“And I want to stay friends, no matter what happens.”

  “Someone certainly thinks highly of himself.” He laughed. “It’s just sex, Cannon.”

  I glared. “I just like to make my expectations clear.”

  “Yeah, I got that when I saw your fifty-page syllabus. You’re supposed to put more paper in the office printer when you fucking use it all, by the way.” He nudged my thigh with his knee, and I felt the slow pull of arousal start deep in my belly. “I don’t wanna wait.”

  “Don’t you Paula Cole me,” I said. My mind raced. Was he thinking about the bathroom? God, how low had I sunk? To get my rocks off in a bar bathroom? Was I really that desperate?

  With my eyes I sought out Blue like a heat-seeking missile. He was being led onto the dance floor by Karen and Ashley. They sandwiched him the minute they hit the dance floor, and I ground my teeth. Blue Sandwich looked like it was having a good time. Things heated up as hands landed on skin, and the first slice of slutty bread in Blue Sandwich decided she danced better plastered against his back. Blue looped his fingers in the belt of the shorter girl and pulled her even closer. She ground on him as though they were in a music video.

  I turned to Connor, and suddenly I didn’t care that I was doing it for all the wrong reasons and that, if something went wrong between us, I’d be losing a very valuable friendship. All that mattered was that I suddenly wanted to taste amaretto sour off his curved, sexy mouth. “My syllabus was only twenty-two pages.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “Then let’s go. I’m yours.” Realizing how that sounded, I blushed. “For the next ten minutes anyway.”

  “Ten minutes? Baby, you wound me.” He grinned and slapped a hand over his heart. “I’m good for fifteen minutes at least.”

  EVEN AS Connor and I righted our clothing inside the stall, I realized full well that wasn’t how my Disney-worthy romance was supposed to go. There was no bathroom fucking in this fairy’s tale. Or in our case, no mutual bathroom hand jobs.

  I exited the stall first and washed my hands. He followed suit at the sink next to me and dried off before I was even halfway through. I felt his eyes on me and glanced up in the mirror. “What?”

  “Not to sound like such a stereotype, but… how was it?”

  How was it? I pumped more soap into my palm and focused on lathering up my hands like I was about to perform surgery. It had been decent. But I couldn’t think of anyone who wanted to hear that the sex had been decent.

  I thought about stalling, but then I looked at him in the mirror. From the look of that implacable face and those crossed arms, he clearly had the patience of Job. He wasn’t going anywhere until he got an answer. A soft moan sounded from the end stall, and my face flushed. I heard a whispered “fuck me harder,” and then the stall door shook.

  Connor finally made an impatient noise. He ran a hand over his short hair and stood it up in a way that made him look very like Colin Farrell. “Come on. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “Fishing for compliments?” I finally asked.

  “Fuck compliments. Fishing for a repeat.”

  My eyes dropped down his reflection, and I could see him getting hard again. The noises in the other stall, accompanied by a steady, slick sliding noise, worked for me too. Then I remembered my face had been mashed up against the bathroom wall, and I washed that too. While I was bent over the sink, I felt Connor come up behind me and grip my hips. He slowly ground against me, just once, to make his intentions crystal clear.

  By the time I finally got the soap out of my eyes, he was really going to town against my ass. I braced myself on my elbows, and as I thought about it, a small moan escaped as he rammed against me. I knew some guys didn’t like it, never did it, and never missed it, but I wasn’t in that category. There wasn’t anything better than the feeling of someone taking me that way, filling me up that way. Even if I was pretending he was someone else.

  When I looked back in the mirror, he gave me a raised eyebrow. “Want to?”

  “Eloquent as usual,” I said, and he grinned. He leaned over me and pressed me farther into the sink. “But I don’t have a condom.”

  A condom landed on the sink by my downturned face.

  “Or lube.”

  A pillowy travel packet of lube—cherry flavored—landed beside the first packet. I glanced up to meet his smiling eyes in the mirror. “What else?”

