Page 79 of Dirty Player
Closing my eyes, I pushed my head into my pillow and groaned. “Damn it. The movers must not have set the frame right.”
“Or your bed just can’t handle my superhuman strength.”
“Or the weight of your ego.”
I smacked his butt, unwrapping my legs from around him as he slid out of me. I thought we’d fix the mess we’d made and get cleaned up, but instead he curled into the bed next to me, draped one hand over his face, and pulled me to him.
“Let me relax before we fix this.”
I settled in, loving that he liked to cuddle. He didn’t seem the sort—but like so many things about Oliver, he continued to surprise me.
At dinner that night, for example, I’d listened intently through most of it while Beaux and Oliver discussed the practice and some of the plays they’d struggled with. The coming weekend would be their first out-of-state game, when they traveled down to Miami.
The defense was clicking, but with so many new members on the offensive line, both Beaux and Oliver had said it was taking longer than it should for everyone to find their groove. I’d sat silent through most of the conversations, but still grinned as I realized that after Oliver had said he’d give Beaux a chance, all his animosity toward him seemed to evaporate. He could have been doing it for the good of the team, or to keep the peace between the woman he was fucking and her brother, but I suspected it was more than that.
Beaux was earning his respect, and Oliver was giving it freely.
After dinner, Beaux had taken off when I insisted I didn’t need any more help unpacking. I had barely stepped inside my apartment before I was staring at the floor, flung over Oliver’s shoulder, and then dumped onto my bed.
“You ready for the game this weekend then?” I asked as my mind replayed dinner and everything after that.
“It’ll be hard. Miami’s a good team and they have a great defense. If we can make our long-pass plays, though, and if Kolby can continue doing what he’s best at, it should be a good game.”
“That’s good.” My eyes drifted closed as I responded.
“You going to come?”
I heard a hint of hopefulness in his voice and turned to look at him, forcing one eye open. “I could,” I admitted, “but I really need to keep working on getting Stamped up and running.”
Oliver’s mouth tightened for a moment before he smoothed it out by licking his lips. “Okay. Although I have to admit I don’t know if it should scare the fuck out of me that I’m not going to like sleeping without you while we’re gone or if I should just be happy about it.”
It pleased me to no end—his open honesty and how much he seemed to show me that he really did like me. How much he wanted me around.
“I think you should just be happy about it.”
“I’ll think of a way to be with you anyway.”
His eyebrows wiggled. I was sated, sore, and exhausted. It took that silly brow wiggle and a slow, teasing brush of his lips against my cheek to reenergize me.
“Do you know what I like?”
“What?” he asked, his eyes filled with wicked, scrumptious delight.
“Sleeping on a bed that isn’t crooked.”
I pushed at him when he chuckled. His arm loosened and I took the opportunity to roll away from him and toward the floor, landing on my knees facing him.
“Fine,” he groaned playfully. “Go get cleaned up. I’ll fix the bed so I can fuck you until it breaks again.”
He flashed me a look full of promise before I reached for a shirt on the floor and scurried to the bathroom.
I took my time, hearing him bang around with tools he’d probably grabbed from the dining room table, and when I came back to my room he was standing up, dropping the mattress back onto a now straightened bed frame.
“Fixed?” I asked as I flung my hand towel onto a pile of dirty laundry on the floor.
Oliver’s eyes followed the dirty towel as it landed on the heap, and he smiled.
Then he reached for me, tossed me back into the bed, and pushed my legs wide with his knees between mine.
