Page 23 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
“Oh, um, yeah.” She waves her hand. “Just thinking about some things I might need.”
I don’t believe her for a minute.
I stare at her, not saying anything.
She starts babbling. “You know. More toothpaste. Mouthwash. Body wash.”
I cross my arms over my chest. Now I know something’s wrong.
I move closer. She swallows hard, looking uncomfortable.
I squat down in front of her. “Pey. What’s wrong?”
Her throat works. “Pey. No one’s called me that in a long time.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m just not used to,” she waves her hand around. “This.”
“Someone helping you.” It’s not a question.
“Yes.”
I reach out slowly, my hand tucking a lock of her silky hair behind her ear. My fingers graze her soft skin, sending a bolt of electricity from my fingers to my shoulder.
My voice is low and raspy. “You’ll get used to it.”
She stares at me, her eyes softening.
The air between us is heavy.
“I should get changed.”
I nod, then stand.
The moment feels ruined. Which is probably for the best.
Peyton is relationship material.
And I’m... not.
“I’ll let you change.” I head to the door, then pause, not looking at her. “Just... be careful with your ankle.”
“I will.” Her voice is soft. Regretful. Like she hates that she spoke, ruining the moment between us.
I exit, shutting the door behind me. But I don’t leave.
Instead, I stare at the closed bathroom door for a solid five seconds. Then ten.
Jesus Christ.My entire body feels tight. Tense. Like every ounce of self-control I possess is hanging by a thread because of her black lace panties and that damn vibrator.
The image of Peyton Sinclair sitting on my guest bed, smiling at me like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Which she probably does.
I drag a hand down my face. “This is a disaster,” I mutter to myself.
I’ve known Peyton for months now. And every moment we’re apart, I try not to think about her. And fail spectacularly.
Somehow, all that we’ve been through hasn’t prepared me for unpacking her panties.... or her vibrator.
