FILTHY - a Football Romance Page 10

  “What’s your problem?” I smirk.

  “Seriously?” she leans in. “I can’t believe you followed us here.”

  My jaw comes unhinged. “That’s the funniest fucking thing I’ve heard all night. Was about to accuse you of doing the same thing.”

  “You honestly expect me to believe you just randomly picked this bar in this town five hours from home?”

  “I don’t care what you believe. We didn’t follow you. Kai’s cousin owns this place. We just wanted to get out of town for a night.”

  Delilah’s arms lock across her chest and she shakes her head. “Guess that’s your story, and you’re sticking to it.”

  I uncap my water, wishing to God I had something stronger, and lean back in my seat. The cool draft besides me warrants my attention, and only then do I see we’re alone now.

  Weston and Daphne are MIA.

  “Where’d they go?” Delilah’s face is washed in panic.

  I chuckle. Good for Weston.

  Delilah rises, moving toward the rope and pushing the curtains aside to peer out at the bar. She scans the place for her sister, rising on her toes.

  “Relax.” I come up from behind, placing my hand on the small of her back. “Weston’s a gentleman. He won’t try anything.”

  Delilah looks away. “I’m not worried about that. Daphne can hold her own. I’m just pissed she left me here alone.”

  “With me.”

  “Exactly.” She turns to face me, her eyes uncertain and one hand parked on her hip.

  “Relax, gorgeous.” I say, capturing a loose ringlet of her hair between my fingers. I slide my fingers down the length of the tendril and let it fall to her bare shoulders “Hair looks good like this.”

  She exhales, shoulders falling. Resolve weakening. I don’t know why she resists me so much. After all, less than a week ago she was lying in my bed, pussy clenched around my cock and legs twisted up in my sheets.

  “Do you need another drink?” I point toward the call button on the wall as she glances into her empty martini glass. She doesn’t answer. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m probably going to head back to the hotel soon.”

  “Seriously?” I check my watch. “It’s barely ten o’clock.”

  “What else am I supposed to do? I’ve been ditched.”

  “You can hang out with me.” I shrug. “Unless you’re back to hating everything about me again. I kind of thought we’d made some progress, but then again, you are female. Your minds change at the drop of a goddamned hat for no damn reason.”

  “Here we go again.” Delilah groans, lifting her empty glass and siphoning a final sip of liquor.

  “I’m not going to censor myself around you anymore, Delilah. I’m going to speak my truth, and fuck, speak yours too. If there’s something you don’t like about me, then say it. Stop rolling your eyes. Stop huffing and stomping and sulking like a toddler. All it makes me want to do is bend you over my knee and smack that ass of yours, and I mean that in the most sexual, adult, non-creepy fucking way possible.”

  She hides a laugh behind her hand, facing away. When she turns back to me, her eyes have that glint in them I’ve only seen a handful of times.

  “Fine.” Delilah sits straight. “You annoy me, Zane. You follow me everywhere.”

  “Not true.”

  “You act offended that I’m not falling all over you like some love-struck puppy dog.”

  “Also not true.”

  “You say the most offensive things and then act appalled that I take offense to them.”

  “You’re overly sensitive.”

  “You have no regard for any kind of rules.”

  “Okay, now you just sound like Rue.”

  “And every time I’m around you, you make me lose control.”

  “Ah, there we go.” I move my hand to her hip and pull her into me. “That’s what this is about, Delilah. You not having control. It isn’t me or the things I say or do. This isn’t about me at all. It’s about you.”

  Her brows meet in the middle and then relax, and her shoulders fall. She knows I’m right. I can see it in that defeated expression on her pretty little face. She just won’t admit it.

  “I’m going,” she says. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

  “You call this fighting?” I watch her move toward the rope, pushing the curtains aside and peering into the crowd. “You’re really going to leave right now? Un-fucking-believable.”

  “I’m removing myself from this situation,” she says. “Before we both say things we’re going to regret.”

