Dating the Defensive Back (The Nash Brothers Book 1)

What’s Bought Can Always Be Sold

At some point, we must both fall asleep. We talked late into the night as we watched the lights twinkle on the Strip, and I jolt awake when I hear a phone ringing.

Only it’s not a phone ringing at all, it’s her alarm clock letting her know she has to get up.

She pulls it out of her pocket and silences it, a groggy look on her face that’s downright adorable, and she sits up a little and massages her neck since we both fell asleep as we were, our heads on opposite hotel couch armrests as our pillows.

I crack my neck back and forth as I sit up, too. “Morning,” I say softly.

“Good morning.” Her voice is hoarse. “This is going to be a rough day.”

“Call in sick and spend the day with me, then,” I say.

Whoa.

Where did that come from?

Did I really just invite her to crash my day to look at houses in Vegas with me so I could get her seal of approval? It appears I did.

But why?

I don’t even know her.

“I wish I could,” she says, gently letting me down as she stands. “But it’s Saturday, our busiest day. I have to get there early to help set up and make sure all our orders are filled. And probably make another ten dozen cookies. But when you get back and you have some time…I’d love to see you again.”

I stand, too, and I pull her into my arms. “I’d love to see you again, too.” I drop my lips to hers. “You sure you can’t stay for round two?”

She chuckles, and she backs up, pointing toward her pussy. “This kitty needs a rest. She’s feeling every inch of that monster you pushed in last night. But when you’re back…” She trails off, shrugging at the end to let me know it’s an open invitation.

I can’t help but laugh and be incredibly turned on at the same time. “Deal.” I let out a sigh as she finds her shoes and pulls them on, and she stands by the door.

I don’t know how to say goodbye. I don’t want to say goodbye, and I’ve never really felt that way before when I’ve seen a girl out. So I don’t say it. “See you soon, Cookie.”

She presses her lips together and nods. “See ya, Grayson.”

I reach down and take her hand in mine, threading my fingers through hers, and I kiss her once more.

She moans into me, and then she sets a hand on my chest and pushes me back a little. “I need to go.”

I nod, and she opens the door and walks out. I think about watching her walk down the hall toward the elevator, but I’m not a psycho, so I let the door latch shut behind her, and then I saunter over toward the bed where I fucked her last night, climb in, and get a few hours of shut-eye as I still smell her on my sheets.

When I wake up, it’s four hours later and the sun is streaming in, and I’m jolted awake by the ringing of my phone. Despite the extra rest, I still feel tired, thanks probably in part to the gin. I can’t imagine how she’s baking cookies at work today after the night we had.

It’s probably an age thing. She’s a little younger than me, so she can handle it.

I grab my phone to try to silence it, but I miss it just in time as it goes to voicemail. I see it was Beckett calling, and I’ll ring him back later, but I can’t help wondering why he called.

I take a quick shower, and I listen to his message after I get dressed.

“Hey, man. You’re all over the news. Congrats again on the trade. I hope it works out well for you. And I found out my sister is dealing with a breakup, so even more reason to have you check in on her when you can since her big brother isn’t there to protect her. I’ll text you the name of the place where she works if you don’t mind stopping in. I know it’s a big ask, but I’m her brother, you know? I just need to make sure she’s okay. Anyway, talk to you later.”

He hangs up, and I wonder for a beat what it’s like to have a younger sister. Sometimes I think that growing up in a family of boys took away certain parts of our personalities that might’ve developed otherwise.

Our need to protect, for instance.

And yet, somehow I felt it with Cookie.

Cookie.

I still can’t believe after the night we shared that she left without giving me her name. We talked about everything in a way that felt like we were each baring our very souls, but the more I think about it, the more I realize we talked about hopes and dreams and the future, but not the past. We didn’t get into personal data. And every time I tried to pick at one of those threads, she tossed it right back into my court.

Is she hiding something?

Is that what makes her different? The mystery?

Maybe she didn’t break up with her boyfriend at all and I’m just the other man in the equation. Somehow I doubt it, but I can’t help the thought as it digs at the back of my brain.

I brew myself a cup of coffee and I stand at the windows, drinking it as I think about pressing her tits up against this very window while I fuck her from behind.

Jesus.

I push that thought out of my brain, not really sure why I can’t stop thinking about her.

My buddy John is acting as my realtor, and I get a text from him that he’s waiting for me downstairs. That’s my cue. I toss the rest of my stuff into my suitcase and head downstairs, ready to look at some places here in Vegas that I can call home.

I’m torn between renting and buying, so he’s giving me options for both. But I’ve barely gotten into his front seat after tossing my suitcase in his trunk when he says, “How are you feeling today? Buying or renting?”

I guess the bottom line is much different for him.

And after the night I had last night, I could see myself in Vegas permanently.

What do I have to lose by buying a place and feeling a little sense of permanence? Nothing. What’s bought can always be sold.

“Let’s buy, man,” I finally say.

He turns out of the Palms entry as he flashes me a grin. “You got it. Let’s check out Jack Dalton’s newest development,” he says. “They’ve got some spec homes that are move-in ready.”

I nod. “Let’s do it.”

He takes me through three different houses in Jack’s neighborhood, and then he takes me through another house a little closer to the stadium.

And through every house, I can’t help but see her in here. Cookie. I look at the kitchen and imagine her baking, flour dusting her pink cheeks as she tries out new recipes. I look at the bedroom and imagine a bed where I’m on top of her. I look at the view and imagine kissing her under the stars.

This is fucking ridiculous. I don’t even know this girl’s real name, and I’m reduced to this idiot who can’t seem to get his feet under him as I float somewhere high above the clouds.

He tells me he’s got another spec in a new community close by, and I nod as I look out the car window.

“You okay, man?” he asks, navigating in the direction of the fifth house of the day.

“Yeah, I’m all right,” I mutter.

“I’ve never seen you twisted up like this. You sure you want to buy?”

I heave out a breath as I look out the window. All four houses he’s shown me so far are spectacular. It’s not the houses.

“Yeah. I’m sure. You know what? I want the last one you showed me. It’s close to the stadium, and it’s got a great view.”

“And it’s in the same neighborhood as Travis Woods.”

“Perfect,” I murmur.

He nods, and he leaves me to my brooding as I contemplate whether eight hours after leaving each other is enough time before I can text her.