Rough Ride

by Breezie Bennett

  My favorite part, though, is watching her give me a tour of my own house. The way those blue eyes light up like a damn Christmas tree when she talks about the inspiration for a specific room or design choice. The way she keeps turning to me and asking, “Do you like it?” As if everything she does isn’t literal perfection.

  “I think the man cave is my favorite,” I remark as we finish up the house tour. “The picture of Death Valley…damn.” I hit my fist to my chest. “That got me.”

  “Well.” She steps in front of me, stopping me in the upstairs hallway. “There’s one last thing I want to show you.”

  “How can there possibly be anything left?” I shake my head with a laugh, still trying to comprehend the insane amount of work that went into this whole project. “It’s already a totally different house than the one I moved into a month ago.”

  Without a word, she zips down the stairs, and I follow her, watching that bouncy blond hair and flawless ass and thinking I’d be fine staring at this view forever.

  “You haven’t seen the master bedroom.”

  I narrow my eyes and give her a teasing glare. “I was in it a few hours ago before I went to practice. I thought you said that room was already totally done…”

  “There was one more thing,” she says with a smile.

  “A bowl of plastic grapes?” I tease.

  She shoots me some side-eye and slowly opens the door to my bedroom, flicking the light switch on as we walk in.

  The room looks the same. Huge, with a massive beach view and free of a shit-ton of furniture—the way I like it.

  “I don’t see anything…” I look around, confused about what she could have changed in here that I wouldn’t even notice yet.

  “Right there,” she says softly, pointing to the wall that faces the bed.

  It’s a framed photo. I can’t really make it out from the doorway where I’m standing, so I walk around in front of the bed, and as soon as I get close to it, I realize exactly what that picture is.

  My throat tightens with emotion, and the backs of my eyes start to sting. “Kendall…”

  I look closely at it, a bittersweet mixture of warm happiness and icy sadness swirling in my brain as my gaze falls on my childhood home.

  My parents and I are standing outside in the front yard. I must have been, like, seven. Football in hand, of course. The house isn’t much to look at, especially once you’ve been hanging out in a freaking mansion, but to me, it’s everything. The porch swing my mom used to sit on and watch Wyatt and me run a thousand different routes in the front yard. The rain gutter that always came loose and fell down a little and drove my dad batshit crazy. The enormous smiles on all three of our faces.

  “I hope it doesn’t make you sad,” Kendall says quickly, breaking my train of nostalgic thoughts and bringing me back to reality. “I don’t want it to make you sad. I want it to remind you, to make you feel at—”

  “Home,” I finish, pulling my gaze from the emotional picture and focusing on the single-most-caring, sweet, and thoughtful person I’ve ever met.

  “Yeah,” she whispers, swallowing hard. “Home.”

  “Kendall. I love it. I love…” You. “Everything. It’s ridiculously amazing.”

  “I can’t take full credit. Your mom sent it to me. I just got it framed and picked a spot on the wall.”

  I draw back and laugh in surprise. “You talked to my momma?”

  She gives her shoulders a sassy shake. “I got connections, Smoke.”

  I brush a strand of her hair behind her ear and admire her for a second. “You’re the most beautiful person ever.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Shut up.”

  “I’m serious.” I kiss her lightly. “That means the freaking world to me that you did that. No one’s ever gotten me the way that you do. I don’t like talking about that house or what happened to it, but with you I feel like I can just dump out whatever’s on my mind, and you listen, and then you go and turn it into something so…” I glance back at the picture on the wall. “Sweet.”

  “I made you a home.” She smiles, leaning her body against mine. “A giant, high-budget, extremely well decorated, and professionally designed home.”

  I laugh and kiss her again. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now come here.” I scoop her up into my arms as she wraps her legs around me, giggling and falling into me as I lay us both down on the bed.

  I touch my lips all over her soft skin, kissing down her neck and shoulder and sliding my hands over every delicious curve.

  Fire builds fast between us as our kissing goes from playful to straight-up hot.

  Kendall arches against me, wild freedom glinting in her eyes as she runs her hands through my hair and presses her body into mine.

  Blood surges through me as I slide her shirt off and admire the gorgeous perfection lying underneath me. The only woman in the world who could make a building have some sort of meaning to me. The only woman in the world who refuses to give up until she reaches total perfection. The only woman in the world I want lying underneath me for the rest of my life.

  “Shall we christen your new home?” she asks with a playful smile as she slips her hands under my shirt and runs her fingers over my muscles.

  “I like the sound of that.”

  I gasp sharply as our chests press against each other. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how freaking electric Naked Kendall is.

  I meet her gaze as I grind against her, my dick already hard as a rock and her willing body already begging me for it.

  Her eyes are full of energy and fire, and I can’t seem to tear my gaze from them.

  Clearly impatient, she tugs at the waistband of my pants. “Off. Now.”

  I give her a teasing glare and shift on top of her. “Remember when you were a virgin?”

  She laughs, sexy and sweet like music. “Very funny. I knew that whole thing wouldn’t last very long around you.”

  I run my thumb along her cheek, surprised by the way my heart kinda squeezes the longer I look at her. “I love that I’m your first.”

