I moan and smile and kiss him, throwing my head back toward the sky. Waves crash against us and spray water into our faces.
His eyes are deeper than this ocean, and every part of my body bursts with pleasure and amazement and…love.
He kisses me the entire time we have sex, both of our bodies soaked with saltwater and aching with desire for more. Leo makes love to me with more intensity and passion than I’ve ever even imagined. The fire in his eyes seems to grow brighter with every push.
I feel my pussy squeezing around him, knotted and desperate for more, more, more Leo. My hands race all over his slick, wet body. His muscles are tight as he grips me, pulls me, and pushes me closer and closer.
He presses his lips to my ear as I’m on the brink of an orgasm, my vision blurring and heart racing.
“Frankie, I—” he mumbles breathlessly.
“Leo, I know.” I struggle for air as the climax crashes over me harder than the waves in the Atlantic. “Me, too.”
He locks eyes with me and pulls me tight and close as I come. I’m seeing stars, and fireworks explode through my head and body. I long for more of him every second, my hands exploring him and my mind completely lost in his gaze.
Every inch of him feels like an inexplicable combination of comfort and excitement. Leo is both a giant roller coaster and a soft, warm bed. Leo is both a wild Hail Mary pass and a two-yard toss into the end zone. He is both the risk…and the reward.
He moans my name, followed by a “Fuck” under his breath as he finishes, spilling into me over and over. Both of us crash into the ocean, grasping each other desperately.
“Yeah,” I gasp as we come up for air, pressing my body to his, savoring the safety and warmth of him around me. “Definitely MVP.”
We kiss and laugh and talk in the water, and as the hazy fog of sex lifts from my mind, I remember the meeting with Ryan and what I neglected to tell Leo.
I look intently at the man holding me. His smile, his eyes, his heart of absolute gold. I realize that I trust him with my life.
There’s no need to tell him anything about Ryan, or the meeting, or the job, because my mind is made up.
TWENTY-SEVEN — Leo
My alarm blares obnoxiously. Five thirty-five a.m. God, I hate six a.m. workouts. Not to mention I have to go straight to that damn Kayla King interview afterward to talk about the Pats game. And all I want to do in the entire world is turn over and wrap my arms around the beautiful, sexy, wildly fascinating woman sleeping next to me. I could lie in bed and hold her for hours. Hell, for days. But the weight room is calling me. Fuck.
I slam the off button on the alarm clock and groan audibly.
Frankie wakes up halfway and rolls over to face me. “Don’t leave me,” she whines into the pillow. Three words somehow powerful enough for me to actually consider faking sickness just to stay in bed with her.
I lean over and kiss her forehead. “I wish, kiddo. Gotta go get in shape.”
She giggles sweetly and wipes tangled hair out of her face. “You’re already more in shape than, like, a billion percent of people.”
“Maybe not a billion percent, but definitely close.” I touch her hand for one last little goodbye and go into the closet to change.
My mind races with…Frankie, Frankie, Frankie. I can’t get this damn smile off my face, and I don’t even want to. I’m smiling at five thirty in the fucking morning. What is happening to me? I don’t care.
After I change and grab my duffel bag, I glance one more time at the woman in my bed. The most incredible woman who’s ever been in that bed, possibly who ever will be again.
The thought of being with Frankie for the rest of my life doesn’t scare me anymore. It excites me.
As I’m walking out of the doorway, I turn around. I hate to wake her up again, but I want to remind her that I won’t be home until late because of that interview. I told her about it yesterday, but it can’t hurt to be sure. Besides, I know she’ll probably want to watch it on SportsCenter.
I set my bag down in the hallway and walk quietly back over to the side of the bed. Before I can wake her up, her phone on the nightstand buzzes and lights up. Who is texting her before six a.m.?
I know I should respect her privacy, but it’s literally directly in my face. I glance down, seeing a notification with a tiny red logo I know all too well. Flicker? A dating app?
I look away quickly, struck by the feeling I’ve just seen something I definitely shouldn’t have. A prickle of chills spreads down my spine.
That has to have been a mistake.
Confusion and fear get the best of me as I tap the phone screen again.
There it is. Goddamn Flicker. A stupid app I downloaded during a slight dry spell in the off-season last year, and I made good use of it. But what the hell does Frankie want with it?
I feel my heart rate start to increase, and I squint to read the words on the bright phone screen in the dark.