  Jesus. It didn’t help that I already knew what he was packing and what he’d be working me over with. It was good—seven inches of good. I didn’t understand my own reservations. But for whatever reason, jerking off together was one thing, but fucking would be something else entirely.

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t think—”

  The door swung open, and we both looked up simultaneously. Our faces mirrored expressions of surprise. It would have been almost funny—almost—if it hadn’t been Blue standing in the doorway.

  Blue blinked at me, and I blinked stupidly back. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing at all. What was there to say to my best friend when he came in and found me bent over a sink, with some guy gripping my hips? The reality of the situation seemed to hit him at the same time, and he went fire-engine red.

  “God, I’m sorry,” he choked out as I tried to straighten up. Connor intensified his grip and kept me in place.

  The slick sliding noise from the corner stall turned into squelching, and a long, low moan brought me back to my senses. “No, we weren’t… umm….”

  Our eyes lighted on the lube and condom at the same time, and Blue went even redder. “I’ll just… be at the table.”

  “Blue, it’s not—”

  The door swung shut behind him, and I let out an embarrassed breath. I met Connor’s eyes in the mirror, and he waggled his brows. “That was uncomfortable.” He slid his hands down over my ass, gripped it hard, and finally let go.

  I elbowed him in the belly as I stood. “Probably would’ve been more comfortable if you had let me up.”

  “Oh, would it?” He blinked innocently. “I wasn’t sure.”

  I yanked a couple of paper towels out of the dispenser as he turned off the faucet for me. The thought of what Blue almost interrupted made me flustered. “Could’ve been worse, I guess. We could’ve been in the middle.”

  “Could be better.” Connor grinned as the stall fucking got louder. “We could be them.”

  Chapter 9

  Blue

  “YOU DON’T actually think you guys are gonna take the Pumas, do you?”

  “Huh?” I tried to focus on the question of the guy who’d joined our table, but my mind was spinning. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I almost walked in on. A couple of minutes later, and it looked like I would’ve gotten quite a show. I didn’t know why that bothered me so much.

  “You guys may be Super Bowl champs,” he persisted. “But their D-line is one of the best lineups we’ve seen in a long while.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said absently.

  “Cranberry. Wilkes. Cash.” He ticked off the names on his thick fingers. “I mean, Cranberry is the heart and soul of the Puma defense.”

  He was also a loud trash-talking asshole who liked to hit dirty. My insider view of Mark Cranberry was a little less rosy, but it wasn’t worth arguing about.

  Random Guy squinted at me, still not done with his beer-fueled breakdown of the NFL. “You guys think you can take ’em?”

  “I don’t see why not.” I shrugged.

  “Joe Ramisson is why not,” Paige piped up.

  Her words sparked a debate about the best defensive lineman in the league. What would normally be right up my alley was going right in and out my ears. Clearly seeing Kelly getting a quickie had short-circuited my brain. I couldn’t stop seeing him bent over like that, with Connor’s fingers locked around his hips as he urgently ground into him. And the sounds coming from the last stall? Jesus. I dug my fingers in and loosened my already perfectly loose collar.

  As though I’d called his name, Kelly emerged from the bathroom hallway. Connor was hot on his heels. He looked extremely satisfied with himself, and why not? Clearly they were a lot closer than Kelly had led me to believe—not that he owed me an explanation.

  They squeezed back into the booth, and Kelly looked anywhere but at my face. He was blushing. Blushing. Connor threw an arm over the back of the booth, coincidentally close to Kelly’s shoulders. Smooth.

  I finished off my club soda with lime and resolved to mind my own business. But in my opinion, it would probably be easier for Connor to pee in a circle around Kelly’s feet.

  “Who wants another round? Blue?” Holly nudged me. “Are you finally going to join us, or what?”

  I opened my mouth to give her my stock response about having practice in the morning and a game on Sunday and wanting to be refreshed as possible. Instead I found myself saying, “Yeah. Surprise me.”

  She smiled, clearly pleased with herself for wearing me down. “You’re on.”

