Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(91)

I pull my face back to grin into hers; “So, five years later and you’re still thinking about my hot prick, huh?” I smirk at her, still relishing the feel of her in my arms, and doing everything I can, even if it’s obnoxious, to keep her there even a moment longer.

Reagan rolls her eyes; “Emphasis prick,” she huffs out, squirming out of my arms and stepping away from me.

“Hey, your words not mine, sweet stuff.” I wince inside, regretting saying it even before it leaves my mouth. Why the fuck can’t I just be normal around her? There’s something about the way she talks to me - the way she’s always talked to me - that brings out the fighter in me when all I want to do is be normal around her. Well, that’s of course not the only thing I want to do with her when I’m around her, but I let that thought simmer away for the time being. It doesn’t help that she’s sexy as hell standing here in the freezing cold with her red hair looking wild and fierce and wearing that ridiculously hot black dress with her nipples poking through. I can feel my cock stir in my pants, and I shake my head, trying to tear my eyes away from her perfect tits in that perfect dress with her perfect nipp-

“In your dreams, asshole.”

You have no fucking idea, babe I think inside, gritting my teeth and trying to will my erection to go away. Instead, like I always do with her, the snark comes out instead; “You know honey, Donald’s right about you.” I can see her bristling at the word honey and add that one to the list of probably slightly offensive names she clearly hates.

“What?”

“You do have a hell of a mouth on you.”

She smirks at me, all sass and sexiness; “Oh, honey, you have no idea.”

I groan inside, feeling my cock go rock-hard inside my tuxedo pants. I don’t know if she means for it to come out as innuendo-laden as it does, but before I can even think about it too hard, she whirls to march away from me and suddenly she’s slipping on the ice all over again. I lunge again, catching her once more before she falls.

“Stop touching me, Hudson!”

“Well stop fucking falling then!”

We glare at each other for a second, and it’s taking everything I have to meet her eyes and not to stare at her trembling lower lip, or further down to where I can clearly see her nipples poking out of her sheer gown. Somehow, somehow, chivalry wins out over my dick, and I let her go, putting her back on her feet. She shivers, and before I know it I’m shrugging my tux jacket off and pushing it towards her.

“Stop it, I don’t want that.” Her eyes flare defiantly, all the while rubbing her arms with her chilling looking hands.

“It’s freezing out here”

“Well I’m fine!”

I grit my teeth and roll my eyes; “Have you seriously always this fucking obstinate?”

“It’s my ‘political edge’,” she sneers out.

“Well, that’s one word for bitchy.” I cringe again inside, wondering how the hell I can go about murdering the voice inside my head that keeps insisting on letting everything out.

She frowns at me, reaching up to push a loose lock of hair behind her ear and just looking so damn cute standing there shivering; “Is there a fucking point to all this?”

Ugh, yes, if I could just stop acting like an asshole and ruining it.

I clear my throat; “Yes, actually. Archer Holdings believes in your campaign.” Christ I sound like I’m giving a board meeting address.

She purses her lips and clenches her jaw at the name; “Fantastic, well tell them to vote however their little hearts desire in the election. I’ll have my people send over some lawn signs and buttons if they’d like.”

“Cute” I mutter, seeing her frowning mouth turn up slightly at the corners.

“So, what, is my Dad trying to buy my love from beyond the grave or something?”

I grimace, feeling my muscles tense and hands clench, before I have to remind myself that she never knew William Archer like I did; like we did.

When he found me, I had nothing; less than nothing really. None of us did back then, until he dragged us back from the brinks of our own personal hells. And when I say ‘Nothing,’ I don’t just mean in the material possessions sense of the word either. When a man is broken inside as I was - like all three us were - there's almost no coming back from it. In the very bottom depths of my own nightmare, with the shit I'd seen and the even worse shit I'd done, I'd given up on myself; almost.

“When a man gives up on himself, that's when he's truly gone” He'd said to me that first night, sitting in that shit-ass bar as he’d pulled the bottle away from my shaky hand when I'd reached for another drink; “And you don't seem like you're gone; not yet.”