Please let it be all him.
“Fuck your rules,” I manage to say.
He pauses. “No rules, then? All right.”
I feel him lean back, easing off me slightly.
Then his hands are down at my shoulders and underneath my arms and his fingers are going crazy.
I yelp in surprise. My fucking god, is he tickling me?
“What?” I cry out before bursting into nervous giggles. “You can’t tickle!”
“No rules,” he says, and I can hear the enjoyment in his voice.
“Stop!” I yell, laughing again. “Please, this is torture!”
“Release the ball.”
But I can’t. I’m laughing too hard, my body attempting to curl up into a ball even though I’m between him like a vise.
“I’m going to bite your leg,” I warn him, trying to twist around and see if I can get a nip of his grass-stained knee. I’m flexible but I’m not that flexible.
“Release the ball.”
“Fine!” I shout, but since I can’t move I can’t even get it out from under me. “Fine, you win, you can have the ball.”
Suddenly he gets up and I’m free. I roll over onto my back and stare at him, holding up the ball. If he was one step closer to my face and his shorts weren’t so tight, I could try and see up them.
He looks down at me, not smiling, but there is a hint of triumph in those expressive eyes.
I shake the ball at him. “Aren’t you going to take it?”
He continues to stare. I can’t tell what the hell he is thinking. I feel like he’s trying to memorize me.
After a few beats and as the rain falls down on us, he takes the ball with one hand then grabs my hand with the other.
“Come on,” he says. “I think we’ve had enough for today.”
I’m hauled effortlessly to my feet, my body mere inches from his. We’re both breathing hard, like we just had epic sex. I can only imagine.
“Hope that gave your article some insight,” he tells me, voice low and eyes focused on mine. I watch the streams of water run down his face. I barely feel the cold that’s slowly seeping into my bones, the feeling in my muscles that warns me I’ll be sore tomorrow.
I nod, licking my lips, tasting water and salt. “I think it will.”
He glances at my car in the distance, brows furrowed. “We should probably go clean up and get dry.”
“Sure,” I say, hoping that this might turn into the two of us cleaning up and getting dry…together. “Do you need a ride home? How did you get here?”
“I took a cab,” he says, taking a step away from me and tucking the ball underneath his arm.
I look at his outfit briefly, not wanting for my eyes to get trapped in the tractor beam that is his body. I could literally stare at it all day, every single muscle and ripped line that his wet shorts and t-shirt display. “You took a cab in that?”
“I was dry at the time. And anything goes in San Francisco, doesn’t it?”
I grin at him. “It sure does. How about in Edinburgh?”
He looks away and shrugs. “Just about.” He jerks his chin at my car. “How about we get moving? You don’t want to catch a cold standing around here.”
He starts walking to the car and I wait just a moment to watch his ass go before I catch up with him.
CHAPTER SIX
Lachlan
I didn’t really know what to expect when I told Kayla to meet me at the rugby match. I just figured if she could see the game being played, maybe it would help her with her writing. It would give her more than what I gave her before, which was nothing.
The only problem was the game ended a half hour earlier than usual because of the weather, so she only got a few glimpses of it before it was my turn to show her the ropes. I know she thought I arranged it all so I could show off, even though nothing could be further from the truth.
All right. So maybe there was some truth to it. But I had no idea that she actually wanted to play with me. She took off her fancy shoes and work jacket, and got down and dirty in the mud with me, without any hesitation.
This solidified that the girl was nuts. Clearly. But there was something about her brand of crazy that intrigued me, maybe even more than it should have. Enough so that when she pulled up to the flat I’ve been renting near AT&T Park, I did something I never thought I’d do.
I invited her inside.
I haven’t had a girl in my home for a long time, whether it be in Edinburgh or San Francisco, and I didn’t think I’d start now, especially when I was so close to going back to Scotland. And even though it’s because I’m being polite, because I don’t want her to drive home shivering cold and wet, it still surprises me.
“Do you want to come upstairs?”
She stares blankly at me, her eye makeup starting to gather underneath her eyes. We are both dirty, muddy wrecks and I feel bad that her car is taking the brunt of it.
I try to smile, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “It doesn’t seem right for you to drive home like this.”
“Do you have a stash of women’s clothes upstairs?”
“No. But I have some dry, clean clothes you can wear. Just till you get home.” I glance at her thighs and trim waist. My clothes will be absolutely swimming on her, but still.
“Okay,” she says, smiling, color coming to her cheeks. I get her to park in the empty space that’s leased to my unit and we head upstairs.
I wish I’d tidied up a bit. “Uh, sorry it’s a shithole,” I tell her as we walk inside the flat.
She looks around and shrugs. “Looks like a man lives here. I’m okay with that.”
I watch her briefly, her jeans clinging to her legs and perky arse, her long hair sticking to her back. She’s pretty toned all over and proved to be in great shape earlier today. I need to stop checking her out though.
“I’ll get you something. Be right back,” I tell her before disappearing into the bedroom. I grab a clean towel from the linen closet, then fish out the smallest t-shirt I have, which will still dwarf her, and a pair of clean drawstring running shorts.
When I come back, she’s staring at the weird art on the walls. “This all you?” she asks as I hand her the clothes and towel.
I shake my head. “Nah. Came with the place. I haven’t been here long enough to settle in. No personal touches.”
She thanks me for the towel and starts fluffing her hair with it. “When do you leave?”
“Two weeks,” I tell her. “Actually, less than that.” I gesture to the washroom. “Did you want to shower?”
A coy smile tugs at her lips. “Is that an invitation?”
I stare at her, not sure what to say.
She laughs. “Just kidding. Go ahead, I’m fine with this.”
I swallow, give her a nod, and shower fast, even though the hot water begs me to stay longer. I wrap the towel around my waist and look at myself in the mirror. Without a shirt, every tattoo on my shoulders, arms and torso is on display, and I hope she doesn’t ask me about them again. They each represent a part of my life, and some of those parts, a girl like her just wouldn’t understand.
When I come out the washroom, I’m surprised to find her sitting at the table with a notepad and pen in her hand, her phone beside her. She’s wearing my clothes, which look strangely becoming on her. They look…right.
She looks up at me and her eyes widen. To her credit, she blinks and immediately averts her eyes back to the paper. I quickly go into my room and throw on jeans and a t-shirt before coming back out to the living room.
“So,” she says, and I notice she’s trying not to meet my eyes.
I take a seat across from her and study her. She’s tapping her pen against the table, reading over the jotted questions on the paper, chewing on her lower lip. Her mascara is still smudged beneath her eyes, but other than that she looks fresh, her skin like cream. I guess she can feel my gaze because she finally looks up. “So,” I prompt her and gesture to the work in front of her, “what’s this?”
Her mouth twists sheepishly. “I realized that I still haven’t interviewed you properly.”