CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

RILEY

Two weeks. Other than on TV, it’s been two long weeks since I’ve seen Walker. It doesn’t help that he had an away game last week and another tonight. Like last Sunday, I’m at Jackson and Taylor’s penthouse with pizza, wings, chips, and wine, as we yell at the refs and the screen.

It’s hilarious to hear Jackson get so worked up. He doesn’t have a clue what any of the calls mean and has just learned about downs. It took nearly the entire third quarter to explain to him why the Revolutions would kick it away on a fourth and twelve. With three minutes left in the game, the first of the regular season, and in Miami with the score tied, the tension is thick.

Not only in humid Miami, but in the air-conditioned penthouse.

“Give the fucking ball to Bankes,” Taylor yells when Anderson and the offense gets in formation. “Stop trying to throw touchdowns, you rook.”

Jackson squeezes Taylor’s thigh. “Isn’t he sexy when he talks neanderthal?”

I’d laugh if I wasn’t so worked up over the game. I return my attention to the screen and focus on number thirty-three.

The center hikes the ball to Anderson, and he doesn’t throw it, but he doesn’t pass it off to Walker either. He sweeps the ball to Drake Cannon, who is stopped at the line of scrimmage.

“Son of a bitch.” I pound my fist on the arm of the couch. “Is Hayes trying to lose the game?”

Not that Cannon is a bad receiver. He’s as impressive as Walker, but I have faith my man can carry the ball to the end zone.

I freeze and blink rapidly at the TV. I didn’t say that out loud, did I? Walker and the offense leave formation and head to the sideline. The clock winds down to the two-minute warning.

I shimmy in my seat and move to the edge of the couch.

“You okay, cupcake? Look a little stressed,” Jackson says.

“Um, you’re one to talk. Hopefully your brother can take the ball to the end zone.”

The team lines up again, and I tune out the announcer’s babble as they predict the next few plays. With sixty yards still to go, a fairly green team, and a strong Miami defense, the announcers predict a turnover.

Way to be unbiased, assholes.

Anderson shuffles the ball off to Walker, who breaks free of a tackle but only comes up with three yards. Time runs off the clock, and the offense hurries back to formation. On the next snap, Miami comes out strong and sacks Anderson.

Their crowd goes crazy. Third and now thirteen to go with the clock running. They’re going to throw it. The tight ends and wide receivers are matched up, and on the snap, Anderson fake throws to Miles Buckingham and even tricks the cameraman.

Another camera picks up Walker running down the middle, steam rolling over two defenders, picking up twenty yards. The clocks only stop for a second for the chains to move, then Anderson throws the ball too far into the end zone, stopping the clock.

“Fifteen seconds and thirty-eight yards to go. With the kicking game off tonight, I’m betting we’re going to overtime,” the announcer predicts.

Fuck him. I focus on Walker, giving him all my good mojo, praying they hand him the ball. The ball is snapped and Anderson tosses it to Walker. I jump to my feet, Jackson curses, Taylor yells to run faster, and Walker leaps over a defender and lands in the end zone.

“Yes!” I jump up and down and hug Jackson. “He did it!”

“That’s my brother!” Jackson yells at the television.

My eyes water and my face hurts from smiling so much. I can’t tear my eyes off the screen as Walker’s teammates pile on top of him. You’d think it was a playoff game by the way the guys are celebrating. His happiness brings me happiness. What does that say about how hard I’ve fallen for him?

Even after the extra point, there’s still constant celebration on the sideline. The camera zooms in on Walker as he takes his helmet off. He’s smiling and accepting the congratulations from his coaches and teammates, but it’s subdued. If you’d never been fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of his megawatt smile, you’d never know the smile he wears on the field isn’t his one hundred percent.

I’ve worked with enough athletes, granted, most are high school or college athletes, to know how much sports drives their lives. That their happiness is dependent upon a winning season, on their individual performance, on their health.

Yet the most joy I’ve seen from Walker was during our first few dates. Either there’s something going on with him that he’s hiding from others, or he doesn’t live, breathe, and dream football as much as his teammates.

