The Trouble With Quarterbacks - R.S. Grey Page 0,110
From there, Ryan leads me to where he has the SUV parked, and we move along in the queue of cars toward the exit. There’s no point in waiting for Logan to join me before I leave the stadium. He’ll have to do postgame press on the field then have a shower in the locker room. Sometimes he has to do more interviews after that as well. Still, it’ll only be about an hour or so before he gets back to the flat.
An hour! Hardly any time, really.
Once Ryan drops me in front of our building, I dash off toward the lifts, waving at the doorman and receptionist. They congratulate me on the good game and I thank them without stopping. I officially moved in with Logan only a few weeks after we started dating. Kat had a wild change of heart about the whole living together situation after she and Jay had their shotgun wedding, and it’s not like she could keep me from moving out once she had. We offered to cover our portion of the rent for Yasmine, but she could easily afford the entire thing, and she was happy to convert our bedroom into a home office for herself. It all worked out really well, actually. No need to burn anyone’s bras!
Speaking of bras, right when I make it up to our flat, I head for our bedroom. Decisions, decisions. I’ve got quite a bit of lingerie in here. Logan’s got a sweet spot for it. He says it makes it so I’m a present he gets to unwrap slowly. Ooh la la. I pass over the red set he got me for Valentine’s Day, and the black set I wore for him the night he proposed. I settle on a pale blue lacy bra and panties. There are matching stockings and a garter belt too.
With an indulgent smile, I lay the lingerie out on the little bench in the closet and then head for the kitchen. I couldn’t eat dinner earlier—nervous stomach—so I grab a protein bar and chow down, knowing I’ll need my strength for the night ahead. I check my mobile while I eat, scrolling through photos of the game that have already been posted. I linger too long, staring at each one, studying them while I chew slowly. There’s this one close-up shot of Logan on the field, about to throw a pass. His arm is cocked back and his body is stretched taut. In spite of the helmet and pads and uniform (or maybe because of them), he looks absolutely mouthwatering. I love when he’s in his element, all intense. He completely zones out. I could be standing on the sidelines in a cheerleading costume, waving pom-poms, and he wouldn’t even notice. I could strip off the cheerleading costume on the sidelines and wave around my ta-tas, and still, nothing. He only has one goal while he’s on that field, and it’s to win at all costs.
I get a little hot just thinking about it. All that severe, determined concentration…it’s the same way he gets in the bedroom.
I’m forced to use the empty protein bar wrapper to fan my face, but it doesn’t do the trick. Oh well, I need a shower anyway. Just a quick rinse. I got quite sweaty when I was leaping up and down back at the stadium, shouting at our team and their team—anyone, really—and getting a little carried away. It’s a wonder I still have a voice.
In our bathroom, I wrap my hair up in a bun so it doesn’t get wet and step under the hot water in the shower. I use my floral-scented body wash to lather up my arms. There’s nervous energy humming inside me, like I’m a little kid waiting for Santa to leave me presents on Christmas Eve. I exfoliate my arms and legs until my skin is silky smooth. It gets quite steamy in there because the water feels so good and I’m in no rush to get out.
Then, I hear a noise.
The bathroom door opens.
I scream and splay out against the cold marble wall behind me, reaching for anything within my grasp—a loofah. Oh good, that’ll really hurt a robber. Nice going, Candace.
“It’s just me,” Logan says, strolling into the bathroom all cocksure and pleased with himself. He’s wearing athletic shorts and his team’s t-shirt. His hair is still damp with sweat, so it looks inky black.
“What are you doing home already?!” I ask, stepping forward and wiping