Page 35 of Touchdown, Tennessee

“With tongue.”

I groaned.

My cockachedunder my shorts.

I let my tongue slide out over his tip, lapping against it. I gave it a firm, hard suck, then squeezed one hand around his base before standing back up.

“Very good,” he said in a low voice as he stuffed his cock back into his jeans, struggling to arrange it as he zipped back up again.

“Fuck you.”

“Again, feel free to lie to me and say you didn’t like it. I’ll know better.”

I gave him a cold glare. “I liked it. I loved it. Andyoudid, too, but you won’t fuck me because honestly, I think you’re scared.”

He puffed out a laugh, and his smile was enough to make me throb again. “I feel a lot of things about you, but I can’t sayscaredis one of them.”

“You’re fucking scared,” I tossed back. “Scared you’ll like it. Scared I’m not just a dumb jock you can screw around with asyou invade my life, writing an article on me. Scared you’ll have to admit I’m a real person, and that you could maybe evenenjoybeing around me.”

“Well, you definitely are fun to fuck with.”

“Is this all a big revenge plot because a football player dared to ask you about where your parents were in freshman year?”

His brow furrowed.

He gave me a hard look.

Finally.

I’d caught him off guard, for once.

“What exactly are you talking about, Andrew?”

“Carter. Freshman year. Parents Weekend, when you apparently got blasted off your ass on whiskey and told the boys a little too much about your upbringing. You saw someone getshot, Gilman? You need therapy, not a vendetta.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, and you should stop.”

“No. You should tell me what the fuck your deal is. You can’t hate us just because you’ve been through bad things.”

“I went through more in each year of my childhood than most people go through in their entire lives,” he snapped back. “I’ve been to more therapists and court-mandated counselors than you could imagine. I have no problem withfootball players, but I do have a problem with you.”

“What problem is that?”

“You’re obsessed with your own perfect little story. Obsessed with going pro. You want to be America’s next household name. And right now, you want to give me your ass so that I’ll be on your good side, because you think you can charm anyone. Andrew, I am going to write whatever I please in my article, and it doesn’t matter if I dick you down every single night until Homecoming,nothingis going to change that.”

I was so angry I wanted to punch the stone wall beside me.

Like hell I didanythingjust to “be a household name.”

I reallydidwant to do good. To succeed.

Because if I don’t succeed, what the fuck am I, anyway?

A nobody from a small town?

Someone who cannot function in life unless he’s on a football field?

My heart lodged somewhere in my chest.