“All right.”
He grabbed a couple of beers from the refrigerator and they walked outside. The night was warm, but there was a breeze coming in off the water. The moon was nearly full, casting a bright light on the deck. They pulled up chairs and Haven took a seat, then a long draw of the beer Trevor handed her.
It felt good to relax and enjoy the view of the water. Trevor seemed at ease. Then again, when didn’t he? With as much as he had going on, he never seemed nervous or anxious.
“I like your life,” she said.
He turned his head to look at her. “Yeah? What about it?”
“I don’t know. It’s just so . . . relaxing. You always seem so calm.”
He laughed. “Not always. Tonight it is. I guess I just don’t let things get to me.”
She leaned back and took another swallow of her beer, studying him. “But how do you manage that? I don’t know that I could juggle two different careers like you do and not be stressed about it.”
He shrugged. “I’m used to it. I’ve been doing it for years. It gets a little hectic at times, like now, when I’m making the transition, and sometimes I feel like I need to pull out of baseball early and start the football season at the beginning. It’s always a juggling act. I feel that pull, you know?”
She filed that comment away to jot down. “Then why do both, Trevor? You’ve been at this for seven years now. Isn’t it time to give one up?”
“Why would I do that, when I still enjoy playing both sports? And how could I choose which one to play?”
“You do realize at some point you’re going to have to make a choice.”
“Why?”
She could tell by the look on his face and the sincerity in his voice that he really believed he could continue to play both sports. “I don’t know. Because playing sports is tough on a body. And you’re getting up there in age.”
He laughed. “Now you sound like my competition.”
“You’re going to be . . . what? Thirty this year?” She took a swallow of beer and set the bottle down on the table.
“I am. Do I look like I’m slowing down?”
“Not really.”
“I could bench press you, Miss Briscoe.” He squinted, as if guessing her weight.
“Don’t even think about it.”
He stood and came over, scooping her out of the chair before she could even object.
“God, you’re light.”
“Trevor, seriously. Put me down.”
“What do you weigh? Like a hundred pounds?”
“Uh, more than that.”
“I could probably press you over my head.” He started to lift her higher.
“Let’s not.” She laid her palm on his chest. “Please put me down. I get your point. You’re strong. It’s obvious from looking at your muscles that you take good care of your body.”
He set her feet on the ground, but didn’t let go of her. “So, you’ve been looking at my body, huh?”
She rolled her eyes and pushed at him. “You know I do. But purely from a . . . research perspective.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve been looking at your body, too. And not at all from a research perspective.”
“And here we are working together. You’re being very unprofessional.”
“This shouldn’t surprise you.”
He carried her through the doors and up the stairs.
“You could put me down,” she said.
He looked down at her. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m heavy?”
He laughed and continued up, bypassing her room. “Now you’re insulting me.” He pushed open the door to his room, then set her on the bed, climbing on top of her. “You think you’re too heavy for me to carry up the stairs?”
“I didn’t exactly say that.”
“You implied. Should we get into that bench-pressing discussion and my age again?”
“Fine. Though I think you do that to change the topic.”
He pulled off her capris, then her underwear, nuzzling her inner thigh with his lips. “Speaking of changing the subject . . .”
He was very distracting, and when he put his mouth on her sex, whatever they’d been discussing dissolved in a puddle of desire. She lifted, reaching for his head, tangling her fingers in his hair while he plied her senseless with his amazing tongue and mouth. She was on the very brink of orgasm when he suddenly stopped.
She lifted up on her elbows, dazed with desire, her pu**y throbbing as she watched him drop his shorts and climb onto his knees.