It’s another complicated layer of Walker Bankes that I’d like to peel away. It’s ironic that it’s the complicated layers that have me falling harder for him. He was a perfect gentleman to me after our group dinner at Cayenne, and when he walked me to my apartment door, I expected him to try to kiss me.

I’d been having a ping-pong match in my head trying to decide how I’d react. Push him away and tell him I only want to be friends? Accept the kiss but then push him away? Or dive right in and pull him into my apartment, strip him bare and ride him hard?

He’s made it clear he’s still interested in me, but I’m still protective of my heart. Walker wants right now. I want the future.

Rowan and Kendall rattled me the other night at dinner. Rowan suggested I come right out and tell Walker what I want. Marriage, kids, the house. Maybe not right this second, but soon. If that’s not the direction he sees us going, then he should back off.

Kendall suggested we go back to friends with benefits until Mr. Perfect falls into my lap.

The only issue with that suggestion, is that Mr. Perfect already did. Well, if I add an almost in there, he did.

The longer I play these games—however unintentional they may be—the longer I’m dragging out the inevitable. After I get through the 5K I’ll talk with him. That gives me two more weeks to decide if I want friends with benefits or just friends.

I open the doors to Boston Strong a little before eight and hang out at the reception desk until Julie arrives at eight-thirty. My staff is overworked yet they still ask me daily what they can do to help with the 5K. Thankfully, I have a handful of high school kids who are volunteering on their day off. All I have to do is make sure I have everything ready for them so they execute their jobs perfectly.

I’m only on my third email when a tall shadow fills my open doorway. I lift my gaze and can’t help the small smile that creeps onto my lips. “Walker.”

“Hey. Am I interrupting?” He steps into my office and shoves his hands in the front pockets of his charcoal-gray joggers. “Dumb question. You’ve got the 5K coming up. I’m sure you’re buried deep in work.”

My eyes fixate on his thick quads and the impressive bulge he’s packing. Damn, does he wear those joggers well.

His navy-blue Revolutions T-shirt hangs a little loose at his narrow hips but gets tighter around his chest and shoulders. The short sleeves are like tourniquets around his biceps.

“Riley?”

“Oh.” I shake myself free from my lusty exploration and settle on his stormy gray eyes. I swear they’re sparkling. Maybe it’s the lighting. But my office lighting is crap. Could be the glare from my laptop. Yeah. Must be that.

They close slightly and crinkle in the corners, then his gaze drops to my mouth. My tongue touches the middle of my bottom lip of its own accord. Walker shifts from side to side and clears his throat.

Okay. Looking at him isn’t helping. I stare at my computer screen and point to it. “Yup. Lots to do. If only I could afford a clone. Or figure out how to be in two places at once. Or grow two extra hands.”

He takes a seat across from me and crosses his leg over his opposite knee. “A Riley clone?” He scratches the stubble on his chin. “That’s not a bad image. But would that mean I’d have to share the other Riley?”

I take a gigantic sip of my coffee and it gets caught in my throat. I pound my chest to loosen it up and chase down my shock with another sip. Share? Does that mean he thinks he has me now? He wants me now, that I know, just not in the same way I want him.

“Um...”

“Since that’s not on the table right now, how about I help you with my hands?” He wiggles his ten fingers in front of him.

“Your hands?” Lord, they’re beautiful hands. The way he cups my ass in them, or how he massages my breasts with those thick fingers. I cross my legs and clench my thighs. Those fingers. How I miss them in my—

“Riley? Are you okay?”

I snap my eyes to his and run my fingers through my hair. “Sorry. I’m easily distracted these days. A lot on my mind.”

“Let me help.”

I tilt my head to the side. “I appreciate it, but don’t you have to be at the field? Actually, why are you even here? Shit. I didn’t mean it like that. It must have been close to three in the morning when your plane landed. You should be asleep. But what a game. You were amazing. You should have heard Jackson and me screaming at the refs. That first fumble they called on you? Utter bullshit. You didn’t even get a step in before that defender blindsided you. And then your quarterback kept passing instead of giving you the ball. What was up with that? You’re a sure thing.” I realize I’m waving my hands wildly through the air and rambling just a smidge.

Walker’s grinning at me and my thighs get another squeeze. They’re hating me right now. They’d much rather be clamped around Walker’s head than—shit. I can’t think about that right now.

