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Story: Falling for the Quarterback (Clearview Falls University)
Chapter Six
H endy
I slide off my barstool and slip a twenty-dollar bill into Cassie’s hand as she walks past me. She gives me a side-eye glance and mutters, “Go get her, QB.” Then I take a seat at the table opposite of Lottie as she stares incredulously at me.
“I can help you drain those,” I offer with a quirk of my brow, gesturing with a finger to the beers. “Having a nice night, Professor?”
She frowns at me and I stare into her gorgeous green eyes, her reddish-gold hair glowing even in the dim bar lights. I swear the air crackles with the electricity between us.
Fuck me. This night would be better if I could run my hands through her hair and over her curves.
This attraction to Lottie is extremely inconvenient and one I can’t seem to shake. I understand her reasons for wanting me to stay away and to steer clear of any potential rumors between us, but how can I do that when she is so goddamn beautiful? And it’s not just that. This thing between us feels like an invisible force stronger than any magnet on the planet pulling us together despite the odds.
“I was having a good evening, thanks for asking,” she murmurs, folding her hands together on the table. “Until you showed up.”
I make a tsking noise and slide the invitingly frothy beer toward her, hoping to persuade her to stay for a drink.
When I showed up at the bar tonight, it was for the sole purpose of meeting up with a few of my old teammates to play some darts and pool since we don’t have any games to watch yet. Under normal circumstances, I’d be out with my crew, but now that EJ and Killer are graduated and gone, and Lucy, Grace, and Kelsie are busy with school, I don’t have anyone to hang with.
So I came early to have dinner and do a bit of homework while I waited for Mac and my other dudes. I had a spot at the bar and was watching the big screen TV when I heard Lottie’s voice from behind me. Before I even turned around, I knew it was her. My confusion, however, stemmed from the old man she was talking with.
Is he her father? Her boyfriend? Jesus, I hope not.
Lottie is far too young to be dating a guy that age. There had to be a thirty-year age difference between them. Almost as wide as the age difference between Bill Belichick and his girlfriend. I’m all about loving who you want, but dating someone old enough to be your grandparent? That’s where I draw the line.
It makes me wonder exactly how old Lottie is? I stare at her pale, smooth complexion and the soft curve of her cheekbones. She can’t be over thirty.
“Who was the dude you were with?” I keep my voice neutral, but I’m feeling a bit proprietary, which is lame because I have no claim to her. No right to even ask.
But I do anyway.
Lottie narrows her eyes and puckers her lips. “None of your business.”
I laugh it off, knowing she’s right.
“I think we need to talk,” I say, fighting back a suggestive smile. She drags the pint glass toward her and then brings it to her lips. The creamy foam dots the top of her full mouth, but she swipes it away before I can lift a finger to do the honors for her.
“You should schedule an appointment during office hours like all my other students.”
Laughter trickles out of my mouth and I tip my head to the side, a cocky smile forming on my lips. “I think we can both agree I’m a little different from your other students.”
Despite the lighting, I can see the blush that blooms over her creamy white cheeks and her expression tells me she wants to smack me. Or maybe even smack my ass.
Hmm…that’d be fun .
Her eyes dart away as if she might even be thinking the same thing and she takes a long pull of the beer. The night we met, she ordered wine. I like the fact that she can drink a beer just as well and isn’t a hoity-toity wine snob.
Although, it wouldn’t matter. If she even hinted at the idea that she wanted me to take her back to her place to fuck her right now, I’d do it in a second. I’m horny as fuck and haven’t been laid in…well…a long time. I’d like to say it was just a dry spell, but I’m pretty sure that’s not it.
I’ve been hung up on someone else.
And that someone is sitting across from me right now, drinking a beer and shooting me daggers with her eyes. But a man’s gotta try.
I down the rest of my beer, needing to quench my dry throat after that thought.
“So you won’t tell me who the old guy was?”
“Sod off, Joel, or Hendy, whatever your name is,” she protests, using the British slang that only intensifies when she’s a little miffed. It also increases her hotness by another fifty degrees. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, but he’s an old family friend and he’s in town as a guest lecturer in the economics department.”
