Page 41 of The Player

“Drew!” she said with a startled laugh, tightening her grip on her shoes and clutch as she grabbed his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“I can walk.”

“I know.” His voice softened. “But you don’t have to.”

He didn’t take a single step toward the house. “Let me carry you.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He drew her closer. Tucking her heels and clutch against her stomach, she slid her free arm around his neck and settled against him, her cheek resting on his shoulder. Then he finally turned toward the house.

Drew carried her up the porch steps and set her down on the welcome mat in front of the door. Nicole placed her heels beside it and tucked her clutch under her arm before sliding her other arm from around his neck.

His hand was still warm at her waist, he wasn’t stepping back, and the quiet between them was doing things to her. And not just sexually, either. She wanted him. That part was easy. It was everything else tangled up with the wanting that confused her. It felt real in a way she hadn’t expected, and she couldn’t tell yet if that was wonderful or terrifying. Probably both.

Did she want him to kiss her? Yes. Did she want him to come inside? Hell yes.

What Drew wanted was harder to figure out. Even this close, she couldn’t read him, and maybe his silence had nothing to do with her. His first loss of the season had to be weighing on him.

“I’m sorry about the loss,” she said.

“You watched my game?”

“On TV. Every play. That touchdown you threw on third down? You saw the safety move before the snap. You knew the back of the end zone was going to open up, and you put the ball right where only your receiver could get it.” She shook her head. “That drive was beautiful.”

With a low laugh, Drew ran his free hand through his hair and ducked his head.

“What?” Then Nicole remembered their first conversation in the mall parking lot.

“Do you have any idea how fucking sexy it is hearing you talk football like that?”

Nicole looked down at his white Air Force 1s, inches from her bare toes. “I, um . . . I might’ve downplayed how much I love football when we met.”

Drew touched her hair. “Why?”

The feel of his fingers moving through it had her tipping her head back slightly. “I didn’t want you to think I was a groupie.”

“Not even close.” His fingers reached the ends of her hair before he let it slip free. “Most girls I’ve been with don’t know shit about football. They know I’m the quarterback. That’s about it.” He moved a little closer.

“Sounds like you’ve been choosing the wrong girls.”

“Yeah. Starting to look that way.”

Chapter Eighteen

Drew forgot every reason he should be heading back to his truck. He wanted to kiss her, claim her, and do all sorts of filthy things to her body that would have her blushing for weeks. And the fucked-up part was, he already knew none of it would be enough. There was no getting Nicole out of his system, not tonight and maybe not ever.

Cedric was finally out of the way. His loss was Drew’s gain, and there wasn’t a damn thing holding him back now.

Sliding his hand from her hair to her jaw, Drew brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. Thinking about Cedric’s mouth there had him jealous as hell and pissed off about it.

Mine.

The word scared the shit out of him. He’d never looked at a woman and thought she belonged to him. But fuck Cedric. Nicole was his.

Wanting her body made sense, and Drew knew exactly what to do with that. It was her laugh, her smile, those gorgeous brown eyes, and that big heart she was trying so damn hard to protect with her no-athletes rule that had him fucked up. Jesus, this girl. He hoped to God she wanted him, wanted this—whatever the fuck this was—as much as he did.