Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend Book 4) Page 10

  Miller runs his hand through his hair. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  “Are we really doing this now?” Miller’s reluctance makes me nervous.

  “Yes.” My voice comes out growly.

  “Until tonight, I’ve never said the words I’m bi out loud. I’ve known it for a long time, but I’ve never actually said it. The thought of saying it back then to anyone, let alone the straight guy I measured all my hookups against, made me want to crawl into a hole and never come out. Not to mention it was your first year in the NFL and you moved to the opposite side of the country.”

  Damn.

  Asshole of the year award goes to me.

  “Seems like tonight’s the night for major revelations,” I murmur.

  Miller cocks his head. “How so?”

  “This whole thing, ever since moving to Chicago … is it too early to have a midlife crisis? I’m twenty-eight, for fuck’s sake.”

  Miller laughs. “So, you’ve been wondering if your sudden attraction to men means you’re going crazy?”

  “Well, not … crazy. I dunno. I moved to Chicago for you, and until I saw Jackson and Noah together, I never questioned my motivation behind it. Now I can’t think of anything but that. And I don’t know if this is an attraction to men or if it’s a … you thing. I don’t know what it means, I don’t know what we’re doing here, and I don’t know if …” I can’t say it.

  “Don’t know what?”

  “If after all is said and done, that this won’t dissolve and we not only screw up our friendship but also the team.”

  Miller’s lips press together. “It’s an impossible situation. It’s putting everything on the line even thinking about it.”

  Even though he’s right, and I’m scared shitless of all this being some … temporary insanity—not that being gay or bi or whatever should be equated to insanity—I’m wondering if I’ve missed Miller on a completely platonic level and somehow my screwed-up brain thinks this is the only way to hold onto him. Which is ridiculous, because if anything, this is going to push him away.

  God, I hate my head right now.

  “Shane?” I keep using his first name because I can’t help loving the way he looks at me when I do. Like he can’t believe I’m either being serious or looking at him differently from the rest of the team, who are all on last-name basis only.

  He stares at me expectantly. “Yeah?”

  “Why’d you call tonight?”

  Miller sighs. “Pure jealousy.”

  “Huh?”

  “I was talking to this guy, Maddox, and he told me the story of how he and his boyfriend got together. It made me realize that if you didn’t explore with me, you might go to some other guy, and I can’t handle that even more than the thought of fucking everything up.”

  I don’t know what that means for us or if I should be flattered or insulted. “Why?” I manage to get out.

  “Because even though this is the worst idea in the history of ideas … it’s always been you. Those hookups in college might’ve shown me that I’m attracted to guys, but you’re the only one I’ve ever truly wanted.”

  My eyes widen, and he backtracks.

  “That’s probably too much pressure to put on you right now, but I don’t mean it in any other way than what I’ve said. I’m not going to push you or ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, and I have no expectations of a future.” He blows out a loud breath. “I wanted you to know you can use me. I’m at your disposal to help figure whatever’s going on in that head of yours.”

  God, I want that. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more, but I’m still wary. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I say softly.

  “You never could.”

  Even I can hear the doubt in his words, but that doesn’t stop me from going for this. Right now is a time to be selfless for once and put everything and everyone else first.

  Instead, I find myself whispering, “Can we do this again?”

  Miller’s smile makes the risk worth it.

  Chapter Twelve

  MILLER

  Talon: I need to change my pregame ritual.

  Me: To?

  Talon: You.

  Me: I’m your new pregame ritual?

  Talon: Getting off with you is. Did you SEE that game?

  Me: Wouldn’t have missed it. You guys were on fire, and I hate I’m not there with you.

  Talon: We’re finally clicking. Everything was smooth, and it was one of those games where everything fell into place. Like the football gods were watching over us.

  Me: And I’m somehow to thank for that? Are you saying I’m a football god, because I’ll take it.

  Talon: Dunno, but we should do it again next game. You know … just in case.

  Me: Right. Just in case.

  Talon: 5 for 5, baby!

  Me: My football god powers are strong.

  Talon: Correction: your powers in getting me off are strong.

  Me: How talented of me. Although, can I really take credit when I haven’t even touched you?

  Talon: Trust me. It’s all you.

  After texting every day and a weekly FaceTime call before game nights, we’ve created this little bubble where the rest of the world doesn’t exist and we don’t talk about anything real. It’s all football and getting off.

  I’m letting this go at Talon’s pace and not pushing for things I really want, because even though he hasn’t freaked out yet, I don’t want to overstep. Which is why I hesitate before hitting the Send button on my next text.

  Me: What’s your stance on celebratory video calls?

  The call comes in seconds later, and I answer with a grin.

  “That was quick.”

  Talon pans the camera down his body. “I was already appropriately undressed and two seconds away from asking you the same thing.”

  I swallow a groan. My cock goes from a semi to full mast instantly, and his camera isn’t even pointing at the good stuff. His bare chest, chiseled arms, and that gorgeous face fill my phone screen, and Talon’s blond hair sticks up at all angles from lying in bed.