  I watched her head for the bar, and when I turned back, Kelly was looking at me. Oh, now you can meet my eyes? He looked displeased, his mouth pulled down at the corners.

  “What?” I finally asked.

  “You don’t drink before practice,” he said flatly.

  “I guess now I do.”

  “You’re going to feel it tomorrow.”

  “Are you my mother now?”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap, as though he couldn’t figure out what to say. Connor grinned as he leaned over and took a sip from Kelly’s beer. “Someone had a little meow mix this morning.”

  I ignored that, and I was confident that any reasonable human being would. I also ignored the hurt look Kelly shot me. Give me a fucking break. I didn’t know why I was so mad at him all of a sudden. I just was.

  When Holly got back with our drinks, Connor told everyone a funny story about a couple of his students. Actually I only gleaned it was funny from the occasional laughter from the group. I drank quietly, and I was well on my way to brooding, even as I told myself to snap out of it. I finished my first drink and then got another—something fruity with lime. It was kind of gross and way too sweet, but I drank it anyway. And then another.

  As I sprinkled salt on the skin between my thumb and forefinger, I silently wondered when Connor and Kelly had become a thing. I thought they were just friends and coworkers. Not that it mattered. Connor seemed like a nice guy—funny too, at least according to how the table brayed over his story. I was happy for Kel. He certainly deserved someone better than that pretentious idiot, Robert.

  While I was telling myself three was my limit, Holly came back with another round and pushed one my way with a twinkle in her eye. Fuck. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was trying to get me drunk… and I was letting it happen.

  Getting sloshed before practice. Had to be some kind of preseason madness. I’d pay for it in the morning, and for what? Because Kelly decided to get some in the bathroom?

  I couldn’t even pinpoint why I was so jealous. I wasn’t into him that way. If I really thought about it, I guess I was more like a selfish kid who’d just lost their favorite toy. But Kelly wasn’t a toy. He was a man with feelings, wants, and needs. And then I was thinking again about what I saw in the bathroom—Kelly getting his needs fulfilled.

  I frowned into my half-empty glass and wondered if that was something he regularly did. Despite myself, images of the two of them jerking each other off, sucking each other off formed in my mind. When those shadowy, sensual characters began to fuck, I blinked, and they disappeared like smoke. I felt the sudden urge to punch the oh-so-pleasant Connor right in his smug, satisfied face.

  If I were perfectly honest with myself, maybe I had thought about Kelly that way a few times. Our conversation the week before certainly hadn’t helped—or the simultaneous jerk-off session that followed. It was the hottest sex I’d had all year, and he hadn’t even known I was awake and participating like the biggest creeper who ever creeped.

  God, why did I have to think about that? Why was I half-hard just thinking about it? I blinked at my empty glass. What the hell was in those drinks Holly plied me with? And why did I have so many unanswerable questions? Apparently when I got tipsy, I turned into the goddamned Riddler.

  I stood abruptly, and I was a little unsteady on my feet, but I pushed away from the table. Kelly was messing with my head. All of the pulling-away bullshit had made me protective and possessive, and it made me think about him in strange ways. I suddenly realized everyone was looking at me with varying degrees of concern and that I’d stood up in the middle of Connor’s story. Whoops.

  When I glanced over at Connor, he didn’t look put out. He looked strangely pleased about something or another. I apologized anyway. “Sorry about that. I must’ve spaced. I’m going to get out of here, guys.”

  “It’s only eleven o’clock,” Paige said blearily.

  “I should’ve been in bed an hour ago.”

  I looked at Kelly pointedly, but it was Connor who caught on. “Oh, that’s right. You two came together. Why don’t you just take his car? I’ll get Kelly home safely.”

  I wanted to protest, but I had no reason to. I couldn’t exactly pull the “we came together we leave together” bullshit, seeing as he wasn’t fifteen years old or a sorority sister. “That sounds great,” I said, artfully relaxed when inside I was seething.

