Blind Side: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Red Zone Rivals)
Blind Side: A Fake Dating Sports Romance: Chapter 30

“That is… a lot,” I confessed after Clay told me everything that had happened, head on his chest as he idly drew circles on my bare back with his fingertip. Each new spiral sent chills down to my toes, and I curled into him like a sated cat, still sore between my thighs from him ravishing me as soon as we pushed through my apartment door.

I couldn’t stop touching him. I couldn’t stop holding onto him and pressing soft kisses to his skin and inhaling his scent to convince myself that this was real, that he was here, that we were together.

“I know,” he said, fingertip trailing over my shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you in. You probably would have been like Riley, Zeke, and Holden and been able to talk some sense into me.”

I frowned. “I don’t know. Honestly, I might have just cried more and clung to you as long as I could before I had to let you go.”

“Let me go?”

I leaned up onto my elbow, looking down at him. “I understand, Clay. What your mom has done for you is precious, and I don’t fault you for wanting to pay her back for that, for wanting to give her everything — regardless of whatever demons she might be fighting. You love her,” I said on a shrug. “And Mommas come before girlfriends.”

His smile was sad, brows furrowing. “I don’t want anyone or anything to come between us. And I think that’s what I forgot. I can give to the ones I love without sacrificing everything that brings me joy in the process.” He made a face. “Although, I have no idea what I’m going to do for her now.”

“Is she home?”

He nodded. “She was more than understanding when I told her everything. In fact, I saw the Momma Bear come out in her,” he added with a smirk. “She wanted to kill Cory. But I told her I had it handled, and she trusted me.” He paused. “Or Cory’s dead right now and we just don’t know yet.”

I chuckled.

“Either way, she’s home, and looking for jobs. She’s proud of me, and loves me, and understands. But…” He shook his head. “I know she’s still not okay, Giana. I know she needs help. She might be fine for a while — replace a job, replace a guy. But the cycle always repeats.”

I stared at my hand on his chest. “What if there was a way,” I whispered.

“A way to what?”

“To help your mom the way she really needs it.”

Clay’s brows perked up.

“What if you could cover the bills for a while, and still send her to rehab — maybe not one as fancy, but a nice one.”

“I think that would be amazing,” Clay said, thumbing my cheek. “But I also think it’s impossible, unless I’m willing to take out a pretty sizable loan.”

“Not necessarily.”

Clay eyed me curiously as I sat up fully, crossing my legs under me. He slid up until his back was to the headboard, waiting.

“We had a sponsor reach out to us, and they’re looking to do a big campaign leading up to the bowl games and championship.”

The curiosity on his face vanished, replaced by hard stone. “No.”

“Hear me out,” I said, putting up my hands. “It won’t be like a Kyle Robbins situation.”

“How would it be different?”

“Because you don’t want it for the same reasons,” I explained easily. “And it wouldn’t be an ongoing commitment.”

“I need to be focused on the field right now. We’re only a month away from bowl season.”

“And you can be. Look,” I said, pulling his hands into mine. “One commercial. One event where you sign some sneakers. You’d probably have to wear them exclusively for a while, but it wouldn’t be forever. I can work out the terms to be whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Clay frowned, considering. “It can be like that?”

“When you’re the best safety in the nation?” I arched a brow. “It can be like anything you demand.”

He smirked, leaning his head back against the headboard as he studied me. “You’re sounding like my agent now, Kitten.”

“Maybe I will be one day.”

“Is that something you’d want to do?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Charlotte said something to me when she extended my contract. She said I’d already succeeded in proving people wrong about me, but now she wanted me to ask myself what I actually want from this so I can reach out and take it.”

Clay sat up. “I’m not kidding, if you wanted to be my agent, I’d take you in a heartbeat. I bet Zeke, Riley, and Holden all would, too. Maybe even Leo — if the showboating sonofabitch doesn’t try to represent himself.”

My heart zipped in my chest at the thought, but I waved him off. “We can talk about that later. Right now, let’s focus on getting your mom the help she needs.”

Clay sighed, pulling on my hands until I was collapsing into his arms as he laid back against the headboard again. “You’re too good to me.”

“No, you’re just not used to being in a relationship where the love and care is reciprocated.”

“It’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Good thing we have all the time in the world.”

He smiled, kissing my hair.

“Is… is Maliyah okay?”

Clay shook his head. “Only you would ask if my ex-girlfriend is okay.”

“I mean, you told her everything, right?” I frowned. “That wouldn’t be easy for anyone to hear.”

“It wasn’t,” he agreed, his gaze lost between us. “She cried, a lot, and I held her and tried to soothe her as best I could. In the end, though, she said she understood. She said she’d hurt me just as badly — which isn’t wrong. I think she was most upset by her dad,” he admitted. “And I know he isn’t happy that I told her what happened.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. She deserved the truth.”

