The restof April and practically the month of May passed by in a blur of games, traveling, and tired phone calls with Eddie. There was admittedly of lot of need and just a little bit of pining in said calls too. But despite my pity party of missing Eddie more than I thought a man could miss another human being, I knew it was all worth it.
Through hard work and a few miracles, the Eagles blasted through the semifinals. By the time it got to the conference finals, the team was flying high while equally dreading the next game—the fifth in the round—would be our last.
Every game in truth tested our strength, our abilities, our absolute doggedness to win the game and push on through.
But fuck, I was tired.
Relief that I had just two more days before the last game in this round kept me going. Then I’d either have the luxury of six whole days before the final round, or I’d be commiserating with my teammates and catching up on a shitload of sleep.
The biggest relief was our final game in round three was with the Jetts, taking place in Eddie’s home city, Chicago. It made my bobbing knee even more noticeable, which apparently pissed Cassius off.
“I swear if you don’t stop, I’m going to stab you in the thigh with my fork.”
Rather than stop bouncing my knee, I angled my head to stare at Cassius, who sat by my side on the hour and a half flight. “I think Coach wouldn’t like that so much. Let’s ask him, shall we?” My wide grin didn’t earn me a smile back. “Hey, Coach,” I hollered.
A loud groan preceded Coach’s “What is it, Malcolm?”
“Cass is threatening toforkme,” I whined, earning me a chuckle from some of the guys and a dig in the ribs from Cassius.
“If I have to come over there and separate you, you’re not going to like the consequences.”
My eyes widened. “Shit.” I so did not think this through. Coach was already testy due to Lintman having an injury.
“You’re going to be so dead,” Cassius whispered, shooting me a shit-eating grin.
I flipped him off, calling out, “Uhm, yeah, Coach. My bad… I totally meant the other kind offorking, but since Sutton and Jay-man left, I know you’re not actively looking for more on-team hookups.”
Cassius spluttered out a laugh. “You fucking wish. Your ass is too pasty for me.”
I gasped, acting affronted, and choosing to ignore Coach’s threat and plea to God for strength. “Pur-lease. There’s not a suntan mark in sight.”
“Uh-huh. That’s because the whole of you is milk-bottle white. Plus your ass needs more meat on it. Something to grip.”
My horror this time was only half feigned. “Take that back. My ass is perfection, just ask—” I slammed my mouth shut, cutting myself off from saying Eddie. We’d agreed to keep our official dating status on the down-low.
“Your hot DILF who you’re pining for?”
Of course, all of my keeping quiet was pointless. My friends knew me too well. It didn’t help that the last time Eddie had been able to attend a game, I’d played with blatant whisker rash. Yeah, as if any of my teammates didn’t call me out on that.
But I’d never confirmed anything. Though in truth, I hadn’t denied anything either. I didn’t want to outright lie to them. I’d also been trying to figure out who was set to win the wagers on me too. Was it mean of me that I didn’t want Cassius to pick up any of the cash? Probably, but the guy threw enough shit my way as it was. I didn’t want him drinking the top-shelf booze because he could read me so well.
“Shut up.” As far as comebacks went, mine was pitiful. “And you’d better not really think of him as a DILF.”
Cassius burst into laughter. “Holy shit.” He barely got the words out. “Did you just growl at me?”
“No.” My face was aflame, hot enough to toast marshmallows.
“You so did. You were all”—he beat a hand against his chest—“Eddie mine. Grrr.”
“Fuck off,” I said with a laugh, shoving at him. “I did not sound like… well, whatever that was supposed to be.” I looked at him more fully. “Please tell me that was your god of alligators growl.” Two could so play at this game. Plus, it offered a fun distraction before we landed and I could finally get my hands on Eddie.
“Sticks, asshole. You know it’s all about the sticks.”
“Uh-huh. Says the man who has a shit phobia.”
He blanched, and for a second there I felt guilty—though to be fair, he talked about it and ass all the damn time, practically inviting us all to respond. The guilt fizzled away when he settled back in his seat, face turned toward me. “So this daddy kink you have going on, how’s that work when you hear Lottie calling himdaddy?” He arched a brow at me. “Not that I’d dare to kink shame, of course. Just wondered if it gets kinda awkward when you’re there all…Daddy, right there, and then, what, two minutes later, Lottie’s around—”
I slammed a hand over his mouth, turning a little green. “You hush your mouth.” I shuddered. “It is so not like that. He’s eleven years older than me, not fucking thirty.”
