by Gina Azzi
“Here you go.” Shell returns and sound rushes back.
In my mind, I’m nearly panting. Panic begins to fill my veins, layering up little by little, like soot in a fireplace. Anxiety rattles in my chest, potent. I grip the iced tea Shell sets in front of me and take a long pull, focusing on the taste of the tea, letting it wash over my senses.
What did my sponsor, Rick, tell me to do?
Focus on the moment. On this one thing. Block out everything else. Breathe.
I inhale. Torsten asks for chips and guacamole. Exhale. Panda orders.
My nerves begin to settle. My heart rate slows. My vision clears.
“And for you?” Shell asks.
Panda and Torsten turn to me expectantly.
I clear my throat, passing my menu to Shell. “I’ll take the veggie fajitas, please.”
Torsten’s shoulders relax and Panda throws me a grin. They think I’m fine. They don’t know. No one does.
Inhale. Exhale. I lean back in my chair, feigning a hell of a lot more casual than I feel. Shell disappears. I lift my iced tea toward my teammates. “To you guys and the season.” I smirk.
Panda and Torsten laugh. I watch as the cold beer touches their lips, as they swallow it down.
An inferno unleashes through my bloodstream, intense and furious, as I gulp back some iced tea. I close my eyes and force my thoughts to something else.
Claire fills my mind. Her golden hair, her dazzling eyes, her flirtatious wink. Clairebear.
She settles me, eases some of my anxiety. It’s strange but deep down, I know she has my back. Even when she’s not here.
I set down my iced tea. Relief floods my body as Shell drops off baskets with chips and guacamole and salsa.
I take a chip and pop it into my mouth.
Panda begins to talk about our upcoming game in St. Louis.
Little by little, I’m able to focus on the conversation, on Panda’s assessment of our competition, on Torsten’s take on this season. I’m able to be present in this moment with the beer bottles and the bar a persistent distraction but not an overwhelming thought in my mind, blocking out all others.
No, instead, I keep Claire at the forefront of my mind and she helps me get through this moment. Through my fear and uncertainty. Through my anxiety and anguish.
Today, Claire Merrick saves me.
By the time I walk through the front door of my brownstone, I’m nearly desperate to see her. I know the moment I do, a calmness will flood my body. I’m wired too tightly, nearly jittery with nerves and stress and feeling so fucking off-kilter.
I slam the front door closed.
“East? That you?” she calls from the kitchen and I’m so relieved that she’s here, right now when I need her more than I ever have, that I stumble.
I drop my practice bag in the hall closet, kick off my boots, and hang up my coat. Gripping the sides of my head, I take a cleansing breath. Try to get some of my wild thoughts and frantic emotions under control.
I stride into the kitchen.
Claire looks up. She’s seated at the kitchen island, her laptop in front of her, a cup of coffee by her elbow. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, an old sweater hanging off one of her shoulders.
“Hey,” she says, frowning as she takes in my expression. “You okay?”
At the concern in her tone, I nearly break apart. How does she see everything I’m trying to hide like it’s clear as day? How does she sense the turmoil rocking through me when the rest of the world smiles like I’m managing so well?
“Easton?” she asks hesitantly as I draw closer. “How was practice?”
I stop at the edge of the island, crossing my arms and leaning forward until my elbows hit the countertop. “Today was fucking hard, Claire,” I blurt out the words in a rush. “It wrecked me. But I did it. And I’m so fucking happy to see you right now.” I smile. This time, I mean it.
10
Claire
The moment I see his face, I know something is off. Lines bracket the sides of his mouth and his eyes are weary. For as long as I can remember, Easton Scotch has been all swagger.
But right now, he sways and I slip from the barstool.
My brow furrows as I search his eyes for an explanation. I don’t understand the meaning behind his words but then he smiles the most brilliant, dazzling smile and my knees feel unsteady.
He’s reaching for me. Right now, he needs solace, comfort, and understanding, and he trusts me.
