Chapter 80 Total Embarrassment
AVA
I was still trembling, and it had nothing to do with the game. Nothing to do with the champagne or the echo of victory chants still ricocheting through the halls. It was him. It was Liam Carter and the way he had looked at me like I was the prize, not the trophy sitting in the locker room. Like I was the only thing in the building worth winning.
From the way he moved inside me, slow at first, almost reverent, like he was memorizing me all over again. Then rough, desperate, like the restraint of the entire season snapped at once and I was the only place he wanted to unravel. He had not held back. Not in the way his hands gripped my hips. Not in the way his breath broke when he buried his face in my neck. And when he finally came undone, when he pulled me down against him like he would fuse us together if he could, I shattered right along with him.
My chest was still rising and falling too fast, lungs struggling to catch up. His sweat mixed with mine, our skin still slick, bodies tangled on the massage table like we had completely forgotten where we were. The vinyl beneath us squeaked every time we shifted, a ridiculous reminder that this was a therapy room, not a bedroom. Not a safe, private place where we could pretend we were the only two people in the world.
I was supposed to be his physiotherapist. He was supposed to be recovering. We were supposed to keep this professional.
Instead, I was straddling his lap, bare thighs clinging to his hips, wearing nothing but his jersey and a blush that probably reached my hairline. My panties were somewhere on the floor. My bra hung off the edge of the table like it had given up halfway through. One of my shoes had vanished entirely, as if it had fled the scene out of secondhand embarrassment.
I had never felt so completely undone in my life. Used in the most delicious way. Adored in a way that made my stomach flip. Claimed without apology.
My legs were still trembling, useless and weak. I was not convinced I could stand without collapsing. Every inch of my body pulsed from where he had touched me, kissed me, whispered against me. And the way he had murmured “mine” into my skin like it was both confession and vow.
I did not want to move. I did not care if I stayed exactly like this forever. Curled against him, tucked into the hollow of his chest, breathing him in like oxygen. My cheek rested over his heartbeat, steady now, strong and sure beneath my ear.
“Best game of your life?” I whispered, my lips brushing along his jaw, tasting salt and sweat and victory.
“Not even close.” His hand spread wide across my lower back, warm and possessive.
“Really?” I pulled back just enough to look at him, teasing tugging at my mouth.
“This,” he said, kissing the corner of my lips slowly, “you… was the win.”
I hummed softly, the sound vibrating between us. My eyes fluttered closed for just a second. Just long enough to sink into the quiet.
SLAM.
The door exploded open so violently it cracked against the wall, the sound ricocheting through the small room like a gunshot.
Shouting. Laughter. Boots stomping against tile.
I shrieked and scrambled off him so fast I nearly slipped on the discarded mess of our clothes.
Then silence.
The kind that drops like a guillotine.
Every muscle in my body locked. My eyes flew open wide enough to hurt. I tried to sit up straight and immediately realized the catastrophic truth. I was not wearing a shirt. Or a bra. Or pants. Or underwear. Just Liam’s jersey, which was doing a tragically poor job of covering anything, bunched halfway up my thighs.
Liam was still in his jeans. Unzipped jeans.
He blinked toward the doorway like someone had mildly inconvenienced him by interrupting a nap.
My pulse went from dreamy to DEFCON 1 in under a second.
The entire team stood in the doorway.
Loud. Rowdy. Still half in gear. A couple holding beers. One guy clutching a speaker that was blasting some obnoxious victory anthem that died abruptly when they all froze.
And then I saw him.
My father.
Front and center. Flanked by assistant coaches and the team captain like some horrifying tribunal.
His eyes dropped. To my bare legs. To Liam’s undone jeans. To my flushed face. To my hair, which I was certain screamed recent poor decision making. To the massage table.
He saw everything.
I genuinely considered spontaneous combustion. A lightning strike through the ceiling. A conveniently timed sinkhole.
“Ava?” my father barked, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, yanking the jersey down with both hands. It did nothing. It covered nothing. It mocked me.
Behind him, Josh had the audacity to snort. “Guess Carter really needed a post game stretch, huh?”
“OUT!” my father roared.
The door slammed shut again, barely containing a chorus of howls, laughter, and what absolutely sounded like someone humming a certain vintage seduction anthem.
I sat there frozen, heat crawling up my entire body. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears. In my throat. In places I did not need to feel it right now.
Liam leaned back on his elbows like this was mildly entertaining. Smug. Completely satisfied.
“I think I just died,” I said slowly, turning to him with the expression of someone who had just watched their entire future implode.
“If it helps,” he replied, entirely too calm, “you looked phenomenal on top of me.”
“Liam,” I hissed, shoving his chest, “my dad just saw me in your lap.”
“Technically,” he said thoughtfully, glancing at the door, “you were off my lap when they walked in. Post lap.”
“Not helping!”
He laughed, deep and unbothered, and caught my wrists before I could shove him again. With an infuriating amount of ease, he pulled me back toward him, settling me against his chest like I was not spiraling into existential ruin.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmured against my hair. “After knowing about us, it was only a matter of time before he walked in on something.”
“You’re so dead,” I muttered.
“Worth it.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “If he kills me, bury me inside you.”
“LIAM!”
“What?” he grinned. “You love me.”
I did. That was the problem. I loved him enough to risk my career, my dignity, and apparently my relationship with my father’s blood pressure.
But as mortification battled with lingering pleasure and the faint echo of his heartbeat under my ear, one thing settled in with humiliating clarity.
I was never going to live this down.
Not with my father.
Not with the team.
And definitely not with Josh.