“She did. And, weirdly… I feel like we could maybe be friends now. Not close friends,” he amended quickly. “But… friendly. Cordial. I don’t know that I could say the same for Cory, though. I think his days of acting as my stand-in dad are over.”

I smoothed a hand over his bicep. “What about your real dad?”

He blew out a breath. “That I haven’t even begun to tackle yet. But… I owe him an apology. I see now better than I did when I went off on him that he was just trying to help me.”

“To be fair, he could show up a little more.”

“He could,” Clay agreed. “Maybe now… he will.”

I smiled, nodding as I watched where my fingertips drew lines on his skin.

“I am a little pissed off at you, though,” I admitted after a moment.

“As you should be.”

“Not for this whole mess,” I said, waving a hand as if it was on the foot of my bed. “But you’ve known for almost two weeks that you messed up, that you wanted me back, and you waited to tell me?”

“Hey,” he said, popping up long enough to lean over and grab his book off my nightstand. “It takes time to write and print a book, okay? Even one this shitty.”

I snatched it out of his hands, smiling as I flipped through. “It really is horrendous.”

“I know.”

“But you didn’t need the book to tell me how you felt,” I pointed out, peeking up at him.

“I needed a grand gesture,” he argued. “I couldn’t just show up here with my tail between my legs.”

“You could have.”

“It wouldn’t have been nearly as romantic.”

“Or public,” I said with a laugh.

“Now everyone knows you’re mine.” Clay grabbed the book out of my hands and tossed it aside before pinning me in the sheets, kissing all up and down my neck as I laughed and wriggled under the ticklish touch.

After a moment, he stopped, balancing on his elbows above me. His jade eyes scanned my own, and he swallowed, shaking his head.

“What?” I asked.

“I just… I thought I’d lost you. Forever. I thought I’d never get to be here again, holding you like this, touching you, kissing you.” His face crumpled in pain. “I was miserable without you.”

“I don’t want to talk about how many bags of Cheetos I ate.”

He smirked, brushing my hair out of my face before he gently removed my glasses and set them aside. Then, he pulled me into him, lips pressing against mine with tender warmth.

My body sparked to life under that kiss, under his massive hands as they pinned my hips beneath him, and he rolled into me. He was already growing hard beneath his briefs, and I whimpered at the feel of him, nails digging into his back.

All conversation ceased as those kisses ran deeper and deeper, until we were panting and moaning and stripping what little clothing we had put on since our first round. When we were fully bare, Clay rolled onto his back, helping me climb onto his lap.

Except then, he pulled me up higher.

“What are you doing?” I breathed.

“I want you to ride my face.”

I balked, but I didn’t have the chance to scurry away or argue against him before he yanked me up, positioning the back of my thighs against his shoulders, my pussy hovering right over his face. He slid his hands down my ribcage, gripping my ass in both palms as he pulled me to him.

And I had no choice but to hold on.

My hands flew out to replace the headboard, and I gripped hard as he not only rolled his tongue against me, but used his hands on my ass to roll my hips against him, too. Back and forth, I ground against his mouth as he swirled and flicked and sucked and licked.

It was dizzying in the best way, and I was almost embarrassed at how fast I came for him, at how he stayed right there and lapped up every last second of my release. Only when I was fully sated and trembling did he carefully help me dismount, and then he rolled me over onto my stomach, kissing all along my back before he disappeared for the amount of time it took him to grab a condom.

I saw stars when he slid inside me from behind, and he hooked my hips, hiking me up to arch for him as he withdrew before plummeting inside me again. I was desperate to be close to him, so I pressed up onto my knees, one hand reaching back to hook around his neck while the other reached behind for his ass.

He groaned when I squeezed him, pulling him deeper into me as I pressed my ass back and begged for more. He trailed kisses along my neck, sucking my earlobe between his teeth as I moaned and ground against him.

“You’re mine, Giana Jones,” he growled into my ear, hand crawling over my chest until it clamped down over my throat. I arched into it, gasping in pleasure. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Our first time reconnecting when we’d come back to my apartment was fast — desperate and rabid and over before either of us had the chance to take a real breath. But this time, Clay was slow and purposeful with every thrust. Just when I thought he was ready to release, he’d pull out, kissing me long and deep as he switched us into a new position.

It was on the heels of another orgasm for me that he finally came, too, my ankles on his shoulders as he pumped out every rivulet of his release. And when he carried me into the shower, my legs too weak to move on their own, he sank down under the streaming hot water and cradled me to his chest.

“I love you,” he whispered, tilting my chin up.

“I love you,” I echoed, threading my fingers through the wet hair at the nape of his neck.

And then he kissed me, and for the first time in my life, I felt like the main character.

This was my happy ever after.