Thank you for setting up your Flicker profile! Start liking guys in your area to meet your special match!
No fucking way. I grip the phone so hard my knuckles turn white and scan the words one more time. Yep. She set up a profile on a dating app, and she obviously did it recently.
Yesterday? After the ocean?
Anger and hurt stab my gut. I drop the phone on the nightstand and clench my jaw as I walk out of the room.
How could she do this? How could I believe we had something actually different and real? How could she be the first girl in twenty-eight years to get me to want to commit, and she’s secretly on a dating app?
I throw my gym bag over my shoulder and walk out to the garage, slamming the door behind me and not giving a shit if it wakes her up.
I whip the Mercedes out of the garage and smash the gas pedal down. My blood courses with pain and fury and confusion.
I think of her sparkly eyes in the water yesterday. The ocean spraying up against us and the slick, hot, undeniable passion that overtook our bodies and our minds. Me, too. She said, Me, too. Did she know I was about to tell her I loved her?
The words got caught in my throat, but I wanted to say it. Because it’s true. And when she choked out a me, too between gasps and kisses and orgasms, I thought for sure she was saying she loved me back. Apparently fucking not.
Clutching the wheel with both hands as I speed to the stadium, I remind myself that our engagement is fake. And evidently, to her, so is everything else between us.
TWENTY-EIGHT — Frankie
I let the warm sunshine pour into Leo’s bedroom through the massive picture window that faces the ocean. I smile to myself, keeping my eyes closed, breathing in the scent of him and his sheets and our sex. No, our lovemaking. I giggle at the thought.
He’s gone—damn those six a.m. workouts—but I can still feel him here with me. My mind slips back to the ocean yesterday. He started to say something…I feel like it might have been those words. Three words that thrill and excite and terrify me all at once. Three words that I don’t really believe Leo Sterling has ever said before, at least not in a romantic way.
“That will be quite the first,” I whisper to myself through a smile. Butterflies dance in my tummy as I snuggle in his sheets and take one more minute to drink in the fantasy that has somehow become my reality.
When I slowly get out of bed and walk into the kitchen, I brew a cup of coffee and check the clock. Leo’s SportsCenter interview is on in thirty minutes. Tebow rushes to jump on me, almost spilling the coffee right out of my hand.
“Morning, buddy. You have to pee, don’t you?”
I leash up the dog and walk him out to the front of the house, sipping my coffee and reveling in the warm embrace of the sun. I’m going to tell Leo when he gets home today. I’m going to tell him about the job at Ryan’s agency and that I don’t want it if it means I can’t be with him.
Fully at peace with my decision, I usher my dog back into the house and plop down on the couch, turning on the TV to wait for the in
terview.
“Damn it,” I say to Tebow as I sit up and get off the couch. “Left my phone in the bedroom.”
I meander through the labyrinth of a house, smiling at the thought of how getting to Leo’s bedroom has become muscle memory. I grab my phone and hurry back into the living room, not losing the smile that’s been sitting on my face since I woke up this morning.
I decide to catch up on social media and messages while I wait for the interview and finish my coffee. Tebow snuggles up next to me.
I click my phone on. A notification from…Flicker? The dating and hookup app? I narrow my eyes and feel that smile fade for the first time.
I would never download that. Confusion floods my brain as nerves begin to crawl up my spine. I read the text that popped up on the screen next to the little logo.
Thank you for setting up your Flicker profile! Start liking guys in your area to meet your special match!
My what? I choke on a nervous laugh and set the phone down. Who set this up? I have to rack my brain for only a couple seconds before the answer becomes extremely obvious.
“It’s about time you meet a nice guy, Frankie.”
Goddammit, Luke. I feel a wash of relief as I realize this has nothing to do with Leo. I don’t know what I thought, but I’m more than glad to let the panic drain away as I click Luke’s name on my phone to call him and bitch him out.
“Hey, little sis,” he answers.
“Don’t ‘hey, little sis’ me, jackass.” I hear my overly sassy tone and, frankly, do not care. I’m just happy to be getting to the bottom of this before Leo found out.
“I take it you found your new online dating profile.” Luke sounds awfully proud of himself.
“Yes, I did. And I’m deleting it at this very moment. What the hell is the matter with you?” I frown and shake my head.
“Frankie. I know you have feelings for Leo. Serious feelings. And I want to make sure you’re not falling for him.” Luke’s tone is so superior and condescending I feel like throwing the phone across the living room.
