Page 9

Chapter Nine

Scott

Three weeks, three more official dates.

More than three nights on Ivy’s couch, popcorn or chips between us and a movie on the TV. Many, many more than three kisses hello … and goodnight … and just for the hell of it.

I’ve never felt more like a horny teenager. Even when I was one. Ivy has me wrapped up in her orbit like no other woman before. If I’m not on the field, I am with her. If I’m not in the gym, watching tape, sleeping (still in my own bed) I’m with her. Or I’m thinking about her.

The week after our dinner at Big Al’s, I took her bowling.

I rented out the place again during the lunch hours on a Saturday because I had to fly out for a game that night. She slaughtered me in all three rounds, devoured half the pizza we’d ordered and celebrated every pin bowled down like she’d just won the fucking Super Bowl.

She might hate football but she is a natural at sports.

Though I’ll never admit that to her.

Mini golf, bowling. I have a feeling she could pick up anything easily. Not for the first time, I’ve questioned whether she had some sort of athletic blood running through her.

I’m itching to take her out on the field. Get to throw a ball from the fifty-yard line with her right next to me. Watch her marvel from the middle of the field. See her in my world. There is something in me that just knows that she belongs there.

It’s instinctual .

But she won’t entertain a conversation about sports longer than to ask me briefly about work and then she’ll move on. I don’t push. I know I have to tell her the truth about my job. We are way past ‘it just never came up’ territory.

The more I find out about her, the more I know, the less I want to taint it with the whole ‘by the way, I play the sport you seem to hate so much and I’m kind of a big deal playing it’ topic.

So I steer clear hoping that when the time comes, she will know enough of who I am without football to not care who I am with it.

Since taking her bowling, I’ve spent most nights on Ivy’s couch, her curled up on my chest and rewatching Friends or trying to stay awake for a whole movie.

Something she has so far only managed once.

The other times I’ve gently lifted her into my arms and carried her to bed.

No matter how much I want to get in beside her, I’ve made a promise to myself that before we go any further than making out like horny teenagers she needs to know who I am.

Blue balls be damned. My left hand would have to do until I work up the courage to confess.

The week after bowling, I took her back to the Taco truck.

I paid the owner a little extra to post on their socials that they would be closed so we could be alone. They played some slow, acoustic music from the truck and I’d done something I’ve never done before—I pulled her up from the table to slow dance under the stars.

Her head rested on my chest, her hand intertwined with mine. I held her tightly against me, fingers buried in the fabric of her dress.

I never, ever imagined pulling that move with anyone. I’ve seen it in movies I watched with my mom and while she’d gone all gooey at the scene I always questioned the authenticity factor. I hadn’t believed a moment like that would ever present itself in the real, living world.

Yet there I was .

A woman sitting across from me and a plate of tacos between us when the music drifted around us like a light breeze. I’d moved without thinking. We came together without saying anything. She’d let out a quiet gasp when I pulled her to her feet and into my arms but the sigh of contentment that came when she was safely fitted to my chest was all I needed to know that I made the right move.

We danced, swaying from side to side, for the better half of an hour before she leant back in my arms, tilting her head up and pushing up on her toes.

I’ve come to learn this is how she silently asks me to kiss her and I always, always oblige.

Tonight, I’m taking her to the movie theater.

I called ahead, asked for their quietest session time in the evening and booked two tickets to the romantic comedy she’s been talking about wanting to see. I have the tickets on my phone and my cap is as low as it can be as we walk into the building.

I look like an asshole wearing my cap so low inside while checking for paparazzi every few minutes over my shoulder.

But her hand is tucked into mine and she walks as close as she can without tripping. I’ve learned that she likes physical affection, Ivy. Not too much PDA but she prefers to always have some sort of connection whether it be holding my hand or having my hand on her back or around her shoulders when walking. When we lay on the couch, her legs are always twisted into mine and her head sits comfortably between my shoulder and my collarbone.

Luckily, my research has paid off and the movie theater is pretty much empty.

“I’m just going to use the bathroom before we go in. I can get the popcorn when I get back, because you paid for the tickets,” she says playfully, picking up the discussion we were having on the way over about her paying for the candy .

I simply nod, knowing full well that I am going to buy it while she’s in the bathroom. I watch her walk away from me for a second before I make my way to the kid standing behind the counter.

His bored expression brightens into amazement as soon as I get close enough, “Holy … holy shit. You’re Scott Harvey.”

That is exactly what I’m afraid of.

“Sure am.” I throw a quick glance toward the bathroom before leveling the kid with a serious look. “I’m here with my girl tonight, trying to stay low key. Can you help with that?”

Thankfully, the kid is more than eager to help. He hurries to get the popcorn and M&Ms I know Ivy wants but won’t ask for and I pay. Spotting a pen on the register, I reach over to grab it and one of the napkins that is sitting on the counter. I scribble my signature, sliding it over to the kid. “Appreciate it.”

