Page 32 of Touchdown, Tennessee

Why do I want to break you, Gray Gilman?

To finally weaken you enough that you can’t help but shove your cock inside me.

And remind you that I’m still the one with more control.

“Did I add baking soda yet? Or did I add powder?”

Baking for a crowd was harder than any touchdown I’d ever gotten in my life.

I looked down at the endless dishes, spoons, and ingredients on the countertop in front of me.

“What’s up, Andrew?” Luke called over from his station, which was a few feet down from mine.

The Tempests had taken over the big, open lobby of Student Hall, setting up dozens of long folding tables and equipping each of them with stand mixers, sugar, flour, and things I couldn’t even name. The front doors of Student Hall were open wide, and people were milling in and out, watching us bake.

Filmingus baking, too, and snapping pictures left and right.

Tables and chairs were set up all around, and people were waiting on our bake-off, ready to try each of our creations and rate them on a scale of 1-10.

Whoever won got to donate $2000 to the college charity of our choice.

The charity idea had been mine, a few weeks ago, when my team had decided to put on the event. Yes, anything related to charity was good for my image. But it actuallydidmake me feel good to do.

And again, Gray wasn’t here.

Becausewhat the fucking fuck.

I kept looking up and glancing all around, trying to spot him somewhere, lurking around. But he wasn’t here, even though he’d teased me about coming tonight.

I looked down at my phone again on the table, reading through the steps to make this apple cobbler.

“Okay. I haven’t sliced the apples yet, but I need to put them in.”

“Better get chopping,” Luke said.

“Here. I’ll help,” I heard in a low voice beside me.

I turned and almost jumped out of my skin.

Two pretty blue eyes, right there next to me. Gray had finally arrived, probably purposely coming up behind me to shock me.His dark hair framed his face, and he wasn’t smiling at me but he sure as fuck looked amused at my reaction.

“Gilman,” I said.

The spiced vanilla scent on his skin was mixing with the smell of cinnamon in Student Hall, and the air around me suddenly was intoxicating.

His scent reminded me of two nights ago.

How close we’d been.

Fucker. He purposely came late to throw me off.

“You need to slice the apples evenly, otherwise they won’t bake evenly,” he said, grabbing a knife from the clutter on the table. He took one of the apples and started slicing it into even pieces.

He was wearing a fitted navy-blue long-sleeve shirt, with the sleeves rolled up again to reveal the lower portion of his tattoo. I needed to say something to him instead of standing here like a drooling dog. I watched him work for a moment before snapping back to reality.

You want to throw me off?

Well, two can play that game.