Everything for You (Bergman Brothers #5)(13)

“Your Mocha Mexicana, and this time I triple-checked they didn’t forget the cayenne,” Oliver says, beaming as Julio pops off the lid and breathes in the aroma of his drink.

“Gracias, Oliver. This is just what I needed.”

“De nada. I’m glad,” Oliver says. “Have a great day, Julio! And you let me know how Paulina’s surgery goes next week, all right? I’ll be thinking about her.”

“Will do, man. Will do.”

Oliver turns back to me and hands me a beverage carrier. Then another. “Be helpful if you’re just gonna stand there looking grumpy.”

“I—”

“Hasta luego, Julio!” Oliver calls.

Gritting my teeth, I turn and give Julio a polite nod.

Julio lifts his coffee in greeting and smiles faintly, nothing like the wide, warm grin he had for Oliver. “Have a nice day, Mr. Hayes.”

“Gavin,” leaves me before I can stop it.

What the hell’s wrong with me? Someone’s hijacked my brain and mouth this morning. That’s the only explanation for why I willingly got into a car with Oliver Bergman, held his damn specialty coffee drinks, and am now making sure I’m on a first-name basis with Julio in security.

Maybe I concussed myself last night at the bar. Wouldn’t be my first head injury, and the doctors warned me I can’t afford too many more before they start worrying about long-term neurological impact.

Julio lifts his eyebrows. “Sorry?”

I clear my throat, glancing down at the beverage carrier and wedging a cup more securely in its holder. “Just call me Gavin. Unless you’d prefer to be called Señor Rodriguez.”

Julio’s deep chuckle starts in his barrel-sized chest. He looks a little surprised that I even know his last name. “Nah. First names is fine with me…Gavin.”

I nod, picking up my head and glancing after Oliver, who’s whistling his way down the hall. “Right. Well.” I jerk my head that way. “Beverage duty calls.”

Julio lifts his cup again in a salute, his smile wider, friendlier. “Chau.”

“Chau.”

My strides are long, if a little uneven, because my knee is still pulsing with pain that I’m deeply used to pushing through. Soon I’m close behind Oliver, who’s once again whistling merrily and making me wish I had a pair of earplugs.

I blame exhaustion, maybe even being a little drunk still, the weird spell that being forced into a morning with Fucking Ray of Songbird Sunshine Oliver Bergman has cast on me, for what I allow to happen:

I let myself look at him like I did in the car.

Like I absolutely shouldn’t.

Starting with his bright-yellow sneakers that have a cobalt-blue stripe, up the length of his legs, which are wrapped in snug-fitting blue joggers that hug his tight ass and sit low on his narrow hips.

Goddamn.

“Enjoying the view?” Oliver calls over his shoulder.

Shit. “More like wondering how you can breathe in pants that tight.”

“Considering my respiratory system is located beneath my ribs and not in my lower extremities, quite easily, Mr. Hayes.”

“Stop calling me that,” I growl.

Oliver comes to a halt so fast, I nearly bodycheck him. Instinctively, I grab his waist to steady him as I rotate away so we won’t fully collide. We knock shoulders, so close, I’m inundated by his scent. Fresh laundry, line dried by a sea breeze and sunshine. Soft and warm and clean.

I snatch my hand away, because it’s burning.

Oliver stands with his back to me, head bent over the beverage carriers as he steadies the cups. “Sorry about that,” he says, much quieter than normal, before clearing his throat. “Forgot my turn signal.”

I’m stunned, as if it’s a hit from behind—brutal, swift, blacking out the world around me. The feel of him, lean and hard beneath his clothes, the delectable scent of his body. My brain’s flooded with an image I can’t stop. Warm, sweaty, sun-gold skin. Crisp white bedding. My hands pinning down those hips as my mouth teases him, as he fists the sheets, gasps, begs—

“Good morning, Maria! Morning, Dan!” Oliver hollers as he enters the training room.

I exhale roughly, willing the heat that’s roared through my body to dissipate. Begging my body to cool down.

Fuck. Just…fuck.

Ignoring me, thank God, Oliver hands the next two beverages to our athletic trainers. Their conversation hovers outside my awareness.

This cannot be happening. I won’t let it.

Without another word, I set the beverage carriers I was holding on the desk right inside the room, nodding politely to both our trainers while Oliver prattles on with his back to me.

And then I leave.

Heading straight for the world’s coldest pre-practice shower.





4





OLIVER





Playlist: “Cuando Suena la Tambora,” Fernando Villalona & Johnny Ventura





Butter-yellow sun pours down on us. A crisp January wind whips across the field, carrying Santi’s beloved Banda music, which blasts from the speakers as we scrimmage. I’ve got everyone in the habit of taking turns playing their favorite upbeat tunes to keep the mood light, and boy, have we needed our mood lightened today.