Dating the Defensive Back (The Nash Brothers Book 1)

Typically My Cock Has the Final Say

I could’ve just sent her home in her own Uber, and I probably should have. But then I think of what Beckett would want me to do, and ultimately I decide he’d want me to make sure she got home okay.

I need to get him out of my head. It’s too conflicting to think what he’d want me to do when what I really want to do to her would not top his list of priorities.

Nor would it be protecting her.

So I slide into the backseat with her as the driver heads toward her place, and I recall the last time we rode in the back of a car together.

Fuck. I should’ve taken the seat up front.

My cock is begging for this girl, but my brain keeps trying to slow me down. It’s a big conflict, and typically my cock has the final say. But this is different.

She is different.

She has no idea the power she holds over me—the same power I’m trying to slowly back away from. I don’t want to hurt her. I can’t hurt her. But I’m afraid I already have.

“You okay?” she asks quietly.

I glance over at her as I realize my focus has been carefully placed out the window for the duration of our car ride thus far. “Fine,” I grunt.

“You don’t seem fine.”

“You really want to have this conversation in the back of an Uber?” I throw back at her.

I think we’d both rather be doing what we did the last time we were in the back of an Uber, but I can’t.

She sighs, and I go back to staring out the window as I try to figure out why I’m being such an asshole. We pull up in front of a small house a few minutes later.

I thank the driver as Ava storms toward the front door and unlocks it, and I really debate asking the driver to hang tight for a bit. I realize we need to talk, as much as I don’t want to. I suck in a fortifying breath as I saunter up behind her, frankly a little surprised she didn’t slam it in my face.

Her hands are on her hips, and her eyes are shooting fire at me when I walk in and shut the door behind me.

“Well? We’re not in the back of an Uber anymore,” she practically spits.

“Right. You asked if I’m okay, and I said I’m fine. I’m not fine, Ava. I’m not even close to fine.” My voice is low and nearly threatening, though I don’t mean for it to be.

But she needs to be careful here. She’s standing there challenging me, and she has no idea what she’s asking me for.

She’s asking to be hurt in the end because that’s the only way this will go.

Even my fucking parents are getting divorced. They were married nearly forty years, and bam, out of nowhere…done.

You’d think as a grown ass man, it wouldn’t affect me. It does.

Deeply.

And maybe that’s the root of the issue here.

No woman has ever pulsed these thoughts in me, yet here I am having them at the same time I’m watching dear old Mom and Dad get a divorce.

I’ve learned from my parents. They’ve taught me now that happy endings are simply illusions we can strive for, but they’re not real. None of us gets out of this life alive, so we’re either doomed to fail at relationships or doomed to lose the people we love most if we’re not the ones to bow out first.

That’s a little deeper than I plan to go tonight with her, but I do want her to feel the confusion pulling at me.

“I can’t stop thinking about your words the other night about how you had this crush on me when you were just a kid, and you’re not a kid anymore. You proved that the night we were together. But for me, this isn’t just about trust and truth versus lies. I can’t be with you because doing so is betraying the guy who has been there for me since I met him our freshman year of high school. Don’t you get that?”

She rolls her eyes. “This again? Really?”

“Yes, really. Our friendship means something to me, and I’m not going to fuck it up when we don’t have any guarantees.”

She shifts to fold her arms across her chest, clearly protecting the heart that she laid out for me to take. “That’s kind of the whole thing with relationships, Grayson. There aren’t any guarantees.”

I nod as I press my lips together. “And that’s why I don’t want one—particularly with someone who I care about and don’t want to hurt in the end. Because that is a guarantee. I will hurt you.”

She shifts her gaze to the floor as she nods, and I think she’s starting to get it.

Except her next words tell me the opposite. “What if that’s a risk I’m willing to take?”

“Then I guess we’re at an impasse because it’s not one I am willing to take.” I lean back on the door as I watch her chew on the inside of her cheek for a beat.

She finally nods a little resolutely, and then she drops her arms to move one of her hands to her face, where she swipes away a tear. “Was it bad?”

My brows draw together. “Was what bad?”

“The sex. Was it so bad you don’t want to go it again?”

Jesus.

Fuck.

“No!” I practically roar at her. I draw in another breath to try to calm the rage I feel that she’d really think that. “No,” I say much more calmly. “I can’t believe you’d even ask that.”

“Well?” she says in the form of a question—as if that must be why I don’t want to be with her.

But that’s sort of the whole problem. I do want to be with her.

