“I’m sweaty,” I warn her.

  “Like I care.”

  She flattens her body against mine, and I feel every decadent curve. The fact that she’s not wearing a bra threatens my self-restraint. I can’t help but drag my hands up her sides, letting my thumbs run over the edges of her breasts, once, twice, then I step back.

  “I need to shower.”

  “You’re cruel,” she teases with a halfhearted frown. “I thought you brought me to Oklahoma to seduce me.”

  I laugh. “I brought you here because I missed you.”

  She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “How very noble of you.”

  I reach out for her, but she steps back, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

  “You know what? I think I need a shower too, actually. That was a long flight from LA.”

  “Yeah? How’d you like your first-class seat?”

  Her eyebrows tug together in annoyance. “That wasn’t necessary.”

  I grin and shrug as if to say, Get used to it.

  She hums, back to playing her little game as she saunters past me toward the bathroom, lifting her tank top up and off her head then dangling it on her finger tauntingly before letting it slip and puddle on the ground. Her naked back momentarily steals my good sense. I’ve never considered myself a back man, but there isn’t a single part of Raelynn that doesn’t turn me on. I take in the curve of her feminine shoulders, the smooth skin along the slope of her spine. She doesn’t peer back at me as she walks into the bathroom to turn on the water for the shower, but I follow right behind her, watching as she confidently steps out of her pajama shorts and panties, no concern regarding whether I’m watching her or not. She knows I am.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen her naked in a year and a half, and her beauty arrests me. Raelynn is pure sunshine, and looking at her like this feels blinding. I momentarily pause as I take in her slight frame, trying to comprehend how someone so small could have such a strong grip on me. I would crawl on my hands and knees for her and beg if she demanded it, and the realization doesn’t come with a sense of foreboding or shame. It’s nourishing—the idea that I can love like this after everything I’ve been through. That I can want someone with everything inside me.

  You couldn’t possibly love her so soon, says the world.

  Fuck the world.

  I lean against the doorframe of the bathroom, lazily watching as she steps into the shower and turns toward me, happy to put on a show.

  It’s a death by a thousand cuts to keep my distance as she puts her hands on her body, soaping up her arms and legs, wrapping her hands around her neck then dragging them along her naked stomach. When she continues lower, past her navel, I stop breathing altogether, watching carefully as she slips her hand between her legs. It’s only for a moment, so fleeting I would have missed it had I blinked.

  I’m rock hard and nearly panting.

  The tilt of her smile tells me she knows full well what she’s doing to me.

  She squeezes more soap onto her hand and lathers up her chest, between her breasts. The water drips down her body in tempting rivulets and I’m moving before I’m conscious of it, whipping open the shower door and crowding her space until I’m the one in the spray of water. Her back hits tile as I bend down to kiss her just above her collarbone.

  “You’re a minx.”

  She laughs, but she doesn’t reach out to touch me. She keeps her palms flat against the shower wall, lifting her chin to give me better access. I pay careful attention as I bend down to kiss her breast. I watch her eyelids flutter as I take the tip between my lips and then, carefully, bite.

  Her stomach visibly clenches as a shiver runs up her spine, and I smile as I kiss my way to her other breast, drawing it out until she’s a writhing mess.

  “Please,” she whispers, lifting her hand to wind it through my hair and tug. Hard.

  I keep my mouth on her breast as my hand settles on her thigh. I knead and squeeze, digging my fingers in for a second before I stand back up and twist her around so her cheek is flush with the cold tile wall. I press up behind her, my sopping wet athletic shorts a barrier between us as I brush against her. For a moment, I stay there, letting my pulse slow as my eyes squeeze shut. She arches her back, rubbing against me. My wet hand dips down between her legs, parting her so I can sink one long finger inside.

  Her head drops back as she moans, and I smile wickedly as I play with her.

  The first orgasm comes so easily it almost feels like I’m cheating. I want her to have another. This isn’t just for her; it’s satisfying for me too. If I had it my way, we’d never leave this shower.

