Blindsided (18 page)

O
ur legs are tangled under his sheets, the rough hair on his lower legs scratchy against my smooth skin, but not uncomfortably so. His arms are wrapped around my body, holding my back flush against his chest. I can feel every dip and rise of his muscular body, and I can feel his breath against the back of my neck, hot and oddly comforting.

I never thought I’d find myself waking up in Corey’s bed. His determination to have any and all of me is admirable—I have to admit it. Not to mention his surprising resistance to not take it any further last night. It would have been easy for him to carry me into his room, slip my underwear to the side, and fuck me.

And maybe, in my delirious, post-orgasm state, I wouldn’t have refused him.

After all, he’s already had a part of me. That intimacy between us wasn’t asked for, but it was freely taken. I’m not ashamed of the fact that, the second he touched me, I didn’t want to move. Hell, I
couldn’t
move. I took what he was giving me and I reveled in every damn glorious second of it. I rode every wave of pleasure he sent my way. And there was a
lot
of pleasure. Maybe he has magic fingers.

I glance down to where his hand is resting on my stomach. His fingers, long and perfectly sized, are splayed across my skin. He twitches in his sleep, and the tiny movement sends a bolt of delight across my body.

Yep. He definitely has magic fingers.

He is…surprising. I’m not sure how else I’m supposed to describe him. I can’t get over the fact that he didn’t take any more than I was willing to give last night. That he didn’t even try to. It seems so contradictory to his everyday behavior.

If I’m totally honest with myself, I wish he would have followed through. I wish he would have taken everything I probably would have given him, because then it would mean that this whole damn charade could be over.

I would be the mountain conquered, the war won, the question answered. I would no longer be a thrilling prospect for him to overcome. The challenge would be fulfilled.

Lying in his arm this morning, warm and snug, I wish I were all of those things. Because every second we spend together blurs the lies a little. It’s natural to spend so much time with someone and want to know more about them.

And I do, I think, want to know more. I’m curious about the man behind the mask, because that’s what I think he is. He’s hiding behind a mask. For whatever reason, I don’t know, but I kind of want to.

I think I want to know about his life before the Vipers, what he does when he’s not training or playing, what he likes, what he doesn’t. I think I want to know who Corey Jackson is, because I’m almost certain that the person he portrays to the media is not him.

It’s dangerous. It’s a dangerous line to cross in this dangerous game. Too much information, too much of an insight into who he is, could shatter everything. My conviction could—and probably will—be destroyed. Too much information and I could hand over a lot more than just my body.

As it is right now, I know wholeheartedly that I will have sex with Corey Jackson and it won’t mean a damn thing.

One of the most important things my mom has ever taught me is that a woman’s body isn’t a toy. It’s not to be played with and discarded like a broken train set. A woman’s body is a work of art to be admired and revered, and you shouldn’t settle for less than anyone who’ll treat it like it’s worth a thousand priceless paintings.

I have no doubt that Corey would worship my body, but the real question is whose pleasure he would be worshipping it for.

And to that, I already know the answer. Yet my conviction is already staring at me, broken on the floor at my feet.

I shift my gaze from Corey’s hand to the clock on the nightstand. “Oh, fuck!” I yank the sheet off my body and shove his arm away.

“What the…”

“Crap, crap, crap!” I grab my clothes from the floor. Quinn will be calling me in T-minus fifteen minutes and there’s no way I can be around Corey for that.

“What’s wrong?”

I turn to look at him. He’s sitting upright, the covers pooled at his waist and exposing every glorious pack of muscle on his stomach. My eyes shamelessly trace the indentations of his body then drop down farther. The sheet is tenting, and…

“Leah? It can’t be that serious if you’re staring at me.”

His words jolt me from my trance. I blink harshly and snap my eyes up to his.
Think, Leah. Think.

“I have a job interview in, like, forty-five minutes. I need to shower and change before I leave!” I lie easily.

“Okay. You need me to give you a ride home?”

“Uh, yeah!” My eyes widen. “I look like I just got dragged through a bush by a bobcat or something.”

He laughs. “Do me a favor?”

Ten minutes.
“I don’t have time for your fooling around, Corey.”

“No. Just put your clothes on, for fuck’s sake, or I’ll be driving nowhere except into you.”

I look at the fabric in my hand. Crap. I’m panicking so much that I almost forgot to get dressed. “Fine.” I throw the jersey over my head then slide the skirt up my legs. “Happy?”

“Not really,” he grumbles, swinging his legs out of bed.