Everything south of my dumb brain—including both my heart and my cock—is telling me I should give this a try with her. But my brain keeps stopping me short.

“Were you there? It was fucking incredible, Ava.” I lower my voice at my next admission. “And that’s what scares me so goddamn much.”

“I scare you?” she asks, surprise coloring her tone.

“You terrify me.” I give her my most honest answer.

One side of her mouth tips up at that—as if she likes having that power over me.

“Look, I know it was your first time, and I know you don’t have the…uh…experience I do. But if I’m being honest, you blew all those other experiences right the fuck out of my head. It’s not even a comparison. And I don’t know if that’s what you want me to say or if—” I stop when she rushes toward me, slamming into me with her body so that an oof sound escapes me as I’m suddenly sandwiched between her and the door.

I look down at her as her gaze moves to my eyes, and the heat that passes between us is fucking unbelievable.

It’s unbearable.

She leans up and presses her mouth to mine, and goddamn, I’d never believe this woman is as inexperienced as she claims because she certainly already has a lock on how to handle me.

I’m momentarily shocked as her mouth molds to mine, and she pulls back as quickly as she rushed at me.

I don’t dare move. I simply stare at her as I wait for her next words.

“Sorry,” she says a little sheepishly. “I just…couldn’t help myself. You were saying such nice things, and—”

I shake my head and cut her off. “It’s fine. I should go.”

“No, wait,” she says. “Come on in. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. We have some things we need to talk about.” She freezes for a beat, and then she rushes to add, “Not related to any of that.”

“Then what?” I ask a little stupidly.

“The media. How to handle the attention. Our backstory—making sure we’re on the same page. That sort of thing.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Want a drink?” she asks, leading me into the house. It’s on the small side—a foyer, a short hallway into a family room with the kitchen attached, and two other hallways that probably lead to the bedrooms.

“Sure. Got any Hendricks?” I ask hopefully.

“Sorry, no. Vodka is the drink of choice around here, and we might have some beer in the fridge.”

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” I say. On second thought, alcohol is probably a bad idea. It might end with us in bed together again. Honestly, I’m starting to get tired of fighting against it. But I also know if we’re really doing this fake relationship thing, then we’re going to have to get used to being around each other.

I wander around the family room as I wait for her to get us some drinks. The house doesn’t tell me anything about her. There isn’t any artwork hanging on the walls, no comfortable recliner to relax in after a long day of baking.

In fact, I realize I don’t really know much about her at all, and if we’re really going to convince the media and her ex that we’re dating, we should probably get to some details.

“Do you own this place?” I ask.

“No,” she says from the kitchen as she pulls two glasses out of a cabinet. “Kelly and I split rent. We’ve been here…oh, nearly three years now. Since we graduated from college.”

“What does Kelly do?”

“She’s a kindergarten teacher.”

I wrinkle my nose at the thought of working with children all day, every day. “She must really like kids.”

“She does. And she has the patience of a saint. And then there’s me.”

I chuckle. “You’re not a kid person?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Not teaching a classful of them every day.”

“Do you want kids?”

“I’m not sure. I always think maybe if I wasn’t the youngest, I’d want kids. Like Beck. He took care of us, stepped into that fatherly role way too young, and now he’s the best dad to my nieces.” She shrugs, basically leaving out the ending and how she feels about having kids someday. “You?”

I shake my head. “I’m not really a kid person. I always liked the idea of having a couple sometime down the road, but I’m not sure if I still feel that way.”

She adds ice to each cup. “Why not?”

“I guess it might have something to do with watching my parents get divorced.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and they happen to be words I haven’t spoken aloud to another soul. And then somehow, I keep going. “I guess I thought after nearly forty years, they’d just be together forever. But clearly, it can still fuck up adult kids since it’s showing me that nothing’s meant to last forever, and I don’t know that I want to bring someone else into that kind of world.”

She stops making our drinks to stare at me, her head tilted a little as she takes all that in.

I feel a little self-conscious as I wait for her reply, and she shakes her head before she pours a healthy dose of vodka into each cup.

“I get that,” she finally says. “Totally. But it’s your life and your mistakes to make, not your parents’.”

It’s your life and your mistakes to make.

Why do her words seem to really put it all into perspective?

Why am I letting what somebody else is going through control me?

They’re good questions, but an even better one enters my mind unexpectedly.

Why am I so hell-bent on pushing this woman away when she seems to be the only person who knows exactly how to handle me?