  I stand back, watching her fidget with the ropes, trying to unclip the barricade and get away from me as fast as she can. In all my years as a grown adult man, never once have I dealt with a woman so desperate to get the hell away from me after a hook up.

  It’s almost always been the other way around.

  I move toward the ropes, unclipping them and setting her free.

  And maybe it’s for the best that I let her go.

  Clearly she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

  Clearly I had no business getting her in her pants in the first place, but fuck, I wanted her more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

  Still do.

  And she was worth it.

  Hot damn, was she worth it.

  Just wish I’d have known that my first time fucking her . . . was going to be my last.

  Chapter 11

  Delilah

  I check my phone for the umpteenth time, and my heart does a little jig when I see my sister finally replied to my fifteen hundred text messages.

  I want to yell at her for bailing, but I’m so relieved that she’s okay that I let it go.

  DAPHNE: WITH WESTON. HE’S COOL. HAVING FUN. DON’T WORRY. MEET YOU AT THE HOTEL LATER.

  Replying, I tell her to keep me updated, to text me when she’s on her way back, and to stay safe and keep her phone on her at all times. I’m sure I sound completely ridiculous, but she’s always been the adventurous one.

  I’ve always kept close to home and played it safe. I couldn’t even move across the country for school – I had to move halfway across the country.

  She’s the one who flew across the ocean for nine months and took some Parisian lover and spent her days drinking wine and restoring antique oil paintings in the back room of some fancy museum.

  I should trust her, and I’ve been around Weston enough to know he’s not a slime ball.

  But I just worry.

  After changing into pajamas, I brush my teeth, watching my reflection in the mirror. I’m wearing way too much makeup, but I’m having a rare good hair day despite the Florida humidity that tends to swell my strands.

  I rinse my mouth, running my fingers through a loose tendril and breaking up the curl as I recall how Zane said he liked my hair down.

  It’s only when I’m changing into my pajamas that I pause and think about what he said earlier about control.

  He’s right. And I know it. But admitting it feels like defeat. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be me. Growing up, my family has always teased me about my control-freak tendencies, but I can’t change that part of me any more than I can make my eyes switch from brown to blue.

  I can just hear my Interpersonal Psychology professor’s analysis in my head . . .

  Control is safe.

  And Zane makes me lose it.

  Therefore, Zane is not safe.

  It’s a simple equation. And Jesus, Zane figured it out without a graduate degree, so props to him. I just can’t . . . I can’t do this with him. There are no rules or definitions or boundaries or expectations.

  He makes me feel like I’m falling with no safety net.

  Slipping my pajama top above my head, I tug it down and grab the ice bucket and my hotel room key.

  Halfway down the hall, I spot the sign for the vending area and trudge along. Rounding the corner, I stop when I see another hallway of rooms
. . .

  . . . and Zane de la Cruz seated on the floor outside one of the doors.

  I clear my throat, and he glances up.

  “Well, shit.” His knees are bent, his elbows resting upon them, and he looks over at me.

  I tuck the ice bucket under my arm.

  “Before you accuse me of following you to your hotel . . .” He places his hand up in protest.

  “It’s okay,” I say. I’m too exhausted to argue with him, and it makes sense that he’s here. Hotel Azul is connected to its namesake club below, and the nearest hotel is eight miles north of here.

  I press the ice canister against the dispenser and listen to the groan of the machine.

  “Why are you getting ice at . . .” he checks his watch, “eleven-thirty at night?”

  Shrugging, I cap the canister and hold it against my side. “I have a thing about hotel ice.”

  His brows furrow. “Of all the things to have a thing about.”

  “It has a different texture,” I say. “It’s kind of light and airy and crisp. It’s fun to crunch. Don’t judge me.”

  “Hard not to when you tell me weird shit like that. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re picky as hell about everything else.”

  “Why are you sitting in the hall?” I ask, ignoring his commentary.

