The Waiting Game

by Sierra Hill

  I reach to touch his shoulder. “You have me, Deacon. You always had me to talk to.”

  While I want that to be the truth, it may not be reality. I look back now at where things were at a year ago and realize I probably wasn’t always there for him as much as I would’ve liked to have been. Between ending things with Tom, which was messy and complicated, I was just getting started with my new job; and my life was in Portland, not back home where Deacon was.

  “I know, Elle. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her. I just knew…well, I knew you didn’t like her and it was just a fling, so I didn’t mention anything. Will you forgive me?”

  It doesn’t take me more than a second to decide. Based on the remorse in his voice, and the earnest look in his eyes, I know I’ll forgive him. I can’t remain mad at Deacon. He’s just too good of a guy and I know he never meant to hurt me.

  Leaning over the console, I place my palms over his beard-covered cheeks and turn his face to look at me. Deacon is not only the most kind-hearted guy I’ve ever known, but he’s beyond handsome. He has a rugged, masculine face, his skin sun-kissed from all the work outdoors. His eyes are a smooth brown, like they’ve been laced with whisky. And his jaw is angular and strong, the stubble a little rough against my palms.

  “Deacon, there is nothing to apologize for and you don’t owe me any explanation. If you wanted to keep seeing her, I’d pull up my big girl panties and accept it.”

  He places his own palms over my hands and chuckles.

  “Are big girl panties the same as granny panties? ‘Cause if they are, that’s an image I do not need in my head about you.”

  His reply makes me chuckle and I make a raspberry noise with my tongue. “Oh, shut up and just drive. Let’s go have some fun tonight.”

  What I don’t say out loud, but am thinking is, “let’s get drunk and make you forget all about Bethany.”

  6

  Deacon

  Hanging out with Ellie is one of my favorite things to do.

  We’ve always had fun when we’re together, ever since we were kids, because she has an easy-going personality. She laughs, can make dirty jokes with the best of them, enjoys playing pinball and foosball, and is an avid college sports fan.

  Ellie is my dream girl.

  And on top of that, she has a smokin’ hot body – one that seems to have gained the attention of all the dudes in the bar tonight who keep ogling her, even though I’m standing right next to her.

  “You ready for another beer?” I ask, sliding my empty glass to the side of the table for the waitress to pick up on her next return. “Or maybe you want to get your ass kicked in shuffleboard.”

  I tip my chin toward the table that’s just opened up, quirking an eyebrow in challenge. Elle drains her glass and nods with a smirk.

  “Challenge accepted. Although, it’ll be you, my friend, whose ass will be used to wipe up the floor.”

  Pushing back her chair, she signals to the waitress for another round and then walks behind me, sliding her hand against the back of my neck. The touch of her fingertips leaves a trail of shivers down my spine and an electric shock that shoots straight to my balls. My dick has been rock hard since we got in the car together and I had one touch of her flawless skin against my fingertip.

  Seriously, I’m fucked.

  As we add the necessary sand to the table and wait for our beers, I ask her how things are going with work. I realize her job with me at Powell’s isn’t her long-term career goal, and I don’t expect her to stay here forever. But I’m selfish and I want her here as long as possible.

  Having her back home and spending time with her in the shop every day has been everything I could want. Ellie brings a sparkle and female flair to the testosterone-filled shop. Not to mention, Cody’s surly and often times lousy work ethic, has somehow turned around in the presence of Elle.

  “Ladies first,” I offer, gesturing with a wave across the table. She lifts her beer in a toast, taking a long gulp, where I watch her throat constrict and have to look away because the action has my balls tightening up.

  She sets down the glass, broadsides me with her shoulder to make me move out her way, lines up her puck, and sends it sailing down the length of the table, where it flies off the edge and into the galley.

  “Dammit.”

  I lift my eyebrows skyward. “Oops. Do you want to concede now?”

