Fumbled (Playbook #2)(32)
His jaw clenches again, making his beard twitch along with it, something that shouldn’t, but does, turn me on. Which only pisses me off more.
“Don’t call me Trevor.” He narrows his green eyes and leans across the table. “And I have every right to be angry. That’s my kid in there too!” He points toward Ace’s bedroom. “And I missed out on nine years of his life! If anyone here has the right to be mad, it’s me.” His teeth grind together, keeping what was meant to be a yell quiet enough not to wake up Ace.
“Oh yeah? As opposed to me? My family abandoned me when I left that clinic still pregnant. I finished high school a year late and any hopes of college went down the drain.” I stand up so fast I send my chair flying from beneath me. It squeaks against the hardwood, no doubt making marks as angry as I am. “Ace is the one good thing I have in my life. He’s the one thing that makes every sacrifice worth it. If you think you can ride in here with bags of toys and your superstar status and steal him from me, you’re out of your mind.”
TK, across from me, expression blank, takes his time standing. Every movement, every breath he takes, is completely measured. And though I hide it with narrowed eyes and a hand on my hip, it scares the shit out of me.
God, I hope I didn’t just poke a bear.
He steps to the side of his chair and carefully pushes it back to the table. Once it meets his apparent standards, he starts to move. Shoulders tense, feet sure, he makes his way around the table and right into my space.
Stubborn (and quite possibly stupid) as ever, I hold my ground. I don’t waver and I sure as hell do not retreat. I roll my shoulders back and stand tall, hoping my attitude makes my five feet three inches seem more intimidating.
It doesn’t.
I know this because all six feet plus of TK keep coming toward me and don’t stop until his chest damn near brushes my nose and his head is creating a shadow over my head. “Why’d you stop talking, Sparks?” he mumbles into my hair. “You had so much to say a minute ago.”
“Stop calling me Sparks,” I grind out, but don’t look up at him.
“Why?” He puts both hands on my back. “You like it.”
“I do not,” I half lie. I don’t like it, I love it. But I’m mad at him now.
“You do.” He drops his head deeper into the mass of curls covering my head, the end of his beard brushing against my cheek. “Want me to tell you how I know?”
“No.” It’s one word, but I put as much feeling into it as I can without daring to move a millimeter. Not trusting myself when I’m being not only consumed by TK’s presence but actually cocooned by his body.
“Because.” He continues on like I didn’t speak, pulling one hand from my back to take hold of the hair that was hanging over my shoulder.
I clench my eyes shut and dig my fingernails into my palms to try to distract myself from the feeling of TK’s mouth as he drags his lips through my hair until his warm breath pulses against my ear.
“Whenever I call you Sparks, I see your pupils dilate and your nipples harden. I see the goose bumps dot your arms. But most of all . . .” He stops talking but doesn’t let up. No, instead, he traces the line of my ear with his tongue, nipping at my earlobe when he reaches it. “I see the way you squeeze your thighs together, trying to find the relief you’ve been craving since I saw you in the parking lot.”
Could he be more infuriating? The cocky, sexy jerk.
“That’s not true,” I whisper because I have no energy to yell. Because all my extra energy is in use so I don’t come this very moment.
“You’re lying . . . Sparks,” he says.
And with my chest pressed against him, my bare arms hanging at my sides, and his hand resting against my spine, I know he can not only see but feel my reaction to the stupid nickname. His deep laughter beating against my neck confirms it.
“Sparks,” he says once more, like driving me mad is his new favorite pastime.
“Screw you.” I try to pack it with some force, but instead, it sounds like pleading . . . like an offer.
“Soon.” He nips my ear again, drops his hands, and steps back.
The space he creates is just as confusing as everything else between us. Giving me my first opportunity to breathe, I both welcome and resent it.
“But what I was trying to say before you snapped about the future was that I have to report to training camp on Wednesday,” he says, cool as a cucumber. Like the scene that has me shaken to my core—or wet to my drawers—didn’t happen.
I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to follow the conversation. “What?”
“Training camp starts on Wednesday. We check in to the hotel in the morning and can’t leave for two weeks,” he explains, and I try to follow. “I don’t want to go that long without seeing you guys, but I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Ace in case you weren’t feeling like coming up there.”
“Umm . . . okay.” I nod so he can see I’m listening.
“If you can come, I’ll get you passes and put your names on the list so you can watch camp and I can see Ace after practice.” He shrugs his shoulders, and for the first time since he went alpha-male extreme on me, I can see how nervous he is bringing this up. “I think they have a pretty nice setup for the families. Lots of kids come, Ace should have fun.”