  “Kai commandeered our room.”

  Frowning, I glance at the Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the knob. “Can he do that?”

  “Not the end of the world. He’ll kick her out in about,” he glances at his watch, “two or three more hours.”

  “So you’re just going to sit out here until then?”

  Zane shrugs. “Where else am I going to go? Wasn’t going to hang out at the bar by myself.”

  “Fine. Come on.” I motion for him to follow me. He looks confused. And tired as hell to boot. “You going to get up or what?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not going to leave you sitting out here until three in the morning. You can sleep on the pullout sofa in our room.” I turn and head back to our room, unsure if he’s going to follow or not, but I’m not getting any younger, and I’m not in the mood to sit around and present my case.

  By the time I slide my key card into the door handle, I feel his warmth behind me. It takes everything I have not to smile as butterflies swarm my stomach.

  Here I go falling with no safety net in place.

  His hand finds the small of my back, and before I can respond, my words get stuck in my throat, and I can’t breathe.

  Here I go losing control again.

  Summoning my strength and resolve, I lead him into the cool hotel room I’m supposed to be sharing with my MIA sister.

  “You can sleep on the sofa.” I gather spare pillows and blankets from the linen closet and toss them to him before clicking off the lights and turning on a single lamp. The room is dark, but there’s enough light to see what needs to be seen.

  I crawl under the covers of one of the queen-sized beds and listen to the rustle of the sheets as he makes up his bed.

  Silence consumes the space around us after a while. I’m lying here in a puddle of disappointment, but I’m not sure what I expected. I guess maybe I thought he’d throw me against the wall, crush my waiting mouth with full lips, and make me his all over again.

  Maybe that sort of thing only happens in the movies.

  I roll to my side, suddenly wide awake. “You mind if I shut off the lamp?”

  “Go for it.”

  Seconds later, we’re wrapped in darkness. He’s on the other side of the room, but he may as well be beside me because my heart is fluttering and my stomach is tied in knots and my palms are sweaty.

  The sound of Zane tossing and turning comes next, and I have a feeling he isn’t too comfortable over there.

  And then I think of Daphne.

  Reaching for my phone, I check for new texts and come up empty-handed. Firing off another just-checking-on-you message, the light from the screen blasts my vision and temporarily blinds me. Blinking a few times, I sit the phone on the nightstand and nearly choke on my spit when Zane’s outline takes shape beside the bed.

  “God, you scared me.” I’m breathless. Nervous. Terrified. Curious.

  “I need an extra pillow. Mind if I steal one?”

  I grab one from the spot next to me and hand it off, but he stands there, and even in the dark, I feel his stare. My body is paralyzed as I wait for his next move, my hands clenching the tops of the covers.

  In my heart of heart and mind of minds, I know I’m being ridiculous.

  I slept with this man for Christ’s sake.

  He’s been inside me.

  “Night, gorgeous.” Zane’s shadowy figure returns to the sofa bed, and just like that, my body relaxes. Nothing’s going to happen tonight. I know that now.

  “Goodnight.”

  My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and a text from my sister flashes across the screen.

  DAPHNE: STILL WITH WESTON. DON’T WAIT UP.

  I text her back a quick “goodnight.”

  DAPHNE: I THINK I LOVE HIM. NOT LITERALLY. BUT YOU KNOW… I COULD PROBABLY HAVE HIS BABIES AND I DON’T EVEN LIKE BABIES THAT MUCH.

  Laughing through my nose, I shake my head and dim my screen before settling back into bed. I pull the sheets up to my neck, roll away from Zane’s direction, and shut my eyes, though it’s not like I’ll be doing much sleeping tonight.

  He’s a distraction over there.

  An obnoxious, delicious, ridiculously sexy distraction.

  My body got all worked up over nothing. I’m lying here, ready to go at a moment’s notice, and he’s sawing logs without a care in the world.

  Asshole.

