“Of course.” I have a contract. “I do like football. Love it.” And I’m good at it. “A lot of people would love to be in my shoes.”
“Because of the money?”
“And the fame. And the chicks. And the lifestyle.”
“But you don’t want that?”
I shrug. I don’t know if I do or not. “I like to play ball. When I got the contract, the tattoo shop’s reality show hadn’t started, so it was a way to pay Paul back for everything he’s done for us.”
I’ve never said that to anyone.
“But now, he has the show and more money than he knows what to do with, not to mention Friday and the kids. He’s set. So are the others. I don’t need to take care of them. Or anybody.”
“That’s good.”
I shake my head. “I would like to have somebody to take care of.” I cough into my fist. “Someday. Like Paul and Friday. And Logan and Emily. And Matt and Sky. And Pete and Reagan. I want to be a couple.”
“You want kids?” She searches my face.
“Yeah.” But I don’t want them tomorrow or anything.
“I’m still undecided about kids,” she says quietly.
I nudge her shoulder. “You like kids. I’ve seen you with PJ and Kit.”
“Just because I like them doesn’t mean I could raise one.” She points to her mouth. Then to her tapping toe. “It might be difficult.”
“Raising kids is always difficult,” I say with a grin. “Look at Logan and Emily. Emily was terrified one of their kids would inherit her dyslexia.” I tilt my head and study Peck. “Is stuttering hereditary?”
She shrugs. “I have no idea. If so, I’m never having kids. Ever.”
Note to self: research that tomorrow and never tell her the answer. “Was it tough for you?”
“Not as tough as the rest of it.” She starts to fidget. I should change the subject.
“You want some popcorn?” I tweak her nose and she grins and runs her finger down it.
“I’d have to put it in my pocket.” She pats her stomach. “I’m still full from dinner.” She waits a beat, blinking her dark eyes at me. “Thanks for letting me hide out here.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and squeeze her in a soft hug. “Girl, I’ve been trying to figure out how to get you here for a long time.” I chuckle. “What would you be doing if you were at home?”
Her brow furrows. “I’d be waiting to rate Fin’s one-night-stand as she rushes him back out the door.”
“Wham bam thank you ma’am?”
She nods and laughs.
“What else?”
“Star would be ironing her clothes for tomorrow.”
I nudge her. “I asked what you would be doing.”
Her face colors. “Nothing.”
“Liar.” I wait a beat. “What would you be doing?”
“Masturbating and watching reruns of The Walking Dead.”
Holy shit. I choke on my own spittle. “What?” I finally gasp out.
She laughs. “You asked.”
Peck
I should not have said that. I realize it as soon as he chokes. His eyes go all warm and he subtly shifts his junk. I look away, thoroughly embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Hey, I asked.” His attention is all mine. His eyes narrow. “You’re lying.”
I nod and heat creeps even further up my cheeks. “It’s a code word I use with my sisters for eating something I shouldn’t.” I laugh. That sounds even worse than masturbating because it makes it sound like I have no self-control at all. “You know, forbidden fruits and all that.”
He coughs into his fist. “Forbidden fruits?”
“Masturbation. Junk food.” I shrug.
He nods slowly. “Masturbation.”
I look everywhere but at him.
“Masturbation,” he says again. He’s still nodding.
“Would you stop saying it?” I hiss.
“That’s what food is like for you?” He scrunches up his nose.
“No,” I insist. “It’s what junk food is like. Not real food.” I look up at him. “You don’t agree?”
“Hell no.” He grins. “So tonight, when I fed you that cupcake, we were masturbating together?”
He turns so that he’s facing me, with his arm lying across the back of the couch. He brushes my hair back behind my ear.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he says with a laugh. “I like masturbating with you.”
He tips my face up with a gentle finger under my chin.
“Can I kiss you?”
I shake my head, but his lips are so close to mine that I can feel his breath.
“Why not?” he asks.
I push to the edge of the couch, because I really need to get away from him. If not, I’m going to let him kiss me. And I’m not going to want to stop. But when I move to get up, he wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me back onto his lap. I freeze, because my weight is on his good leg. “S-stop. I’m g-going to h-hurt you.” I don’t have anywhere to tap.
He says softly but firmly, “I’ll let you know if it hurts.”
With a gentle push of his hand in the center of my back, he brings me down to lie on his front, and my breasts squash against his hard chest muscles. God, I don’t think there’s anything soft about him. He palms my hip and hitches me closer and higher, bringing my lips to his.