The realization is a balm to the last year of Easton’s dismissive remarks and rejections. I open my arms without hesitation and he falls into them. His hand cups the back of my head, cradling me against his chest in a surprisingly intimate hold. His fingers lace through my hair. His body wraps around mine protectively, even though the way his breath shudders makes it obvious that I’m holding him together.
The room spins as I pour my strength and compassion into Easton. He clings to me with a vulnerability that’s heartbreaking. I don’t know how long we stand embracing but I could stay like this for eternity. The beating of East’s heart sounds under my ear, the scent of him, cedar and sweat and need, lures me closer.
He shifts back slightly, peering down at me. The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smirk.
“You okay?”
He nods once, his blue eyes blazing. “Yeah.”
“You want to talk about it?”
He tilts his head to the side, thinking. “Not really.”
“But if you change your mind…”
He blows out an exhale and nods. His hand wraps around the end of my ponytail and he tugs. “Thanks for being here, Clairebear.”
“East…” I shuffle back half a step. I don’t want to push him, especially since he just alluded to not wanting to talk. But…
“Went out for lunch with Torsten and Panda.” He frowns, scrubbing a hand over his face. “They ordered beers—”
I inhale sharply.
Easton’s arm around my waist tightens. “No, they should. I mean, I want them to. I want to be able to go out with the guys on the team, with my friends, my brother, and not have them be weird about getting a Corona. But shit”—he shakes his head, his eyes tortured—“I hate that I can’t control it. All of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.”
“What’d the guys say?” I bite the corner of my mouth, hoping things aren’t strained between him and his teammates now.
“Nothing,” he half laughs. “I guess I hid it pretty well. Ran through a bunch of these coping mechanisms, shit I learned in group therapy.”
“Good. That’s good, East.” My hands wrap around his biceps. “I know this isn’t easy but you’re doing it. You’re doing everything the right way because you’re taking it all one day at a time. One situation at a time.”
He scrapes his teeth over his lower lip. His eyes gleam and I swear the color in his cheeks heightens. “You know what I thought about to get me through the worst of it?”
I shake my head.
“You,” he whispers. His eyes burn as they peer into mine, his nostrils flaring like he can’t believe he admitted it aloud.
And me? I’m pretty much in a puddle on the floor because holyshitishefuckingkiddingme? “Really?” I ask, my tone way too hopeful to be chill.
East wraps his other arm around my waist, cradling me in his arms. “Really, Claire.” He shifts his weight until his back is resting against the island. His eyes scan my face. They darken, navy and needy. “Shit.”
“What?” I laugh nervously. My thighs clench together at the intensity in his expression, but he doesn’t look away.
Instead he brings one hand up to rest on my cheek. The pad of his thumb draws a line down the center of my chin. His tongue darts out and swipes across his bottom lip.
I hold my breath. Hold it in my lungs as if my body knows that this moment is somehow going to change everything.
His eyes flare with an edge of concern and worry fans in my stomach. I press my cheek harder i
nto his hold. “I knew I couldn’t do this with you, Claire. That’s why I didn’t want you to move in.”
“What are you talking about?” I watch his face, suddenly nervous.
“This.” His thumb brushes over my cheekbone. “You being here, with your fucking energy and light and happiness.”
“You want me to be moody and pissy?”
He snorts and shakes his head. “No, I want to not want to drag you up to your toes and kiss your mouth.”
I gasp.
“See?” He grins at me but it’s sinister. “I knew this would happen. I’m fucked up, Claire. I’m fucked up and you’re sweet. I treat you like shit for a week and you cook me my favorite meal on one of my toughest days. I push you away and you pull me in.” He takes my chin firmly, angling my head to meet his glare. “Why the hell do you do that?”
As Easton continues to ask questions, aka the best secrets my heart has ever heard, I close the distance between us. He needs me. He wants me. He’s just too scared to do something about it.
