The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #4)(53)

I do want to be more than friends.

It’s hard living in the same house with him and not thinking about sex all day, every day. It’s impossible not to; Elliot is big and sexy and strong and sweet.

Polite.

Funny.

As a male specimen, Elliot is highly underrated by the female population of Iowa, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

God, moving in with him was the worst thing I could have done—the guy is too polite to put the moves on his roommate. Too polite to put his hands on me, even when I whip my shirt off during a massage.

I know it.

He knows it.

Devin freaking knows it, and he doesn’t know me at all!

Guh!

I climb under the covers of Elliot’s incredible queen-sized bed, the flannel sheets fresh from the laundry, a familiar warmth. Welcoming and cozy, we’re well acquainted, his bed and I.

His bed. The ultimate tease.

If having me tucked under his covers doesn’t make his mind wander, there really is no hope for him.

On the side closest to the wall, I give my shirt a tug, straightening it on my body, wishing I had the courage to remove it and bury myself in Elliot’s sheet with nothing on but my underwear.

God, I’m a hormonal teenage boy.

Worse, actually.

And now that my hormones are screaming at the rest of my body and brain, there is no stopping them now. They’re doing the thinking for me.

Skin against skin is what I crave.

Soft, gentle stroking is what I want.

Sucking is what makes me squirm.

Oblivious to my woolgathering, Elliot returns, still not wearing a shirt. His broad chest fills the doorway, wide shoulders and tan flesh making my girly parts tingle—his pecs are perfect. Nipples dark. Collarbone smooth enough to lick.

Maybe instead of staring, I should read a book. Climb out of this bed and back into mine and move on with my life. Find a guy who likes me back enough to pursue me, to put the moves on me.

“I was texting with Daniels yesterday and he was telling me about this show he and his girlfriend started watching, about four couples that get married at first sight, kind of like a blind date. The new season just started.”

I sit up, intrigued. “People get married without even seeing each other first?”

He shrugs, setting the water glasses down on his desk. I totally check out his ass before he turns around to face me. Climbs on top of the bed, back against the headboard, legs atop the covers.

They’re long, toned, soccer player’s legs. Fit from running every morning and playing games regularly. We both played in high school but weren’t good enough to play at the university level. Both like to run, but not long distances.

He crosses those legs at the ankles, resting his arms behind his head, and my eyes travel the length of him. Tall. Solid. Hard in all the best places.

I want to purr, but I also don’t want to creep him the hell out.

“Would you get married to someone you’ve never laid eyes on before?” Elliot gives me a quick cursory glance, flipping through the channels.

“Yes, one hundred percent.” I’m nodding vigorously because I totally would.

He looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. If I reached a certain age and wasn’t in a relationship, you bet I would. What do these people have to lose? It seems like a fun experiment.”

“You think you’d reach an age where you’d resort to marrying a complete stranger?”

“I don’t think any of these people are settling. The way I see it, there is someone for everyone if you’re open to it.”

“But marrying a stranger, on TV? You think you’d be so single you’d have to?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s a definite possibility. I mean, think about it this way. I’m in my twenties, in my prime, and there still isn’t anyone on the horizon who wants to date me, douche canoes notwithstanding.”

I leave the bait for him to disagree, and he takes it.

“That’s not true.” He says it slow and quiet, deliberate.

“Well, in any case, I think the idea is kind of romantic.”

Elliot makes a low scoffing sound in his throat. “It must be if Zeke Daniels—the biggest cynic on campus—sits and watches it with his girlfriend.”

I consider this information. “So basically we should prepare to become addicted to yet another TV show?”

“Basically.”

“This constant bingeing on ridiculous shows is not going to end well, you know that right? At some point, you and I will have to leave the house for food, water, and sunlight. I can’t remember the last time I even showered.”

He makes a show of sniffing the air between us. “Very funny, Donnelly.”

Donnelly.

I love it when he calls me that.

He does it when he’s teasing me, when he’s not sure what else to say, and I like to pretend it’s his shy way of showing affection without being obvious about it, like he’s secretly harboring feelings for me but can’t let me know.

“It is very funny, St. Charles.” I give it right back, sneaking a peek at his abs from under my lashes.

I don’t think Elliot realizes his appeal to women. If he did, I doubt he’d be sitting around shirtless, looking like a romance novel cover hero.

Freshly showered. Bare chest.