this one anyway,” I answered with a shrug. “I can’t remember... you ever want something you couldn’t have?”
“Besides my father’s love and affection?” he joked.
I shook my head at his self-deprecating humor. “This is something that could go badly. So badly.”
“Oh, really?” His eyebrows lifted, always up for anything that spiked his blood pressure. “Would this something be a woman?”
“Maybe. You’re better off not knowing.”
“The possibilities are endless when you put it that way.” He slipped his phone from his pocket and answered a text. “Brynn just got here with some papers,” he said in explanation. “I’ve never known from you to back down from a challenge.”
“Would you ever jump out of a plane with a chute that was only fifty-percent guaranteed to open?”
He put his phone away. “Now my curiosity is piqued.”