Hell. I’ve never been this horny before. I broke the seal when I had sex with Walker and now that’s all I think about. I’m turning into Kendall.

Or maybe it’s just Walker. He’s still staring at me with that goofy grin, not saying a word. I like the goofy grin, although it’s more sexy than awkward. Since I got outed at my almost wedding with Jackson, I haven’t seen Walker this relaxed. I saw a glimpse of it the day we all went to his game and had dinner together. He was relaxed and seemed to enjoy himself.

Today, though, the Walker I knew from before sits across from me. Comfortable in his own skin, ready to flirt, even though he hasn’t said anything sexual other than the comment about having a Riley clone.

And for the record, I’d be totally jealous if he was touching another Riley, even if she was my clone.

“I’m a sure thing?”

Gah! That grin. Of course those are the words he takes away from my ramble. “You’re one of the best running backs in the NFL.”

The compliment puts strain on his grin, and his eyes lose that sparkle. “Right.”

Shit. I did it again. It’s déja vù from the last time he stopped by. I said something that he took as an insult. He starts to stand but I jump out of my seat and round my desk and step in front of him. Our knees bump and I take a small step back, sitting on the edge of my desk.

Too afraid to dig deeper into how I insulted him by complimenting him on his athleticism, I take the safer route. The chicken shit route.

“I’d love your help. Thank you. It means a lot that you’d offer, especially because you’re so busy right now too.”

That earns me a slight smile, but the light in his eyes has dimmed. Walker slowly rises to his feet, closing the distance between us.

“I told myself I’d be patient. Jackson said you don’t like to be chased, but we both keep dancing around this...thing between us.”

“You talked to Jackson about me?” I don’t know why that has me so surprised. Maybe because he’s the worst at keeping secrets, and I’ve always been the one he talks to. I should be jealous he’s keeping things from me, but I’m moved by his budding relationship with Walker.

Walker needs a brother more than I need to know every conversation Jackson has.

“I did.” He pulls at one of the strings on my hoodie and quickly releases it. “It shouldn’t be a surprise, because I told you this on the Fourth of July. I want you back, Riley. Actually. No.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

My breath catches in my throat. He doesn’t want me anymore? Oh, God. I don’t think my heart can handle this right now. Or ever.

Walker opens his eyes and picks up the string again. This time, he twirls it around his finger. “You were never mine before. Only partially. This time, I want all of you. I’m done pretending I don’t. Done pretending that being friends is enough. I want you in my life, Riley. In my bed. In my...”

He drops the string and gives me a curt nod before moving toward the door. He’s walking away? I’m so confused. He just said he was tired of playing these games, and now he leaves me hanging on this cliffhanger.

“Walker.” I say to his retreating back. “Why are you leaving?”

He doesn’t turn around when he responds. “Because when I’m with you I want to touch you. And if I touch you, I’m going to need to kiss you. And if I kiss you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop until I have you stripped bare, naked, and under me, while my mouth and hands devour you.”

I’m not even moving, and my breathing becomes labored. Sweat trickles down my spine and I bite on my lower lip. He’s bared his soul and I’ve given him nothing but grief. The only compliments I’ve given him are about football.

“Walker,” I whisper.

Holy fuck. Those gray joggers move as Walker clenches his ass. I’m sure he’s clenching his entire body, but that perfectly shaped ass is staring at me. Or I’m staring at it. Regardless, he’s reacting. It’s a good reaction, like how I had to clench my thighs. I imagine if I was standing and wearing joggers my ass would twitch too.

Too much time has passed, and he hasn’t turned around. I take two nervous steps toward him, and he cranes his neck, looking over his shoulder. “Riley,” he warns, and liquid pools between my legs. I’m going to need to change my underwear. Or maybe I should take them off.

“Don’t go.”

Walker runs his tongue along his top teeth and ever so slowly turns around, his gray eyes piercing me with need.

“If I stay...”

My body tingles with anticipation, and I nod.

“Fuck.” His legs move, and before I can register how quickly he crosses the room, he has my face trapped between his hands and he bends to kiss me.

“Riley?” Julia’s voice has me jumping out of his embrace.