But for him to let me in today, to tell me that I helped him get through the fog that clouded his mind at lunch, means something. I lean closer, a whisper of space between us. My chest heaves, each inhale dragging my breasts across the front of his shirt. I raise my arms but he catches my wrist in his large hand. Tension flares between us and electricity crackles. The pad of his thumb presses against my pulse. His bravado from a second ago has disappeared and now, he turns tortured, hungry eyes on me. “What’re you doing to me, kid?”
I bite my lip, staring back. Kid. “Why do you call me kid? I’m not that immature?”
The corner of his mouth lifts in an almost-smirk. “To remind myself that you’re too fucking pure for my world.”
“That’s what you think?” Frustration and a thrill flicker down my spine. Kid. It’s not an insult as much as it’s his last line of defense against…me. “Easton, I’ve, I’ve thought of you—”
His brow furrows.
“Thought of this—” I try to get my words out.
“Claire.” His tone holds an edge of warning.
But I’m done playing games. Easton was right. He pushes and I reel him back in. Today, he said all the things I’ve been waiting years to hear. There’s no way I’m going to let him dash it all by shoving me away right now. Nerves flicker through my body like a live wire. Years of wondering, hoping, dreaming and now here we are. Easton’s touch at my wrist, his eyes locked on mine, emboldens me to slide my other palm up his arm and around his shoulder. I push up onto my tippy toes, and stare straight at him, allowing him to see all the things I want with him.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping closed as his head lowers. “Claire.” His hands find my hips, his fingers digging into the flesh there. “You’re Austin’s sister.”
“You’re Noah’s brother.”
He snorts. “That’s not the same thing, babe.”
I shrug, my fingertips dusting over the tops of his shoulders. Even his shoulders are sexy.
“I’ve got nothing to offer you, Claire.”
“I’m not asking for anything, East.”
“But you deserve the world,” he argues with me.
I pull back slightly. Who the hell is this man who is suddenly being so honest about his feelings? Let me revise—about his feelings for me? “I’ll decide what I deserve,” I whisper before I tug on his shoulders. Slowly, he lowers his face to mine and our lips finally—finally!—meet.
Easton Scotch’s lips taste even better than I’ve spent an eternity imagining. Soft and full, his mouth molds to mine, pecking and nipping. His hands grip my hips as he tugs me closer and I go, gladly. He shifts back onto a barstool and drags me with him, until I’m straddling his lap, my knees braced against his outer thighs. As I sink down onto his lap and rock forward, he groans, his mouth moving harder, hungrier. I wrap my arms around his neck and part my lips just in time for his tongue to dip into my mouth and taste.
My eyes flutter closed as I turn off my head and just feel. This is the moment I’ve dreamt of for years. Easton Scotch is the man I’ve compared every single guy to, and now, right now, he’s kissing me both sweetly and savagely, like I’m his salvation and his curse.
He tastes like mint and man, he smells divine, sweet sweat and hard work, and he feels like perfection under my touch. I bite down on his bottom lip and Easton moans, kissing me fiercely. I whimper into his mouth, my hands tracking his shoulders, down his back. I reach for the hem of his T-shirt and start to slide it up his body, the muscles around his ribcage rippling. Easton grows hard beneath me and I nearly see stars as I shift and rock against him, wanting him to undress me, and lay me out right here on the kitchen island.
“Fuck!” He rips his mouth from mine, his hands clamping down hard on my hips, holding me in place.
My eyes flicker open and take in the wildness of his. The slightest stubble shadows his jawline and I bite my bottom lip. Easton zeros in on the movement and his eyes shudder closed, an expression too similar to shame for my liking, washes over his features.
“Claire.” He clears his throat.
Shit. He didn’t mean to kiss me back. He wants to kiss me but doesn’t want to want to kiss me and I just made things hella complicated between us. I slide backward to jump off his lap but his hands wrap around the backs of my thighs, holding me in place.
“Look at me.” His voice is rough.
Slowly, I drag my eyes to his. My heart is racing and my stomach twists into knots. Did I just ruin everything between us? Will Easton go back to giving me the cold shoulder and dismissing me?
