I’d turned in Thomas’s arms, clinging to him in the aftermath. My knees were wobbly and my heart was doing its best to jump out of my chest. He’d held me tight, humming softly until I was steady on my feet and ready to tackle the mess of cum on the cabinets.
Which was when I’d said, “Jesus, I made a mess, Tommy.”
He’d grinned and helped me to my feet. “You called me Tommy. You never call me that.”
“Mmm. It slipped. What do you prefer?”
“Professor or sir.”
The electric zing made me feel tingly all over.
“You are the sexiest man I’ve ever met in my life…sir.”
Thomas flashed a roguish grin and smacked my ass. “As are you.”
As are you.
Who talks like that? The guy I was fucking crazy about, that’s who.
I’d stared up at him with butterflies buzzing in my stomach and my smile so wide it hurt my cheeks. “You say things like that and I want to keep you for myself.”
“Were you planning on giving me away?” he’d asked, tilting his head.
“That was the deal, remember? In a twist, I’m the worst matchmaker ever.”
“I’m glad.”
He’d pulled me against his chest, tracing lazy circles along my spine and changed the topic…something about traffic after seven a.m. I’d burrowed close and breathed in his scent, wishing I could bottle it. When my thoughts went straight to a maudlin “nothing lasts forever” state, I’d pushed out of his arms and blurted,
“Hey, do you want to come to my game tonight?”
To my surprise, he’d said, “I’d love to.”
A couple of hours later, I was still riding a high from great sex and the yummy feeling that my new person wanted to watch me play. But the flip side of that coin was a bone-deep worry that I was setting myself up for a big, bad fall. I was doing a terrible job at keeping a safe distance between us. He shouldn’t spend the night so often, and I shouldn’t text him five times a day. And I definitely shouldn’t have invited him to my game.
The happy high won for now.
I grinned at Darcy. “I’ll never tell.”
She snort-laughed and added something off-color just as Jase and Easton glided into the reception area.
“Tell what?” Easton asked, pecking my cheek in greeting.
Things to know about Easton: He was a forty-year-old former college football standout and insurance salesman turned hair guru, and a seriously good-looking man. Six four, dark-blond hair, blue eyes, and muscles for days…you get the picture.
We met over a decade ago at a charity fundraiser the soccer federation sponsored for underprivileged kids, which was where I found out that he lived in my parents’ neighborhood. Suddenly, I bumped into him every time I visited my folks…at the park, the market, the car wash. I didn’t visit home very often, so the chance that we’d meet in the same place at the same time felt like an odd coincidence. Small world, right?
But then for a good year or so, I didn’t see him at all. And I never thought about it until he showed up at the hospital to see if I was okay.
I hadn’t been able to shake Easton since. He’d befriended me, mentored me, and helped me start over. Hell, he’d even hired me. Or he’d told Jase to. He’d also introduced me to Darcy and his two kids, Isabelle and Colin. He’d included me in a new family of sorts and encouraged me to keep playing soccer.
I owed Easton more than I could ever repay, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who kept score or collected. He was just…there for me.
I knew Darcy and Jase were too and I was grateful.
But I was still me. And though I trusted my friends, I didn’t share easily.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Easton huffed. “Sounds suspicious.”
“Or delicious,” Jase chimed in playfully. “I’m glad you’re here, Noah. I may need your help. We just finished recording this week’s podcast and the theme was…cue groan…sports.”
Easton snickered. “I told you, baby, you’re a natural-born soccer mom.”
Jase flipped him off. “I think not. We’re only three weeks into this spring season soccer-athon, and my nerves may not survive. Those kids are feisty out there, and don’t get me started on the parents. If I hear one more asshole give their opinion about what my son should be doing on the field, I will go apeshit bonkers and tell them all what I really think of their fake tans and Clairol highlights and—are you laughing at my plight, Noah?”
I pursed my lips to hide a chuckle. “Not at all. Is Lincoln having fun?”
“He loves it. Ugh. Of course, he does. Where did I go wrong?” He smacked his forehead in faux distress.
Easton crossed his arms and leaned against the reception desk. “You’re doing just fine, Jase. And when in doubt, you’ve got Noah here to give you tips.”