Conspiring by J. B. McGee

still end up at your place. And if you can’t even eat or keep food down, is it such a great idea for you to be drinking?”
    He’s right. I can’t drink. I would love to show Bradley if he’s there that I’m with him but in a way that would be obvious that I was just trying to make him jealous. I need to quit thinking about what Bradley would think or do. I need to quit thinking about him, period. “You have a point. So you’ll come by after practice, then?”
    “Yep, it’s a date.”
    The next few hours are going to be torture for me. They will be all the foreplay I need. “I can’t wait.” I can’t wait to lose myself, all of this worry, and all of this confusion in him.
     

     
    Since I hung up with Ian, I have been in a better mood. When I got home, I immediately stripped out of my pant suit and heels. When I was deciding what to wear, the thought occurred to me to wear the outfit Ian picked out for me on Sunday, those cheerleader shorts and that Carolina girl shirt.
    I climbed into my bed and wrapped myself in my comforter like a small child, huddled into a ball. The combination of the crying, the emotions, and knowing that I probably have a long night ahead of me made succumbing to my fatigue even easier. What better way to pass time than to sleep it away .
    I can’t believe how tired I really was when I wake up at eight. I set up my computer on the love seat with a hot cup of tea, and start to catch up on the work I didn’t do today; a good distraction from the anticipation of tonight.
    Not even thirty minutes later my doorbell pings, causing me to jump. It’s too early for Ian. This is when I hate living alone. I don’t like being here by myself at night, even if it isn’t completely dark yet.
    A mental list is playing in my mind of who it could possibly be. I peek through the hole holding my breath. My heart is beating so hard I can hear it. I let out a breath of relief when I see Ian standing there holding bag full of what I assume is food.
    I unlock the door and open it, excited, but puzzled. “You’re early.”
    He raises an eyebrow while he eyes me up and down. “Are you complaining?” His lips curve into a smile.
    His inspecting gaze reminds me of my outfit. That smile makes me think he must like it. I’ve not been able to take my eyes off of his since I opened the door. I am transfixed on him. “No. Not at all. You just scared me. I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour.” I extend my arm to invite him into the foyer.
    There is a silent, ferverish current between us, at least for me there is. He walks in and heads towards the kitchen. When he reaches the table at the end of the foyer, he mumbles something. I can’t understand what he said, but he seems frustrated. This is not how I thought tonight would start. He seems completely unaffected by me. This is awkward. I just want to kick him out, and go back to bed, swearing off all men.
    He drops the bag carelessly, turning to me. In one stride my body is thrust back into the door. The greedy need between us is like the gravity of the earth. You know it’s there, and no matter how much you resist it, you can’t deny it. You can’t avoid it. You ultimately are pulled down, grounded. When his lips crash into mine, it’s just as I had hoped. All my worries, all my fears, and all of my confusion are gone in an instant.
    His hand fists through my hair as he pulls me in closer, deepening the kiss. Like the struggle of tug of war, I push him back, and immediately wrestle his gray shirt off of his hot, toned soccer physique. This is different than the last time. It’s less mind games and more hunger, more need.
    He barely stops kissing me as he mirrors my action. He swiftly pulls my shirt over my head tossing it in our path on the way to the bedroom. Breathlessly, he groans, “Do you know how hard it was for me to dress you in this Sunday?”
    I shake my head playfully, “Uh uh, tell me.”
    “All I could picture was you just