[18+] ENEMIES TO LOVERS SPORTS ROMANCE.
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Hannah Walker doesn't trust anyone, especially men.
They're manipulative and toxic - her lousy ex taught her that lesson well.
Enter Tristan Beckett, the embodiment of everything she despises. He's arr...
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My legs still felt weak as I bent over the bathroom sink, trying and failing to get my breathing under control.
Oh my God. Tristan fucking Beckett had just kissed me — gone down on me. And it had been one of the most incredible sexual experiences of my life.
And he'd hated it.
I shifted on my legs and nearly buckled as my still-sensitive clit brushed against the front of my pants. I reached for the cold water tap, turning and turning until water finally started to trickle out in a weak stream. Cupping my hands, I waited until I had a decent handful to splash my face. The water helped some, cooling my burning skin.
Drying my face with a hand towel, I sat on the toilet lid, relieving my trembling legs of my body weight. I still couldn't believe what had just happened — what I had let happen.
In my current panicked state, my immediate instinct was to call Bailey. Because she'd know what to do in this situation, and she could tell me how to navigate the awkwardness that was bound to come up. But I couldn't because my stupid phone was still in my bedroom. And that was where he was.
Why? Why would Tristan distance himself from me like that? Was it because he didn't like going down on women, and he felt like I'd forced him? Was it because I looked ugly naked? Did I smell bad? I'd just showered beforehand, but maybe my ph was off? Had I said something to anger him? Was it because he'd finally "had" me and now no longer wanted me?
Wait, was it because I hadn't immediately returned the favor?
I groaned as thousands of stupid thoughts crowded my head, increasing my anxiety and embarrassment.
God, I might just stay in this bathroom forever.
The music emanating from down below reminded me that eventually someone was gonna need the bathroom. In reality, Tristan and I needed to have a serious conversation. It was time to stop running away and pushing him away. This avoidance was getting us nowhere.
With that thought, I stood back up and exited the small vintage bathroom. To my surprise, I found Penelope stationed at my bedroom door, her right ear pressed against the wood as if listening for something. She hadn't heard me leaving the bathroom so she gave no reaction to my presence.
Had Amanda put her up to this?
"What are you doing?" I asked, folding my arms as I surveyed her.
Penelope jerked away from the door with a startled yelp, her wide eyes betraying her panic as she realized she'd been caught. It was almost comical.
Her mouth opened and closed rapidly, searching for an excuse. "Uh... I-I was just seeing if you guys wanted a-anything. P-pizza has just arrived."
Before I could answer, my door swung open to reveal a disheveled Tristan. His shirt was wrinkled from where I'd fisted it, his hair mussed from my earlier tugging, and his lips slightly swollen and red from our kisses.
