She blows out a harsh breath. “I don’t know…that snowball fight exhausted me.” She grins playfully. “I can’t remember the last time I used that many of my muscles at once.”
“I think the last time I was part of a snowball fight was as a kid in North Carolina.” I smile as I remember my childhood growing up.
“Is that where you’re from?” she asks. We continue to walk down the street, and since she hasn’t mentioned wanting or needing to go home, I go with it.
“Yeah, I was born and raised in North Carolina. I received a scholarship to the University of North Carolina and that’s where I met Nick. My parents still live there. I have one brother, Dylan, but he lives here in New York.”
“I’ve met your brother,” Giselle admits. “The game Nick was injured during, your brother and his wife were there. He seems nice.”
“He is. He used to be a family attorney back in North Carolina, but didn’t love it. So, he moved here and opened up his own firm focusing on sports law. Shortly after, he met his wife, Christina, who was a model. They got married and settled down and gave me my niece, Julia. She’s an awesome kid.”
We stop walking and I realize we’re standing in front of my building. “Want to come up?” I ask. “We can order in…” Giselle flinches, but quickly covers it with a tight smile. “Or if you’re tired, I can call you a cab.”
“I am a bit tired,” she admits. “I worked all day then had to take the trip up to see my mom’s doctors, but I’m okay. We can go up to your place.”
“You sure?” I ask just to make sure.
“Yeah.” She smiles, but it isn’t the same one she had earlier. I want that smile back on her face.
When we get up to my place, I tell Giselle she can have a seat in the living room. I pull out a few takeout menus from the drawer in the kitchen and grab us each a bottle of water. When I walk back into the living room, Giselle is sitting on the couch. She’s removed her jacket and gloves. She’s wearing a pair of black slacks and her pink top is see-through, but I think it’s the way it’s made. Her bra underneath is the same color pink. She’s checking something on her phone, but when she hears me, she sets it to the side.
“If you don’t see anything you like, we can order something else,” I tell her, handing her the stack of menus and sitting next to her. She takes them from me and sets them aside.
“I’m not really hungry,” she says. “I was thinking we could get right to the nightcap.” She takes the bottom of my hoodie in her hands and lifts it up. I help her by lifting my arms and removing it from my body. She lifts my shirt next. This time I stop her.
“Giselle…” I say slowly. I don’t want to offend her, but we’ve talked about this.
“What?” she asks sounding genuinely confused.
“I told you I don’t want to be sexual with anyone until I’m in a serious relationship.”
She frowns. “You requested a nightcap…I thought you changed your mind.”
“I requested a what?” And then it hits me. The different options with A Touch of Class. A nightcap means coming back to the client’s place for sex. When I called Bianca earlier today on my way to Giselle’s place, I told her I wanted Giselle every day and night she’s available for the foreseeable future. At first, she gave me shit saying she already has regular clients booked, but once I offered to pay double, she gave in. She must’ve marked me for a nightcap.
“Your boss must’ve included it by mistake,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t pay you to fuck me.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret saying them. I didn’t mean it like it came out.
“Oh,” she says. “Well, make sure you get that fixed. It’s a waste of money to pay for it and not get it.” She laughs, but it sounds off.
She opens the top of her water bottle and takes a sip, then sets it down and laughs softly. “I understand you not wanting to have sex, but you do know you can’t get a woman pregnant from oral, right?”
I let out a loud laugh that has her grinning, and it’s the one I love to see on her face.
“Yeah, I know, but oral is a gateway to sex. When I first started my NFL career, I was young and women would throw themselves at me. At first, I thought maybe they were doing it because they liked me. I’d meet a girl at a party and we would make out. Sometimes it would lead to more. Her giving me head or me going down on her. I would stop it there, though, not wanting to continue until I knew there could be a future with us. The girls would get pissed.” I shake my head thinking about how many times a girl would accuse me of being gay.