  “The one and only,” she whispers.

  The one and only, I repeat in my head as I kiss down her chest and run my lips along a gorgeous breast. I really like being Kendall’s one and only.

  I unbutton her jeans and slide them off, grazing the smooth, tanned skin of her slender legs, letting my finger slip into the side of her panties to find an aching, needy, soaking-wet center that makes me practically moan with how turned on I am.

  She gasps at my touch, her head rolling back against the pillows and her hands clinging to my back.

  I tease her a little more, drinking in the sheer beauty of her magnetic reactions to everything I do.

  She grabs my sweatpants and slides them off, kissing me as she reaches down and wraps her fingers around my cock, sending heat waves washing over me like a tsunami.

  Neither of us wants to wait another second, and every last nerve in my body is screaming at me to make love to this insanely perfect woman.

  I moan, jolting with heat and sparks as I enter her, wet and tight and hot.

  “Andre,” Kendall whispers, holding my shoulders and keeping her gaze locked on mine.

  As I thrust slowly into her, I watch those blue eyes light up with fire and pleasure, and my body instantly reacts.

  I kiss her softly and hold her close to me, feeling every inch of her skin on mine, knowing that my body was made for hers.

  She smiles and moans, sexy and sweet and unbelievably gorgeous.

  I can literally feel the world melt away as she comes, her body squeezing around my dick and her voice filling the air with pleasure and happiness and satisfaction.

  I hold her hips and keep pushing into her passionately, the soft curves of her body and heat in her expression reminding me that I’ve never felt like this before.

  The world stops turning, and fireworks explode in my head and heart and cock as I finish, releasing and letting my entire self complet
ely melt into her.

  Everything about her feels so incredible. I could just hold her and kiss her and bang her and look at those damn eyes all day long.

  I roll off and lie next to her, pulling her close and feeling her heat against me as I inhale that sweet and fruity shampoo smell. “You’re amazing.”

  “How does it just keep getting better?” she asks with a laugh, running her fingers across my forearm and then weaving her fingers through mine.

  I hug her closer and tighter, shutting my eyes and letting everything hit me. The photo on the wall, this incredible house, the warm, sunny tropics outside. But most of all, the woman in my arms.

  “Hey, Kendall,” I say quietly, rubbing her hand with my thumb.

  “Mmm?” she responds, and even though she’s turned around, I can hear that soft sleepy smile just from her voice.

  “I feel like I’m home.”

  She turns around quickly, full-on beaming now, wrapping her slender legs around me and gazing brightly into my eyes. “You are.”

  I kiss her forehead, letting a sense of calm wash over me. “Finally.”

  Twenty-five

  Kendall

  I swipe through the punch list on my tablet for what feels like the hundredth time, my stack of Post-it Notes getting thinner as I tag every last detail in the Esplanade House that needs to be revisited.

  Mansion in a Month is in full swing now, and they’ll be visiting applicants’ renovations soon and narrowing it down to four finalists. My heart slams at the thought.

  I’m constantly reminding myself to keep my business hat on. That this is a job—an extremely well-done job, and that’s why I can’t stop smiling. Not because of the flood of memories that crash through my mind in all the corners of this house. Or every dirty, sexy, happy moment that seems to echo inside the walls of each room. Or the fact that I’ve woken up here every day for the past week, and everything somehow seems to just get more and more beautiful.

  I stop in the study and let a wave of joy take hold of me as I run my fingers over the trick bookshelf that leads to my very favorite room. No Post-its needed in there. It’s absolutely perfect.

  My buzz of happiness and blissful daze are suddenly shaken away by the sound of the front door opening.

  I glance at the clock at the top of my iPad screen. Andre isn’t supposed to be back from practice for another two hours.

  “Hey.” I walk out of the study and down the hall, confused as to why he’s back, but still happier than ever to see him. “What are you doing back here so soon?”

  The smile on my face is quickly wiped away by the sight of someone who is definitely not Andre.

  A tall, skinny woman with a mountain of platinum-blond hair and pointy red-bottomed heels stands in the entryway of the house, pushing an enormous pair of sunglasses onto her forehead.

  “Um…” I step forward, blinking in confusion. “Hello?”

  “No, no.” As if she didn’t hear me, she gestures at the woodwork I had crafted for the walls of the entryway. “That will have to go. White wood is overdone and pedestrian.”

  A man in a suit stands behind her and nods, holding a smartphone in front of his face without looking up.

  “Excuse me?” Fiery anger ignites inside me and mixes with the total confusion about who the hell this woman is and why she is standing in Andre’s house insulting my woodwork design.

  “Oh?” She glances over, looking surprised. As if I haven’t been standing here for the last thirty seconds. “You must be with the construction people.”

  “I’m the head contractor.” I glance down at my torn jeans and white sneakers, resenting the scuff of dirt on one of them. I meet her gaze again. “Are you with HGTV?” I offer up the only reasonable suggestion of who she could be, although I had no idea anyone from production would be coming by today.

  “What?” She scrunches her tightly pulled face, looking at me like I’m a fly she wants to swat.

