Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend #4)(67)
My head drops onto his shoulder as I let out a little laugh. “You act as if I’m poisoning you.”
“It tastes like you are.”
I pull away from him. “All right. Sit down. You’re in for a real treat.”
“Is it your cock? Because I’ve already had that treat today.”
“Shane … I’m trying here.”
He tilts his head and kinda looks like a bull mastiff pup when it’s confused. “Trying what?”
“To make up for not being able to do this in public? I want you to relax and forget about us, about football, and your agent. Let’s let tonight be you and me. Miller and Talon—best friends hanging out and drowning out all the bullshit.”
“Best friends but with orgasms?”
“If you’re lucky.” That’s not my intention with this, but hey, I’m not gonna say no.
Miller’s brown eyes fill with something that looks part lust and part gratitude, but as he looks out at the harbor, his lips curve upward. “You know, best friend Talon is the guy who used to sneak me two footlong subs with extra cheese whenever Coach told us to diet.”
I grin and reach for the picnic basket. “Well, looky here.” Reaching in blindly, I pull out the exact sub he’s talking about. He takes it and immediately holds his hand out for a second one. After I give it to him, I reach in again and pull out a container of wings.
His eyes widen. “Are you magic, or is that like a freak Mary Poppins bag? Best friend Talon would also pack beer.”
“I know my man.” I pull out a six pack of his favorite beer.
Miller reaches for the wings too but pauses just before he can take them out of my grasp. “How much time in the gym am I going to have to do to make up for this?”
“None,” I say.
“None?”
“I’m giving you a cheat day.”
This time, when he leans in to kiss me, I don’t stop him. I do stop myself from taking it too far. He’s been complaining about being in our bubble, but when he kisses me like that, I never want to leave it.
“Come on. Eat up before trainer Talon turns up and changes my mind.”
Miller wastes no time taking a seat on the rug and scarfing down his food. The moans he makes while eating the saturated-fat-loaded food should be illegal. The way he licks his fingers after the wings? Kill me now. It’d be less torturous.
After we eat unhealthy food, drink calorie-filled beer, and then stuff our faces with pie for dessert, we lie on our backs looking up at the city-polluted night sky.
Miller relaxes for the first time since I got here—maybe even since the start of last season when I turned up in Chicago. It’s not sex relaxed, but relaxed, relaxed. He seems his normal, sarcastic but lovable self, and all his worries appear to be faded into the distance. At least for now. I’d do anything to make him hold onto this feeling going forward.
“Oh my God, I ate too much,” he complains, but the smile on his face gives away the truth about how much he cares about that: not at all.
“I told you to go easy on the dessert.”
“You also bought said dessert. Should never waste food, Marc. There are starving kids all over the world.”
“And here you are, eating their desserts. You’re a monster.”
“Your sex monster,” Miller retorts.
“That sounds highly unsexy.”
“I’d show you how you’re wrong, but I think if we even tried to have sex right now I’d throw up all over you. My stomach doesn’t feel too good.”
I roll onto my side and stare down at him while my fingers trace over Miller’s food baby. “Poor Miller.”
“So worth it.”
“Which is better? Food or sex.”
“Food,” he says immediately without thought.
My mouth drops open, and I reach for the cushion behind me to hit him with. He blocks it but can’t stop laughing as I try to hit him again and again.
“Okay, okay, I change my answer. Sex with you is at the top. Then food. Then sex with everyone else.”
“Well, you can’t possibly know that for sure unless you’ve had sex with everyone else.”
“I had a busy senior year after you left me.”
I hit him with the cushion again.
“I’m kidding! Even when I was with other guys, none of them compared to the way you made me feel back then. Or the way you make me feel now.”
“And how’s that?”
Miller cups my cheek, his thumb tracing my unshaved jaw. “Happy.”
I relax and lean into his touch. Miller deserves pure happiness, and I want to be the guy to give it to him.
*
The call comes a few days later, and it turns out Damon was right. Miller’s agent was looking to drop him. It gets to Miller, and I can tell he’s trying to put on a confident front. Having Damon ready to sign him helps, but I notice the shift in training, and it’s obvious the reason he’s still a tiny bit slower than he should be, not lifting as heavy as he was before his injury, and his all-round sluggishness isn’t because he physically can’t do it, but because his head’s still not on right. It’s all mind over matter at this point, and he isn’t fully recovered from the hit his fighting instinct took when he tore his hamstring.