Lucky Number Eleven

Chapter Nine

Chapter 9

Layla

"I like that one."

My computer almost flies off my lap as I jump at the sound of the voice behind me. "Damn it, Branch!"

Falling back against the lounge chair, I press one hand against my chest. My heart is pounding against my rib cage at an alarming rate. At first, it's because I didn't hear Branch come onto the patio. Then I see him. And smell him. And hear his sexy chuckle as he takes a seat on the chair beside me and then I know the tempo has nothing to do with being scared and everything to do with being Branched.

The more time I spend with him, the more I see that he's not just the player I see in the media. I went to bed thinking about how he talked to Callum last night and what Callum must be thinking and the way Branch looked at me the rest of the night.

We had fun afterwards, staying up entirely too late talking and playing gin rummy. Through the laughter and jokes, Branch and I had a weird vibe between us, almost like we were both afraid to get quite too close to the other.

"I like the first one," he says, touching my computer screen. His forearm extends above me, this close to hitting my breast but not quite. "I mean, if you're wanting an opinion. You've wavered back and forth between the two images for ten minutes now."

"How long exactly have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," he grins, stretching back again. "If you don't mind me asking, how do you make money doing that?"

I select the image he prefers, the one I was leaning towards anyway, hit save and then close my computer. Before I answer him, I take him in.

He's stretched out beside me in a pair of purple shorts. His hair is wet like he just got out of the shower, the dark blond strands sticking together and up every which way. There's a dose of stubble dotting his cheeks and chin that gives him a touch of scoundrel that appeals to every sexual organ in my body and most of the others.

Clenching my thighs together, I watch him watch me. He seems unhurried, like he has nowhere to go and the genuine curiosity laced in his question makes me give in.

"I get paid in different ways," I admit. "There's ad space on my blog and I have a newsletter that works the same way. I also write pieces for magazines and a few affiliates." He still seems interested, so I continue. "I've also just started to sell online training courses about decorating, makeup, and blogging. You'd be surprised how many options are out there if you aren't scared to work."

"Maybe that's what I can do when I retire. Do online training courses about actual training."

"You could. Teach younger athletes how to work out like a champion."

"That would be one course. I hear the big money is in porn."

"I think that's true, but only if you have the goods," I sigh. "Big goods, big money. Little goods, little money."

"By goods, do you mean cock?"

Laughing, I nod my head. "Yes. Sorry that wasn't clear."

"So I could just quit football now and work in porn? I don't know what the concussion risk is like, but I'm guessing a lot lower."

"I would think so. Does everything go back to sex with you?" I ask, lifting a brow.

"Babe," he grins, "if a guy ever tells you they don't think about sex at least twenty times a day, they're lying."