The Trouble With Quarterbacks(25)

“We can’t kiss,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper.

“Right,” he says, moving his head farther toward mine. “We can’t kiss.”

His lips hover there, so close to mine it’s like we’re kissing without kissing, toeing the line so closely we’re millimeters from tipping over it altogether.

My heart is in my throat.

My legs are wrapped around his hips, holding him captive against me.

His hands tighten on my waist and he looks like he’s in pain, staving off our attraction like this. Then he groans and makes it clear he is.

“Who are you, Candace Williams?”

“Just some loon from across the pond.”

The corners of his mouth rise in amusement. “You’re maddening.”

I frown. “Oh no. That doesn’t sound good.”

“It isn’t. You’re not good for me. You know there’s a whole party full of people watching us right now. I’ve never kissed a girl in public. Now I have a hundred people staring as I pin you against the edge of my pool.”

“Well when you say it like that…”

I damn near shiver.

“I won’t kiss you,” he promises, his gaze on my mouth.

“It feels like you’re about to.”

He hitches me up higher on his hips so he’s got a proper hold on me. God, it’s perfect—how strong he feels between my legs, how hard he is right now even though we’re not technically doing anything, just touching each other, just absorbing each other through our pores.

His mouth nears again and my eyes flutter. It’s coming. Every fiber of my being knows Logan is about to kiss me and ruin me forever. I expect it. I want it.

Then…it doesn’t come, and I’m the one in pain now. Real pain. My chest is aching from it. I let out a little whimper, like some sad dog whose tail’s just been stepped on, then I lean into him, wrap my arms around his neck, and hug him as tightly as I can. It’s not a kiss. It’s not mouth to mouth, but it’s the closest I’ve been to him and it’s heaven all the same. He’s warm even now, like a heating lamp beneath my fingers. I can’t get a proper grip on him as he’s so much bigger than me, but I try. I let my head fall to the crook of his neck and my lips graze his skin.

He groans and gathers me close, tangling his hands in my hair.

“What are we doing?” I whisper, genuinely perplexed.

What. Are. We. Doing.

This isn’t normal.

Proper humans don’t act like this. I’ve been on plenty of dates in my day. Good ones. Bad ones. Long ones. Short ones. They’ve never consisted of stripteases in a pool followed up by playful banter that quickly devolves into a hug that makes me feel like the world will end when it ends.

“It’s just a hug, Candace.”

It sounds like he’s assuring himself as much as he’s assuring me.

“Oy! You two!” Kat shouts from across the pool. “Ever going to snog, or are you just going to do a bit of touchy-feely mumbo jumbo? We’re all getting a bit restless over here, waiting for the moment!”

My face goes red. Hideously red. Oh dear.

“We’ve been found out.” I laugh.

“We were never hiding all that well in the first place,” he counters playfully.

“Right. Whatever. I suppose it’s time we rejoin the party? Take a bit of a breather?”

It’s the absolute last thing I want to do, but we have no choice. We’re not alone out here. We’re in a crowd of people. We can’t run off and hide away in his room. We aren’t allowed. We’re stuck breaking apart and cooling off, and I hate that I feel like crying. Even though we haven’t technically done anything wrong, it certainly feels like we have.





Chapter Eight





Candace





“Let’s go, wankers, or we’re going to be late!”

“I don’t think you ought to call us wankers right before we go to church!” Yasmine shouts from inside the shower.

Kat dips her head out of the bathroom with her mascara wand in hand. “I still don’t understand why we’ve got to go in the first place. None of us are all that religious.”

I rifle through my closet, looking for the most modest outfit I own, something with long sleeves that I can button up to the bottom of my chin. “It’s important! I’ve got a lot of repenting to do after last night. I’ll ask for forgiveness, and then once my soul is cleansed or whatnot, we can go out for some coffee and avocado toast—a proper Sunday brunch.”

“I hope God is okay with us being a bit late,” Yasmine adds. “I’ve still got to shave my legs.”

“Don’t bother!” I groan. “Jesus doesn’t care if your legs are silky smooth!”

“Do you think there’ll be any cute blokes there?” Kat asks.

“Kat,” I hiss in annoyance.

She shrugs, unbothered. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got my eye on one of Logan’s teammates anyway. We chatted for ages last night.”

“He only asked you where the loo was,” Yasmine points out, contradicting her.

Kat rolls her eyes, as if exasperated. “Yes, and then I pointed him in the right direction, and he said, ‘Thanks,’ and I said, ‘Cheers.’”