Page 42 of Dirty Player
“Yeah, but you still didn’t have to like the game. You could have supported him without it.”
I grinned then. “It’s more fun this way.”
He fell silent after that, seemingly lost in his thoughts.
After several blocks where he seemed to be twisting his car around the streets of downtown instead of heading out to his place, when he spoke again, he surprised me.
“I have to admit—that catch was awesome.”
“Soft fingers,” I whispered. “It was incredible to watch. Everyone around me went insane when you hurdled the defender.”
He pulled up to a building and shoved the gearshift into park. We idled at the curb, and I looked at where he’d stopped us. A hotel.
Disappointment uncurled in my stomach.
I closed my eyes and let a soft breath fall from my lips.
“Trust me,” he said, reaching out to open his door. “When I get you to my room, my fingers will be anything but soft.”
The desire that was there before sparked, but fizzled quickly as I realized what we were doing.
What I was doing with him.
A hotel. A one-night stand.
Was I really prepared for all of this? For the whispers and the gossips and being treated like his latest fling?
I had never been one to live so recklessly.
Yet hadn’t I earned it? Didn’t I deserve a month of hot sex and fun and no strings and everything else single people experienced all through their twenties?
It was that realization that made me force down my disappointment and the increasing unease as my door was opened.
“Good evening, Mr. Powell. Good game earlier.”
“Thank you, Frank,” Oliver said, lifting his hand toward me as he stood next to the bellhop who had opened my door.
Frank was old, his hands speckled with liver spots, leathered skin telling me that when he was younger he spent too much time in the sun and used too little sunscreen. His eyes met mine with a kind smile. “Good evening, miss.”
“Shannon,” Oliver said, pulling me out of the car. He’d already grabbed my overnight bag and it was thrown over his shoulder. “She’ll be here frequently.”
A glimmer of excitement hit Oliver’s eyes as he made his intent clear.
“Very well, sir,” Frank said and closed the door behind me. He took the keys from Oliver and gripped them in his palm. “Straight to the garage tonight?”
“You have a break coming up?”
“Always plan on it when I know you’re coming.”
“Then take it for a spin, but be kind to her.”
“Will do, sir.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Call me Oliver, for the love of God, Frank.”
Frank winked at me before shaking his head. “Can’t cross all the lines with my job. You know that.”
Oliver smiled at him—the first genuine smile I’d seen on him all night. I had watched the entire conversation slack-jawed. When he slid that grin in my direction, my mouth snapped closed.
