Page 47 of Trick Play
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Three hours later, tired but horny and wired, I pick up stray books and papers and pile them neatly on the coffee table, straighten the remote controls, put the video game controllers in the entertainment center, and check the time on my phone every two point five seconds to see how much longer before Piper will get here.
I have the house to myself since Simon took Ellie to his parents’ house for dinner. It’s her first time meeting them. They’re nice people, so I’m sure they’ll love her. Pretty much everyone loves her, to be honest. She’s funny and smart and knows how to impress parents. It comes from working her ass off to impress ours, despite the impossibility of that task. Well, it’s really Dad more than Mom. He has Expectations, with a capital E, and I know Ellie thinks they worship the ground I walk on, but that’s just because I’ve managed to give good lip service to Dad’s plan for me, which was to be the best at everything and become a doctor. So I study my ass off and maintain a 3.5 GPA, which still isn’t quite good enough for Dad. I should be graduating at leastmagna cum laude, or what’s even the point, right? But I’ve never been as good in class as I am on the football field. And my performance there hasn’t been good enough this year either with the arrival of Kilpatrick showing me up. I think Dad’s secretly glad about that, though he hasn’t said it out loud, because he thinks it means I’ll have to let go of my dream of going pro, go to med school like he wants, and come home to work with him in his practice.
But my parents aren’t here, thank god, and thanks to Simon’s parents wanting to meet Ellie, neither are they. Which means I’m free to have Piper come over without worrying Ellie might show up to get her favorite pen she forgot in Simon’s room. She doesn’t need a pen at a meet-the-parents dinner. Not one of her super special hand lettering pens, anyway.
Speaking of, she left one of her brush pens and a notebook of fancy paper on the couch. She’s always been a doodler, and then she really got into calligraphy and hand lettering after I left for college. I actually didn’t realize what a big deal it was to her until she declared her graphic design major. Now my house is littered with all her artsy accoutrements. Even though her final projects are all rendered on the computer, she does a lot of sketching by hand to test new concept ideas. Scooping up the pens and paper that’s only allowed to be used with those pens, I take them to Simon’s room. He can keep track of them for her. I don’t need that kind of responsibility for Ellie’s things. She’s very particular about them, which I learned the hard way a couple weeks ago when I made the mistake of tearing a page out of one of her notebooks to jot down a note and she went ballistic on me. Won’t be making that mistake again.
I’m freshly showered and freshly shaved, dressed in jeans and a navy blue henley that clings to my upper body just enough to look good but not so much that I look like a douche, and I force myself to stop in the doorway of the living room and survey the space instead of moving constantly. I’ll sweat through my deodorant if I keep moving like this. I’ve already had a solid workout this morning plus this afternoon’s passing practice. I don’t need to burn more calories. Although, given the way my time with Piper usually goes, I’ll be doing that anyway.
Still, no need to work up a sweat just yet.
I check my phone again. It’s only been a minute since the last time. Still nothing since she texted that she was heading over.
I don’t know where her parents live, so I don’t know how long it’ll take her to get here.
Thankfully, the doorbell rings.
Blowing out a breath, I open it to Piper standing on the other side, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, eyeshadow shimmering under the porch light when she blinks, glossy lips pulling into a smile as I look her over.
“Hey,” she says, her voice husky.
My own lips curve in an answering smile. “Hey. Come on in.” I stand back and gesture her inside.
She slips off her coat, revealing a slinky top that spills over her tits and nips in at her waist, giving a hint of what’s beneath. She’s paired the top with wide leg pants that mold to the curve of her hips before draping to the floor. And since I’ve seen those curves and mapped them with my hands, I know exactly what they look like. But that fact doesn’t at all detract from my appreciation for the artful arrangement of clothing over her body.
I’m trying not to just rip her clothes off like an animal at the first sight of her, even though that’s really what I want to do.
I wanted that last night, and she stayed away despite my best efforts.
She said she needs a distraction and something to keep her from getting bored. I’m happy to provide that outside of the bedroom as well.
Taking her coat, I hang it on one of the hooks in the hall. Simon and I don’t use them much, but Ellie always hangs her coat there when she comes over, which is all the time lately. And even though I went from ignoring the hooks to being annoyed by them because of Ellie’s coat so frequently hanging on them, now I’m grateful they’re here so I have somewhere to hang Piper’s coat.
Good god. Listen to me. Waxing about fucking coat hooks in my hallway. Because of a girl. What have I become?
With a mental shake of my head, I clear my throat and gesture toward the kitchen. “I made dinner. You hungry?”
Her grin changes into something between amusement and warmth. “You cooked for me?”
I shrug like it’s no big deal. Because it’s really not. “Well, I cooked for me. But I made enough for you to eat too since you were coming over. Did you eat already?”
She shakes her head and precedes me to the kitchen, which gives me the opportunity to ogle her ass swaying in front of me, the fabric of her pants swishing as she walks.
“It’s nothing fancy,” I say, passing her once we’re in the kitchen to reach the stove. I take the lid off the skillet and plate the chicken breasts I made, spooning sauce over each one, then scooping a helping of broccoli onto each plate. I set the plates on the dining table Simon’s mom insisted we needed. We hardly ever use it except as a place to dump stuff, but I cleaned it off after I got home from practice in anticipation of Piper coming over.
She looks between the plate and me, her lips twitching.
“What?” It comes out rude. Gruff. Demanding. Which isn’t what I wanted, but with her looking at me like that, like I’m a curiosity, it has my hackles up. I didn’t cook for her to make fun of me.
She shakes her head and rolls her lips between her teeth, looking down at her plate and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Nothing. It’s just …”
My brows pull together. “What?” This time’s a little more modulated. Less rude, at least.
She shakes her head again, picking up the fork from the napkin I’d set out already. “I don’t think a guy’s ever cooked for me before, is all,” she says at last.
“Okay.” I draw out the word, not quite sure where she’s going with this. I cook fairly often for Simon and me. I’m not sure what the big deal is here.
