Pu$ Magnet

by Tessa Layne

  “Thanks.” Her voice is hoarse from shouting. It tickles my insides like fingernails raking across heated skin. And when our hands collide as she takes the towel, I hear her sharp gasp. The sound shoots straight to my groin, pulling everything tight. “Great race today.” Her eyes sparkle. “We can check with Fitz, but I’m pretty sure that last five-hundred was our fastest split ever.”

  “Damn straight it was,” interjects Mac. “You took off like a bat out of hell when Sparky called for ten big ones. What the fuck happened?”

  “Right?” adds Mac, wrapping a towel around his waist. “I could barely keep up.”

  How do I tell them I was working to get away? That the heat in Sparky’s eyes when she called for ten big ones, pulled my balls tight with a breath stealing ache. I couldn’t look away. Her eyes trapped me, burned through me, saw into the dirtiest, filthiest part of my soul. So I did something I’ve never done before, and should never do again. I didn’t pull for the team. I didn’t push with my legs and dig deep for myself either, not for some kind of a lofty purpose or a higher calling. I rowed for something much baser - I pulled for her. I burned out my quads and my glutes and laid back with everything I had, for every fantasy involving Sparky that’s kept me from sleep, I pulled with laser focus praying that exhaustion would take over and smother the flame burning inside me.

  It didn’t.

  It was the most exhilarating race I’ve been in since our team lost by inches at the Olympic trials. But unlike last time, I’ll be marking this occasion with a cold shower and a handful of ibuprofen instead of an all-night romp with a couple of co-eds.

  Adulting fucking sucks.

  I turn away with a noncommittal grunt before I let the cat out of the bag and ruin everything. But I can’t get away. Sparky follows me down the dock. Her hand is gentle, even tentative, on my arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” I grit. “Tired.” I refuse to look at her, part of me terrified of what I might find in her face.

  “Back there,” she starts. “In the boat.”

  “It was nothing. You did a great job. I haven’t performed like that since college,” I add sincerely. The last thing I want is weirdness between us.

  It’s even worse later on at the bar. Everyone claps me on the back like I’m some kind of a fucking hero, when really, I’m just a dirty bastard hot for my cox. But we all know how crewmance kills a boat, so unless I quit, or sack Sparky, I’m dead in the water with no blades, no rudder, and no way to get out of my predicament.

  “Hey, Steele, have you met Mandy?” Sparky calls, her hand on my arm again.

  I turn, coming face to face with one of the women from the local rowing club. She’s got to be at least six feet, and built. Female rowers are all Amazons, most of them over six feet and as lean as any of my guys. But Mandy has been blessed with height and curves, and from the look on her face, a healthy interest in my dick.

  My dick should be singing… schwinging… doing a goddamned happy dance. But there is something seriously wrong with me, because… nothing. Nada. Not even a twitch. Until I make eye-contact with Sparky, who’s smirking at me like she’s pulled the biggest joke. That’s hot. The way the corner of her mouth pulls in and her full lips twitch because she’s trying oh, so hard not to burst out laughing.

  She clears her throat. “I think you and Mandy have a lot in common.”

  “Do we,” I state dryly. I can’t wait to hear how.

  Sparky’s eyebrows lift, eyes widening. “Yeah. She owns a tech company.”

  “Oh? Tell me more.” So Mandy has brains. Not surprising. Rowing isn’t for the faint of heart. You have to be a bit psycho to torture your body the way we do, and that attracts risk takers - entrepreneurs, hedge fund managers, and people who climb Everest for shits and grins. I’ve never met a female rower who wasn’t a ball-buster at least on some level. And while I’ve never fucked another rower, I have to admit the prospect is tempting. Except that Mandy isn’t who I’d choose. My gaze flicks to Sparky, who wears an almost triumphant expression.

  And the pieces fall into place.

  I extend my hand, interrupting her elevator speech. “Real nice to meet you Mandy. The next time you’re in Kansas City, drop by our offices. Remind my secretary where we met.” It’s a fucking platitude, but if she has the stones to do it, I’ll remember. I never forget a face. “But you’ll have to excuse me, my cox owes me a shot.”

