Page 11 of Defending her Heart (Boston Revolutions Football #2)

Rowan, Riley, and I form a circle and sing like we don’t have a care in the world while Miles takes turns grinding behind each of us.

He’s not exactly rubbing his cock against us—Walker would cut off his dick with a dull knife if he ever did that to Riley—but he’s getting down and dirty nonetheless.

Declan and Brock come out onto the dance floor, as do dozens of other women and couples once they recognize the stars of the Boston Revs. We dance a few more songs until our meals arrive.

Meal time is always loud and chaotic with five hungry men. The amount of food they consume, especially after a game, is enough to feed me for an entire week. I polish off my chicken sandwich, wishing I got a side of fries instead of a small salad.

I swipe one from Nash’s plate and munch on it.

“Um. Sure, you can have a fry.”

“Thanks, Nash Potato.”

“Don’t call me that,” he says around a bite of one of the two double cheeseburgers he ordered.

“Why? Childhood trauma? Were you picked on on the playground because of your measly size and ugly looks?”

If he was, I’d sort of feel guilty about it. But he kicked karma in the ass by coming out on top.

“Because it’s stupid.”

“Great comeback.”

He chews his burger slowly, swallows, and chases it down with his iced tea. “It wasn’t a comeback. Just the truth.”

“Well, zero points for originality.”

When Rowan and Riley are finished with their meals, we head back to the dance floor. I keep an eye on the table, and don’t know who glances our way more. Walker or Nash.

I don’t know what it is about his sullenness or the grumpiness in him, but it’s actually kind of hot. If I’d never witnessed how sweet he is with Paisley and what a wonderful father he is, I’d have no desire to give him a second thought. A second glance, sure. Because I’m human and have a vagina.

When the guys have finished their meals, Miles, Dec, and Brock work their way to the dance floor.

Women flock to them, which works in our favor.

It’s not often Riley, Rowan, and I get to hang out anymore.

With Riley married and Rowan’s schedule all over the place, finding common free time is challenging.

Before long, Walker strides onto the dance floor and wraps his arms around Riley from behind. “I need to take you home, wife.”

“That’s code for he needs to get laid.” I hug Riley and tap Walker’s cheek. “Take care of our girl.”

“What if I want to take care of him ?” Riley shoots an eyebrow to her hairline.

“God, I love you, Mrs. Bankes.” Walker takes her hand and whisks her away.

“I’m so happy for Riley,” Rowan calls at her retreating back before she’s whisked into Declan’s arms and he lines her up for the Cotton Eye Joe.

Line dances aren’t my thing, but they’re fun to watch. I step off the dance floor and bump into Nash.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Yup.”

He’s back to short, gruff sentences. Great. “You haven’t even danced. Word on the street is you used to tear up the dance floor in your younger years, old man.”

“Operative word there is used to.”

Because misery loves company, and to be fair, I don’t mind Nash’s company, I grab his wrist and tug him onto the floor.

“No way in Hell.”

“Come on. It’s almost over.” I make an exaggerated show of the moves and he stands with his arms crossed, clearly not amused.

I’m terrible at following along with the dance, and his lip quirks. Okay. Maybe he’s slightly amused. When the annoying song is over and Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy comes on, I tug him farther onto the dance floor and dance around him, similar to how Miles danced around the girls and me earlier.

Only, I make contact when I grind my front into Nash’s rock-solid ass. I skirt around his thigh and ride the thick quad muscle while swaying my arms in the air, singing along to the song. Still, he doesn’t move.

Not even a twitch in his eye.

“Come on, Nash Potato. Your daughter is in good hands, your parents are feeling better, and the night is young. Loosen up. Dance with me.”

His eyes darken and his arms reach for me, his hands lightly skimming up the outside of my thighs until they’re resting on my hips. I keep my eyes locked on his but he keeps his on his hands or over my shoulder.

By the third song, the tension in his shoulders has relaxed and I think he’s actually having a good time. There’s heat in my chest I don’t recognize. Lust is normal for me. I appreciate a good looking man, and Nash is way beyond good looking. It’s an insult to describe him in such a basic way.

He’s chiseled perfection. Hotter than Hades’s ass crack. And, fuck , that ass. As tempted as I am to reach around and grab it, I don’t. When Nash’s dark gaze meets mine, my insides quiver. And by insides, I mean the walls of my vagina.

His tongue wets the corner of his lips and I nearly cream my panties. If it was a practiced move, I’d roll my eyes, but I’m almost certain it was as natural as a wolf’s howl at a full moon.

Miles comes behind me and rests his giant hands on my shoulders. “Hey, baby. You two are making me jealous over here.” He dances behind me, pretending like he’s fucking my ass but actually keeps a semi-respectable distance between what has to be a monster cock and my backside.

For as flirty and stupid funny as Miles is, he’s not a creep. I adore him. “Join the party, stud.”

Nash drops his hands from my waist and pushes his way through the mass amounts of bodies who filled the dance floor over the past fifteen minutes, and heads to the table we vacated.

I watch as he takes out his wallet and drops a stack of bills on the table before storming his way to the rear entrance of the restaurant.