  “What are you doing here?” I try my hardest not to sound rude, but hot emotion and concern are really getting the best of me. “Who are you?”

  I clench my jaw and take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Something weird is going on, and I really, really wish Andre were here right now. “I think you’re in the wrong house,” I add.

  She laughs softly in disgust, holding a hand to her obviously implanted chest. “I most certainly am not.” She walks toward me, definitely noticing me now as her heels click loudly on the wood floor. “And I don’t appreciate being spoken to like that by the help.”

  “The what?” I whisper, practically choking as I back away from this Disney villain of a stranger.

  “Sweetheart, I’m the new owner.” She lifts a bony shoulder toward the man behind her. “This is my real estate agent. The seller signed off that I could come by the place today.”

  Shock curls through me like ice as words get caught in my throat. “No…” I shake my head and try to process what is going on. “There has to be a mistake. Andre Smoke owns this house, the NFL player. He’s at practice right now, but when he gets back, he’ll clear this up—”

  She shoves a stack of papers into my chest and folds her arms. “The only mistake here is that wretched wood you decided to ruin the walls with. I just got back from closing. Here are the papers. I bought the house. He has twenty days to move out.”

  Each syllable out of her mouth crashes around me like glass breaking on tile, and I realize I’m not breathing. Reluctantly, I scan the papers, confirming that she, in fact, just bought this house.

  This house. His house. My project. The house I poured my heart and soul into. The house I made into a home for him.

  She bought it. He…

  He sold it?

  “No…this…” I stammer, the tiny black words all over the page starting to swim as emotion burns in my eyes. “This can’t be right.” I look up at her. “Andre didn’t sell this house. It wasn’t on the market. It—”

  “Would you shut up?” The woman snatches the papers from my hand and flips through them quickly, stopping on a page and holding it in my face. “See that right there? Ten-point-two million dollars, final offer. My offer.” She shoves the paper toward me. “Read it and weep. And get the hell out of my house. I’m hiring someone else to renovate it.”

  “Renovate it?” The words come out of my shaking throat like a whisper.

  “Redo it.” She waves a hand around. “Whatever.”

  I try to take in a breath, but my chest is too tight. It has to be some kind of mistake. Andre wouldn’t just sell the house. He couldn’t… He knows that would break my heart. It means something to him. It’s his home. He said so himself.

  I blink a couple of times and look at the initials on the dotted line.

  AS.

  I feel sick. My mind swirls and twists and races with a thousand questions.

  It meant nothing. The house…the renovation…me.

  “Do you speak English?” The woman, who I’m starting to think is the actual human form of Satan, snaps her fingers in my face.

  I back up, wiping a tear from my cheek and feeling awfully unstable, like the ground is shifting underneath me as I rush out the front door and choke on a sob.

  How did he even have time to put it on the market? Why wouldn’t he tell me? I’ve been having sex with him and spending the night in that very house consistently for over a week now, and he didn’t think of mentioning that he was planning on selling it?

  I rush down the driveway as raindrops start to fall on my head and most likely smear my already messy makeup. I don’t care.

  I grab my car door handle and slide into the driver’s seat, letting emotion hit me like a train. Taking a long, slow, deep breath and desperately attempting to collect myself, I pull out my phone and stare at the screen.

  Nothing from him. Not a message, not a missed call, not a voicemail to say, Oh, by the way, I sold the house you designed specifically for me. Hope that’s okay!

  I rest my forehea
d on the steering wheel. Suddenly, Wyatt’s words at the bar that night echo through my mind.

  In Smoke’s world, nothing is permanent. Ever. And he sees women the same way he sees houses. No roots, no attachment. No permanence.

  How horribly naïve could I possibly be to think that I’m any different? Wyatt has known Andre since they were in grade school, and all of a sudden I think I know better?

  I let more tears fall down my cheeks before pulling a tissue from my purse and gently dabbing the corners of my eyes.

  Then an idea pops into my head.

  Wyatt. Maybe he can give me some clarity.

  Fueled by a burning need for some sort of explanation, but an equally burning dread of confronting Andre, I click on Wyatt’s number and feel my heart thumping as it starts to ring.

  “What’s good, sissy?”

  “Hey!” I swallow and steady my voice, taking a shuddery breath. He can’t know how upset I am. “How are you?”

  “Good, good. You know, chilling right now, ’bout to bust my ass at practice later. Usual stuff. But yo, I heard you finished Smoke’s place, and it’s, like, ridiculously awesome.”

  My heart tugs and twists. “Yeah, yeah. That’s actually…” My voice is weak.

  “Ken, he could not stop raving about it when we FaceTimed the other day. He’s obviously totally into the house, and I think he’s actually really into you.”

  I try to speak, but words just won’t form.

  “So I guess I’m gonna have to kick his ass,” Wyatt teases, absolutely clueless about the heartbroken mess I am.

  “Yeah, the house. That’s why I called.”

  “Yeah? What about it?”

  “Wyatt, um…” My voice cracks, and my throat tightens. So much for trying to keep it together.

  “Kendall.” His tone shifts from teasing to concern. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Did you know he was going to sell it?” My raspy words are barely above a whisper as I press the phone to my ear.