Dirty Player: A Rough Riders Novel by Stacey Lynn Page B

me with wide-eyed wonder. Instead, his gaze carried the same confusion I knew mine did. The worry that we’d somehow crossed a line.
    That all of this…the day, our lust for each other, how good it felt when we were together…it was all too much and too unexpected.
    His eyes left mine and trailed over my face, and then around me. “Fantasy one fulfilled,” he whispered quietly, a soft, pleased smile on his lips. “You look more gorgeous with your wild and crazy hair all over my pillow than I thought you would.”
    I chuckled softly. 
    He pulled me back from the heaviness of my thoughts and reminded me of what we were without being an ass about it. 
    “You weren’t so bad yourself.”
    I patted his ass and gasped as it made him move inside of me.
    “Fucking hell. I need some recovery time,” he said, his lips twisting into a smirk.
    “Good.” I shifted beneath him, unable to move, but he seemed to understand my intent. “Then maybe you could feed me and give me something decent to wear before we go again.”
    His eyes searched mine, and I wondered if for once I was able to hide my lies behind my expressive eyes. He seemed to buy it enough, either because I had suddenly grown the ability to lie or because he wanted to believe the easiness in my words as much as I did.
    “Shirts in the top drawer, shorts beneath them. Help yourself to anything you want.”
    He hesitated before leaning forward and pressing his lips to mine. “I’ll go get cleaned up and leave a cloth for you in the bathroom.”
     
    ***
     
    I looked at Oliver over my shoulder where I was digging through his fridge for something else to drink. We’d already eaten grilled steak and vegetables, but I was thirsty.
    He had a dozen prepackaged containers labeled for shakes lined up and stacked to one side of the small, regular white fridge.
    Everything I’d seen of Oliver since I slid into his lusciously leathered and beautiful car had thrown me for a loop.
    “Do you need a protein shake or water?”
    He lifted his brow before shaking off whatever thought he had. “Both. I can get the shake, though.”
    “No problem.” I turned back to the fridge and pulled out the small container along with two bottles of water.
    The blender was already out on the countertop, so I helped myself to it, dumping in the contents of the veggies before reaching for the jar of protein powder on the counter.
    “You make these a lot?” Oliver asked as he reached around me and twisted off the top of the water bottle. “Beaux make you take care of him?”
    I stiffened at the mention of my brother—how anything I’d done to help him succeed was because he’d made me. “No. I make them because I care about him.”
    He was silent for a moment while I dumped in the powder, and then the only sound in the room was the whirling of the blender. I blended it longer than necessary, stabbing buttons to turn it off, unable to hide my irritation.
    “Tell me about him. What’s Beaux really like?”
    I frowned at the question. “He’s Beaux. I’m not sure I understand.”
    Taking the mixer out of my hands, Oliver twisted and reached for a glass, dumping the thick green sludge inside.
    He slammed it back, chugging it in one swallow, and cringed before he cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand.
    “I have a hard time reading him. And in order to trust him, I need to know him.”
    “Perhaps it’s his trust you have to earn.” I arched a challenging brow. Yeah, Oliver was the veteran on the offensive line, and he was team captain. But Beaux was still the QB. He had to trust who he was throwing the ball to, not the other way around.
    “Can we talk about him without you getting defensive?”
    I ground my teeth together. Was that what I’d been doing? For so long, it had just been Beaux and me against the world. It was a hard wall to drop.
    “Sorry. What is it?” I reached for my own water and took a seat at the small but cozy kitchen table.
    This time, Oliver seemed to