“Moody fucker, huh?” Miles shrugs. A blonde bimbo starts grinding on his thigh, similar to how I was making a fool of myself on Nash a few minutes ago, and his attention leaves me.

Not one to back down from an altercation, I rush out the door and track down Nash. “Hey!” I call across the parking lot.

He turns, shakes his head, and continues his trek to his car.

“Nash. What’s going on?” I’m out of breath by the time I reach him. “Is it Paisley?” I didn’t see him check his phone so I’m pretty sure that’s not what spooked him.

“No.” He unlocks his car but before he can open the door, I slide between him and his vehicle.

“What is it?” I don’t know what gives me the right to press him, but I’ve grown close to his daughter over the past few weeks and part of me cares about his family.

While his teammates seem to like and respect him, he’s standoffish, even in the group.

There’s more to it than him being an introvert.

From the research I’ve done on him—because, yeah, I’m that girl—he was the life of the party back in his heyday.

A partier in college, yet focused on his studies and football. When he let loose, he let loose.

And from articles and interviews I dug up on his early NFL career, he was a different Nash Humphries, flashing his killer smile, showing off dimples I didn’t realize he had, and making flirty comments as smooth and ridiculous as Miles Buckingham’s.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. We were dancing. You were having fun. Admit it. Then you got spooked and bolted. What gives?”

“What gives?” He pierces me with those dark eyes, his back molars clenched as he breaths deep through his nose. “What gives?”

I tilt my chin, not afraid of the smoke coming from his ears.

If I did something to piss him off—which there’s no way I did—I want to know about it.

I’m a talk-about-your-emotions kind of woman without getting too touchy feely.

Because I’m not. Not an emotional person, but not afraid to talk about what’s pissing me off either.

“Yeah. What gives?” I cross my arms over my chest and return his glare.

He takes a few more breaths before he speaks. “What’s the deal between you and Miles?”

I blink back my confusion. “Me and Miles?” When he doesn’t elaborate, I shrug. “We’re friends.”

Nash grinds his molars and fists the bottom of my jersey in his hand. “Why his jersey?”

Is that...is that jealousy in his tone? If so, I think I like it. No man has ever been jealous of me before.

“Because it’s the only one I own.”

“Did he give it to you?”

I snort. “No. I bought it when he was first signed.”

“Why?”

Honesty is the best policy in my book. “Because I thought he was hot and I like wearing this jersey.”

“You think he’s... hot ?”

“Yeah. Don’t you?”

His brows dip. “I have a different taste.”

“Yeah? What’s your taste?”

Even with the noise from the traffic on the street, I can hear his growl. With no warning, Nash grabs a fistful of my hair in each hand and drags me into his body, slamming his mouth over mine.

Too stunned at his move to respond, I stand there and breathe in his scent. Fresh spring soap and pine and more testosterone than I’ve ever smelled before. That delicious tongue of his touches my bottom lip and I open for him.

Nash isn’t a gentle kisser. He fucks my mouth with his tongue and I imagine what his cock would feel like in my pussy. As if reading my thoughts, he flattens me to the side of his car and presses said thick cock into my stomach.

He leans his head to the side for a better angle and deep throats me with his tongue before backing off and sucking my bottom lip into his mouth. I’ve never been kissed so thoroughly in my entire life.

He’s literally sucking the air out of me, and I’m not mad about it. He loosens his hold on my hair and massages my scalp. I moan into his mouth and he freezes. Our lips are sealed together, then, as if a switch is flipped, he steps back, leaving too much space between our bodies.

I’m gasping for air as I stare at his lips, wet and swollen from our heavy makeout session.

“Fuck. I shouldn’t have done that.” His hands are now in his hair and he’s back to clenching his back molars together.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why shouldn’t you have done that?” He’s a runner from conversation, from facing his problems, and I’m a bulldozer. I’m not letting him get away with not talking about this.

“Because you’re not mine.”

“I’m not anyone’s. I belong to myself. No one owns me, Nash. No one ever will.”

“Right. Instead you make yourself available to anyone who wants you.”

My cheeks burn, and this time it’s not from lust. “What the fuck did you just say?” He’s called me a slut once already. The apology was obviously not real and just to appease me so I’d bail him out.

There’s no forgiving him this time. The man is truly a fucking asshole and I couldn’t hate him any more.

“You and Miles. I saw you at Walker and Riley’s wedding. I don’t do sloppy seconds, especially with my teammates.”

Oh, he didn’t. He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.

I shove my body off his car and jab him in the chest. Déjà vu of the last time he was a royal douchebag. This will be the last. The absolute last.

“Not that I owe you an explanation, but you’re the one who kissed me.

” Jab . “You’re the only one in that bar, on your team, who’s rubbed his cock against me.

” Jab . “Your tongue is the only one that’s ever been in my mouth or on any other body part of mine.

” Jab . “And you’re the only one who has ever made me feel like a cheap whore.

Congratulations, douchebag. Go fuck yourself and the rod that’s stuck so far up your ass it’s coming out your mouth. ”

I shove his chest and march across the parking lot.

I am so done with Nash Humphries. Fuck him and his magic tongue and his monster cock. I’ll take a pencil dick and sloppy kisses over a man who treats me like a castaway.

If I never see him again a day in my life, it will be too soon.