  Sparky’s eyes widen.

  It’s probably the competitor in me, but I fucking love turning the tables. “You owe me for the pain I’m going to be in tomorrow.” I take Sparky’s elbow and hustle her to the patio and the outside bar that backs up to a pond with a little fountain in the middle and too many geese. My teammates are playing darts with the women from Mandy’s boat, and drinking out of the trophy. Given that I drained the trophy not ten minutes ago, it’s unlikely they’ll miss me anytime soon. I signal the bartender. “Two Patrón.”

  “Since when did you start drinking Patrón?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Since last Cinco de Mayo when you started doing body shots off the Boston Rowing Club guys.”

  “You noticed that?”

  I lean in. “I noticed a whole helluva lot more than that, Sparks.”

  Her eyes flash with the heat I’ve become all too familiar with, and she rolls her lips together, covering a smile. “Yeah?” She leans in too. Close enough, I catch a whiff of spicy citrus perfume. “What else?”

  I hesitate, torn between wanting to lay my cards on the table and the security of keeping them close to the vest. But I can’t resist the curiosity in her face. Or the challenge. The bartender drops two shot glasses, a salt shaker and two limes on a napkin. “Hold out your hand,” I say gruffly, salting the space between my thumb and first finger. I do the same for Sparky. Without breaking eye contact we lick the salt from our hands. My body pulls tight as I see goosebumps erupt on the exposed flesh at her neck. Electricity zips down my spine. “Ready?”

  She nods, still holding my gaze and reaches for her shot, only breaking eye-contact when she tosses back the alcohol. I’m overcome with the need to taste the citrus on her tongue, to sip the bite of tequila from her lips. “Another?” she says, voice bordering on hoarse.

  I shake my head. “Not yet. First I want to know why you keep pushing women on me.”

  She presses her lips together, even while her eyes go widely innocent. She clears her throat. “You seem… lonely.” She almost gets the last word out without a laugh. Almost.

  “Ha. Ha,” I punctuate slowly. “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to break me.”

  “We’ll see,” she says coyly. “But you know…. making out isn’t making love. Maybe what you need is a good old-fashioned make-out session.” Her mouth twitches again. “You know, to take off the edge?”

  I can’t deny I’ve had the same thought. The problem is, the only woman I’m remotely interested in making out with is the one I can’t have. And the more I try to push her from my mind, the more she’s all I can think about. I glance across the bar. A blues band has started up, and Owen catches my eye. He nods, then goes back to dirty dancing with a woman I don’t recognize. The rest of the team is paired off and kicking it up.

  Sparky follows my gaze. “You should join them.”

  “Not interested,” I growl.

  She rolls her eyes, making a noise deep in her throat. “You’d rather pout?”

  My heart pounds, feeling too big for my chest. “No.”

  “Jesus, Steele. What is it, then? You’ve been as grouchy as a bear coming out of hibernation.”

  I turn on my heel. If I don’t leave now, I’ll do something I regret.

  “Steele,” she calls after me. “Where in the hell are you going?”

  She follows me out to the parking lot, and the van we’ve rented for the duration.

  “I’m going back to the hotel.”

  “But the guys-”

  “Will be fine. They can Uber.” I pull out the keys and reach
for the door.

  Sparky’s hand lands on my forearm. “Steele,” she says sharply. “What the fuck gives?”

  Her hand is like a brand. In quick succession, the keys clatter from my hand, jangling to the asphalt as I spin us both around, caging her in against the side of the van. “You want to know what the fuck gives? I’ll give it to you straight Sparky. I can’t fucking sleep. I can’t fucking breathe without thinking of you. And not the normal kind of thinking about you. The sexy, dirty kind of thinking about you that involves mouths and teeth and fingers and bare skin. I can’t get you out of my head. And when you parade other women in front of me in an attempt to get me to break - it fucking pisses me off. Because I don’t want to take the edge off with some willing stranger. I want to take the edge off with you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I think I might lose myself in Sparky’s deep brown eyes, the way they widen and search my face, looking - I’m sure - for some kind of indicator that I’m bullshitting her. I grab her hand and press it against my heart. “I swear I’m not fucking with you. Can you feel this?” My throat feels tight, raw. As if I’ve been screaming.