  The floor seems to shift underneath me as she turns to look over her shoulder at me, her blouse curtaining open, so I get a perfect glimpse of her tits popping out over the edge of her bra. If someone held a gun to my head right now and told me to recite the National Anthem, I’d have to opt out and go to an early grave due to my inability to concentrate on anything other than the lush flesh of her cleavage.

  “Not a chance, sucka,” she crows. “Your ass is mine. In fact, I’m just warming up and feel a little wager is required.”

  She grasps the edge of the table and does some sort of wiggle dance, shifting her hips from side to side, garnering the attention of a few onlookers, including me. My eyes are glued to her ass.

  Clearing my throat, I call her out on her bet.

  “You think you can take me on, Ellie Belly?”

  Yeah, there’s a little innuendo in that carefully crafted response. I want her to take me on…in bed.

  The corners of her beautiful lips curl up in a challenging smile.

  “You name it, I’ll take it.”

  Fuuuuck.

  My head spins from all the dirty and inappropriate things swirling in my head. Like, playing strip shuffleboard (although that’d probably be discouraged in public). Or getting her naked on the table and going down on her until she comes so hard she blacks out.

  The wave of her hand in front of my face and her “yoohoo” brings my attention back to the game.

  I rub the bearded scruff across my chin and pretend I’m thinking about a bet.

  Snapping my fingers, I point my index in her direction.

  “Okay, I’ve got it. If you win, you get to take the new kayak out for a spin next week.”

  I’d just gotten in a new shipment of sea kayaks yesterday and she practically drooled over them, stating she’d die for a chance to give them a whirl.

  Ellie smiles excitedly and jumps up and down next to me, only ruining more of my concentration because her boobs are now bouncing, and my mouth has gone dry.

  “Yes! I’m down with that. And if you win?”

  Oh shit, this is gonna get messy. Because what comes out of my mouth next isn’t exactly a wager one friend would make with another. And it’s definitely not one a boss would make with his employee.

  But fuck it. I’m having fun, I’m feasting on Elle’s gorgeous body, and I’ve had a few beers. So all bets are off, so to speak.

  “If I win, we go skinny dipping tonight when we get home.”

  The surprised, and dare I say, dumbfounded look that sweeps across Ellie’s face makes me believe I’ve just made a very fatal mistake.

  Until her features soften, she tilts her head to the side and she bites down on her lips as a coy smile appears that makes my knees weak.

  She holds out her hand in acceptance, which I shake vigorously. “Okay. You’re on. I accept your bet. Now get ready to hand over that new kayak of yours, Powell.”

  Oh, it’s on all right.

  7

  Ellie

  I am not sure what possessed Deacon to make this wager, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him know how much it interests me.

  So much so that I’m actually trying hard not to win.

  I realize that may be a very anti-feminist thing to do, but if you knew what Deacon looks like underneath his clothes, believe me, you’d do the same thing.

  Back in high school, I had the opportunity plenty of times to see him at swim meets wearing his tight-fitting speedo. His strong, powerful legs on display, the sinewy cords of his flexing thighs, his ass a solid work of art, and his package…Oh, his package even as
an eighteen-year-old boy was something drool-worthy and dream-inciting. There was no hiding what he had going on under that form-fitting Lycra.

  After tonight, I’m done denying my attraction to Deacon. There has been an undercurrent of electricity buzzing between us since I’ve been working for him. The push-and-pull of that connection we have - it’s only grown larger, deeper, more potent, powerful and undeniable tonight.

  The score between us is currently his fifteen to my twelve and we’re working our way to twenty-one. He has three pucks on the board on the opposite end. I have a lonely one the minute the second puck went sailing off into the alley. I line up my shot, knowing he’s next to me, playfully wiggling my ass as I send the puck sliding with crafted finesse down the wood boards.

  The weighted puck strikes one of his at the corner of the table and sends it spinning off the side. Letting out a whoop of excitement, I throw my hands in the air in celebration and I turn to taunt my opponent. Dancing my victory dance, my fingers pointed in the air, I probably look like a 70’s disco queen, as I grin innocently up at Deacon.

