Out of Bounds (6 page)

Crap. I want to smack myself. So much for being cool. So much for not letting on. This man rattles me.

But judging from the flummoxed look on his face, I’ve rattled him too. He stares at me, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? I stopped by your house the next day. I tried to text you but I didn’t get the last digit down, so I came by the next day to ask you out. I had no idea you worked for the team.”

“And I had no idea—” I stop when my brain snags on what he just said. Making a T with my hands, I call a timeout. “Wait. Did you say you stopped by?”

He nods several times. “When I realized I didn’t have your full number, I wrote a note, and brought it over to your home and left it on your porch. Tucked it right under the plant by your door.”

Butterflies swoop down out of nowhere, landing in my chest. “You did?” I ask, and I can’t mask the hope in my tone. “What did you say in it?”

A grin spreads on his face, a sweet and sexy smile. He licks his lips. Speaks softly. “That I had a nice time with you. That I messed up your number. That I wanted to know if you’d have any interest in giving me a surfing lesson.”

The note must have gotten lost in all the menus and coupons. I bet Mrs. Fitzsimmons picked it up accidentally when she watered the plants. Probably tossed it in the recycling like she does with the flyers.

In an instant my frustration seeps away. All I want to do is kiss the daylights out of him. But I can’t do that. Instead, I meet his hazel gaze and say, “I would have said yes.”
Shivers
spread across my skin from my own admission.

His voice is soft and smoky when he answers. “I like it when you say that word.”

I say it again, even though it’s far too risky to use with him. But I inch closer and let it fall from my lips in a soft whisper. “Yes.”

He draws a sharp breath. His eyes darken. “Sounds so fucking good on your lips.”

Those shivers turn into heat, like a fire has ignited in my chest, and it spreads everywhere. Filling me with lust and desire all from that one word.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

How I want us to say yes.

“You really didn’t get my phone number?”

He shakes his head. “I really didn’t get your number.” His hazel eyes twinkle. He looks happy, and it’s a look he wears extraordinarily well. I cast my eyes around the room, cataloguing the din of all my colleagues in the front office as well as the guys on the field, chatting, drinking, nibbling on appetizers, posing for photos in front of the banner. I’m glad that the noise and hubbub of the conversations are keeping everyone else busy. “Trust me, Dani. If I had that last digit I would have texted you five minutes after I left, and again that night. And after I got home. And before I fell asleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

His words light me up. My whole body is humming. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you either, and I had a great time talking to you on the beach and at the bar. I could tell you wanted to just be a regular Joe, so I wanted you to be free to do that with me. But I swear I didn’t know you were going to be traded to Los Angeles. I really do think it’s terrific to have you on the team. I know what you did last year. Top-ten quarterback rating in the league, and only one interception. That was impressive,” I say, and he blushes.

Holy
shit. Drew Erickson blushes when I compliment his stats.

“Who would have thought we’d be playing on the same team? But maybe later, we can pick up where we left off?” he suggests. “Or perhaps we can get a Slurpee and test my brain-freeze cure again. Cold heads seem to be our thing.”

That’s when the sexy flirty feeling fades away. The bubble bursts. The awareness of what a mistake this would be sinks down on me like an anvil.

Chuck. Bambi. Sex scandals like they’re a regular daily routine.

“Shoot,” I say, heavily, like it has twenty syllables.

“Shoot?”

I shake my head. “We can’t. With the trouble the team has been through in the last year . . . I can’t take a chance of anything that would be”—I pause, hunting for the word—“inappropriate. Even remotely inappropriate.”

No way in hell would management want a lawyer diddling with a player. I may not be waving pom-poms on the field, and I’m not wet behind the ears like Bambi, but I know a bad idea.

And this is a world-class-variety bad idea.

He strokes his chin. “We don’t want to put the team in a bad light.”

“And it’s your first year here,” I add because I don’t want to seem like the buzzkill. We both have a lot at stake. My job, his job, the team’s reputation.

“Exactly. Gotta keep everything above board. But, I bet there’s no rule that we can’t be friends,” he says, with a playful glint in his eyes.

I can’t help it. I smile too. This man can charm the panties off me any day.

I mean, the pants.

