by K. Bromberg
But never this.
Never me looking forward to how I’m going to relax at home with a woman. In my house. Without being able to bail after having sex.
Not a bad way to spend an evening.
Christ.
The house smells like Faith has been baking and no man would ever complain about that prospect. But as I turn the corner to enter the kitchen, I’m knocked off my stride when I see Stevie standing there with flour dusting her shoulder, her face etched in concentration, a smear of what looks like frosting on her cheek, and her tongue between her teeth as she tries to cut the top off what looks to be a layer of uniced cake.
“Should I be worried that you’re baking?” I ask remembering a conversation we had somewhere about the severe limitations on her culinary skills.
Her head whips up—eyes wide and smile shy—and I swear to God my fucking heart stops. That’s the only way I can describe what that constricting feeling in my chest is when her eyes meet mine.
“You’re not supposed to be home yet,” she says, obviously flustered, the knife stopping halfway through the top of the cake.
“I wasn’t aware I had a schedule.” I take a step closer, still staring at her, still trying to figure out why seeing her like this is striking a chord with me in the most foreign of ways.
“We have a schedule,” she says matter-of-factly and then makes a squeaking noise when something she’s doing goes wrong. Her expression is adorable as she tries to fix whatever she’s trying to fix before she glances up at me. “You go to work. I go to training. Then we meet back here in the kitchen in about thirty minutes to talk about our days.” She points to the clock. “You’re early.”
I laugh. “Okay. But what am I early for?”
She innocently licks what appears to be frosting off her fingers and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be frosting so bad in my life.
“I was attempting to make you a cake.”
“A cake?”
“A carrot cake with homemade cream cheese frosting, in fact.”
The surprises keep getting even better.
I step up to the counter and survey the damage. It looks nothing like the perfectly frosted carrot cakes that Faith has made me in the past. There are two round layers cut horribly askew, one is frosted with the crumbs all mixed in so the white frosting looks like dirt is peeking through. The frosting is in a bowl, but it has lumps and bumps with powdered sugar thrown all over the counter from where she lifted the mixer up from the bowl. There are carrots half peeled on the far end and a half-melted stick of butter on the other.
It’s a fucking disaster, but it’s the most awesome fucking disaster I’ve ever seen.
She tried to bake me my favorite cake.
“It looks . . .”
“Like a disaster.” She chuckles the words out as she steps backward and takes in the whole mess.
But all I see is her in the moment. The messy hair. The disappointment that it doesn’t look better. The pride that it looks as good as it does. A woman trying to do something for me when I expect nothing.
I reach a finger out and swipe it in the frosting and lick it off. “Damn. That’s good.”
“It is?”
The hope in her voice, in her smile, in her eyes fucking undoes me. My mouth is on hers in an instant. She tastes like frosting and desire and everything I suddenly seem to want, every second of every damn day.
My hands are in her hair. On her hips. Lifting her up so that her ass is on the counter and she’s at the same height as me.
Yes, my dick’s hard already (when is it not when it comes to Stevie?) but there’s something about her kiss that consumes me completely. That makes me want to enjoy the moment in a way we haven’t before.
There’s hunger in our kiss, a sated desperation, but underlying that is a desire to savor it. To take our time. To enjoy the moment.
We’ve never done this. Slowed down. Not gone from the starting point to the end game and maybe, I want to put the end game on hold for a moment. Maybe I want to enjoy Stevie and her kiss.
And when it’s over, I rest my forehead against hers, still trying to figure out what that pressure in my chest is.
“Well, wow. If that’s what I get when I bake you a shitty cake, I wonder how I’d be rewarded if I made you something that actually looked good.”
I lean back and look at her, a half-cocked smile on my lips, my thumb reaching out to dust some flour off the side of her chin. “Why all of this trouble?”
“Happy birthday,” she whispers with a sheepish shrug.
I blink several times at her, more than aware that it’s not my birthday, but the last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings, especially when she went to so much trouble.
“I—”
“I know it’s not your real birthday,” she explains. “I mean, I wish it were though because then this would all be easier.”
“You lost me.” I chuckle and take another lick of frosting.
“I wanted to do something nice for you. I was fishing for a reason to celebrate something so I could make you your favorite. I asked Faith when your birthday was. She said it was at the end of next month and since I’m not going to be here then”—she clears her throat and I wonder if those words, that thought, bugs her as much as it does me— “I thought we could celebrate it now. Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yep.” She gives a resolute nod.
“You’re serious?”
“Does your kitchen look like I’m serious?”
I laugh and just shake my head at her. “Take that, Cards O’ Fun,” I murmur and smother her laugh with my lips.
STEVIE
“SO WHEN ARE YOU COMING home?” Vivi whines and pouts across the Zoom connection.
“I’m thinking after the Open. I have three weeks left here, then the Open, so . . . four or five weeks.” I take a sip of my wine and lean back on my headboard, more than happy to see her face.
