His knee rests against my thighs, looking to get between them. If he does, I’m guaranteed to start dry-humping. I hold them tight together. If he gets in there, I lose this game. I’d really like to be able to control myself until we can make it to a location that isn’t a bathroom.

“You’re the one sending all the racy pictures.” His eyes drop to my mouth.

Game on. “Racy pictures? You mean of me in my skating outfit?”

“And the one of you fucking up my view with those tennis balls down your shirt.”

Cleavage selfies are not my specialty. Especially compared to that slutty bitch’s from last week. Not that I’m fixated on that, or anything.

I’m so, so screwed tonight. Any hope of rational decision-making has gone out the window. Not that I was honestly planning on making rational, smart decisions.

The pressure against my thighs increases, so I squeeze tighter. Randy’s breath leaves him on a heavy exhale. He smells vaguely of some fruity drink. I tip my chin up; it’s as close as I’m getting to caving.

“That skating outfit gave me hours of enjoyment.” His mouth descends on mine.

As soon as our lips connect, I part mine and welcome his tongue. I also part my legs and welcome his thigh by grinding on it like I’m pole dancing. Randy doesn’t seem to have a warm-up button. He caresses the outside of my leg, reaching the hem of my skirt.

“Please tell me this means we’re fucking tonight,” he groans into my mouth.

“Uh-huh.”

We’re rubbing up on each other like cats in heat. I don’t even know what the hell is happening. His hands are all over the place: under my skirt kneading my ass, over my dress palming my boobs.

“I need to get you into a bed,” he mumbles.

“I have a room upstairs.”

“Why are we in here then?”

“Because you followed me like a creepy stalker.”

He breaks free from our kiss. “Creepy stalker? Is that what you really think?”

His gaze is intense. I gauge the tension in his posture and run a soft hand down the side of his neck. “No.”

“No?”

I decide now is a good time to be vulnerable. I’m not trying to take advantage of the situation, because let’s face it, this man knows his way around a woman’s body. My experience is limited to Benji—who I’m discovering wasn’t an awesome lay—and the few guys I hooked up with while we were on one of our breaks.

“I’m deflecting.”

“Deflecting what?”

“I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

The hand on my boob stills, along with his knee between my legs. “A disappointment? How the fuck is that possible?”

I cringe. “I don’t know why I said that. You make it hard to think.” I wish I could stop embarrassing myself.

“You don’t need to think about anything other than how good I’m going to make you feel as soon as we get to a bed.” He cups my cheek in his palm—it’s rough, and warm, and tender all at the same time. “Where’s your room?”

I tell him, as best I can, in clipped, nervous directions.

“I’ll meet you there in five minutes.” He kisses me again, hard. When he’s done owning my mouth, he opens the door, checks things out, and sends me on ahead.

Chapter 9

No Disappointments

RANDY

I need a minute to gather myself.

I watch Lily rush around the corner as I adjust my hard-on. Her dress is driving me insane. When I was ten I took a year of figure skating. Me and Miller went together. We thought it was stupid. We could already skate; we didn’t need to learn leaps and spins and twirls.

Then we met our coach and stopped thinking it was such a waste of time. Her name was Deanna. She was a hardass, and she was hot as sin. She was probably only seventeen or eighteen at the time, but she was the first chick I ever got a hard-on over, and eventually, she was the reason behind my first wet dream. Lily’s even hotter, and this time I get to live the fantasy, not just make a mess in my sheets over it.

Lily is a riot, and she’s been dishing it out as good as she can take it all week in our messages. So I came tonight with a preconceived idea of how this would go. And then she drops this little gem: “I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

That’s a serious screeching-tires moment. I don’t think I’ve ever slept with a chick—at least not since I was drafted—who seemed at all concerned about her ability to please me, let alone expressed worry about potentially disappointing me.

Most of the time, the women who get in bed with me have zero inhibitions. They get naked and offer themselves up any way I want them. It’s a little fucked up, to be honest. Lily doesn’t fit into the bunny mold. So I’m having a few reservations about what’s about to go down—not enough to back things up, but enough that I need to re-evaluate my strategy.

I don’t get how someone who looks like Lily and moves like Lily could have as little self-confidence as she seems to. Unless she’s playing mind games. I don’t see why she would, though. I also feel like maybe I need to find that ex-boyfriend of hers and beat on him a little. Or a lot. I bet he’s directly related to her sometimes shaky self-esteem.

All week I’ve been fixated on getting to this point: the one where she’s naked again. But this time I’ll be privileged enough to experience that tight little body from the inside. Tonight needs to be about more than a good time. She needs to come out of this situation feeling like a damn porn star—okay, maybe not a porn star, but she needs to feel sexy. It needs to be good for her. And above all else, it needs to be fun.