He’s
totally not charming my thong off. That little lacy number is staying where it belongs.

In fact, we spend the next ten minutes chatting about the new place he rented in Santa Monica, and I tell him how the Santa Monica Pier is one of my favorite spots in the world to watch the sunset. “Plus, there’s whack-a-mole games,” I say.

“And Skee-Ball?” he asks, pressing his palms together in prayer. “Please say there’s Skee-Ball too.”

“Of course. I did say it was one of the greatest places in the universe.”

He cups his hands around his mouth like he’s about to tell me a secret. “I feel I should let you know. I’m fucking awesome at Skee-ball.”

I laugh. “Well, I should hope that magic arm of yours can work wonders”

He wiggles an eyebrow. “I have good hands too.”

And tingles rush down my spine. “Why do I feel like you can turn anything into a naughty comment?”

He blows on his fingers. “Because I can.”

“We’re supposed to be friendly, not flirty,” I whisper.

He has no chance to reply, because the redheaded guy from the charity marches up to us and asks for a photo op with Drew. The photo turns into a long conversation, and it’s time for me to call it a night. Since the Wi-Fi in the reception room is crummy, I head to the lobby to open my Uber app. I carpooled here with a coworker but she took off early when her son’s babysitter had to leave unexpectedly.

I enter my location in the app, but before I can finish, I stop tapping. I turn around. Drew’s by my side.

“
You’re not leaving without saying good-bye, are you?”

“Of course not. Just ordering an Uber. I was going to say good-bye.”

He covers my hand with his. “Don’t take an Uber. I’ll drive you home.”

It’s a bad idea, but I don’t resist.

Five minutes later, I slide into the front seat of his Tesla and pull away from the hotel.

Chapter Six

Drew

Dani stretches out her legs in the front seat, and I can barely concentrate on the road anymore.

Those strong calves. Those black heels. That tight little waist. This woman is too fucking sexy. Too fucking funny. Such a straight shooter too, and it turns me on to no end. That’s the problem. I can’t afford to be turned on. Need to keep my blinders on.

I grip the wheel tighter as I pull onto the ramp for the freeway heading to Venice Beach. Best to keep the conversation one-hundred percent friendly. So I choose an easy topic. “What’s your favorite movie?” I ask, because I’ve got to get my mind off her body. I need to focus on her as a colleague, not the woman I wanted to take to bed the last time I saw her.

She turns her face to me. “You want to do the favorites game now? Is that part of your ‘friendly, not flirty’ approach?”

I smile as I click on the blinker to merge. “Indeed it is. Big movie fan here. So fess up, woman.”

“
Heaven Can Wait
, of course,” she says, winking.

I scoff. “You can’t pick a football movie.”

“Why not?”

“Because we work in football. Sports movies are ruled out.”

“But it’s an awesome movie.”

I nod, agreeing as I press the brake. Traffic is slowing ahead. This city is crazy. Even late at night, there are traffic jams. “
Heaven Can Wait
is so damn good. So is
Bull Durham
, and
Friday
Night Lights
, and
Hoop Dreams
. The cinema on the promenade in Santa Monica is showing some of the best sports flicks in a few weeks.”

“See? No one can resist the pull of
Heaven Can Wait
. It’s the kind of football movie that even non–football fans love.”

I scowl. “There are people who don’t like football?”

She shrugs. “I’ve heard about their existence. Small little pockets on the outskirts of society.”

“Seems terribly sad to be such a person.”

“It’s woefully devastating, Drew.”

“Horribly dismal.”

“Awfully troubling.”

“Hey, show-off,” I say, raising my chin, as I cut into the next lane when a spot opens up between a white Toyota and a black SUV. “Got a favorite adverb?”

“Hmm,” she says, tapping her pink polished fingernails along the window. Her lips quirk as she considers the question. She tilts her head, and says slowly, like she’s savoring the word, “
Blissfully.
”

“That’s your favorite adverb?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I like bliss. Do you have something against bliss?”

Fuck me now.
The way she says that is like a naughty little taunt. “You’re supposed to be friendly with me, Dani,” I say, in a warning.

“That wasn’t friendly?”

“No, that was naughty. Incredibly naughty.”