He nods, taking the napkin in his hand like I just passed over a hundred dollar note.

I meet Ivy before she can make it to the counter, worried she’ll question why the kid is watching me so closely looking like he might cry, and steer her toward the theater.

Tonight might be too close of a call.

Still, when she lifts the armrest between us about fifteen minutes into the movie and then proceeds to curl into my side the anxiety of the kid outing me seeps away.

Just like any negative emotion tends to do when Ivy is touching me.

She sighs and laughs, and brings a few M&Ms to her mouth every so often, but she never leaves my side. After the movie, I keep her tucked into me as we walk back to the car and I lead her to the passenger side, opening her door to the SUV and helping her in.

When we get to her house, I kiss her against her front door for at least thirty minutes before letting her slip inside.

** *

Just thinking about the flavor of Ivy and her lips has me itching to see her again.

“You have a dopey ass look on your face, man. Thinking about Ivy?” Flynn’s voice cuts through my thoughts and the towel he throws hits my shoulder before falling to my feet.

“Shut up.”

He grins. “No way. You’re so into this girl, I’ve never seen you like this before.”

I reach into my bag for my phone, glancing at the notifications and pretending it doesn’t bother me that Ivy hasn’t texted me back yet.

“So …” Flynn smirks, glancing around the locker room at the few dwindling teammates left after the game. We won but it was a hell of a game. A few of the wives had flown in to watch the game so most of the team were headed out for dinner with them all. The perks of playing a Sunday afternoon game. “Have you told her who you are yet?”

“Yes.” I have. Technically. She asked my last name and I told her.

Flynn raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And?”

“She was … fine.”

“And you sealed the deal finally?” he questions. I scowl as I pick up the towel he threw earlier and pitch it back at him.

Smug bastard.

Flynn’s smile only grows wider.

He studies my expression for a beat, and try as I might he's known me since college and knows when I’m hiding something or lying.

He used to tell me to ‘go get some’ whenever I started being too harsh on the field or in practice because he could tell I needed to relax and work out some frustration.

The bastard is annoyingly perceptive for such a man whore.

His eyes shine and seeing that look on his face makes me groan. He knows. I turn away because I’ll be damned if I have to face whatever fucked up comment he’s about to come out with .

“Woah. This Ivy must be some girl.” I can practically hear his smile widen. I hope it stretches his face and gives him wrinkles. “Imagine knowingly dating one of the number one quarterbacks in the country and still not having sex with him. What’s wrong with you, Scotty? Trouble downstairs?”

His own laughter fills the now empty locker room, and when I glance back at him over my shoulder I see him doubled over and wiping tears from his eyes.

At least he makes himself laugh.

“No, you asshat.” I grab another towel lying on the bench, twisting the fabric in my hands while Flynn continues to be doubled over, distracted by his own laughter. “We’re just … taking this slow.”

“Taking … taking things slow?” he says through bursts of laughter. He looks up at me, whipping under his eyes again.

“Yes.” I keep the twist in my hands ready.

Flynn’s laughter sobers up. He regards me for a second and then his eyes narrow.

“When you told her who you are … did you tell her who you actually are or are you trying to get off on some technicality?” His questions suddenly become serious.

I swallow, the towel pulling taunt in my hands. “I told her … my last name.”

He groans, standing up so he’s eye to eye with me and before I know it, he slaps the back of my head. I flinch but release the towel, slapping it against his thigh.

“Bro. Ow.” He rubs his leg and backs up. “You have to tell her!”

“I know. I know.”

“You know that before you can go any further with her, you need to come clean. Because if you sleep with her, and then tell her, she’ll be like mad, mad.”

I drop my forehead against the locker, eyes closing and as if on cue, Ivy’s beautiful and perfect face fills it .

“I know.”

Fuck.

***

I can hear her shuffling down the hallway, probably annoyed that someone's gone ahead and interrupted her night. Not that I care. We flew in this morning and I don’t have training tomorrow. I want to see her.

So damn it, I’m going to see her.

I’ve started to think of my life before coming to Boston as before Ivy . Not before the Broncos, not before moving, but always before Ivy .

A Monday night off before her was spent firmly sitting on the couch and watching the Monday night football game like the rest of the football crazed nation. It’s much too early to admit that life is starting to revolve around her but I can’t seem to stop it happening.

The door in front of me cracks open and her beautiful, confused face appears in the gap.

“Scott? What—” She pulls the door open further and I drink her in.

She wears sweatpants that are at least two sizes too big, rolled at the waist and dragging along the floor. Her tank top crops at her stomach and I’m caught off guard by the powerful desire to wrap my fingers around her waist just to feel how soft her skin would be under my rough hands. It’s softer than butter. Her voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

“What are you doing here?”