“Good,” I reply. “Under normal circumstances, I like a bit of healthy competition. But in your case, I don’t want to compete.”
She sniffs. “Compete for what, exactly?”
“You.”
A very unladylike grunt barrels from her mouth. “Excuse me? Get that out of your head right now. We are not going there again.”
I lean over the table and speak softly so as not to be overheard—especially by Cassie, who is a total gossip—but firmly. “By going there, do you mean between your legs?”
“Oh my God!” Lottie rises from her seat, swaying unsteadily on her feet, and lifts her hand at me in protest. She jabs a finger in the air. “You can’t say things like that to me, Hendy. Ever again. I need to leave.”
I jump up and reach for her waist because she looks like she could topple over—either from too much to drink or her flustered indignation. “Whoa there, Lottie. I’ve got you.”
“It’s Professor Butler to you, Hendy,” she hisses out in a slightly slurred accent. “And I am quite capable of standing on my own. Now, let go of me. I don’t need your help.”
She wrenches herself free, grabs her purse from the back of the chair—which gets stuck, causing her to curse out a mumbled bugger and yank the strap free—and starts toward the exit.
I follow along behind her as we head through the crowded room, ready to help her at a moment’s notice if she stumbles.
“You’re not driving, right?”
She pushes out the door and then glares back at me.
“I’m walking home, thank you very much.”
I nod and take my place next to her, not saying another word.
She stops after a few steps and lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Joel, what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m walking you home. Obvs.” I smile in the dark because she makes a little angry growl sound.
For reasons unbeknownst to me, Lottie suddenly begins to laugh. Side-splitting, bent-over, hysterical laughter like what I just said is the funniest thing she’s ever heard. I know she’s had a few beers, but I didn’t think she was that drunk.
I lay a hand on her back and she pops back up to a stand, her laughter turning to a hiccup and then a slight grumble of protest.
And then, in a sudden and unexpected move, Lottie turns to face me, grabs hold of my shirt in her hand, and crushes her lips to mine.
It takes me a millisecond to formulate a thought, but when I do, that thought is all about getting this woman into my bed again.
I need it. I need her . In a way I’ve never needed a woman before.
Swinging an arm around her lower back, I guide her backward to the corner of the building, away from prying eyes, and press her against the wall, never once letting my lips leave hers.
She is wild and frenzied, her hands roaming my backside, nails scoring over my clothes as if she’s determined to tear them from my body.
This is dangerous. I know the risks involved and so does she. But the threat holds no merit at this moment because everything is about getting Lottie naked and inside her body.
My blood pulses through my cock, my erection wedged between her legs and my arms cage her against the exterior building wall. From this location, no one can see us unless one of the pub employees comes out to the side alley for a smoke.
I let my hands wander up her sides, one hand snaking under her shirt to find her breast. Her nipple hardens under the pad of my thumb and she moans into my mouth.
“I want to spread you out naked on my bed and fuck these perfect tits.”
Lottie squirms against me, creating a frantic friction as she grinds her pussy over my hard cock. This time it’s me who groans.
“Are you wet for me, Professor?”
She gasps when my hand tunnels under her waistband and I deftly undo her pants. I slide my fingers through the soft curls, then dip inside her heat.
“Yes,” she murmurs, clasping her fingers in my hair.
“So fucking wet.”
The sound of a car door slamming and voices and laughter from the parking lot pull us out of our sexual haze, and I reluctantly drag my hand from her pants. But I don’t want to lose this connection, so I press my mouth to the dip in her neck and suck greedily at her skin.
“I think you need to be taught a lesson,” Lottie says suddenly, her voice husky with need. “One more time. That’s it. No more.”
She tugs my hoodie over my head to shield my face, grabs my hand, and guides me out to the sidewalk as we head off into what I presume is the direction of her house.
I’ll take anything to get Lottie in bed again.
I can accept just one more night, I tell myself.
But that’s a lie.
Because the truth is, I’ll never stop wanting her. Even if she is my professor.