“We’d offer to come and cheer for you at the tournament, but I think big-shot agent man would draw the line.”
“Well, big-shot agent man doesn’t own me.” I chuckle at the nickname.
“He may not own you, but he sure as hell has you twisted up in knots.” A smug smile spreads on her lips as she stares at me, daring me to refute her.
“Whatever,” I play it off. “He does not.”
“Are you forgetting the fact that I know you, Stevie Lancaster? I know that you avoid me when you don’t want to tell me the truth, and girl, my texts have been going unanswered for days on end.” She lifts her eyebrows and just stares at me. “There is no shame in finishing what you started that first night you met, but it seems since then, the two of you have made your own Cards O’ Fun to live out.”
I fight my smile and give in with a shrug. “Perhaps.”
“Ahh,” she murmurs and studies me longer.
“So, you’re living in his house, training nearby, and living the quiet life all while sleeping with him in between the day-to-day stuff, right?”
My mind immediately shifts to highlight reels of the past few days. My horrible carrot cake with its layer that slid off the other, and how he laughed when I brought him the candlelit disaster. Of the sex in his shower that was full of soapy hands and delicious kisses. Of the stolen kiss on the patio this morning before he took a conference call. Of how I caught him looking at me across the room the other day with a soft smile.
“Something like that,” I finally answer.
“And when the Open comes, you’re going to be perfectly fine just walking away from the built-in sex and the seeing each other every day that you’ve grown accustomed to?”
I take a sip of wine to buy myself the time to answer. Finn’s voice booms down the hallway through my closed door as he talks on the phone with a client about something. Will I miss that constant reminder of his presence even though we aren’t actually interacting with each other? Will I hear him humming as he does every morning when that first sip o
f coffee hits his tongue? Will I fall asleep on couches from now on because it’s easier for us to do that than to broach the subject of how we can have sex together but aren’t sure if we should sleep in the same bed?
“I’m waiting while you’re stalling.”
I laugh, loving her, missing her, and hating how well she knows me all at the same time. “We’re just enjoying the time we have.”
“So that means neither of you have really talked about it.” She gives a dramatic eye roll.
“That means why talk about it when it’s not going to change anything? I’m here to train, then I’ll move on with my life. He’s kind of put his life on hold and he has to get back to it. It is what it is.”
“Mm-hmm.” She stares at me through the screen and I all but squirm in my seat. “Tell me, after you two get down to it, where do you sleep?”
“What do you mean, where do we sleep?”
“I mean, are you falling asleep in his bed or are you in your bed or . . . where?”
I laugh nervously. “We don’t really make it to either bed. We kind of have a habit of having sex in different places.”
“Different places?” she asks because now I definitely have her attention.
“The couch. Outside on the deck. The floor. The shower. You know, places.”
I’ve got to note all these important firsts . . .
And oh, how we’ve noted them. This time I don’t fight the grin but just stare right back at her with one eyebrow raised.
“Humph. Then maybe you’re right. Maybe this is just a thing between you. A man will only let you fall asleep in his bed if shit’s getting serious.”
“Thank you, oh wise relationship counselor,” I say with every ounce of sarcasm I have.
“At your service.” She mock bows. “But seriously, he’s treating you right? Because there was a while there where I wasn’t sure if he was a bastard or—”
“He’ll tell you himself he’s a bastard,” I murmur, “but it’s all a lie. He’s really a great guy.”
The thought echoes through my head long after Vivi ends our video chat. Her words, her questions, ride shotgun right beside it and I wonder if it’s something we should address—how this ends.
I’m pretty sure I’m scared to ask because I already know the answer.
This is sex. This is just sex.
It’s become the words we utter every single time we have it. Kind of like our mantra so we each understand what this is, so that neither of us thinks otherwise.
But I wonder if I say it and he repeats it because it’s what he wants or because he thinks it’s what I want.
I wonder what would happen if it wasn’t said at all.
With my glass of wine in hand, I stroll through the darkened house. A few lights are on in the kitchen and the breeze floating through the family room tells me the windows are open, and that’s where I’ll find Finn.
He makes a striking figure where he stands at the railing. There is tension in his shoulders, and I wonder what athlete or organization is causing troubles today.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask as I walk up beside him.
“Is it that noticeable?”
“You always come out here, stand at the railing, and stare at the ocean when you’re stressed about something.”
“Huh,” he says. “I didn’t realize I was that predictable.”
“I wonder what it is you do when you’re in Manhattan when you’re stressed.”
“I sit with a whiskey in a chair and look at the city moving nonstop below.”
And I can picture it. His empty condo behind him decorated in dark hues much like this house is. Finn sunk down into a stuffed leather couch with his head leaning back, his shirt unbuttoned some, and a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers.
I suddenly feel a pang of longing to see that in person, but I shake it away as soon as I realize what it is.
“So what did your client do this time?”
