Page 21 of Trick Play (Playing the Field #4)

CHAPTER

TWENTY

Micah

Then

Zeke’s hands roam my body without care of our audience. To be fair, his teammates gathered at his house for their annual New Year’s party are already drunk off their asses despite the clock not having reached midnight yet—not unusual for one of his famous parties. Music, manned by a legit DJ, is bumping through the house, loud enough I half expect the cops to show up again. The living room has been converted into a makeshift dance floor, where Zeke and I have spent most of our time tonight, drinking and grinding along with everyone else.

He’s been handsy all night, but we’re both feeling the effects of several drinks now. Our touches have become less appropriate for public. When I’d arrived in my cropped sweater and snug pants, I thought for sure Zeke and I would never make it past the front door. He was on me in a heartbeat, mouth messy on mine and hands diving beneath my shirt. Those greedy fingers have been attached to my skin ever since.

Our little arrangement has been going steady since Halloween—booty calls and friendship, what more could someone want?

The answer is “a lot.”

I’m not good at this. The more we get to know one another, both intimately and emotionally, the more I start to fall. I’ve never done the whole no-strings-attached hookup thing, and it was my own stupid fault for thinking this time would be any different. My only saving grace is that Zeke is a known playboy. He’s never been caught with the same date twice, and the internet is covered in so many pictures of him kissing random people that there isn’t any room to speculate who he might be dating. I don’t think he does date. At least, he’s never mentioned anyone serious, past or present, to me. We’ve had plenty of time to talk about it.

We tell each other a lot, usually in the vulnerable moments after sex. It’s not something I’ve ever experienced with any of my previous partners, and definitely not something I’ve done with Hendrix when we were college roommates, considering the way any talk of feelings gives him the heebies. As we lie there, damp with sweat and chests heaving to catch our breaths, Zeke and I have begun a ritual of sharing personal thoughts and feelings. He tells me stories about his issues with heights, worries about teams they face, core childhood memories that shaped him into the man he is today, and his uncanny ability to recall movie facts incorrectly. He can be very argumentative when he thinks he’s right, too.

I divulge more than I should, but what else is new. I’ve always been the type to bear all and cut open my heart to present to someone else, all willing and ready to be tossed carelessly away. From my favorite nail tech to which shoe I put on first, Zeke has heard it all. Whether he’s retained that information or not, I’m not sure, but he hasn’t complained about my oversharing, and I like to think he tells me more than he does others.

The one major thing I haven’t told him is that I’m dancing at a strip club under a stage name while waiting for my break in graphic design. The only person who knows me both at the club and in the real world is Frankie, and that’s only because he’s the one who introduced me to Mischief. Hendrix, my best friend, doesn’t even know. I’m only dancing until I can get a steady income from designing. Once I have a day job to support me, I can quit my nighttime job. Then, no one has to know. It’s moot at this point.

“Am I allowed to bail from my own party yet?” Zeke murmurs into my ear, hands traveling across my bare belly. His chest is pressed against my back as I grind my ass into his groin. I’ve felt his semi all night, but the press of him is firmer now, hard along the center of my ass as he grinds himself against me. This is what our night has been leading up to. Every touch, kiss, caress, and brush of our lips has been a tease toward more, and it seems the time has come for one of us to break the stalemate and do something about the tension between us.

Spinning in his hold, I wrap my arms around his neck and plant a sloppy smooch to his lips. “Please,” I beg, muffled by his mouth.

“Fuck, yes, bunny.” He gropes my ass, breathing in deeply as if he’s having trouble containing himself. “Let’s fucking go.”

The next thing I know, he’s tossing me over his shoulder. My head dangles over his backside, and he gives mine a hearty smack as we exit the dancing, drunken crowd. Wolf whistles and catcalls follow us out.

Zeke carries me through his house and down the hallway that houses the bedrooms. His is at the far end, which means a longer walk before the action can really begin, but with his perky football butt swaying in my face, it isn’t too much of a hardship to be manhandled a little longer.

Though the hallway lights aren’t on, the ones from the rest of the house provide enough illumination that, as I glance up in the moments it takes Zeke to open his bedroom door and step across the threshold, I witness two people heading into a spare room together.

And not just any two people. Tahegin leads Hendrix with a hand clasping the hem of my friend’s shirt, pulling him along in a teasing but determined manner. The door closes behind them, and even with the music as loud as it is, I just know the lock clicks into place, too.

Our friends are finally making their moves! I can’t wait to tell Zeke. After he fucks me into the new year, that is.