Playing for Keeps(40)

 

She grabs my pillow and hugs it to her chest. “It’s just, I want to move on, you know? I don’t want to be defined by my past. But every time I get close to someone . . .”

 

“What?” I ask, stepping closer to the bed.

 

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just a big pussy when it comes to hooking up.”

 

Realization of her choice of words hits her, and Becca starts laughing. “Pussy. Oh my God!” She clamps one hand over her mouth, still giggling.

 

I chuckle along with her. “You don’t have to hook up and sleep around if you don’t want to. There’s nothing wrong with being choosy. Hell, I think it’s a damn good thing.”

 

She licks her lips, curling her legs under her in the center of my bed. “I know. It’s just, I feel like I’m finally at a place where I want more, and I have no idea how to go and get it.”

 

I’d already met her through Elise, but it was when Becca started working in the office at the arena that we became instant friends. I used to tease her about why she never dated, and then she finally told me the truth. She’s dated casually but has a hard time trusting people and opening up, and anytime a man attempts to take it to the next level, she completely freezes up. Which makes sense, obviously.

 

“I mean, seriously, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been kissed?” Her eyes are wide and eager.

 

“I—don’t.”

 

“A long freaking time.”

 

“Any man alive would be happy to kiss you.” My voice comes out a little tight.

 

She nods. “It’s what comes after the kissing that makes me nervous.” Then she looks up and meets my eyes, her bright blue gaze inquisitive and demanding. “The only guy I’m comfortable with is you. I mean, if you wanted to take a break from all the bunnies and help me get back in the saddle . . .”

 

She starts giggling again, and my heart fucking stops.

 

“Saddle. Get it?” She chuckles, raising her eyebrows dramatically while she pokes me in the ribs.

 

I hope like fuck I’m hearing things, because otherwise I’m pretty sure Becca just suggested we have sex, and there’s nothing about that scenario that makes any sense.

 

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” I ask, my voice sounding as tense as my body feels.

 

She taps her fingers to her chin, pondering this. “Two margaritas at the bar.” She counts those on her slender fingers. Her nails are painted pale pink. “And then I think a couple of tequila shots when we got back here.”

 

“Who let you have that much tequila?”

 

She shakes her head. “I’m fine. I’m not even that ’toxicated. Plus, this is the most genius plan I’ve ever had, really, Owen. It’s brilliant.”

 

Averting my eyes, I groan. “Please, for the love of God, close your legs.”

 

“Huh. Why?”

 

“Because I can see your panties.” For the fourth time.

 

“Oh, sorry.”

 

Does she seriously think I’m mad? I’m about to go certifiably insane.

 

Becca twists one long dark lock of hair around her finger as her gaze wanders over my body. “I hope you haven’t shaved your chest, because I love the hair on it.”

 

I’ve never heard words like this come out of her mouth in the four years we’ve been friends. My heart begins to hammer against my ribs.

 

“I mean, I know you’re probably a lot bigger than the toy I use, but we could at least try.”

 

Toy? My mouth has gone bone dry. Focus, Owen.

 

“Becca, I’m not going to fuck you.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Why not? Sweet fuck. I can’t with her right now.

 

“Because. You have issues with intimacy and trust and . . .” My mind goes completely blank. Where the fuck am I going with this?

 

She’s nodding. “Exactly. And you could help me get past those insecurities because I trust you completely, and we’re besties.”

 

I shake my head. “You should sleep it off.”

 

Several tense seconds tick by. Neither of us moves.

 

“Can I just at least look at it?” Her words come barreling out, her tone hinting at annoyance.

 

She’s annoyed with me? Oh, that’s rich. I’m trying to do the right thing, and she’s making my job ten times harder. Literally.

 

“Look at what?”

 

Her gaze drops to my crotch. “Your penis.”

 

My eyebrows shoot up. “You want to look at my dick?”

 

“No. Well, yes. I mean, please, Owen. I need to prove to myself that there’s nothing scary about this, right?”