“Claire,” he murmurs, one hand reaching up to cup my cheek. “Did you not hear anything I said?”
Huh? “About light and energy?”
He smiles, his face so beautiful I want to melt into it. “You’re out of my league, babe.”
I shake my head, my fingers toying with the collar of his T-shirt. “I’ve liked you for a long time, Easton.”
He works a swallow, the hand still on the back of my thigh sliding up and down, just grazing the swell of my ass. “I’m no good for you, Claire.”
“You don’t know that,” I say defensively. “All my life, everyone is always trying to tell me what to do. My parents, Vanny, Austin, even Indy. I know how I feel about you. I’ve known for a long time and you going to rehab didn’t change that. Even if you’ve been a massive ass to me for the past year.”
He winces, dropping my cheek to swipe a thumb over my lip. I nip at it and he pulls his hand away. “You’re not a kid anymore, Claire.”
“I haven’t been for a long time.”
“It was easier for me to pretend you were.”
“It wasn’t easy for me,” I tell him the truth, hating that his rejection stung as sharply as it did.
“I never meant to hurt your feelings, bear.” His hand catches the ends of my hair and tugs until I meet his gaze.
I smirk, shifting forward until our mouths are lined up once more. “I know how you can make it up to me.”
Easton drops his head back and laughs. The sound is loud and uninhibited. It’s music, the best damn melody I’ve ever heard.
He shakes his head and presses one hard peck against my mouth. Then, he taps my ass and I shimmy off of him. “We’ve crossed a line tonight, Claire. And right now, it’s the only one I can handle.”
I peer up at him, noting the conflicting emotions warring in his expression.
“Okay,” I agree, a teeny bit disappointed. Clearly, I’d rather kiss Easton for the rest of my days and hope that the kissing leads to…more than just kissing.
“Come on.” He drops an arm around my shoulder and leads me toward the game room. “I’ll even watch one of your reality-TV shows.”
I snort and snuggle into his side. Watching TV isn’t my number one pick but being wrapped up in Easton’s arms is hardly a consolation prize.
11
Easton
The rest of the week is long. Hard. And temptin
g as fuck.
I knew the first time I tasted Claire, I’d never be satisfied.
It’s partly why I resisted her for so damn long.
But now that I’ve kissed her sweet mouth, now that my palms have grazed the curves and dips of her body, I can’t go back to pretending.
Dinner tonight is deliciously torturous, like foreplay. Each bite Claire takes of her focaccia bread has my eyes narrowing. The strands of spaghetti she sucks through her plump lips has my throat drying. And don’t even get me started on the sounds.
The girl eats with gusto, groans and sighs dropping from her mouth, as she revels in the tastes of our Italian takeout.
The only thing I’m grateful for is the lack of wine because I’m already beside myself.
“I’ll clean up,” I tell her as soon as she finishes.
“That’s okay. I got it.” She stands from the table and piles our plates and utensils.
As Claire turns toward the sink, my gaze drops to her ass. Round, firm, and fucking perfect, I want to run my palms along her backside, grip her hips, and plunge into—
“Dessert?” She glances at me over her shoulder.
My gaze snaps up to hers.
Get a fucking grip, Scotch. What is wrong with you? This is Claire, not some random puck bunny.
“I made brownies this afternoon,” she adds.
I close my eyes. Of course she did. On top of being perfect, she bakes. Three years ago, if I knew what I know now, I never would have lived with my brother. He never made dinner or brownies or looked like a ray of sunshine when I walked through the door.
“East?”
I clear my throat. “I’d love one. You know, you don’t have to do all this.” I gesture around the table. “I know you’re pretty much here to babysit me, but you don’t have to cook for me and pick up after me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I made the brownies for myself. I’m only offering to share because I heard you missed three shots on goal today.” She strides back toward the sink, the seductive sashay of her hips calling to me even as a burst of laughter breaks from my lips.