Walker’s back is to the door, which is a good thing. Those gray joggers don’t do much to hide his erection. I glance down between us, and my eyes grow wide when I see it twitch.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She clears her throat and I step around Walker, hoping I don’t look like he was about to swallow me whole.

“What can I do for you, Julie?” I don’t normally talk so formally with her, but by the blush on her cheeks and the giggle she’s doing a terrible job of holding back, I can see she doesn't mind.

“Matteo is here. I’ve been holding him off because I, uh, saw Walker come up here a while ago, but he needs to talk with you.”

“Thanks, Julie. You can send him up.”

When she leaves, Walker wraps his fingers around my upper arm and spins me around. “Matteo?”

Is that jealousy in his eyes? And why do I like it? “My accountant.”

“You were going to meet with him alone?”

“I usually do.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“You can stay if you’d like. Unless your offer of extra...hands is no longer on the table?”

“My hands are yours to use any way you wish.”

I bite my lip, and move closer to him, pressing my breasts against his chest. “I’d like very much if we finished your version of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie later.”

“Cookies?”

“The book. Have you ever read it?” He shakes his head. Hell, what am I doing flirting with him? I’m only setting myself up for heartache. “Your, uh, threat had the same vibe as the book.”

“What kind of books do you read?” His sexy smirk has me laughing.

A tap on the door has us breaking away again, only this time we’re not as jumpy. “Hi, Matt.”

“Hey, Riley. Sorry I’m early but I—” his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he sees Walker. “Are you Walker Bankes? Wow. I’m a huge fan. Even when you were in San Fran.” Matteo holds out his hand.

Walker looks down at it, then gives Matteo a thorough up and down scan before he shakes his hand. Matteo’s a cute hipster. His younger brother was one of our kids we worked with a few years ago. Matteo was working on his accounting degree at a local community college and helping his family pay the bills. Their family wasn’t insured and couldn’t afford the rehab Michael needed.

Matteo came with his little brother during his first few appointments, not believing we were legitimate. When he saw the work we did, he and his whole family were touched, and he vowed to give back once he was able.

He’s had his accounting degree for over a year and has been giving me free advice and helping do our taxes since he was in school.

“Now that you play for Boston, there’s no way we won’t make the playoffs.”

“We’re only one game into the regular season, but the team appreciates the support from the fans.”

“Are you here as a rep for the Revolutions?” Matteo turns to me. “Snagging publicity like this is going to bring in even more donors. Smart move, Riley.”

I don’t miss the way Walker tenses. He drapes an arm around my waist and tugs me into his side. “I’m not here on behalf of the team.”

My ovaries freaking explode at his caveman move. Matteo’s brows lift and he stares at Walker’s large hand gripping my hip.

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Why would you?” Walker growls. I elbow him, unused to his rude behavior.

“Anyway,” I say with an extra perk in my voice. “Let’s see what you came up with. Walker’s here to help with the planning as well.”

“That’s great.” Matteo sets his briefcase on the table and Walker pulls out a seat for me. He takes the one next to me, shuffling it so close he’s practically on top of me, and Matteo takes the seat across from us.

For the next hour, I listen to Matteo talk numbers. He mentions the fifty-thousand-dollar anonymous donor a dozen times, and when he offers three ways to best stretch and spend it on the kids, Walker offers his opinion. We agree on most of his suggestions, take notes on what changes need to be made, and by the end of the hour, the tension in the air has thinned.

Walker even signs his autograph on a piece of paper and agrees to a couple photos. Walker insisted I take the pictures. I’m sure it was his way of keeping me out of them so Matteo didn’t have any of me on his phone.

“Now that the little number cruncher is gone, can we get back to giving a mouse a cookie?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

I snort a laugh. “First, your jealousy is incredibly sexy. Matteo and I aren’t even friends. It’s all business. His brother was a patient here, and Matteo offers his services pro bono.”

“Of course he does. It gives him a reason to see you. Take you to lunch. Ask you out.”

I roll my eyes. “Business lunches and no asking out. It’s not like that. Second, that is not what the book is about. But it can be our new euphemism.”

“Hm. Euphemism for what?”

“For all of it.”