  I press my middle finger inside her and swirl my thumb. She’s so sensitive she can’t stay still. She rises up onto her toes and wiggles her hips, grinding against me and making me see stars. I need relief too. I want it so badly, but I’m too focused on the way it feels to slide my finger in and out of her, reveling in that tight wet heat.

  “I’m…I’m,” she repeats before seemingly losing the ability to form coherent thoughts. I watch as a second orgasm shatters her. Her fingers claw at the shower wall, her little sounds of ecstasy almost making me cum. I don’t stop until I know she’s finished and then some, but even then, there’s no reprieve for us. When Raelynn turns around, her blue eyes filled with hunger, she scrapes her nails down my stomach and yanks on the waistband of my shorts until she has me in her hand.

  God.

  She twists and pumps her hand down my length impatiently. It’s like she’s angry with me, but I know she’s not. I know it’s something else entirely—this frenzied rush for more that’s mirrored inside both of us.

  The tables turn as she slips down to her knees to take me in her mouth. All those sounds she was making a moment ago fall from my lips now as I fight the urge to close my eyes and just feel. I want to watch her though. I want to burn this image into my brain forever.

  “Little Bird,” I whisper, gathering up her hair so I can see her whole face, her sunken cheeks as she sucks me deeper into her mouth, her water-coated lips, the clustered dark lashes that frame her crystal blue eyes.

  This won’t last long.

  The combination of her fist and mouth are enough to rip me apart.

  I lean one hand on the wall for support as she speeds up even more, and then I’m coming past her lips, spilling into her mouth as she swallows.

  Relief.

  I haul her up off the floor of the shower and rain kisses across her face until she’s laughing, the sound echoing off the tile and reverberating through me.

  We wash off together, sharing private smiles whenever our gazes meet. Her cheeks are a rosy shade of pink as if she can’t quite believe what we just did. I finish up first and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist and grabbing one of the hotel’s oversized white robes for her. She slips into it then pads out to the table by the bed, flipping through the room service menu.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks, peering at me over her shoulder as I dry off and dress.

  “Starved. Order whatever you want.”

  Half an hour later, we sit on the bed, watching a random HGTV show about flipping houses while we eat our dinner. We stay up way too late arguing about the designer’s choices and then Raelynn falls asleep on her pillow, her plate of half-finished French fries still sitting beside her. I smile and move them aside, drawing back the blankets to cover her up before I scoot in beside her.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Raelynn

  “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

  I follow the familiar voice to see Eva waltz into the players’ private box inside Oklahoma City’s stadium, beaming at me. I’m relieved to see her too. There’re less people here than there were in the box back in Los Angeles, probably because that was a home game versus away. Before Eva showed up, it was just me and a few older women who seemed polite but largely uninterested in me.

  “I flew out last minute,” I explain.

  “I’m so glad I won’t have to sit through this game alone,” she says, taking the seat beside me and trying to get comfortable, which is easier said than done considering she’s wearing a dark purple bodycon dress with coordinating sky-high heels. The purse she sets on the coffee table is a custom Hermès painted to coordinate with her boyfriend’s basketball number.

  I’m thoroughly impressed. She looks like she owns the place. Meanwhile, I look like a regular ol’ fan who found her way into this private suite by accident. I’m rocking a jersey (Ben’s, of course) I bought in the gift shop. I purposely got it a few sizes up so I could wear it as a dress with my cowboy boots.

  “I would look like a fool if I tried to pull that off,” Eva tells me, waving her hand over my outfit. “But somehow it totally works on you.”

  I smile in thanks before asking if she always travels with Brent.

  She shrugs. “When I can. It keeps him honest.”

  I frown, more than slightly taken aback by her answer. “Are you really that worried he’ll stray?”

  She levels me with a no-nonsense, nearly bored stare. “If you knew his track record—hell, the track record of most guys on this team—you’d do the same.”