My eyes flick to him as he stands. Since he’s wearing just his boxer briefs, I can see the outline of his erection clearly, and I swallow. Hell, I knew he wasn’t exactly small—I’ve had it pressed against me enough times—but I didn’t realize he was quite that…big…either.

“You’re not fuckin’ helpin’.”

“Sorry. Going. Now.” I turn and run out of his room before my hormones make crazy decisions for me.

“You don’t have to!” Corey yells after me.

“Oh, I do,” I mumble to myself then I shout to him, “Just put some damn clothes on and take me home!”

Macey and Ryann stare at me across the living room.

“Let me get this straight,” Macey starts, leaning forward. “You slept together, practically naked, and you
didn’t
hit a home run
?
”

“I’m with her,” Ryann agrees with a grimace. “For once. Girl, what is wrong with you?”

According to my friends, a hell of a lot. “It’s not my job to start that. It’s his.”

Macey rolls her eyes. “Right. Because it totally wasn’t my job to lean over the table and whisper a very dirty thought in Jack’s ear the other night.”

“But that’s you. I don’t…whisper dirty thoughts. Unless I’m asking my mom to do my laundry because I can’t be bothered.”

“Look, you’re crazy. Totally crazy. Get in that man’s pants and get out before you’re in so far that his waistband is holding you there.”

Ryann shakes her head. “Mace, not everyone is as anti-love as you are. What if they’re falling for each other?”

I choke on my drink.

Macey looks triumphant. “See? You don’t choke if you’re falling in love, Ry.”

“Okay. I’m not falling in love with him,” I clarify. “I don’t even like the guy half the time.”

“You like him enough to let him play ping-pong with your clit.”

Ryann coughs loudly.

My mouth drops open. “Where do you get these things?”

“Well, it’s true,” Macey implores, nudging Ryann. “Ry, tell her. She can’t dislike him that much.”

“Hey, you sleep with people you don’t like all the time.”

“But I might like them. I just don’t get to know them well enough to know if I do. You and Corey, however, do know each other well enough to know that.”

I rub my temple and finish my drink. “Okay. No, we don’t. I just…”

They both stare at me for a long minute.

“What?” Ryann prods me.

“I’m fucking with him, okay?” I slam my glass down. “I just want him to leave me alone, so I’m fucking with him like he is with me. It’s about him getting laid and getting the heck away from me.”

Macey laughs loudly. “Yes! I knew you had it in you.” She gets up and walks to her fridge for another bottle of wine.

“Okay, as much as I think you’re insane for not hitting that, you do know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Ryann asks me quietly. “Because you can’t listen to Macey. She’s just afraid of commitment and thinks everyone else should boycott it, too.”

“Yes, I’m sure. And do you blame her? Mitch was Lord of the jackasses,” I remind her. “He’s driven her to putting out whenever it tickles her pickle.”

“I don’t think there’s any pickle-ticklin’ happening.”

I giggle. “There’s plenty of tickling. Believe me. I heard the Jack story this afternoon, and the way she told it,
I
needed a hot shower afterward.”

Ryann whistles. “So, what? Jack Carr is an animal in bed?”

“Hotter than midday on the equator, apparently.”

“There’s no apparently about it.” Macey strolls across the room, unscrewing a wine bottle. “I had a fire that needed stoking, and that baby lit me up good.”

I share an amused glance with Ryann.

“I think she was a teenage boy in a previous life,” I whisper.

“Heard that.” Macey fills her glass. “Just because I’m getting some.”

“Technically, I could have it whenever I want it.”

“Again, I ask, so why don’t you?”

“Because…I guess I don’t want to. Not for the want of pleasure, at any rate.”

“Okay, saying you don’t want pleasure sex is insanity.” Ryann shakes her head. “We’re in the middle of casting the lead opposite me in Chasing Tucker—”

“Oooh! Cole’s in the running for that!” I gasp.

“Precisely!” she sighs. “I swear to God, I need me a vibrator, because every time he walks in the room, I burn up like
whoa
.”

“I’d recommend the Rabbit Pearl.” Macey sits opposite us.

“I’m starting to wonder if you’re addicted to sex, y’know,” I tell her.

She shrugs. “There’s no complaints from me.”

“A commitment-phobe addicted to sex. There’s something you don’t hear every day.”

“It’s actually perfect if you think about it,” Ryann muses. “She can get her kicks and not worry about getting her heart broken because she doesn’t get attached.”

Macey sits forward. “Unless it’s Mr. Rabbit. I’m very attached to him.”

“Wait. You
named
your vibrator?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Well, yeah. What else am I supposed to shout out when I O?”