The evidence of his need grows between us. “I thought you were good at waiting.”

He grunts. “I never had your mouth around me before. Eat a lot of protein this week. You’ll need your energy next Saturday.”

This time it’s my turn to groan. “You sound like you have big plans.”

“You have no idea,” he whispers.

24 Ellie

Week 3: Warriors 2-0

The pounding on the door won’t stop. I try to shove my head under the covers, but the asshole outside our apartment doesn't have a quit button. Hopefully Riley will crush the persistent intruder with her sewing machine.

“Ellie, I know you're in there.” The deep voice sounds vaguely familiar, but who can tell through the layers of blankets I have thrown over my head.

“Go away!” I yell and throw the pillow at the door. It slumps to the floor before it even reaches the door. Sad. I didn't even get the ability to throw a pillow. I slide further down under the covers as another cramp hits me. Gah. I'm not sure why it's more painful this month than in past months, but even swallowing four Advil has done nothing for me.

I spent Sunday in a daze. Knox and I sat in his apartment watching the pro games, holding each other’s hands, and kissing until we were so turned on, I felt like we could have lit the entire campus. But Monday I’m too ill to get out of bed.

The banging mercifully stops and the door latch to my bedroom clicks.

Must be Riley.

“I'm dying, Riley. I think my body wants to kill me. Would you mind picking up my pillow, putting it over my face, and ending my misery?”

I hear the faint sound of the cotton getting swept off the floor and then the soft plop of my pillow at the head of my bed.

“I never realized you could be this dramatic. If you get tired of your English classes, I think the theatre department has missed out on a talent like yours.”

The deep rumble of Knox's voice startles me. I kick at the blankets, but they seem determined to entangle me. I end up tossing and turning until I'm a pretzel shaped mound of covers. He chuckles, and then reaches out and slowly frees me from my prison.

“How did you get in?” I scowl and try to ignore the cartwheels my heart turns.

“Riley let me in. I explained to her that I'd left my playbook in your backpack.”

“That's a lie.” I push up on one arm and notice that he's undressing. His shoes are toed off and he's pulling his T-shirt over his head. His entire wardrobe must be Warriors workout gear, cargo shorts, and flip flops. “Why are you taking your clothes off?”

“Because it's more comfortable.” His hands are at his buckle when alarm bells start going off.

“Not your shorts!” I fling my hand out. “I draw the line at your shorts.”

He grins, and I realize I just invited him into bed with me. Falling back onto the pillow, I give in. The pain in my abdomen has sapped all my energy. “Fine. Undress. You'll do what you want anyway.”

The metal of his heavy buckle hits the floor, and I try to suppress the shivers of glee at the sound.

“Shit, your bed is small,” he says as he climbs under the covers.

“Maybe you're too big,” I toss back.

His body rumbles as he laughs. “No such thing.”

Then he starts rearranging me. He turns me so I face the wall and slides a big muscular arm under mine. His hard biceps turns out to be a surprisingly comfortable pillow. At my back, his body curls around mine, his knees bending to fit into the crook of my bent legs, the top of my head under his chin. His other big hand settles on my stomach, his pinkie rubbing against the lace waistband of my panties. And just like that, the heat of his body starts to invade mine, easing my aches, soothing away the cramps.

His breath is steady and even, and I find myself matching him. There's absolutely nothing erotic about his touch. It's meant to be comforting—and it is. He's like a giant heating pad. His hand makes broad, slow circles around my stomach.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“Jack mentioned during film that you weren’t feeling well.”

“So, you came over here and pounded on my door?”

“Someone's got to take care of you. Your brother thinks you’re strong, but even the strongest people need someone to lean on. Besides, this is my job. Not your brother's.”

“What's your job?” My words start to slur together as he strokes me into a stupor.

“Taking care of you is my job. Has been since I first laid eyes on you.”

His certainty in the way everything is supposed to be starts to rub off, because I don’t question him. Or it’s possible that with each sweep of his hand, I lose brain cells to his comfort. “Speaking of Jack, how is he?”

Frustrated, I think. To Knox, I say, “Fine. He’s not happy with the poli sci course, but I don’t know who in that class is.” It’s hard for me too. It’s even harder to write two papers for that darn thing. “There’s no attendance policy, because if you don’t show up for even one class, you’re lost.”

“Is that what Jack says?” Knox murmurs against the back of my neck.

My brain feels scrambled by his nearness, but I manage to eke out a half truth. “That’s what everyone says.”

The post class complaining is enormous. One girl I sit near writes about a book worth of notes, but at the end of class she looks defeated. Jack hasn’t taken a single note. He sits about twenty rows below me, his hands folded together, staring straight at the teacher. I can’t see his eyes, but my guess is that defeat is too mild of an emotion for what he feels, as the teacher drones on about Bayesian and Nash equilibrium and Pareto efficiencies.

I used Jack’s password to login to his account this week, and had to change at least half of his answers to a worksheet. The worksheets are designed to help us formulate our end of the semester papers and aren’t graded, but I didn’t want the professor to look back and wonder why there’s such a disparity between Jack’s paper and his semester coursework.

“What about his tutor?”

“He says she’s too busy trying to sleep with him, and since he turned her down, she’s not been very helpful.”

“Hmm.” His chest rumbles against my back. “He should bring that up to Brian Newsome. He’s the associate director for football student services. Brian would find Jack a different tutor.”

“No,” I twist in his arms. Jack would not want anyone in the program to know he’s struggling. “And don’t you say anything either.” He’s silent too long. “Please, Knox.”

“All right, baby. I won’t, but just because he’s having problems with class doesn’t mean he’s getting kicked off the team.”

“He’s new. Let him get this one semester under his belt.”

Knox turns me back over, tucking his large knees behind mine and resting his chin on the top of my head. “I won’t say anything. Now, why don’t you get some sleep?”

That sounds like the best suggestion ever.

•••

I wake up with his dick nestled against my ass and his big hand around my waist. One jerk of his thumb and he’d be touching my breast. His hand is so freaking large and there’s a tree trunk shoving its way into my panties. I wouldn’t have been human if I hadn’t pushed back against the rod of steel or exhaled extra hard to see if I could move his fingers closer to my aching nipple.

“You need to get out of this bed within five minutes, or you’ll be breaking the seal,” he growls in my ear. “That time of the month or not.”

It takes all my will, but I manage to scramble out of the bed. Somewhere in the middle of the night, we moved so that he leaned against the wall and I faced the door.

“Where’s Riley? What time is it?” I scoop my wayward hair out of my face and grope around for my phone to check the time.