“Always about you, huh?” She tried to sound teasing but failed.
Slowly, he withdrew his cock and zipped up his jeans, fixing her skirt at the same time. With more gentleness than she’d ever thought him capable of, he scooped her up in his arms and headed toward the back hallway. He carried her all the way up to the deserted second floor apartment, walked into the bedroom and laid her down on the mattress. He joined her a second later, lying on his back and pulling her against him so that her face was nestled in the crook of his shoulder.
“You should get some sleep,” he said quietly. “You’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.”
“I’m not tired.”
He started stroking the small of her back, the heat of his fingers searing right through the cotton material of her tank top and setting her skin on fire.
“This is nice,” she murmured into his neck.
“Yeah.”
His voice sounded shaky to her. Why? Why did he seem so distressed? Did he regret going to bed with her? She didn’t think so—she could feel his shaft hardening against her thigh, knew she turned him on. But she got the feeling that Riley was upset with her. Normally she would’ve asked him straight out what was up. They were the kind of friends who could call each other out on anything. Yet she couldn’t do it now. Lying here in his arms felt too good, too right, and she didn’t want to ruin this perfect moment.
So she didn’t. She kept her mouth closed, forced herself not to raise a subject she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear about, and snuggled closer against him.
Within moments, she was fast asleep.
Chapter Five
Riley barely slept a wink, and not just because he was fully clothed and hated falling asleep in his jeans. He didn’t sleep because of the woman in his arms, the sassy, gorgeous woman who’d looked so damn peaceful before she’d drifted off with her head on his chest. He’d never spent the night with a woman before. His sexual encounters often lasted into the wee hours of the morning, but he always left immediately after, and if he’d brought the girl over to his place—which was rare—he usually asked her to leave, claiming he slept better alone.
But for the second night in a row, he’d slept in Sam’s bed.
What troubled him, even more than the fact that he’d spent an entire night with a woman, was that it didn’t freak him out. It didn’t feel weird, or wrong, or bring on that flicker of panic that he might be getting too close.
Truth was, he’d always felt close to Sam. He’d been coming to the Diamond for two years, and if he were honest with himself, he’d admit that it had more to do with the owner of the bar than the establishment itself. Sure, the chicken wings were to fucking die for, but Sam was the reason he kept coming back. He’d never been friends with a woman before. When he’d played for the White Sox, all his buddies had been other players on the team. He’d kept in touch with a lot of the guys, but since his retirement, they’d drifted apart. Sam had pretty much been the one friend he’d had the past two years, and they’d always had a good time together. Shooting pool, joking around, flirting.
But now that he’d gone to bed with her, he realized he was having more than a good time. He felt…at peace. And he suddenly had to wonder if maybe the reason he’d never been interested in relationships wasn’t because he wasn’t cut out for commitment, as he’d always believed, but because he’d never found a woman he cared enough for to commit to. He’d never been friends with a woman he slept with, and maybe that was what had always been missing in his love life.
God, he should have talked to Sam before buying the bar. He’d bought the Diamond hoping to get a sense of fulfillment in his life, but right now, holding Sam in his arms, he couldn’t remember ever feeling more fulfilled. And yet, in trying to achieve his own fulfillment, he’d destroyed Sam’s. Instead of helping her find a way to keep the bar, he’d taken it from her. The realization caused guilt to slam into him like a splash of ice-cold water to the face.
“Ohhh.”
The sound of her tortured voice made him glance down. He smiled faintly when he saw the obvious discomfort in her gorgeous blue eyes. “Told you you’d be hungover,” he murmured, planting a kiss on her forehead.
She sat up, still wearing her clothes from last night, then cringed and reached up to massage her temples. “I feel like I got run over by a truck,” she grumbled.
“Hop in the shower,” he advised. “I’ll go grab us some coffee from the diner across the street.”