TightestEndParker85: Yeah this won’t last @CasaNova87 #TakingBets #OverUnder #YouShouldCutYourLosses
*REPOSTED—screenshot of a picture of a UK basketball player and his girlfriend with the image of Kay wrapped in Mason’s arms circled in the background—TheQueenB: Look @UofJ411 at what it couple from @TheUofJ I spot canoodling in the background. #IHaveTheScoop #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl*
UofJ411: Oh shit! You’re not going to let this slide, right @CasaNova87? #DefendHerHonor #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl
*screenshot of post by @TightestEndParker85: Yeah this won’t last @CasaNova87 #TakingBets #OverUnder #YouShouldCutYourLosses*
#Chapter36
Waking up with a naked Kay in my arms is hands down my favorite way to start the day. After spending the last couple of weeks afraid I would never get to experience this again, I allow myself a few more minutes to properly appreciate it.
My big spoon is wrapped tightly around her little one, my body doing its best to figure out the math on how to get the entirety of its six-five frame to be touched by her four-eleven one. The length of Kay’s body is suctioned to mine from neck to knee, the plump curve of her ass cradled against my groin in the matching bend of our hips.
The scent of peppermint wafts from the riot of curls spread over my arm, my shoulder pillowing her head, my arms banded around her, refusing to let her go even in sleep.
“Mase,” she says on a sigh. I don’t know what’s sexier, the gravelly, sleep-roughened sound of her voice or that she’s back to calling me Mase.
“Morning, baby.” I nuzzle into the back of her neck, nosing her hair out of the way for a trail of kisses. My muscles tense and stretch around her, the leg snaked between hers hooking around her ankle and pulling her closer.
“I’m not having sex with you,” she mumbles into her pillow.
A chuckle breaks free at how grumpy she sounds. Oh, my little anti-morning person. It doesn’t surprise me that morning sex isn’t at the top of her list of favorite things, but I’m confident I can bring her around to my way of thinking.
“What if I do all the work?” I drag my teeth down the shell of her ear, grinning at how she squirms against me in response.
“I’m too sore.”
I shouldn’t smile, but I can’t help it. It’s common for Kay to be sore after sex given that I’m double her size, but if she’s calling a timeout on the sexy times, it means it’s much more than normal. We were rather enthusiastic last night—all three times.
Look at you finally living up to your MVP status. Good job, Nova. You earned a water break. Looks like my inner coach is feeling cheeky after last night as well.
“So you’re saying you’re going to be walking funny today?” I nip at her bare shoulder. The idea of there being a visual representation of how she was owned by me, how she’s mine, is one hell of an ego boost.
“You’re such a caveman.” I swear I can hear her roll her eyes, and I love it.
“You love me anyway.” I knead the breast my hand is cupped around, thumbing her nipple until it’s pebbled against my palm.
“Will you stop that?” She tries to wiggle away, but my hold on her is resolute and causes her to huff in frustration. “It’s halftime for my vagina. Go entertain your dick in the shower if it can’t wait until tonight.”
My girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen—always so full of snark for me. She’s damn lucky I love her.
You’re so full of shit. Weren’t you the one trying to convince me that it’s because she’s different and doesn’t fawn over you like the jersey chasers?
I hate when my inner coach is right.
With one last kiss on her head, I roll away and climb out of bed—by myself.
I’m reaching for my phone on the nightstand when Kay’s lights up with a text next to it, and the contact coming up as UNKNOWN has me pausing to take a closer look.
UNKNOWN: It really is a shame you deleted all your social media accounts, because if you look hard enough, you can find pretty much ANYONE on there. Did you know your Casanova and his quarterback bestie used to date the SAME chick in high school? Oh the stories she could probably tell me…
Who the fuck is texting her? Better yet, why do they give a shit about Chrissy? Other than her playing my best friend and me, there’s not a story there to tell.
Is it…
Could it be…
Is Liam Parker texting her? Wouldn’t she have his number blocked?
Rage slams into me at the possibility. The urge to wake her up and demand answers is strong, and I’ve already taken a step toward the bed before I stop myself. Getting all up in Kay’s face about this without thinking it through could have an adverse effect on everything we accomplished last night.
The last thing I need is for Kay to revert back to the whole I’m not good for you bullshit she tried to spout. I just got her back; no way in hell am I going to let anything try to take her away from me again.
You’re gonna need help for this play.
My inner coach is right—again. I quickly type out a text to JT, giving him our hotel and room information and asking him to come.
I was really hoping to have Kay to myself without any drama. So much for that.
After toweling off, I pull the only non-U of J apparel I packed—a white long-sleeved Henley and black joggers—not trusting myself to resist crawling back into bed and trying to convince Kay to call an end to her halftime if I walk out in only a towel. A man’s self-restraint can only take so much, and keeping away from a naked Kay is a test I’ll fail every time.
Sure enough, she’s in the same position I left her in, the colors peeking out from her blonde hair
