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None of that is a good thing. In fact, it’s the exact opposite.
He raises a brow, patiently waiting for me to find my words.
“I need what happened to stay between us,” I finally blurt.
Garrett doesn’t immediately say anything. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest, making my eyes drop to the number on his shoulder.
Ninety-One.
That means he’s got Keller on his back.
5
GARRETT
Alaugh rumbles in my chest, but I manage to catch it before it erupts.
Nash doesn’t know me. He has no reason to trust me. But if he did, he would know that him thinking he has to say that would be laughable.
I’m sure there are many, many guys out there who’d be happy to go and tell the world who their midnight kiss was. But not me.
If he wants me to, I’ll take that nugget of knowledge about the newest LA Vipers player to my grave. I’m not going to stop thinking about it, though. That memory, even all these weeks on, is still vivid as fuck. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve jerked off more than a few times to the thought. And of course, I’ve embellished a little.
Okay, a lot.
“Nash,” I start, but his jaw clenches, and my sentence dies.
“I’m serious,” he practically growls.
Fucking hell. This whole exchange really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. We’re in a freaking storage closet surrounded by toilet paper, for fuck’s sake.
“I know you are,” I manage to say. “And so am I. I won’t tell a soul.”
His nostrils flare as his eyes bore into mine, searching for any signs that I might be lying.
“I haven’t said anything so far, have I?”
“It doesn’t seem so,” he murmurs.
“Don’t you think I’d have done it by now if I were going to?”
“Yeah, I guess, but—”
“There’s no but needed. As far as I can tell, I’ve figured out the answer to a question I’ve wondered for a while now, and I’ve got a really good fucking memory of New Year’s Eve. I should be thanking you, really. Our time together that night might have been short, but you helped me figure a few things out.”
His brow wrinkles in confusion, softening his hard expression and making him somewhat cute. I’m not going to tell him that, though. I don’t think he’d appreciate it.
“Help you? How?”
“It’s a long story, and one I don’t really want to go into while in a closet.”
“Fair enough. So, as long as we’re agreed. I’m gonna…” He thumbs over his shoulder before taking a step back toward the door.
I should let him go. He hasn’t given me even a hint that he wants a repeat, or even more, but I can’t stop fucking thinking about him, and this might be my only chance.
“Wait,” I say, my voice deep and raspy, stopping him from reaching for the door handle. He stills, but he doesn’t turn back to look at me.
I move closer, my heart beating that little bit harder with every step.
