I need to get to the arena. Cromwell, one of our PTs, is waiting on me.
You took her bare, you fucking idiot, a little voice pops up as I continue to sit there.
It’s been a constant in my head since the moment I realized.
It was so fucking stupid. A risk I should not be taking.
My life is already hard enough. I don’t need to be adding anything else to it.
Sure, Casey assured me that if she wasn’t already on birth control, she would have dealt with it. But…would she?
I might have fucked her a handful of times now, but I don’t know her. Not really. And saying things like that in the moment are very different from the reality of having to actually do it.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter before starting the engine again and finally pulling out of the space.
A laugh erupts from me as I think back to only a few weeks ago, when I told myself I was going into this season with a clear head and focus.
Wishfulthinking at its finest.
How was I to know a woman in a green dress would crash into me and turn my life upside down?
“Whoa, you look like shit,” Linc says when I join him in the gym after PT.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Thought you’d have slept like a baby after all the fun and games yesterday.”
Refusing to let his words affect me, I climb onto the bike beside him and start moving to expel some of the pent-up energy surging through my veins.
“What’s wrong? Cromwell poke all your sore spots?” he asks, glancing back at the door to the PT office.
“Something like that,” I mutter, putting my ear buds in and drowning him out.
I want to say it helps, but it doesn’t. Without his constant voice, my mind wanders back to her. To last night. To watching my cum run out of her pussy.
Mine.
My jaw tightens, and my grip on the handlebars becomes painful.
Fuck.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I refuse to let the vivid images of her distract me. Instead, I make them fuel me.
My legs pump harder and harder, my heart pounding as I fight to drag in the air I need. Sweat pours from me, soaking my shirt, but I don’t stop. I can’t. If Linc notices, he doesn’t say anything. Or at least, not loud enough for me to hear over my music.
Eventually, though, I run out of steam. My legs slow and I lean forward, resting my head on my arms as I suck in breath after breath.
I have no idea how long I stay there—although it’s not fucking long enough—before a hand clamps down on my shoulder, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.
I glance up and find Linc standing beside me with a deep frown.
“Let’s go shower and eat,” he says simply before stalking off.
Unable to argue, I follow on shaky legs.
The rest of the guys are in here working out, but most of them are too lost in their own heads themselves to notice us.
Fletch and Handsy do, though, and not two minutes after I’ve hit the shower do I hear them join us in the dressing room.