  Who did he think he was, making suggestions about what Kelly would and would not do? I actually flexed my fingers by my side. Blue, you need to get a grip. The night had been enlightening, if nothing else. I was way too attached to Kelly and way too invested in what he did—or who he did.

  I made my goodbyes and headed through the crowded bar toward the door. A few people wished me luck, and a few had words of advice for the game. Fortunately I only got waylaid a few times, mostly due to my speed and size. I learned long ago that if you looked like you had somewhere to be, people mostly left you alone.

  I was in the parking lot before I realized I didn’t have the keys. Fuck. Worse than that, I realized I didn’t need the keys. I was way too fucking buzzed to drive. If I wound up with a DUI, or worse, if I hurt or killed someone, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself—not to mention that Coach would probably cut my balls off with a rusty spoon.

  Just as I was pulling up the Uber app on my phone, a hand clapped on my shoulder. I turned to find Kelly, and he didn’t look pleased. His usually full mouth was flattened into a thin line. Right then and there, under the haze of the streetlights, I realized what my problem was.

  I was attracted to him.

  I thought he looked kind of sexy, especially in those clothes. The close-fitting black slacks and blue button-down shirt fit his lean swimmer’s form like they were hand tailored for him. It was such a different look from his usual “I’m a cool young hipster professor” vibe.

  He wasn’t the type who spent an hour in the mirror before he left the house. He knew how to turn it on when he went out, but as soon as he got back home, he’d be in a holey tee and threadbare jeans. I liked that about him.

  I liked a lot of things about him. That realization made my heart beat a little faster. I wasn’t upset that I was apparently crushing on a guy. I was freaked because I was crushing on Kelly.

  “What gives?” he demanded. “Why’d you run out like that?”

  I didn’t want to interrupt your date. “I need to get some rest. You don’t have to call it a night just because I do. We’re not attached at the… at the….” I frowned as I tried to finish what used to be a very simple metaphor.

  “Hip,” he said dryly.

  “Hip,” I repeated with a snap of my fingers. And for some reason, I said it again. “Hip.”

  He squinted at me for a minute. When he spoke, his voice sounded less pissed off and more concerned. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you drive like this?”

  “I wasn’t going to drive. I was going to call an Ubert. Ubert.” Fucking drinks had made my tongue thick and unwieldy. I scrunched my brows and tried again slowly. “Uuuberr.”

  “You sound like an alien who just discovered a new word.” He sighed. “As adorable as you are, I still need to make sure you’re okay. You don’t usually drink that much.”

  No, I was most definitely not okay. When did it become okay to fantasize about kissing your best friend? Especially when that friend was a fucking dude? Was it okay to interrogate a friend on exactly how far he’d gone with someone in a bathroom? Was it okay to ask if he let Connor fuck him over that sink? I didn’t think they were in there long enough to get the deed done, but maybe they’d already done it in the stalls. Maybe he was just rubbing against Kelly’s ass and remembering how good it felt to be buried balls deep.

  I knew I had to be more than a little buzzed then. Because surely I didn’t leave a bar—a bar where I had a sure thing going on with a hot girl—to worry about my best friend getting some. Surely I didn’t storm out of the building like a pissy bitch—without my keys or any real plan for getting home—when I found out he had hooked up with someone. Surely that was the very definition of drunken, crazed behavior.

  “Are you ready to go?” I finally asked.

  “Yeah. We come together, we leave together,” he said, and he slapped me on the shoulder.

  Oh. Well, maybe I’d been stereotyping a bit. Guess that was a good policy for everyone, young or old, male or female. Whatever. I was going home with Kelly, and Connor wasn’t. That was all that seemed to matter to my inebriated brain.

  He hit the unlock button and the alarm chirped, and I got in the passenger side and sank down in the seat. I leaned the bulk of my body against the door and closed my eyes. I needed to get my head on straight. I had practice in the morning, and even though it was probably going to make me hurl, that was still a very good thing. The practice, that is. Not the hurling. I’d be out on the field where I didn’t question whether I was as straight as I’d always thought, where my best friend didn’t look hot, and everything made sense.