“I got back this morning, went to the gym, and then was sitting at home.” I lean my forearm against the doorframe, towering over her and into her space. She's taken over every inch of my mind lately, only fair that I try to take over hers. “But I didn’t want to sit at home. I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” Her lips form the perfect O shape, the word coming out soft and breathy. God, this girl .

“Yeah, oh.”

“You wanted to see me?” she clarifies.

“Sure did.”

I watch her throat as she swallows, as her tongue wets her lips. I follow the movement as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. I lift my free hand, leaning further into her space and tug it free.

“Hi.” I breathe, my lips inches from hers.

This gets me a small smile. “Hi.”

She leans forward, just the tiniest bit but it’s all I need. My lips drop onto hers and I take her next breath as my own, kissing her until her hands are curled into my hair and my hands curl tightly around her waist.

When she pulls back from me, she is breathless and her eyes close for a moment. She looks up at me asking, “Come inside?”

“I was hoping you’d ask that.” I let my hands drop to my side, grazing against her stomach a little as I make my way inside. When my fingers skim across hers, I tangle them together and pull her with me down the corridor.

She trails behind me, allowing me to easily pull her along as she rambles. “I was just watching Friends but we can watch something else, if you want.”

I think about the list in her phone, the one I tried to memorize so I can bookmark all the movies on there. “We could knock another movie off that list you started.”

“How did you know about the list?” She narrows her eyes.

I laugh. “Oh, so there is a list?”

“Well … yes.”

“Then let’s watch one of those?”

“How do you know about the list, Harvey?” Glaring playfully at me as I fall back into the couch, pulling her with me. I want her wrapped around me. I want to be wrapped up in her.

“I saw you adding to it the other night when we were at the movies. You saw two romantic comedy trailers and opened it up to add them.” I dig my fingers into her sides gently, loving the way she squirms in my grip before I let up and she just relaxes back into me. “I’ll go see those with you, too. If you want.”

Ivy turns her head to stare up at me for a moment, a soft smiling settling on her lips as she arches a little, stretching back to kiss me. I met her halfway.

When she sits forward, Ivy opens her phone.

“ Murder Mystery ,” she says quietly like she’s confirming with herself. She finds the film on Netflix and settles back into me.

She curls, shifting her position so she’s tucked more into my side rather than leaning back against my chest. Her leg goes over mine and she stuffs a hand into my hoodie’s pocket before laying her head on my shoulder, the movie titles rolling.

“I’m glad you didn’t want to sit at home,” she whispers.

“Me too.”

Somewhere toward the second half of the film I feel the fist that is still tucked in my hoodie pocket clench, scrunching the fabric between her fingers. My eyes are focused on the screen but I can’t tell you what is going on in the film. I’ve been reciting the starting lineup for the Celtics for the last ten minutes trying to keep my hard on from growing any further.

I swear, it started as innocent touching. I rested a hand on the leg that was thrown over my own. Then my thumb moved, tracing the soft fabric of her sweat pants. It was about then that I’d stopped paying attention to the movie.

Ivy’s body is a dream. My hand follows an invisible path from her thigh, over the curve of her ass. My fingers splay over the fabric of her sweat pants, digging into the soft flesh a little. I love the way my hands feel on her body, that she’s got more to hold, more to touch.

I run a hand over her ass again, not being about to resist giving it a playful, but gentle smack .

“Stop it. You’re distracting me,” Ivy whispers. I don’t need to look down at her to know there is a smile on her face.

Who gives a crap about what Adam Sandler is doing when I know just how soft the skin is under my hands?

Jennifer Aniston has nothing on Ivy Booker. Not to me.

Fuck.

I meet Ivy’s eyes. Her fist is still clutching the hoodie but I don’t move the hand that has drifted up her leg to the crest of her ass. I look down at her, eyes flicking between her lips. Her tongue darts out and wets her lips. I can’t help it.

Movie be damned.

I lean down and capture her lips with mine. The kiss isn’t slow or teasing. It is hard and messy and desperate. This girl has me wrapping my free hand around the nape of her neck, pulling her up my body and closer to me. I dig my fingers into the soft curve of her ass and tug. She falls completely across my lap and I keep tugging, not stopping until she settles there.

A groan rumbles from deep within my chest as she rolls her hips against mine. A small, delicious whimper escapes her mouth as I pull away. I lift my hands, running my fingers through her hair. It’s so damn soft.

Everything about her is soft.

Her skin, her body, her lips, her hair.

Her.

I run my mouth along her jaw. She arches in my lap, her large breasts pressing into my chest. I curse my decision to wear a hoodie because if it wasn’t for the thick fabric, I’m sure I would be able to feel her hard nipples against my chest.