  The way she talks, it sounds as if she’s discussing something as simple as the weather, not the dynamics of her relationship.

  I lower my voice as I ask, “Has he cheated on you before?”

  “Twice.” She shrugs. “That I know of.” My jaw drops, and she laughs. “It’s the nature of the game, babe. You better learn quick if you expect to be around a while. These guys don’t have to go out and seek women. Women come to them. You should see the number of thirsty DMs Brent gets every day. The pictures these women send, Jesus.”

  “That’s no excuse,” I say sternly.

  She smirks. “I love the perspective, I really do. It’s like you’ve never heard of a professional athlete cheating on his girlfriend before. I mean, it’s the oldest story in the book. I’ve come to terms with it to some degree. Brent treats me well, he spoils me, and we have fun together. I know the score.”

  My stomach twists into a knot. This whole conversation is making me uncomfortable. Surely Ben doesn’t expect this sort of arrangement? We haven’t outright discussed it, but he has to know I want a monogamous relationship. Right?

  I try to think back to what I know about his marriage with Shelby. I know she cheated, but no one’s ever mentioned anything about Ben. He was faithful to her, right? God, I hope so.

  Eva leans over and tries to get me to meet her gaze, but I keep my attention down on the court where the guys are warming up, careful to keep my worries hidden as much as possible.

  “Listen, I feel bad. I don’t know Ben well. He’s never been a player, not like Anthony and Brent. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Yeah, unfortunately, that’s impossible. My conversation with Eva sticks with me long after the game ends and I head back to the hotel. Ben has to stay and do postgame press, and he takes longer than I thought he would. I try to distract myself by doing some grading for school, but after an hour, I can barely keep my eyes open. I give up the battle and get ready for bed.

  I will Ben to walk through the hotel door so he can lean down and kiss me and put an end to my strange mood. But by the time I close my eyes, I’m still in bed alone.

  When I stir in the middle of the night, I blink my eyes open and turn to see Ben’s there, sound asleep beside me. I know I won’t be able to go back to sleep until I use the bathroom, so I scurry quietly there and back, careful not to wake him as I slip back into bed. I can only imagine how exhausted he is. He makes his job look so effortless on the court, but I know it’s not. It takes a toll on him, and I see it in the soft bruise forming just below his ribs. I want to reach out and skim my finger across it gently, kiss and make it better, but I know I’d wake him up. I settle beside him, trying to be as light as a feather as I lay my head back down on my pillow.

  I turn my head to the side and watch him as he sleeps, studying the rise and fall of his chest in the soft light spilling out of the bathroom.

  With his sharp features in repose, he almost looks innocent. I want to believe he’s nothing like Brent and the others. I want to believe he’ll protect me and my heart at all costs.

  He will, won’t he?

  Ben and I are inseparable over the next two days together. We fly back to Los Angeles from Oklahoma City and spend his day off on Friday with Caleb at the house.

  I try in vain to get a little bit of work done in the early afternoon. That is, until a little toddler fist pounds on the door of Ben’s study.

  “Ray-yin. RAY-YIN. In der?”

  I stifle a laugh as I hear Ben whisper to Caleb that I’m working, and then Caleb’s voice fades down the hall as Ben carries him away. Only a few minutes later, Caleb is back, knocking.

  “Hey-yooo?” he asks, pushing his mouth up to the other side of the door and whispering my name like he’s trying to keep Ben from finding him again.

  “Caleb!” Ben says from down the hall.

  The child squeals with delight at being caught, and I hear the sound of his little feet pitter-pattering down the hall as he takes off running.

  After that, I close my laptop and decide the odds of me actually getting any work done while Caleb is in the house are slim to none. I might as well embrace it. We cuddle on the couch with Caleb sandwiched between us and watch Cars. I’d never seen it before, but now I understand why Caleb’s so obsessed with Lightning McQueen.

