Page 53 of Dirty Player
She was letting me see it, despite thinking we were moving too fast, despite wanting to run from me. A part of her, I knew, felt the same way about me that I did about her. There was a pull between us, magnetic and strong and fierce. Neither of us necessarily wanted it, but it also couldn’t be denied.
Running was futile.
Burning it out, impossible.
I memorized plays and studied my opponent for a living. I studied game films and had played football long enough to adjust my game plan in a split second on the field when I saw a defender barreling down on me.
For the last seven years, since I’d played the field since Serena walked away, her pockets lined with millions, no one had ever made me want to change my game plan.
This woman…this sexy as fuck, intelligent, beautiful, kind, guarded, and fucking messy as hell woman rocked everything beneath my feet.
I struggled with what was happening inside me before I realized she was watching me, waiting for my judgment.
“You’re talented,” I admitted. A strange buzzing whirred maniacally in my ears. “Incredibly talented. Everything I can see is absolutely stunning, and I’m not just saying that to get in your panties.”
I flashed her an awkward look, one I hoped like hell she let slide.
My chest burned. My shirt or my skin was too tight. I needed to get out of there and I suddenly understood her reaction that morning in the shower.
I was too much for her.
She was too much for me. She made me feel too much, think too much, question fucking everything.
“Thank you,” she muttered, the bright red on her cheeks fading to a dull pink.
I had the urge to reach out and smooth it away with my thumb. Tell her how much she impressed me. Spill my guts at her feet and hope like hell she didn’t stomp all over them.
I shoved my hands to my hips to stop myself. She had shown me her inner sanctum, and doing so had blown everything to smithereens.
“I should let you get to work,” I mumbled, looking around everywhere except at her.
“Okay.”
She didn’t stop me. Didn’t move or seem to notice the insanity burning deep inside me. And it was all her fucking fault.
“I need to go work out.”
“I’ll let you get to it then.” She set a stack of bills she’d been flipping through down on the desk and walked toward me. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Okay.” I stepped back and out of the room, hoping like hell the open warehouse feeling of the front area would fill my lungs with a cooling breath. Everything buzzed brighter and hotter as she walked me to the front door.
I could barely look at her when she pulled it open, stepping aside so I could walk through. What in the hell would she see on my damn face? The look of a man who had just realized that for the first time in over a decade he actually thought he was falling for some woman?
It was bullshit. I’d known her over a week, seen her a total of four times—five if you counted this morning. I didn’t believe in that “first sight” fantasy bullshit unless it was lust.
This was more, though—headier—and it made my head spin.
“I’ll see you later?” I asked, barely able to choke out the words. I was lost, free-falling.
“Bye, Oliver.”
I heard the hurt in her words, the total misunderstanding from everything that was slamming inside my brain, and I couldn’t articulate it.
I didn’t correct her, either. There was no fucking way this was goodbye.
I wouldn’t say goodbye to her. Not ever.
Where in the hell did that come from?