  It’s been weeks of staring at him this way—of being allowed to take advantage of it—but I can’t get enough. I want more. If only I had the balls to ask for it.

  “Eight hundred miles is too far,” I complain.

  “Ten weeks.”

  If I weren’t so distracted by Talon’s body and raspy tone, I’d already have my hand in my boxers.

  Ten weeks is way too long.

  “Maybe I could skip PT one day this week and fly out—”

  “No. Your leg needs to get better for next season. No skipping sessions.”

  “But—”

  “No,” Talon barks.

  “There’s quarterback Talon again, Mr. Bossy.”

  “You know it.” Talon’s eyes meet mine, the blue in them taking on a mischievous glimmer. “But I had something else in mind tonight.”

  My heart hammers as I tell myself to be cool. “Yeah?” Apparently my voice didn’t get the message and comes out all gruff with a high-pitched squeak at the end.

  “Yeah.” Talon’s tone is tentative, and he bites his lip.

  “I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever it is.”

  “I want you to boss me around. Like you do with the girls we’ve been with.”

  Okay, I was one hundred percent wrong, because Talon asking me to boss him around in bed? I’m in no way prepared to handle that. This is a prank. I have to be being punked right now, because this doesn’t happen in real life.

  It’s not that I’m bossy in bed. I’m the one asking a girl’s limits and asking for boundaries, because ever since the first time Talon and I were together, my life revolved around rules and limitations when it came to him. It’s about being wary, not about needing to be the one in control.

  Now Talon’s asking me throw all my rules out the window.

  He takes my hesitance as an opport
unity to keep talking. “Ever since we started … fooling around? Is that what you’d call it?”

  I grit my teeth. “Get to the point faster, Talon.”

  “Right. Umm, well, yeah … all I can think about is you telling me what to do. I want to be the one to get you off.”

  I understand what he’s saying. Mostly, when we’ve done this, it’s always been him watching me. I’ve been the focus of both of us, because I’ve been letting him run the show. Flipping the dynamic has me excited but scared I’m gonna push too far or fast.

  “Remove the sheet,” I order.

  Talon does as I say, but I can’t see anything because he hasn’t propped his phone on his bedside table like usual.

  “Still can’t see anything,” I say.

  “Impatient much?”

  “Very. Now hurry up and show me what’s mine.”

  “Yours?” Talon asks.

  “What will be mine,” I growl.

  Talon places his phone in a position that gives me a view of all his naked glory.

  Before, where I felt deceptive looking at Talon’s naked body, now that it’s what he wants, there’s no tearing my gaze away.

  The house could catch fire right now, and I wouldn’t notice.

  He immediately goes to grip his cock when I stop him.

  “Nah-uh. You want me to tell you what to do, you have to wait for an instruction.” A huge part of me can’t believe that just came out my mouth to Talon, but the other part has wanted this for so long that I can’t bring myself to dwell on it. Only savor it.

  Talon smiles, and his hand falls to his side.

  I swallow hard, my mouth still dry at the sight of him. “You know, you’d totally make a good sub if you were into the BDSM thing.”

  “Fuck off, I would not. I have an issue with authority.”

  I can’t help laughing. “True. You’d get too many punishments for it to be enjoyable.”

  Talon’s expression falls, and he looks right at the camera. “Are you … into that? You haven’t been before. At least, not that I’ve—”

  More laughter flies out of me, because his worried face is too much. “No. Not into that. I like this bossing you around thing though. Can we get back to that, or are we gonna lay all our kinks out for each other to judge?”

  “You know all my kinks. You’ve seen them.”

  Right. The group thing. He really gets off on that.

  I push that depressing thought from my mind—the one that leads to voices telling me I’ll never be enough for Talon—and focus on what we have here and now even if it’s just messing around on a screen.

  “Lift your leg on the far side and slip a pillow under your ass so you’re kinda facing me.”

  Talon moves with no question.

  “Skim your chest with one hand and pinch your nipple.”

  His hand makes its descent but pauses. “I don’t really have a nipple fetish like you do.”

  “It’s hardly a fetish. It’s not like I want nipple clamps or anything.”

  “Hmm, you with nipple clamps …”

  Okay, we’re so not going to think about that. “I thought this was about you. Lick your fingers for me. Get them real wet.”

  Talon eyes me hesitantly.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then do it. If you don’t like what I want you to do, you don’t have to keep going.”

  Talon sucks two fingers into his mouth, and he may not be sure about what he’s about to do, but his cock is. It twitches like it’s trying to do a sit-up off Talon’s abs.

  “What do you want me to do with them?”

  “Massage your balls with the palm of your hand while you tease your hole with your fingers.”

  Talon cups his sac and does as I say without any question or hesitation. He’s so fucking beautiful like this. His skin is flushed, far redder than I’ve ever seen it on the field or in bed, and I love it. It’s sexy and one of the only times I’ve felt Talon’s insecurity.

  “You’re doing so good,” I encourage, which seems to appease him.

  “I want … I want to … try.”

  I’m tempted to mock him about using big-boy words, but I don’t want to push this. “Try one finger. Slowly.”

