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I still completely overwhelmed by the intrusion.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice so low I barely hear him. I nod, but my body is stiff, caught in this moment of in between. Reid is inside of me. “You need to breathe, GG, and use your words.”

Forcing in a breath, I whisper, “Yes,” wanting nothing more than to feel this man inside me.

”Okay, I’m gonna loosen you up.”

His moves aren’t tentative or hesitant, but he does take care. Working to ease my nerves. He pumps in and out, thumb occasionally grazing over my clit, and all I want is to chase that high.

“One more,” he tells me, then slides in the second finger, the sensation is different this time. Less pressure, more of a stretch. “Good?”

“Yeah.” I roll my hips, meeting his thrust. “God, yes.”

“Quiet,” he says, rising up to cover my mouth with his. “I’m going to fuck you like this, and you’re going to come, okay?“

It feels like it’s too much, like there’s no way I can rein in everything I’m feeling. His dirty words, and all the things he’s doing to me. But there’s a determination coming from him. He wants me to feel good and hell, I want to feel it too. My eyes flutter shut and I let everything wash over me: the feel of him in me, the heat of his mouth, the touch of his fingers drawing me into a chaotic rhythm.

Outside the room, battle sounds filter through the door, missiles and bombs and explosions, but none are as earth-shattering as the orgasm that rockets through me. Reid knows the second it triggers, leaning up to kiss me, swallowing my breath and any noise that comes with it, until I’m limp-bodied, lying under his weight.

Lying there, satisfied, I wait to feel something else: conflict. Regret. Guilt.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, Reid rolls to the side, lifting me up and curling me against his body. His lips press against my neck, sticky with sweat, and I’m caught in those strong arms, holding me tight until we both fall asleep.

20

Shelby

I wake up alone,tucked under a thick blanket that does little to replace the weight and warmth of Reid’s body. I spot the note before I sit up. Folded in a tight square, a drawing of a sun on the side facing me.

Had to go before the house woke up.

See you at the arena.

–R

It’s too early for me to decipher what it means, if anything, and I gather my clothes and head to the bathroom upstairs. The girls are up and in the kitchen by the time I shower and get dressed. “Is this okay?” I ask, coming out in a sweater and jeans.

“They’ll hand out jerseys when we get there,” Twyler says. “Different ones for the players, kids, and family.”

“Oh, the shirts Reid designed?” I ask, grabbing the Wittmore beanie she let me borrow. Since she worked with the team she has extra gear.

“I think so,” Nadia says, slipping on her boots. “I’ve never been to one of these before. This is the first time I’ve had WAG status.”

“WAG?” I ask.

“Wives and girlfriends,” Nadia says, and I catch the pride on her face. “I was firmly in jersey chaser status before I started dating your brother.”

“And that means you don’t get to come to things like this?”

“It means you stay home with your legs spread, waiting for an athlete to decide you’re worth a hook-up.”

As usual, Nadia’s frankness surprises me, but even more, since she’s speaking so bluntly about herself.

Twyler frowns and faces her friend. “Remember: We listen and we don’t judge,” although I catch the line between her eyes, “and we’ve all come a long way since then, babe. Especially you.”

She says that with conviction, but I can’t help but wonder where Reid and I fall between a WAG and jersey chaser. I’m not chasing athletes so that doesn’t sound right, but I sure don’t have girlfriend status either. Am I just a hook-up? We defined this as a learning experience. Having an adventure. Where does that fall in the realm of relationship status?