Scored(39)

I park my Escalade in the garage and almost run inside to find her watching Sports Center as they talk about highlights from tonight’s game.

As soon as her baby blues find me, she jumps up from the sofa and smiles. “Congrats on beating Florida.”

“Miami.”

“Which is in Florida.” She giggles a little and winks at me. “I was kidding. I totally know who the Whales are now.”

“Dolphins.”

She frowns. “Who are they?” she asks, then snorts at the look of incredulity on my face. “Kidding again.”

A grin kicks up the corners of my mouth before I take a step back to admire her outfit—the Renegades jersey I sent to her and a pair of black leggings. Better than jeans and easier to remove… if she’s interested.

I know I am. The only thing that would make this moment better is if she’d been wearing my sweatshirt.

She spins around, looking at me over her shoulder. “I love that it has your name on the back.”

“I’d tattoo my name on your ass if I could,” I admit, starting to wonder if she didn’t wear my sweatshirt on purpose so I wouldn’t get the wrong message. Or any message for that matter.

“Such a romantic thing to say.” She turns back to face me, her smile falling. “You don’t look happy to see me wearing your name on my back.”

“I wanted to see you wearing my sweatshirt.”

Her eyes round. “Please tell me you mean my sweatshirt because you picked it out and not because it’s really yours.”

“The second one.”

She groans audibly. “I might have given it to Nolan in exchange for time off from work.”

“So you’re not not wearing it to prove a point?” I rub the back of my neck, wishing I’d kept my damn mouth shut.

“No. Oh, no.” She plops down on the sofa. “I didn’t realize it was yours or I wouldn’t have given it to him.”

Paige looks so sad that I believe her. “I have more.”

“Go get one right now and I’ll put it on.” She rips the jersey off, which leaves her sitting on my sofa with only a black lacy bra holding up small, perfect tits. “I don’t want to ruin your night with my thoughtlessness.”

“Pretty sure you’ve made up for it.”

She blushes. “I didn’t… I wasn’t… I brought Mexican food.” She hides her lace-covered tits with the jersey and stands up. “If you’ll get the sweatshirt, I’ll get everything set up. I read that players are super hungry and amped up after a game—win or lose.”

I cross the distance between us, keeping my gaze on her face. “Amped up?”

Biting her lip, she nods. “Very excited and over-stimulated.”

My jaw works because I am both of those things. “Did you read what players like to do in order to relax?” Eat, have sex, and sleep. Then repeat.

“Some of the blogs and pages were very descriptive of what each player likes to do after games,” she says softly.

My entire body aches with the need to touch her, but I can’t, not until I know where this is going. If I need to put myself in the friend zone, I’ll… fuck that, I’m playing to win tonight.

“What did it say about me?”

The tip of her tongue touches her top lip, and my cock goes from semi to full-on rock solid. “That you like to eat, fu—have sex, and sleep.”

“Did that bother you?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m still here.”

I nod, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. “What do you need from me?”

“To, ah… be reassured that this isn’t a onetime thing.” Her pretty eyes bounce from my face to my shoulder, then back to my face again. “I still can’t do casual sex, Dallas.”

“I’m good for a hell of a lot more than one time, bright eyes.”

“More than one night, then.”

“I’m good for every night you can take me.” I allow myself to touch her cheek, to feel the satiny skin that defies reality with its softness. Her lashes flutter as her lips part. “I want to date you exclusively.”

Her eyes open wide. “Just me?”

I nod once. “I can be a good guy. Keep it locked up tight just for you.”

“Can you keep us secret… private?” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to be part of Drake’s Dolls. People say such vicious things about them, and I wouldn’t be able to handle it. And I don’t want my family dragged into the spotlight either. That would be the worst.”

A rush of emotion floods me. Even as turned on as I am right now, I can’t help but admire her way of looking at things. How protective she is of her family. And of herself. She’s not willing to sell out for fame or fortune. The thing is that I didn’t create Drake’s Dolls—the media and the women who called themselves that did.

But I’ve never discouraged it either.

“How about this? We’ll date in secret until you’re comfortable enough to go public. I’ll play by your rules.”

“That would mean I’d eventually have to tell my sister about us,” she says with a shudder.

“I can handle Finley.”