27. Ryan

27

Ryan

“ G ood morning, sunshine,” I kiss my girl on the cheek, waking her up gently.

She’s usually a morning person, but first-day jitters are setting in. Feisty Violet is the last thing I need this morning. She grunts and flips her body away from me, snatching the blanket and wrapping herself in a ball of warmth. I laugh at the sight of my little burrito.

“Good luck on your first day of work. You’re gonna kill it. If anyone gives you trouble, call me.” I grab her stomach and hone in on her most ticklish spot. She squirms and reaches back for my neck. Once her arms hook around my neck, her eyes flutter open and lock with mine.

“I’m nervous,” she whispers.

“You’ll be the smartest person there. I know it.” She’s the smartest person in every room we enter.

“You don’t know that.” She hits me with a questioning look.

“I do,” I say, kissing her rosy nose.

Violet got hired at an indie bookstore downtown. It was her first choice because she loves to read in her free time. Mason’s sister owns the shop. I may have called in a few favors, but seeing the smile on her face when she got the call was worth it. I was honest with her about who owned the shop and told her I called. She was pouty with me at first but got over it. The thought of working her dream college job overpowered her annoyance with me helping in this situation.

“You have a few more minutes, but I have to go. I’m headed to the field to get in a morning workout.”

“Will you be back before game time?” she asks with the most adorable sleepy eyes.

“Probably not. Coach’s pre-game routine gets longer every round. You better be wearing my jersey,” I tease, tickling her more before she pushes me away.

“It’s dirty. I think I’ll wear Locke’s instead.” This girl. My body tightens, and a sick churning starts taking over my stomach. I’ve got to get a grip. She’s only teasing.

“Tell me whose jersey you’ll wear?” I ask with a more serious tone than I intended.

“Locke’s,” she doubles down, pursing those sassy lips.

Knotting my hands behind her back, I throw her on top of me. She’s straddling me in bed with my practice shirt on. It’s so big that I can barely see her body. Her hair is in a messy bun with her short shorts riding dangerously high. She’s laughing so hard she can barely catch air.

I begin rubbing circles around the sensitive part of her waist as my hands make their way under her shirt and up her bare back. Her laughing stops when my touch causes her head to tilt back. I move my wandering hands from her back up to her neck. She’s frozen and completely tuned in to my movements. I move her head forward toward my lips.

Tilting her ear to my mouth, I whisper, “Don’t play with me, Violet. Who’s the only name you’ll wear on your back?” She takes a big gulp and locks eyes with me, lips parted and ready for me to devour them.

“Answer me,” I say with authority.

“Yours,” she moans softly.

“That’s my girl.”

I kiss her with desperation. Her hands fly to my chest and touch every indent of my muscles. Her thumbs loop in the band of my favorite gray sweatpants.

“You drive me crazy. You know that, right?”

“Mhmmmm.” She's the sexiest woman I have ever seen.

“I wish this counted as my morning workout,” I smirk under her pouty lips.

“Please,” she says. I can’t deny her anything, ever.

“Trust me. I would much rather stay here with you than head to the field, but Coach will kill me if I’m late.”

She moans, “I know. I can’t wait to see you play later.”

If this is how I woke up every game day morning, I'd be a very happy man.