  Okay, not really.

  This time, I’m the asshole. I think.

  Chapter 12

  Zane

  I wake with a knot in my neck and side of morning wood, my feet dangling off the side of this ridiculously small sofa and the covers in a heap on the floor. I’m a wild sleeper. This isn’t unusual.

  Pulling myself up, I rub the heels of my palms against my eyes until they come into focus enough for me to see Delilah’s bed is empty.

  Dragging myself off the couch, I shuffle to the bathroom to piss.

  “Oh, god!” Delilah stands naked just outside the shower, her damp hair sticking to her shoulders and her body drenched in steam. She grabs a towel off a nearby hook and drapes it in front of her body – as if I haven’t seen every square inch of her before.

  “Jesus, sorry.” I lift a hand in protest.

  “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

  “I didn’t know you were in here.”

  She wraps the towel around her, securing it under her left arm, her cheeks flushed and rosy. The scent of hotel soap fills the steamy air between us.

  “Are you just going to keep standing there?” she asks. “You mind?”

  I shake my head. “Yeah. I just . . . sorry. It’s early. And I couldn’t think for a second because you’re standing there in nothing but a fucking towel. It’s distracting.”

  Her eyes fall to the bulging hard on poking from my boxer briefs.

  “Seriously?” She points.

  “It’s morning wood,” I say. “Not that it’s useless. Hard is hard.”

  Her jaw falls.

  “Not that it couldn’t be because of you too. I mean, shit, Delilah, you . . .” I realize I’m digging myself a deeper hole and I should shut the hell up immediately.

  Her brows lift and her gaze is trained on me. I think she likes this despite that rigid posture of hers and despite the fact that she’s pretending to be all kinds of pissed at me right now. I thinks she wants to hear how sexy she is, how much she turns me on, and how hard it is for me not to fucking touch her right now.

  “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” I keep a careful distance, all the better to drive her wild. “Even with your hair all hanging in your face and you looking like you want to slap me
right now, it’s all I can do to keep from thinking about all the things I could do to you.”

  Her lips press together as she swallows. I take it she’s speechless.

  Moving closer, I add, “You know how hard it was for me to be in the same room as you last night and know I couldn’t touch you?”

  “Why couldn’t you?” she responds.

  Choking on my words, I scoff. “Why couldn’t I? You were a goddamned ice queen last night. No way was I fucking that.”

  Her eyes roll and she glances down. I lift my hand to her chin, tilting her face up until our eyes meet again.

  “Give me the girl I fucked last week. The one ripping her clothes off in my kitchen. The one I carried to my bed like a fucking caveman,” I say. “I can’t stand this ice queen bullshit. And I realize you’re doing it to protect yourself, but Jesus, Delilah. Live a little.”

  She drags her lower lip between her teeth.

  “Maybe you think fucking me was a mistake,” I say. “But I say life is all about making mistakes. Living in the moment. Being a little bit reckless. Opening yourself up so much it hurts.”

  Delilah exhales, glancing up at me through dark lashes.

  “There’s a lot more to you than you let on,” she muses, head tilted. “Never would’ve guessed you were a philosopher, de la Cruz.”

  “Nah,” I say. “I just understand people more than most.”

  We stand toe to toe, sharing space and wrapped in a blanket of thinning shower fog. Her arms are dotted with goose bumps, and she begins to shiver. Grabbing another clean towel from the rack behind her, I drape it over her shoulders and pull her against my chest.

  My cock, which is still very much hard and very much throbbing, presses against her.

  “I’d apologize for that, but I’m kind of not sorry,” I say.

  “Nice. Really nice.”

  “You like it,” I say. “I can tell.”

  “You’re cocky.”

  With my hand cupping her jaw, I trace my thumb along her full bottom lip, dragging it back and forth.

  “What are you doing?” she asks with a slight laugh.

  “Trying my damnedest not to put my mouth all over you right now.”