  His expression turns dark and surly and suddenly I’m lifted off the ground, my feet dangling in the air, my body crushed against Deacon’s hard torso as his large arms wrap around my waist and he flings me side-to-side.

  I shriek in surprise, but more in delight. “Put me down, you sore loser!”

  My laughter is met with his own, as the sound of his deep rumble vibrates against my ear, his nose nuzzling in the crook of my neck. I can feel the ripple of his ridged abdomen from where our bodies touch, and it floods my panties in eager anticipation for something I’m not sure will ever happen.

  My thoughts grow hungrier and needier when I’m assaulted with his spicy, soapy scent, triggering an even bigger sensual bolt of desire between my legs.

  Whether he notices the change in my body’s response, or not, he tightens his hold and squeezes me tight as we both groan before he sets my feet back on the ground. Deacon takes a step back, clears his throat and reaches around me for his beer.

  Awkwardness ascends, battling against the electric charge that zips between us. I step to the side and sweep my hand out toward the table.

  “Your turn,” I chirp, sounding very much like the ice-skating character in one of my favorite 90’s movies, The Cutting Edge, when she sarcastically calls out, “Toe pick!”

  Deacon’s lips twist up and he wiggles his eyebrows at me, brushing by my side as he steps up to take his turn at the table.

  As he reaches for his blue colored puck, he angles his head to the side to glance back at me, his brown orbs alight with mischief. And maybe a little of something else. He may also catch me staring at his ass, as I quickly glance away, feigning boredom.

  “You’re going down, Green. You. Are. Going. Down.”

  Honest to God, all I think in this moment is about going down. On him.

  Yes, yes, yes. Please.

  “Whatever, Powell. But can you hold that thought?” I say, raising a finger in the air and then hooking it in the direction of the bathrooms. “I need to go use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

  Yes, I need to pee. But I also need to splash cold water on my face and give my rapidly beating heart a chance to calm the eff down.

  I’m not sure what’s come over me lately, but my feelings toward Deacon have changed. In a significant way. In a manner that has me dreaming of him naked and in varying sexual positions. I swear to God, I wake up sweating and my hand down my pajama bottoms, the lingering feeling of Deacon’s body covering mine.

  I rush down the hallway toward the bank of restrooms and push inside, searching out the first open sink so I can catch my breath and get my body and mind in control. Confusion is a harsh blow as I struggle with my conflicted feelings.

  Deacon and I have always had a close friendship that has never crossed those boundary lines. He was first and foremost my best friend’s ex. And even though we no longer speak or see each other, there’s still the code to consider.

  Secondarily, because of our friendship, we know almost everything there is to know about each other. We’ve swapped stories about embarrassing moments with former lovers. Discussed religion and politics and shared our views on the world. Helped each other through tough break-ups. Well, actually, it was Deacon who was there for me, but I would have been by his side had the tables been turned.

  And then that swirl of jealousy reared up inside my chest when I learned about his fling with Bethany. I forgave him for not telling me, but the hurt still lingers a little, like an afterbite of a mosquito sting.

  I must be staring off into space when a woman sidles up to me and asks, “Can I use the sink?”

  Shaking off my thoughts, I smile and move out of the way and enter an open stall.

  The more and more I think about this, the more I’m determined to just do it. Make a move on Deacon because honestly, I don’t think he ever will.

  I finish up and head back out to the bar where Deacon watches my return, his eyes following me the entire way down the hallway. His gaze traveling the length of my body, leaving a heated path with his watchful eyes. The way he stares at me is heavy and concentrated, as if he can read my thoughts and knows what I’m planning on doing tonight.

  “Everything okay there, Ellie Belly?”

  I wink, bumping my hip against his. “Mmm-hmm. Now, whose turn is it? Let’s finish this up and get out of here.”

