Page 3 of Faking the Goal

I really don't want to do this tonight. I got home from the club barely two hours ago, crawled straight into bed, and passed the fuck out. My entire body is exhausted, my feet still hurt from work, and if my brain weren't such a vindictive little bitch, I'd currently be unconscious and drooling peacefully into my pillow.

But I'm wide awake now, restless and wound so tight I can already tell lying here isn't going to accomplish shit.

I glance toward the drawer where my toys are kept.

Nope.

Somehow, I know that's not going to cut it tonight. What I need isn't another hour alone with my thoughts. I need something distracting enough to drown them out completely and wear me down until I'm too exhausted to dream about anything.

Goddammit.

I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find a familiar name. Some jock I've hooked up with enough times that neither of us bothers pretending these messages mean anything other than exactly what they mean.

I type out a text.

ME

You awake?

The little typing bubble appears so fast.

Not even ten seconds later, his response comes through.

COREY

Yeah. Come over.

Another message follows.

COREY

Party's still going. I'll wait for you upstairs.

Of course there's still a fucking party happening at two in the morning at his team's dormitory.

I stare at the screen for a few seconds, already regretting the fact that this requires putting pants on.

Then another memory of Kirk's hands flashes through my head.

Decision made.

I throw back the covers and drag myself out of bed.

Apparently, I'm going to another party.

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing in the upstairs bathroom of the Football team's house, thoroughly sated and deliciously spent, with my earlier restlessness finally wrung out of me.

I smooth my skirt back into place and straighten my top while Corey leans against the locked bathroom door behind me, his eyes dragging slowly over my body with the same shameless hunger he had when I first walked in. Apparently, twenty minutes of going at it like rabbits did absolutely nothing to curb his appetite. His blond hair is a complete disaster, sticking up in every direction after I spent half that time tangling my fingers through it while his mouth was busy between my thighs.

When his gaze catches mine in the mirror, his mouth curves into a slow, suggestive grin.

"Stay the night," he says, his eyes making another shameless trip down my body. "We haven't fucked in a while. Seems like a waste to stop at one round."

I chuckle as I turn toward the mirror and swipe my thumb beneath the corner of my mouth where my lipstick has smudged. "You know I don't do sleepovers after a hookup."

"Yeah, yeah. Your rules."

"They're good rules."