  Even though I can’t see from this angle, I know the moment he penetrates himself, because his eyes squeeze shut, and it looks like he’s holding his breath.

  “It feels weird at first,” I say. “That’s normal. You need to relax and push out as your finger goes in deeper.”

  Talon’s eyes fly open and pin me to my spot. “Have you done this before?”

  “Only with myself. Just like you’re doing right now.”

  “I want to see that.”

  “Another time. Push your finger deeper—as far as you can get it.”

  I wasn’t kidding when I said he’d make an awesome submissive if we were into that. Talon seems so in control all the time—even when he’s goofing off. I think his outgoing and bright, playful nature is who he is to everyone else, his public persona, but anyone who knows him on a deeper level would realize how he can be particular. Especially on the field. The entire team knows what Talon can be like when we lose a game or mess up a play.

  He smiles for the cameras and waves off a loss like the rest of us do in front of the media, and even when he’s lecturing the guys on a shitty job done, he still has a light tone about him. But underneath it all, he has a penchant for things to be a certain way—his way.

  Talon giving me full control and losing himself, letting me call the shots and him doing it without talking back makes me harder than I’ve ever been.

  “If I was there, it’d be my fingers inside you right now.”

  Talon moans so loud I have to cover the speaker part of my phone. I turn the volume down so he can make as much noise as he wants, because fuck asking him to keep that amazing sound quiet.

  “What else would you do?” Talon croaks.

  “I want my mouth wrapped around your cock. Lick your free hand for me.”

  Talon does it and reaches for his dick.

  “Nuh-uh. Not yet.”

  He slumps. “Fuck you.”

  “Can’t wait for that, but fine, take your cock in your hand, but don’t move it yet.”

  Talon’s chest rises and falls in quick breaths as if he’s struggling to follow my instructions.

  “I want you to stroke yourself in time with fingering your ass, but you need to get to two fingers for me. Think you can do that?”

  Talon nods like a good boy and does as I say, but when he catches my eye on the screen and he can see me tugging on my dick like a teenager who knows his parents are gonna be home any second and he needs to come right now, Talon scowls.

  “If I have to wait, you have to wait.”

  Okay, so he’s not quite ready to give up all control.

  I’m a fair guy, so I stop, but it doesn’t last long, because Talon begins to jerk himself, and it’s like I can feel everything he’s doing to himself.

  I watch as his hands move in sync, and I’m mesmerized by him. We’ve done this five times already, but I still have that feeling like I shouldn’t be watching him. Like when we’ve been together in the past. The faces of the women we’ve been with are probably blurry because I’ve always focused on Talon even though I knew I shouldn’t be. It made me feel dirty doing it.

  Now he’s giving me full permission to take advantage, but I have to fight the reflexive urge to look away.

  “Are you gonna come for me?” I ask. “I want to see you covered in cum.”

  “Fuck, why do I like the sound of that so much?”

  “If you were here, I’d lick every drop off your skin.”

  Apparently that’s all it takes to send him over the edge, and I continue to watch as he writhes through his orgasm. I’m close behind, and when we’re both sticky messes, Talon pierces me with his blue eyes.

  “February needs to hurry the fuck up.”

 
; Weeks feel like months, and if it weren’t for my leg still giving me issues, I’d be on the first plane to Chicago, because this distance thing is killing me.

  At least, that’s what I tell myself. A huge part of me thinks things are gonna get weird in person. Our video calls and texts are the highlights of my day, and they make me so happy that I stop caring about my leg taking longer to heal than they first thought it would. I don’t worry about not getting back in shape, because somehow, Talon wanting me has made me believe anything is possible and I just have to be patient.

  My leg will get better.

  My PT sent me for more scans and tests with my surgeon to be sure, but I think she did it more to shut me up. For a while there, I was convinced something else was wrong, but now, I have a positivity that everything’s going to be okay, and I think that’s because of Talon.

  I haven’t even told Talon about my leg issues although I think he suspects something’s up. He knows how to read me like no one else can, so the last few video chats have been a mission to pretend like I’m not at least a tiny bit worried.

  But as I arrive for my doctor appointment for the latest MRI results, I have a spring in my limpy step, because I’ve convinced myself I’m being hard on myself, and that’s why I’m not as far along in recovery as I want to be.

  All the happiness, the positivity, and all-round great mood I’ve been in since the whole thing with Talon comes crashing down when I take a seat at Dr. Rogers’s desk.

  Her eyes are sympathetic, her lips pulled into a tight line as I take the seat in her consulting office. I can already tell her sunny disposition is missing today.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “The new scans suggest sciatic nerve injury. We need to discuss another surgery to fix it.”

  “More surgery?” I slump back into my seat. “What does this mean in terms of recovery?” I can’t take more time. I can’t.

  “We won’t know for sure until we remove the scar tissue that’s causing it. It may grow back. There are risks. I’m so sorry.”

  “My career?” I choke on the lump in my throat.

  “I know you want answers and a definitive plan, but for the time being, to stop doing any more damage, we need to take a step back. Two weeks’ rest and then light exercises.”