Page 116 of Taking Sides

“Nothing, man,” August says. He’s the first to compose himself. “We’re just getting to know Whitney.”

Conrad’s lips loosen into a smile. Without breaking eye contact with me he asks them, “She’s great, isn’t she?”

The next morning I’m feeling much better. It may have something to do with the man in my bed, or rather the way he woke me up.

We’re in the kitchen now having a lazy morning before Conrad has to go. The team flies to Calgary this afternoon for a series of away games.

I’m sitting on the counter, wearing his T-shirt like that will keep him here. He moves around the small space, shirtless, making food for both of us. Well, mostly him, because all I’m interested in eating is toast. I think my drinking days are over. My body can’t handle it at the ripe old age of twenty-five.

“Are you sure you don’t want any eggs or bacon?” Conrad turns from the stove to look at me.

“I’m good.” I take another bite of my buttered toast. “Breakfast and a show.”

I lift my brows and give him a heated look. He shuffles over to kiss me. Before he can pull away, I grab hold of his jeans to keep him in place.

“My food is going to burn.”

“Should have had toast.” I let my lips linger against his for another moment before letting him go.

He moves back, then mutters, “Fuck it,” before stepping to me again. He moves between my legs and wraps his arms around my waist.

I giggle into his mouth as his slants over mine. My toast falls.

“My breakfast,” I murmur with a whine.

Conrad’s lips pull higher at the corners. “You weren’t so concerned with mine.”

I’m not concerned about mine either. Not really.

He keeps kissing me, and I let my hands roam along his warm, muscular chest and stomach, around to his back. I’m going to miss him so much this week. A girl could get used to waking up with him and making out over breakfast.

Conrad stops and moves his lips from mine. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” I ask at the same time a knock sounds on the front door.

“Expecting someone?” He goes to the stove and turns off the burners.

I hop down from the counter.

“No,” I say. “I bet it’s Sloane.” She’s the only person who stops by my place unannounced besides Conrad.

I go to the front door, only remembering I’m not wearing pants when my hand is on the doorknob. Conrad’s shirt comes down mid-thigh so at least I won’t be flashing her. In fact, she’ll probably think it’s hilarious.

By some miracle, I happen to look up and see part of my visitor’s head through the frosted glass pane at the top of the door. It’s too tall to be Sloane, for one, and secondly, I’d recognize my brother’s big head anywhere.

“Fuck.” I step back and put a hand to my mouth.

“Who is it?” Conrad asks.

Double fuck. Conrad.

I turn to him. Victor knocks on the door again.

“My brother,” I whisper, then point. “Victor is here.”

Conrad’s brows lift.

My phone rings from the living room where I left it. I don’t have to run and check it to know it’s my brother. And more importantly, he can now hear that I’m inside.