Another whimper comes from her throat and my hands fall to her hips, fingers slipping under the fabric of her sweatpants and digging into her skin. I move her against me and she responds instantly, grinding down on my lap .

“Fuck,” I murmur into her neck. Her hands press into my chest, resting back a little.

I meet her eyes to find the challenge written as clear as day in them. She smirks, her hands fisting the fabric of my hoodie again and tugging. I don’t hesitate, reaching behind my head and yanking the fabric off my body.

My t-shirt goes with it.

My hands slide up her waist. My fingers splay out, dipping under the crop top she's wearing. My thumbs brush the underside of her breasts, curving over the swell of them and to their peaks.

Ivy smiles.

I circle a thumb around one hard nipple and press down. Her mouth falls open a little and she sighs, the pleasure radiating in waves of heat from her skin. Fuck, but I want to suck on her tits so badly. I want to map them out with my tongue, not just my fingers. She falls forward, her lips coming back to mine.

I let her nibble and suck and take control. My hands explore her body, content with mapping out her firm, full breasts.

Another whimper, another groan. She rolls her hips against mine and there’s no way to hide the hardness now.

My hands slip, fingering the edge of her sweats. I pull back from her mouth, kissing the corner once more, and catch her gaze.

“Can I?” The rasp in my voice is deep and I lick my lips in anticipation. Fuck, did I want to taste her. Have her shaking, and moaning, and calling out my name beneath me.

A small voice, sounding oddly like Flynn, suddenly breaks through.

Tell her first. Stop and tell her.

But then with the pull of her bottom lip between her teeth and a definitive nod from Ivy, the voice dies. A smirk lifts on my lips and I dive into her neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. I inhale, fingers dipping under the waistband and between her legs.

She’ s so fucking wet.

My fingers slip through her as I coat them, gently caressing her. I swear, I could get high on just her alone.

A loud ringing breaks us apart. Ivy jumps in my arms, flinching at the interruption. I pull my hand back, just a little, finding the soft crease where her hip meets thigh. She hesitates for a moment, adjusting on my lap as she leans back. Her fingers scrape down my bare chest as she hovers over me, eyes on her ringing phone, lighting up on the side table.

I lift my hand, trailing my fingers up her side to stroke her cheek as the expression in her face shifts from heated to fearful.

“What?” I ask, fingers stroking her soft skin. “What is it? Who’s calling?”

Ivy crawls from my lap, not answering me. She snatches her phone from the side table, bringing it to her ear. “Hello?”

The muffled voices drift out from her phone and I stiffen, sitting up beside her. Ivy slumps as she listens. “What do you mean?”

Another pause, more muffled voices.

“How … how did that happen? Is he … yes. I’ll come now. Thank you.” The last of her words are nothing more than choked sobs. I watch as she slumps, the hand holding her phone to her ear slumping by her side in defeat, her eyes filling with tears.

“Ivy?” I ask her, worry and panic filtering through me as I sit up, reaching for her. I lift my hands, and place one on her cheek and the other on her collarbone trying to get her attention.

“I–I’m sorry but I have to … go,” she hiccups. Then she’s scrambling. Falling over her feet.

I stand and steady her, my hand wrapping around her elbow.

“Hey, hey, hey.” She tries to get herself free, tears filling up her eyes. My heart aches as I tighten my grip. “Ivy, look at me.”

She stills, her chest heaving, but she looks up just as the tear finally rolls down her cheek. Everything in me breaks for her. I wipe it away, asking quietly, “What’s happened ?

“My pops. He–he fell in the shower … they said he lost consciousness … that he wasn’t breathing for a bit …” she sobs. I pull her into my chest. Her next words are muffled sobs against my chest as I run a hand up and down her back, trying to calm her a little. “I can’t lose him. I can’t.”

Her panic seems to settle something inside me and I take control. I press a kiss into her hair before peeling her away from my chest. I don’t let her go as I move us down the hall, picking up my shirt and hoodie from the floor as we go. In the entryway, I sit her on the small bench that has a number of pairs of shoes lined underneath. Taking a pair of tennis shoes that I’ve seen her wear before so I know they’re hers, I kneel down onto my knee. She clutches my shoulders, leaning her weight into me as I slip each of the shoes on one at a time.

Tying off her laces, I look up at her asking, “Where’s your purse? Do you need to take anything specific with you?”

She looks at me without saying anything. Her eyes watery and her fingers trembling as they clutch the fabric of my shirt. She shakes her head.

I’m searching my brain desperately for a way that I can make this better for her, that I can reassure her but she doesn’t talk about the health problems her Pops has. He’s a frequent figure in her stories and her memories that she shares from when she was younger but she never really touches on why he’s in hospital.

I look up into her face, tucking a piece of hair that fell loose across her face behind her ear, and whisper, “Let me help.”

She sucks in a breath, holding it in her chest for a beat before finally, she nods.