Page 11 of The Illicit Play

Making a beeline for the guest room, I close the door behind me and rest my back against the wood, sucking in a few short breaths.

“Check yourself,” I whisper, pulling my mask back on as best I can.

Testing out my bright smile, I feel the movement on my face and will myself to keep it there.

Grady’s rejection is a slap in the face. And a well-deserved one. He’s taken, and I have no right putting a single one of my flirty toes into his bedroom.

It doesn’t matter that he’s obviously attracted to me. He’s a loyal boyfriend.

Shit, that only makes me like him more.

Snapping my eyes shut, I groan.

What is wrong with me?

There’s no way I can handle going downstairs. I can’t deal with the idea of letting something slip when my guard is down. Because my family can’t know what a fuckup I’ve become. It’ll break their hearts, and I’ll never get over it.

Which is why Grady not letting me in is a really good thing.

That controlled girl I used to be… she doesn’t seem to exist anymore, and I can only imagine Wily’s horror if he saw me getting it on with his teammate the way I want to.

Hisunavailableteammate.

Grady was right to push me out his door.

I should seriously stay away from that man. He makes me feel that addictive thrill that got me in trouble in the first place. And I can’t be that person in Nolan.

Not with Wily so close.

Not when I could get busted and have all my shit laid bare for everyone to see.

CHAPTER 4

GRADY

Damn, man. Trying to avoid Blake Wilson is impossible.

Seeing her standing in the bathroom bleeding put a vise around my chest.

Watching her cute little ass hover in the doorway of my bedroom nearly did me in.

I’m losing my fucking mind.

Running a hand over my head, I pace my room, from the poster of Half Dome in Yosemite to the edge of my bed and back. I try to regulate my thundering heartbeat, which is insane because she should not be affecting me this way.

I’m still in love with Teah.

Glancing at the photo of me and my girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—makes me feel like shit, and I move to my corkboard, slowly unpinning it and laying it face down on my chest of drawers. I should have put the damn photo away weeks ago. She’s not mine anymore, but my heart can’t seem to let her go, and now Wily’s sister—his little sister!—is wreaking havoc on my body.

I don’t need this shit.

What I need is a run, but my PT has made it clear I’ve been pushing it too hard, and I can’t risk an injury. The sound of Wily’s knee popping still echoes in my brain, and I shudder at the memory.

“If you can’t fucking run, you can at least walk,” I mutter, quickly changing out of my sweaty clothes and snatching a hoodie off the end of my bed.

Throwing it on, I wrestle with the zipper and walk out of my room, checking the hallway is clear before darting down the stairs. My heart spasms when I reach the bottom and find Wily waiting for me, leaning on his crutches with a frown.

“Hey, man.” I try to play it cool, wondering if he’s about to bawl me out for talking to his sister… or thinking about her naked body and what I wanted to do to said body if I’d lost all willpower and invited her into my room.