  Ben gives Nina and Donna the evening off, and I make the boys dinner. Nothing fancy, just a pasta dish Nan used to make for me, a veggie-filled fettuccini alfredo that’s a big hit with Ben because it’s delicious (if I do say so myself) and because it tricks Caleb into eating a lot of vegetables he’d normally sneer at. When he’s done, Caleb licks his plate clean then looks at us, giggling as he points to the sauce on his nose.

  I peruse Caleb’s shelves at bedtime and find a board book that’s a rudimentary introduction to outer space. Adorable.

  “He likes that one,” Ben tells me.

  When Caleb sees it, he claps excitedly.

  I sit on his bed and he crawls closer until he’s pressed right up against me. I read it to him twice at his insistence, then he opens his chubby little arms for me and I lean in to hug him.

  “Night, Caleb.”

  “Nigh, Ray-yin.”

  I leave to give Ben a moment alone with his son, and when I walk back into the living room, I see Ben’s phone vibrate on the coffee table. It’s not an uncommon occurrence. After five minutes of being around him, anyone would realize there’s always someone trying to get in contact with him, no matter what time of day it is. Normally, he’s good about setting boundaries though.

  I ignore it and take a seat on the couch. His phone vibrates again with another incoming text and then a phone call.

  I don’t mean to look at the name on the screen. The fact is, it’s a vibrating phone and it’s drawing my attention, and now I see that “Lydia” is trying to get in contact with him and it’s not my fault, truly.

  I force my gaze up to the ceiling as self-loathing immediately turns my happy mood into a sour one. What am I doing? I either trust Ben or I don’t. I can’t snoop on his phone! I can’t assume the worst of him!

  I don’t recognize this version of myself.

  I hate that I’m doubting Ben at all. I hate that I’ve let my chat with Eva weasel into my head and grow roots.

  When Ben walks out of Caleb’s room and finds me on the couch, he stops and frowns when he sees my expression.

  I’m sitting, gaze still on the ceiling, slumped back in shame.

  “Birdie? What’s wrong?”

  I cover my eyes with my hand so I don’t have to look at him as I come clean.

  “I snooped on your phone by accident and saw someone named Lydia trying to contact you and I know it’s horrible—what I did—but you’d tell me if you were seeing other women too, right? I know we didn’t set parameters on our relationship, but I’m absolutely not willing to share you with other women. So whoever Lydia is…I don’t know, you need to send her packing.”

  For a good long while, he doesn’t say jack diddly. I’m forced to peer at him from between my split fingers and am shocked to see he’s on the brink of laughter. He glances back and forth between me and his phone on the coffee table, clearly trying to wrap his head around all I’ve just said.

  “Lydia?”

  I nod.

  His grin spreads wider. “That’s my manager’s assistant. She was probably calling to hound me about a contract I was meant to sign earlier this afternoon when we were watching Cars.”

  My relief is short-lived. Shame overrides every single emotion.

  “You really worked yourself up there,” he notes, bending down to pry my hand away from my face.

  I squeeze my eyes closed.

  “Birdie, look at me, will you?”

  “I’d rather not. I’m waiting to die of embarrassment. It should happen any moment now.”

  “What made you think I was seeing other women?”

  I finally peel my eyes open to give him the truth. I suppose he’s owed that much after fielding my wild accusations. “Well…not to throw her under the bus, because I really don’t think she meant anything by it, but Eva and I were talking at your game in Oklahoma and she mentioned something about Brent…”

  He sighs, seeming to follow where I’m going. “Brent is notoriously terrible at keeping his dick in his pants. The guy’s great on the court but an idiot when it comes to relationships.”

  “Well she made it sound like it’s not just Brent, like all professional athletes have a hard time remaining faithful with all the options they have before them. It’s a veritable buffet of buxom blondes.”

  “Well I only have eyes for one buxom blonde,” he teases, making me blush good and red.

  He sits down on the couch beside me and tugs me close, wrapping his arms around my middle and squeezing me like a burrito when I don’t give in and cuddle him back.