Risky Play (Red Card #1)(57)

“Slade.” She took a deep breath, and her tongue flicked her upper lip. “It’s okay to live your life while you mourn, and it’s okay to feel guilty. It’s okay to miss him, to give yourself permission to grieve. And I don’t blame you for blaming me. I’ll take it.” A tender smile lit her face. “If it makes it easier to deal with—I’ll take the blame, I’ll take it all.”

I stood. Walked over to her chair. Pulled her to her feet and kissed her hard. Imprinted my mouth on hers.

“No,” I said between heated kisses. “You don’t need to take the blame, but the fact that you’d be willing is enough for me to want to show you how much I care about you, how much I want to see where this can go if we let it—if we trust each other.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Trust, huh?”

“Yeah, trust.” I held her close. “Think you can trust me?”

“You’ll have to prove yourself there, Mr. Rodriguez.”

I reached down and swiped the chocolate frosting off her plate, then leaned in and whispered, “Count on it.”

I pressed the chocolate to her cheek and patted it there.

“Slade!”

I ran like hell.

She chased me.

And when she wasn’t even close to catching me I stopped, turned, and held my arms open wide.

She hopped into them and I licked the chocolate from her cheek and slid my tongue across her jawbone and lips. “You taste so good I’m tempted to take a bite.” I nibbled her lower lip, sucking more chocolate from her mouth. Her sugared tongue was so sweet I wanted more. I cupped her cheeks gently with both hands, diving past her lips again for taste after taste, and when the chocolate was gone—I didn’t stop.

She melted against me.

The smell of fresh grass and the stadium mixed with the taste of her—it was something that I would never forget, something that would haunt me until I was a cranky old bastard talking about the good ol’ days.

And one very specific day.

The day I kissed Mack on the field in the middle of the stadium—the night I promised I wouldn’t let go again, the night I realized that if that smell of fresh grass, the feel of being in front of crowds of people, went away.

But I still had Mack.

It would be more than enough.

She swayed against me, her mouth still open, her lips parted like she couldn’t get enough as she returned my kiss. The faint scent of chocolate hung between us.

A sizzle of awareness crackled.

“Mack,” I rasped, pulling away. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

She sighed.

It sounded like a good sigh.

But I braced myself for rejection—God knew I deserved it.

“I just have one question.”

“Alright . . .”

She leaned in, face completely serious, eyes locked on mine. “Have you had sex on this soccer field yet?”

It took me a few seconds to respond, and then my brain was going a million miles a minute. “First off, I would never have sex with one woman while the taste of the one who got away was still on my tongue.” Her breath hitched. “Second, Matt said not to do anything stupid.” She nodded. “And third . . .” My eyes fell to her chest as she slowly pulled the straps of her dress over her shoulders. “Third,” I repeated like an idiot.

“Third.” She nodded. The dress was past her shoulders, then her hips, a wiggle here, a wiggle there. I was hypnotized by the sway of those hips, the faint scent of her arousal.

“Yeah, my third . . .” The dress hit the grass. I would never get that vision out of my head: white sundress on green grass, gorgeous woman in nothing but a nude thong in front of me. “Point.” I finally got it out. “My third point was that . . .” She tilted her head, then arched her back, giving me an incredible view of her breasts. “Um, third, and um, fourth points?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck it, I have no idea why I’m still talking, get over here.” I reached for her elbow and pulled her close, then pulled my shirt over my head, my movements by no means seductive or slow.

Everything was jerky—fast. Because my body wasn’t going to last without hers—in fact, I was sure any minute I would just combust all over the field. They’d dedicate that small patch of grass to my sad, lust-filled body and joke about it for years.

I kicked off a shoe.

It narrowly missed the table.

“No wonder you like kicking balls,” she teased between soul-wrecking kisses. I was torn between wanting to kiss her and wanting to get naked. It was a problem.

“I’m good at . . . kicking,” I said dumbly as my trousers finally made it to the ground.

She laughed. “I like you this way . . .”

“Stupid?” I offered, gathering her up in my arms.

She laughed. “Not stupid, just . . . eager.”

“So. Eager.” I ducked my head, pressing a kiss below her ear, trying to slow my body down even though it was a losing battle. Blood pumped south. All it took was kissing her and my dick was ready to pound nails.

“There’s no cameras or anything in here, right? Filming us?” She looked around the darkness.

“Wait here.” I pressed a finger to her lips, then walked back to the table, put my hand in the spotlight, and pulled out the tablecloth with one fluid motion.