  8

  Deacon

  Ellie lost the game.

  Now, I’m not suggesting she lost on purpose, but my Spidey-senses were activated a few times when it seemed like she intentionally overshot the puck. She’d giggle and send the next one sailing off the board as if she wanted to lose.

  I’m not even sure how to interpret that possibility.

  Does she want to go skinning dipping with me? If so, why wouldn’t she just admit to it?

  Confusion grips my thoughts as we drive the hour back into town, the stars in the sky illuminating the dark night. I turn off onto Seawall Blvd. and head down to the shore. I find a parking spot along a fairly empty side street, killing the engine and glancing over at Ellie who sits reservedly quiet in the seat next to me.

  “We don’t have to do this, you know. I would never make you…”

  Ellie leaves me speechless and unable to finish my sentence when she whips off her blouse over her head and throws it in the back seat, leaving her in only a knee-length skirt and her bra.

  “I’m not a chicken,” she insists, toeing off her slip-on shoes and then wiggling off her skirt, turning a cheeky grin in my direction. “A bet is a bet. Come on. Hurry up, already.”

  Even before I have a chance to protest, she’s flinging the door open and jumping out, rushing down toward the empty beach.

  “Holy shit,” I say to no one but an empty car as I stare out the window at her nearly naked form running toward the shore. “Here goes nothing.”

  I have no idea why I’m overthinking this and hesitating like a scaredy-cat. I’ve never been nervous around Ellie, nor any woman, for that matter.

  The thing that’s stopping me – or at least, holding me back from escaping the friend zone we’ve been in all these years – is that once I decide to cross the line with Elle, it’s over.

  Done. Kaput.

  Our friendship will never be the same again. For me, I know I want the chance for something different with her. Something more because she’s everything I want in a woman; beautiful, witty, fun-loving and a decent human being.

  But I don’t know if she shares those feelings toward me. Sure, she gave me some strong signals tonight, but maybe I’m just misinterpreting them because I’m horny?

  I’ve been a patient man when it comes to Ellie, but that ends tonight.

  Getting out of the car, I throw off my shirt and shoes, tossing them haphazardly in the backseat before closing the door. I can barely see Elle down on the beach but hear the shrilling shrieks of her screams that indicate she’s hit the frigid
water.

  I’m positive she must be freezing her toes off. Although this month has been relatively warm and today we enjoyed a seventy-two-degree day, the Pacific Ocean water is still cold as fuck.

  As I near the waterline, Elle’s naked body silhouettes against the darkness surrounding her and the bright moon that casts its yellow glow across the water.

  “Hurry your ass in here so we can get the hell out!” she demands, splashing me with a dip of her toe, the water hitting me at the knees.

  “Oh, fuck. It’s cold as balls in here.”

  This is no joke, folks. We might die of hypothermia before we fully submerge.

  As if Mother Nature wants to ensure this happens, a huge wave comes barreling toward us undetected, hitting Ellie in the back with an enormous slap, pushing her into my body. Right into my awaiting arms.

  We both let out surprised gasps, my arms opening instinctively to catch her and hold her upright.

  The wave abates, leaving us dripping wet and shivering against one another. But cold, wet and miserable are the last things I feel the moment I realize the position we’ve found ourselves in. The heat sizzles between us and consumes me with a need so strong, so powerful, it rivals the ocean’s dominance.

  It’s now or never.

  Ellie’s slight frame quivers in my arms and when I glance down, our eyes lock and all I see is desire swimming in the bottomless ocean of green.

  The air between us is charged, like a thunderstorm out at sea. The waves are crashing around us, pulling us under and hoisting us back up, granting us reprieve as we gulp down lungful’s of breath.

  “I want to kiss you, Elle.”

  I’m not sure what I expect her to say, but I’m giving her a chance to stop this before I make a fool of myself. An option to tap out and prevent me from drowning in my stupidity.

  “I dare you to do it.”

  “Another dare, huh?”