  “I… we…”

  “Can’t.” I finish for her. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want.” I shut my eyes with a heavy sigh, anchoring myself to the tiny warm hand beneath my own. Guilt gnaws at me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  She flexes her fingers into my flesh. Two pink streaks color her cheekbones and her eyelids flutter down. She whispers so softly I barely hear it. “I want, too.”

  I’m pretty sure my heart stops beating for a full three seconds. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a knife, and I don’t know which direction is worse. On one side lies ruin, the other, regret. Neither is an acceptable option. I’m at a loss, because hearing those words from Sparky is the last thing I expected. But now I don’t know what to do. It isn’t just a question of to kiss or not to kiss. It’s a question of how much risk am I willing to live with? How far into the danger zone do I want to step?

  My dick pretty much answers for me. All the fucking way.

  I slip a finger under her chin and gently pull. “Sparky,” I warn. “I don’t do crewmance.”

  “You don’t do any romance,” she corrects.

  Her acknowledgement stings. But it’s the truth. “I’d do it with you, though.”

  She snorts. “That’s cute, Steele. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, too.”

  “Soo… no kiss?” I’d be an idiot not to try.

  Her nostrils flare as she exhales through her nose, mouth pursed into a little rose. “Probably not.”

  “Not even one? Just for laughs?”

  Her eyes snap to mine. “There’s nothing funny about kissing you, Steele.” Her voice is like a razor, sharp with pent-up desire, and the force of it hits me like a ton of bricks.

  With a muffled curse, I push back from the van and turn my back. “Go back to the bar, Mariah,” I say, using her given name. “Because I swear to God all I want right now is to kiss you senseless.”

  My insides are in turmoil. My face is hot, my hands and feet cold. All the blood has rushed to my dick, and I need a fucking moment to get my shit together.

  “Steele.”

  The way she says my name pulls at something deep inside me. Strikes a chord of longing I’m unprepared to face at the moment. “Go, Mariah,” I say through clenched teeth. “Let’s forget this conversation ever happened.”

  I wait to turn around until I’m sure she’s gone. Still, a small part of me is disappointed she didn’t stay.

  Chapter Sixteen

  From the texts of Mariah Sanchez and her sister

  Mariah: Soooo…..

  Cecilia: How’d it go?? Did you win?? big smiley-face emoji

  Mariah: Of course. We set a new course record! bigger smiley-face emoji, confetti emoji

  Cecilia: And you’re back at the hotel already?? What kind of lame-o are you?

  Mariah: A pretty big one, apparently.

  Cecilia: Grrrll… go get your party on!

  Mariah: I think I’m going to wash my hair and go to bed.

  Cecilia: That sounds like code for something happened. Wanna talk?

  Mariah: Nah. I know it’s late there.

  Cecilia: There’s no difference between talking with my mouth and talking with my fingers. I’m awake either way.

  Mariah: I almost kissed Harrison.

  Cecilia: YOU ALMOST KISSED HARRISON STEELE?!?!?!?!?!

  * * *

  Dots appear. Dots disappear. Dots appear again.

  * * *

  Cecilia: AND YOU WAITED THIS LONG TO TELL ME?!?!?!?!? angry face emoji.

  Mariah: Don’t yell at me. It didn’t happen.

  Cecilia: … But you wanted it to …

  Mariah: …….. ……… ……… yeah :(

  Cecilia: grllllll- you know you’re playing with fire.

  Mariah: DID I MENTION I *DIDN’T* KISS HIM?!?!? angry face emoji

  Cecilia: But you wanted to, and that’s just as bad. You know he’s a player…

  Mariah: But the way he looked at me, CiCi… I think I melted just a little.

  Cecilia: He’s not worthy. He will break your sweet heart.

