Page 67 of Only Between Us

What’s your angle here, Attwood? Are you trying to fuck me or wife me?

Does it even matter?

Fucking could get messy.

Dating would be… a hard limit. Because this particular man is angling to move across the country in a matter of months. Nothing douses the fire in my panties faster than the idea of a cross-country long-distance relationship, wrapped in an endless training and travel schedule.

Tried it. Got my heart broken.

I’ve never been one to repeat past mistakes. The way I grew up, I had to learn my lessons fast.

I fix my gaze on a boy hopping through an obstacle course of cones ahead of us. “Shouldn’t you be coaching? You’re depriving the children, Attwood. Not veryfootball daddyof you.”

“Tell you what: you explain why you don’t date athletes, and I’ll go out there and coach.”

Ding ding ding. There it is.

I’d have preferred a naked proposition.

“Attwood.” I shoot him a sharp look. “Why are you asking me that? We recommitted to the rules.”

“Siena.” The little shit shoots me a panty-melting smirk. “Answer the question. Do it for the children.”

Fucking. Catnip.

And my pussy has sniffed it out, the greedy little bitch. He teased her good the night of the gala, and she’s begging for more.

Come on, just rub up on him a bit. Give us a little taste.

“Tell me.” Brooks steps right into my space, pulling the lollipop from his mouth. The breeze picks up again, feeding me that intoxicating scent of his. The one that lulls me to sleep, wafting off his T-shirts. “What does it take to win you over, little Pippen?”

His gaze rakes over every inch of me, like he expects to find the answer written on my skin. My heart thunders in my ears.

This is the answer. All of this. The sheer confidence, the vague smirk. That piney scent.

I’m a slut for his scent.

No use denying.

“I have to take this call.”

One single corner of his mouth ticks up. “Your phone’s not ringing.”

“It’s on silent.”

“Then how do you know—”

The universe hands me all my well-earned karma when a loud chime erupts from the back pocket of my jeans.

“Told you.” I wave my phone at him. It’s Carla calling.

“Lucky break, Pip.”

I press the phone to my ear. “Would you keep it down? I’m on a call.”

Brooks shakes his head as he backs away onto the field. “Conversation’s not over.”

“Seriously, keep it down,” I call back, before hustling down the sideline. “Carla—remind me to kiss you the next time I see you. You have no idea what you just saved me from.”