“Then perhaps
naughtily
should be my favorite adverb.”

The
taillights of the Toyota wink on and off. As the car ahead of me slows, I press the brake harder. Traffic comes to a standstill. I try to peer around the cars to get a read on the situation. “What’s going on up there?”

“Probably construction. I should have turned on my traffic app. I usually do but I was distracted,” she says, sounding annoyed with herself.

“What distracted you?”

She roams her eyes over me, like she’s cataloguing my face, my chest, my arms, my legs. She shakes her head, purses her lips. Then a soft sigh falls from her lips, a hint of frustration in it.

“You,” she whispers. “That’s the problem.”

So much for the favorites game. My blinders fall off, and my focus on friendship flies out the window momentarily.

I lift my hand, reach for her face, and cup her cheek. She gasps, and before either one of us can say another word—before I can evaluate or analyze—I dip my mouth to hers and kiss those delicious lips. She opens for me. Her tongue darts out, sliding between my lips. She nips, running her teeth along my bottom lip, and out of nowhere a quick kiss turns into a hot, dirty one.

A car horn honks from behind, and we pull apart. But the white sedan in front of me has only moved twenty feet. I drive slowly, running one hand along Dani’s leg, down to the hem of her skirt. My fingers play at the hem, and she murmurs as we slink along. Traffic crawls at a snail’s pace. My eyes drift to her legs, so toned and strong. The whole look she has working tonight is killing me.

More than that, the whole notion of resistance is killing me.

I
tell myself just one touch, just one night won’t hurt a thing. It won’t harm the team, and it won’t knock me off my game.

I inch my finger under her skirt, and she lets her knee fall open the slightest bit.

“You’re so not friendly either,” she says in a playful pout.

“I’m completely the opposite right now.” My fingers travel up the soft flesh of her thighs. My dick hardens even more, hungry for this woman. She wriggles in her leather seat, as I drive slowly, so goddamn slowly. Right now, though, I’m grateful for the traffic. Because I can do this to her.

My fingers tiptoe higher, and higher still, and Dani rests her head against the leather, her mouth falling open, her breath catching. As I ascend to the top of her thigh, the pads of my fingers sliding over her soft flesh, she reaches for her tight skirt, and tugs it up higher.

Then she opens her legs.

Dani

I might be crazy.

I might be foolish.

I might be a million things.

What I am for certain is turned on beyond any and all measure.

We’re surrounded by cars, and yet totally alone in his air-conditioned electric vehicle. I know better. I
get
the risks. I swear I do. But right now with traffic stalled, and his hands on me, my body is in charge and it’s seeking that adverb. I want to be touched
blissfully
. Stroked
tantalizingly
. Gotten off
powerfully
.

Besides,
this is just a little sliver of time. It’s a sealed-off moment in his automobile. This isn’t going to hurt anyone.

In fact, it seems the opposite of hurt. His touch makes my skin sizzle. Makes my insides sing with pleasure.

Drew doesn’t need any direction. He’s game and his fingers slide along the wet panel of my panties. He’s got an eye on the road, but he keeps stealing glances at me.

“Told you I didn’t feel cordial toward you right now,” I whisper.

He flashes a wicked grin as he slips one finger under the panel, making me moan. Because it feels so good when he touches me. He flicks the pad of his finger where I want him most, and I arch into him.

“I don’t want you to feel cordial right now.”

“How do you want me to feel?” I ask, my pitch rising as he strokes me. Oh dear lord, his hands are wonderful. His touch is electric. Firm, but tender, as he paints dizzying strokes up and down my center. He teases me, then traces lingering, luxurious lines along my wetness, and I rock my hips into his hand.

“Hot. Bothered. Ecstatic,” he says, as the car inches forward, one of his hands on the wheel.

“Those words all fit.” I spread my legs wider.

A rumble escapes his lips. “Yeah, do that. I fucking love that. Love seeing you get so turned on you open your legs for me.”

His dirty words are like a charge, as if someone plugged me in, and I’m electrified. His fingers travel up and down, up and down, then around and around. He centers his strokes on my
clit,
and the pleasure builds, rippling across my skin. Like fireworks inside me, starting small, climbing higher, then shooting up to the sky.