  Mariah: But I really like him. heart eye emoji

  Cecilia: broken heart emoji

  Cecilia: Look. You know I’m your biggest fan, and I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, but seriously, be careful, and for fuck’s sake, make him work for it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You look a little rough around the edges,” says Lisa, Danny’s head bartender, as she pushes a drink my way. “Too much fun after hours?”

  “Not nearly enough,” I state dryly giving my whiskey a swirl.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Did Danny put you up to this?” It would be like him. Danny plays a good game of tough guy, but he looks after his own.

  She grins. “Maybe. But maybe my motherly instincts are kicking in.” Lisa pats her bulging belly.

  “Tell you what,” I say after taking a hefty gulp of my beverage. “You tell me who the asshole was who knocked you up and skipped town, and I’ll tell you what’s on my mind.”

  Lisa’s face pulls tight. “No deal.”

  She’s a hard nut to crack. We’ve all been trying for months to find out who the jackass was that left Lisa high and dry, but she’s having none of it. Danny’s instructed all of us to look out for her - not that we wouldn’t anyway. The little baby is going to be overwhelmed with eight of us competing to be number one uncle.

  “So…” Lisa puts a glass of water next to my whiskey. “Who are you taking to the gala, and please tell me you’ve found a date for Danny. He keeps trying to get me to go.”

  “No and no.” Normally, I’d have arm candy lined up by now - the biggest philanthropic event of the year is taking place next weekend at the Nelson. Steele Conglomerate is always a sponsor, and I always make the most of free publicity. But this year, I’ve dragged my feet finding a date. “Maybe I’ll ask Danny,” I joke. Sort-of.

  I think there’s something seriously wrong with my dick. I’ve tried, truly tried, since we came back from Oregon. But every woman I’ve taken on a date has been a dud. Uninteresting, too self-absorbed, wrong eye-color, wrong hair, wrong laugh. And I couldn’t bring myself to do anything more than give them a peck on the cheek. Worsening the situation is the fact that Sparky has called after each one of my dates to ask how it went. And that each time we’ve stayed up way too late talking. I leave a single hundred on the counter for Lisa. She won’t let us help, so we’ve taken to giving her enormous tips.

  As soon as I step foot into my loft, I speed-dial Sparky.

  “Don’t tell me you blew another date?”

  “Nope, but I do have a proposition for you.”

  “Don’t think you can get out of your wager than quickly.”

  I ignore the needle and charge ahead before I lose my nerve. “I
’d like you to be my plus-one at the Gala next weekend.”

  “The Gala?”

  “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Are you kidding me? Everyone knows about the Gala.”

  “Well, it doesn’t have to be a big deal for us. There will be food, wine, and dancing. I’ll chat up a few of the important donors, and then we can go home.”

  “Home? As in your home?”

  “Sure.” I shrug. “Why not?”

  She makes throaty sound. “I’m not so sure—”

  “Just as friends. I won’t even hold your hand.”

  “But I don’t have a dress.”

  “You’ll have ten days to find one.” She makes another doubtful noise. “C’mon. It’ll be fun, and I promise, no talk about kissing or sex.”

  Her laugh crackles over the speaker. “Are you sure?”

  “About the fun? Yes.”

  “What about… the other?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “Were you even a Scout?”

  I grin and shake my head. “Nope, never.”

  “I’m not quite sure I can take your promise seriously.”

  “How about I swear on the boat?”

  “Are you kidding me? Don’t you think that’s a bit sacrilegious?”

  “Not if it convinces you to be my date.”

  “Isn’t there a difference between plus-one, and date?”

  “Not for me. I promise I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

  She waits at least ten seconds before answering softly. “What if I don’t want a perfect gentleman?”

  The teasing, flirty sound in her voice has my cock immediately jumping to attention. “I can be as ungentlemanly as you like.” My voice drops an octave.

  “I’m sure you can,” she says with another little laugh.

  “Please, Sparks?”

  She lets out a deep sigh. “Okay, I’d love to be your date.”

  The tightness in my shoulders releases with her acceptance. We may not be able to kiss each other, but I’ll make sure she has a great time.