 

Something painful squeezes inside my chest. She needs help remembering that men aren’t scary, and she feels safe enough with me to not only talk about it, but also ask for my help.

 

Fuck. I rake my hands through my hair as my mind runs at a million miles an hour.

 

I would do anything for this girl. The moment I really got to know her, I became protective of her. Even though her request is crazy, there’s this achy feeling in the center of my chest for her.

 

“It’s just a plain ol’ wiener, right? Nothing to be scared of. But every time I even think about it . . .” She squeezes her eyes closed and gives her head a firm shake. “I freeze.”

 

“Becca.” I stop beside the bed and place one hand on her shoulder. Her eyes open and latch onto mine. “You can’t be serious here.”

 

“Just one quick peek before I go to sleep?” she asks again, those big blue eyes still peering hopefully up at mine.

 

Christ. Why won’t she just drop this? Doesn’t she know my self-control is hanging by a thread? I’m a guy . . . and a woman wants to see my junk, so, of course I’m actually contemplating it.

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Understatement of the century.

 

She scoffs. “The guys in the locker room have probably seen it eight thousand times. It’s not a big deal.” She pouts, pushing out her lower lip.

 

Apparently, because I’m a masochist who has no problem showing off his dick, I start to soften to the idea. “One quick look, and then I’m leaving and you’re going to sleep.”

 

She bounces up and down on her knees, practically giddy. “Yes. I promise.”

 

This is so fucking weird. Like a twisted version of show and tell.

 

“You’ve got ten seconds, Becca.”

 

She nods in agreement.

 

I’m wearing athletic shorts, so it’ll be simple to pull them down my hips. Yet there’s nothing simple about the way Becca’s gaze appraises me. Her brow is crinkled in concentration and her expression is serious. It’s like she’s studying for a damn calculus exam.

 

Sliding my hands under the waistband, I draw my shorts down a couple of inches and stop. The top of my manscaped pubic hair is visible now, but nothing else.

 

I watch Becca carefully, waiting for any signs that she’s uncomfortable, that this is a horrible idea and I should slam on the brakes. But she bites her lip, her eyes wide as though she’s waiting to unwrap a long-awaited Christmas present.

 

Fuck it. I’m already going to hell anyway, so I might as well fast-track this ride. I shove the shorts the rest of the way down until gravity does the rest and they drop to my ankles.

 

Thank fucking God I’m soft.

 

It’s not a wish I’ve ever made in the presence of a beautiful woman before, but right now, I’m extremely thankful that my cock is, well, mostly soft. Our conversation over the past few minutes excited me for reasons unknown, but I managed to contain myself, for the most part. My dick hangs heavily beside my thigh, only slightly swollen in interest.

 

Becca leans closer. “Oh. That’s . . .” She swallows, her gaze still glued to my crotch, and I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking. “That’s interesting,” she finally says.

 

Interesting? My eyebrows shoot up. Not exactly what I wanted to hear. “Interesting?” I echo.

 

She nods, leaning closer. “It’s just not what I was expecting.”

 

I can’t ask her what she was expecting, because the words lodge in my throat as she moves closer to the edge of the bed where I’m standing.

 

“May I?”

 

When she reaches toward me, I freeze. She isn’t serious, is she?

 

“I can’t see the whole thing.”

 

Confused, I glance at myself to see it’s lying down, covering my balls. I have no fucking idea what she intends to do, but I find myself nodding.

 

What.

 

The.

 

Actual.

 

Fuck.

 

Owen.

 

Carefully, like she’s cradling a newborn puppy and not a dick—the dick attached to one of her best friends, mind you—Becca lifts it in her hand.

 

The second I feel her warm palm against me, I start hardening, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. She’s touching me, and my body doesn’t seem to know the difference. It’s game fucking on.

 

I count backward from a hundred and pinch the bridge of my nose with two fingers, inhaling a huge shuddering breath. “Hurry up. Your ten seconds are almost done,” I hiss out.