Page 10 of Playing Santa

And damn if that toughness doesn’t make my heart pitter-patter even harder than before. My cock agrees with the rest of me as it hardens, ready for action. Which it’s most definitely not going to get. Not today. Not likely any time soon.

“Let’s sit on the bench.” I point to the now empty bench nearby. We can see Jimmy and Dasher chasing after sticks. Jimmy throws them and they both chase after them.

“They’re both good at fetching,” she says, following my eyes as we sit. I don’t leave much space between us and rest my arm on the bench` behind her. Turning slightly to face her, I decide to make some admissions.

“I have a reputation as a player. Mostly deserved.” Until now. But that’s something I have to prove, not something I can tell her.

“I might have picked up on rumors about that,” she says with a shrug.

“Doesn’t bother you?”

“Why should it? I’m not planning to marry you, am I? You don’t owe me anything. Not even this.” She waves an arm in Jimmy and Dasher’s direction.

“I thought we were on a first date?” I say, holding my smile in place and holding in my disappointment.

She shrugs. “We’re not. But call it that if it lights your fire. Even so, this is going to be the tamest first date you’ve ever had Mr. Player.”

I laugh. “Fair enough. I can do slow and easy. Even if I don’t have much experience at it. I’m willing to learn for you.”

“Is that right?” Her brow rises in skepticism, her smile lighting her face, her jewel blue eyes dancing. I’m so caught up I can’t even remember what we’re talking about, what she’s asking, so I nod. The impulse to kiss her is so strong that I grip the wood of the bench behind her and shove my other hand in my pocket. My cock stiffens and I pull my coat over my lap before she notices.

Not that she would look there, but…

“So what else? What’s your secret fear and your secret desire?”

“Not much is secret about me,” I say. “I’m pretty much an open book. I’m afraid of losing the super bowl for my team on a missed kick and what I want most is to win it for my team on the last play of the game.”

“Shallow.”

I laugh. “Okay, on a more personal level…” I pause for beat, gather my thoughts, aware of vulnerability seeping through with revelations and wondering why the hell I’m bothering. But then I look back at her eyes, their challenge, the warmth and toughness underneath and so much more about her that lies beneath, that I’m strangely aware of on an instinctive level. Nothing I can explicitly name, but all the things that add up to her, who she is speak to me in an elemental way, without words or even thoughts. Only feelings. And that irrepressible tug of desire so intense and crazy I don’t remember ever getting this worked up before.

Taking a deep breath, I say, “I’m afraid at the end of the road, when my career winds down and the train of available women stops, I’ll be left alone.” I watch for her reaction.

“That won’t happen.” She pats my knee, the warmth of her hand shoots straight to my dick, making it strain against my jeans, begging for freedom. I need to concentrate to listen to what she’s saying because it’s important.

“You have so much more to offer than football. In fact, football is the least good thing about you,” she says, confident as if she’s a fortuneteller or my long-time friend.

“And how would you know that?”

“I’m not well educated, but I’m not blind and dumb. You’re kind to puppies and children. What’s more important than that?”

I laugh. “Touché. Same goes for you, you know?”

She turns away and blushes a little. “Except I don’t have anything like an NFL career as the least good thing about me.”

“No. Want me to tell you what the least good thing about you is?”

“Can I stop you?” She gives me that charming half smile which on someone else might be a smirk.

“You’re gorgeous. Absolutely fucking drop dead gorgeous. If you were taller, I’d tell you to quit the animal shelter business and go for modeling—”

She waves a hand at me. “Gorgeous women—not that I’m one of them—are a dime a dozen. Besides, beauty is not a lasting commodity.”

“Where’d you hear that? A Chinese fortune cookie?”

She smiles a heart-breakingly sad smile. “My mother told me. On my birthday. The day she and my dad died.”

Damn. Damn. Damn. Fuck fighting my instincts. I slide my arm around her and pull her in for a hug, kissing the top of her head. She’s stiff and resistant for a second, but when I don’t let go, she softens.