Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend #4)(3)

Talon’s blue eyes lazily open and lock with mine while a hot-as-hell smirk spreads across his face.

There’s no way I can go another round without screwing up our entire friendship. Last night was a mistake. Alcohol and college crushes should never mix.

I pull on my earlobe—our universal sign for party’s over—and Talon gives me the nod.

“Sorry, girls,” he says and stretches. The stretch turns into reaching and bringing them both against him, freeing me to get up. “We have an early practice.”

That’s a lie. The season hasn’t started yet, but the girls don’t notice. Most jersey chasers don’t know the schedule unless they’re the full-on stalker type, but neither woman was interested in actual football talk last night.

A half-assed wave goodbye is all I can manage before I trudge into Talon’s bathroom and get in the shower. The three of them remain in Talon’s super king bed, which is the size of all of Illinois, and I try not to think about the possibility of them fitting in a quickie.

I put my head under the spray to drown out any possible noises. If I hear them going at it, I don’t think I’ll have the strength to resist.

And I need to resist before I become the mess I was when Talon left me the first time.

Ugh. Talon didn’t leave me. There was nothing to leave. There still isn’t. He’s not … we’re not … Gah!

This is why our friendship is confusing, and why I haven’t let myself think much about him.

I’m almost finished in the shower when Talon saunters into the bathroom and pisses in front of me. Does this mansion not have another bathroom?

It’s easy to see the difference in our pay grades, and that’s just by standing in his bathroom. It’s all legit marble tile with expensive fixtures and fancy shower settings. It matches everything else in the Lincoln Park address.

“You mind?” I grumble.

“Nothin’ you haven’t seen before.”

Truth. After three years of being on the same team in college and rooming together for two of those years, I’ve seen way too much to still be into the guy, but apparently, even unattractive bodily functions won’t turn me off him.

“Just like old times, right?” Talon grins. “We should’ve made an effort to keep in touch over the years.”

“Mmm.” I duck my head under the spray again. I won’t get into why I ignored his messages about catching up whenever we happened to be in the same city. He tried, but I always made excuses. In my defense, it wasn’t hard to feign being busy, and Talon understood it. It’s not that I didn’t want to see him. I did. I was ninety percent sure I was over him by the time I was drafted, but I did worry this would happen.

With one night, I’m back where I was six years ago—pining for something I can’t have.

“They gone?” I ask.

“Yep. And get this”—he finishes his business and turns to face me, and I have to look at the roof so my gaze doesn’t fall to his cock—“I asked for their number, and they giggled as if I was joking and left.”

I chuckle. “Someone’s ego bruised?”

“I don’t get it. It was fun, right? Who wouldn’t want more of that?”

“You don’t marry the girl who bangs your friend in front of you. They know that.”

“Is that slut shaming I hear?”

“No, but normal people kinda prefer it if their partners don’t willingly fuck their friends.” I don’t know how this concept is lost on Talon.

“I don’t get it, man. I’d love a wife who’d let me play with others. Or watch as she played with others.”

“That’s true love.” I rinse off and stop the shower. When I step out, Talon holds a towel out for me as if this isn’t weird at all.

He’s always been carefree and had an I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude. He’s comfortable in his skin and doesn’t care about our current state of undress. Living in a locker room for over ten years will do that to a guy, but this isn’t a locker room, and his assured confidence hasn’t wavered.

Me, on the other hand, I’m hoping to hell he doesn’t look down and see how much I’m enjoying the view.

Guilt gnaws at me. Not over last night but the three years we were pulling this type of shit in college. I fear he’ll figure me out—that I like sharing with him way more than I should. Keeping my secret from him is a betrayal of the utmost degree. Yeah, I like women, but Talon helped me discover all those years ago that I like men too. And after he graduated, I spent a year figuring out exactly what that meant. After experimenting with a few other guys, I came to the conclusion I really like one man in particular. The guys in college proved to me I was bi, but I think I’m technically pan. I fell for Talon because of who he is, not because he’s a guy.

“I know your momma told you to share as a child, but I think that’s taking it a bit too far.”

I hate that my voice comes out croaky, but it’s taking all my energy to make words work at all.

“It’s … I dunno … better when there’s more than two people.” He looks at me for confirmation of that.

I dry off and wrap my towel around me, hoping Talon can’t see the tent in it. “One of the girls kept moaning your full name, even when she was with me. She probably only agreed to a four-way so she could say she bagged Marcus Talon. Trust when I say my name and … that other girl’s will not be in the retelling of her story.”