All Played Out (Rusk University #3)(33)

“I’m already close,” he says. “A few times I thought I might come just with my mouth on you.”

He gets harder in my hand; bigger, too. And I’m embarrassed that for all I know about biology, I’m still surprised by his body, by how it works. Then he stiffens. He presses a hand into the wall by my head and leans his face into the crook of my neck as he groans. He jerks and pulses, and comes against my stomach.

And even though I’d been exhausted moments before, now I’m alert . . . and curious.

This is what I wanted to know. When I’d added losing my virginity to my bucket list, it had been no more than a mechanical act. It had been about the body, and that side of things is interesting enough. I do want to touch and explore and discover more, but it’s everything else I’d been naive about. Sex is about more than bodies.

And I don’t mean love, though I’m sure that does change the equation, too. I mean . . . he was on the edge just from giving me pleasure. He hadn’t even touched himself. I know because I remember vividly having his hands on my hips and our fingers tangled together and his grip on my thighs.

That’s the side of sex that fascinates me, what made me curious enough to watch that couple in the library. Pleasure isn’t just about touching the right places or making the right movements. There’s another element to it. And I don’t know what it’s called or how it works, but I want to.

I want to know everything.





Chapter 22

Mateo



It’s amazing how one night can change everything. Not just the sex, but everything, from the moment I first entered her apartment.

Talking to Nell about her doubts somehow inadvertently lessened mine. Neither of us found any solutions at dinner that Sunday, but talking about it, commiserating with someone else who’s facing a similar situation, makes it easier to bear.

And of course, the mind-blowing sex didn’t hurt either.

I find myself using Nell as my mental shield. As the next game approaches and the pressure mounts to perform as well as I did last week, I use her face to push away the thoughts of failure. When I start to stress about living up to the expectations of my coach and my team and myself, I think about her in her kitchen or her spread over my lap in my truck or her taking her own pleasure against me in her bed.

When I think about her, nothing can fucking touch me.

Then I have to think about something else entirely for a while because thinking of Nell like that while I’m in public always presents a problem.

I live for the moment when I can see her again, when I can park my fears and stresses at the door and lose myself in her arms. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I should be thinking about what this means. She’s graduating next month, and even though she’s not leaving immediately, she will leave eventually.

But I tell myself I’ve got time. I’ll figure out exactly what it all means later.

Whatever she’s doing to me, it consumes me enough to overcome my insecurities and fears. She pushes everything else out, delays the doubts, and I ride that solution all the way to another win on Saturday. I end up with a few less catches, but two of them were huge plays with major yardage. And at the end of the game, Coach claps a hand on top of my shoulder pad, and the look in his eyes says it all.

It’s happening.

We’re now 8–2, and one of those losses wasn’t even conference play. With two games left, we’re finally starting to make some waves. They’re calling us the “big surprise” of the season and the “little team with big heart.” And it feels like we’re on the verge of something huge.

Something real.

Which is a little how I’m feeling in all aspects of my life lately.

The Monday after the game, I’m feeling high on life and on Nell. As I promised her when we’d been texting after our last away game, I spent the week texting her dirty things. She hadn’t quite texted me anything dirty back yet, but she’d asked a few questions. Why I said certain things, what I liked. I figured I was close to getting her to text me back.

I send her one quick text before I lock up my phone for practice.



I’m about to put the phone away when I’m surprised by her immediate reply.



Fuck. How the hell am I going to be able to concentrate on practice now? I’m an idiot.

I toss my phone in my cubby as Brookes comes to stand next to me.

He says, “So, I guess this means I was wrong.”

“About?”

“Nell. That’s who you were texting, right?”

I shrug. Because Nell and I haven’t really talked about how we’re going to play this with everyone else. She’d had a big project due today that she spent last week working on, and I’d been gearing up for the game, so we’d only seen each other a couple times.

“That’s a yes,” he says.

“Tell me something, how do you know this shit? It’s fucking creepy, man.”

He smiles. “I pay attention.”

“To what? My Internet history? Do you have my phone tapped? Did you bug my room?”

“To your face, bro. It’s all there. When I mentioned her name, you reacted for a split second, and then immediately covered it up. That told me I was right.”

“Why are you here playing football instead of working in the CIA or something?”

He smiles. “Football is more of a challenge.”

I laugh. And make a mental note to Google him and make sure he didn’t just randomly spring into existence a few years ago.

“Seriously, though,” he says. “I’m sorry I gave you shit about Nell. I read that wrong.”

“Me or her?”

“The two of you together. You didn’t make sense when I considered you separately. But whatever is going on with you two . . . it’s good. I can tell.”

“You’re like some weird version of The Wizard of Oz, aren’t you? There’s some old dude somewhere spying on us all with video cameras and telling you what to say. Or you’re secretly a robot or an alien or something.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What kind of messed-up Wizard of Oz did you watch as a kid?”

“You two,” Coach Oz barks as passes by us. “Quit gabbing like a bunch of little girls, and get on the field.”

We finish changing clothes quickly as Oz leaves, and when the door slams behind him, I whistle. “Man, Oz needs to get laid. Dude scares me when he gets like that.” Brookes makes a noncommittal noise. “I’m serious. Look at Coach Cole. Guy is still scary as fuck, but since he’s been dating that dance professor chick? Way cooler.”

The silence after my statement is a bit too silent.

“Coach Cole, are you right behind me?”

“Yes, I am, Torres.”

I shoot Brookes a glare, and the prick doesn’t even bother hiding his grin. I spin. There aren’t many people in the world who can make me feel small, but Coach Cole is one of them. We’re roughly the same height, but the dude has Hulk shoulders and a beard that just screams, “I could kick your ass.”

“Sir, I don’t know if you’re aware of this. But ‘scary as fuck’ is a slang term that means incredibly well respected.”

His expression doesn’t change. Not at all. Freaking stone.

“And ‘dating that dance professor chick’ is slang for—”

“Just shut up and get your ass on the field, Torres.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Because I find you scary as fuck, sir.”

He takes a step forward, and I bolt as calmly as I can for the door. I call back, “I was using that as a slang term, remember?”

For a moment I think I see the twitch of a smile beneath his mustache, but it’s gone a second later, and I decide I’m better off hightailing it out onto the field.

“You never know when to stop, do you?” Brookes asks, jogging up beside me.

“I prefer to view that particular gift of mine in a positive light. More like . . . I cross lines no one else is willing to cross. I go where no man has gone before. All boldly and shit.”

“I literally have no clue how you and Nell work. None.”

He’s joking, I know. But that particular jab slips past my defenses, and bangs around in my chest for a while as we walk out onto the field. I’m not looking for anything long term from Nell, but if events up to this point are any clue, she’ll probably be done with me before I’m done with her. And even though I’m not trying to get serious, I can’t say I’m looking forward to that. It’s gonna fuck me up to see a girl like her walk away, serious or not. And I can’t afford that. Not right now. Not when I’m on the verge of finally proving myself.

If I were smart, I’d take that thought and end things now. But I do enjoy flirting with that dangerous line.

Maybe that’s what makes me reckless. I don’t know. Maybe it’s Nell, and how freaking powerful she makes me feel. Maybe I’m so eager to prove Coach right, prove Lina and everyone else wrong. Maybe Nell’s assessment of me that first day was right, and I enjoy showing off too damn much.

Whatever the reason, I play hard during practice. As hard as I would play during a game. I take risks, go for catches that I would normally let slide during practice.

After one particularly spectacular catch, my helmet cracks hard against the cornerback tackling me, and my head jerks inside my helmet before my whole body slams hard into the turf.