“It’s what I can’t do for him. I can’t make him better than he is. I can’t make him want to be better. I can’t wipe his attitude away so that teams want him. I can’t control the uncontrollable while he can and yet, he just thinks I’m trying to tell him what to do and disrespect him.” He blows out a long breath.
“He sounds like he has a chip on his shoulder.”
He snorts and nods. “I recruited him out of high school. I promised his mom and dad that I was going to do everything I could to help him reach the top. I even thought up a stupid little thing he used to do before every game when the cameras were on him.” Finn lifts his hand and pats it three times over his heart. “It was his way of saying he loved them and that he missed them.” His smile is reticent. “I told them I would take care of their son, but I lied. I can’t do anything more and that broken promise weighs heavily on me.”
“Shh. Your secret is safe with me.”
He looks over at me and for the first time, I see the bags under his eyes and notice how tired he is. “What secret?”
“That Finn Sanderson has a huge heart.” I press a kiss to his shoulder. “You found a way to keep hope within the hearts of a boy’s parents. You could have told him to forget about them and focus all his attention on what you tell him. But you showed him that hearts matter. That his parents’ love mattered. That knowing someone loves you matters.” That’s rare and precious. Finn understands what love is.
He emits a half-hearted laugh but it’s his expression that has me staring longer. “I think you have me mixed up with another guy.”
“Nope. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. From how you treated me—”
“You know that first meeting with Carson I was ready to throw you over the balcony, right?”
“To how dedicated you are with your clients.”
“Most of them drive me crazy at some point,” he mutters.
“To how you’re working more, not traveling like you usually do because of me.”
“That’s minor.”
“No, it’s not. It’s huge . . . to me.”
Finn angles his head to the side and stares at me in the same way he did in the kitchen the other day. It’s unnerving in the best of ways, and I give in to the urge to step up and press a tender kiss on his lips.
“Like I said,” I murmur. “Your secret is safe with me.”
A cheer goes up on the beach down below that startles the two of us apart. There is a camera flash that lights up the night sky and Finn immediately pushes me behind him.
The paparazzi have found me.
My heart falls, thinking my time of anonymity is up. That the freedom I’ve had here is now gone.
“Christ,” he mutters as he leans to look over the railing just as another flash goes off followed by a round of oohs and aahs.
Finn stills at the sound at the same time I look around him and see it.
“Look!” he shouts to the waves down below. As they hit the shore, the white froth turns an iridescent, bright neon blue.
“Oh my God.” I step out from behind him, realizing that each wave makes the water glow even more. It’s beautiful. It’s crazy. It’s incredible. “What is that?”
“I’ve heard of it,” he says, holding his hand out to me as he starts to move down the stairs to the beach, “but have never been here when it happens. It’s called . . .” He quiets while he tries to remember the word. “Bioluminescence.”
My laugh cuts through the night. “You say that like I’m supposed to know what it means.”
“It’s the plankton blooming or something like that. It lights up the water.”
We have sand beneath our toes in seconds and move away from the pockets of people watching the spectacle on the beach. The dark night sky allows me to keep my anonymity.
But I don’t think anyone is looking at me as Mother Nature continues to display her brilliance with each crash of the waves.
“Look,” Finn says as he drags his toes through the wet sand and it streaks with the blue light.
Finn’s laughter rumbles through the night air as we chase each other like little kids on the beach. I shriek when he hits me with a huge kick of water that soaks my whole back. Chills chase over my skin from the cold water. He taunts me and then takes off. I follow suit, knowing damn well I can outrun him.
The past five weeks have done wonders for my speed and stamina and it shows when I chase him down and grab his shirt from behind. We both laugh as we tumble and then yelp when we’re met with the cold of the water.
We both come up out of breath and sputtering with the water glowing surrounding us. I run a hand through the water at my hips and it looks like lightning is striking underwater, as the neon streaks in the path I just made through the water.
“This is so cool,” I say, mesmerized by something I never knew existed before tonight.
“It is, isn’t it?” Finn asks as he grabs my hand to help me from the water.
“Look.” I point to his wet shirt that’s now glowing from where it came in contact with the water. “Not only do you have a heart, but now it’s glowing.”
He watches as I pat over his heart three times, much like he said his client did, and stares at the blue fading beneath my fingers. “Who knew? That might come as a huge shock to a lot of people.” He chuckles while averting his eyes from mine, seemingly uncomfortable in the moment.
“It’s not a shock to me,” I whisper.
His gaze meets mine this time. Emotions swim in his eyes that I can’t exactly decipher. Or maybe I can because they look how I feel, and I’m not one hundred percent certain I can admit to any of it yet.
Perhaps he can’t either.
Finn’s lips meet mine in the most tender of kisses, right where we’re standing in the water with people all around us. His hands glow as they frame my face and we get lost in each other as if no one is around.
There’s a fluttering in my belly.
A deep-seated need that somehow feels like it’s being satisfied while at the same time being enhanced.