I groan. “Luke, stop. This is not your place or your problem.” I can feel myself getting nasty, and I force myself to remember that his intentions, however misguided they might be, are good. I take a deep breath.
“I know it’s not,” he says slowly. “And I’m sorry for butting in like this. But it’s like I’m watching you in college all over again. When you got your heart completely broken by—”
“Please don’t say his name,” I interrupt. “I know. I can understand how it seems that way. But, Luke, I need you to listen to me. And I need you to trust me. I know my judgment about men in the past has been a little, well, terrible.”
He snorts softly. “No kidding. But okay. I’m listening.”
“Leo is…” I can only imagine how much of an idiot I look like, sitting here smiling like a child just because I said his name. Good God. “He’s actually really great. He’s not what you’d expect, Luke. Honestly. We’ve gotten to know each other really well, and he’s shared so much with me. I know he can come off as, well, kind of a cocky d-bag, but I promise, he really isn’t.”
Luke is silent for a long time on the other end of the phone. “So, what are you saying?”
I can almost hear a smile in his voice, even through his thick suspicion.
I inhale slowly. “I’m saying I think I love him. For real. He’s nothing like…anyone from my past. Please relax and let me love him. I mean it, Luke.”
My brother groans and manages a chuckle. “You really trust this guy? Isn’t he, like, a massively notorious playboy?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and let my mind wander, once again, to the ocean yesterday. Making love. “He was. But not anymore, Luke. He loves me, too.” I think. I hope.
He lets out a deep sigh. “All right, you win. Delete your Flicker. Just be careful, please. I still have my doubts.”
“I know you do. And I also know you’re just looking out for me,” I say kindly.
“What else am I supposed to do? You’re my baby sister. But if everything you’re saying is true, then…” He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I guess I’m really happy for you.”
Joy swells up in my chest. “Thank you.”
“Hey, does this mean sideline seats at all the Riders games?” he teases.
I laugh. “Bye, Luke!”
Only ten minutes until Leo’s interview. Just seconds after hanging up, I open the stupid red Flicker icon and don’t even bother looking at one “single in my area.”
“Ridiculous,” I scoff to myself as I proudly click “delete account.” The little shit thing has the audacity to ask me if I’m sure.
“I don’t know, Tebow,” I say sarcastically, smashing my face against the dog snoring next to me. “Am I sure?”
I smile to myself as I click the YES button and turn my attention to SportsCenter, increasing the volume and snuggling closer to the dog.
“Let’s watch our favorite guy on the big screen!” I ruffle his hair and finish off my coffee.
“I’m here today with Leo Sterling, the star wide receiver of the South Florida Riders, who has been on an unbelievable winning streak for several games now.” Kayla King’s sharp voice echoes through the room, and her plastic face and mountain of platinum-blonde extensions fill the giant widescreen.
And there he is, standing right next to her. Leo. My Leo. I smile and inch forward on the sofa, drinking in every strand of dark hair on his head and handsome curve on his face.
My gaze falls onto his expression. Something in his disposition looks kind of hardened. Cold, even. His brown eyes, which I’ve never seen hold anything but passion and happiness and fire, look…clouded.
Worry rises in my throat. Maybe something happened at his workout this morning? As he answers Kayla’s questions about his recent plays and his insane scoring streak, there isn’t an ounce of joy or intensity or excitement or…Leo.
He is oddly stoic, and with every question he responds to, I feel more and more fear creeping into my mind. Something is wrong.
“All right, Leo.” Kayla flips her hair and flashes the camera an excruciatingly bright smile. I think even she can tell something is up. “I have one more question for you, and it may be a little off topic.” She grins a little maniacally.
Leo manages a forced smile and leans into the microphone. “What’s that, Kayla?”
“Well…” She bunches her face up, looking like she really doesn’t want to ask this question.
My eyes shift to Leo, who furrows his brow slightly in anticipation for her apparently off-topic inquiry.
“Spit it out, Kayla,” I mutter at the TV.
Right on cue, she opens her mouth and speaks very slowly. “I’ve heard some, well, rumors about your engagement to Frankie Monroe. Rumors about it being fake. A sham to better your reputation.”
A mix of terror and adrenaline surges through me. I jump off the couch and stand with my face just inches from the TV screen. Suddenly, a smile pulls at my cheeks. It’s not fake anymore. I think of Boston and the swan boats. The way he looked at me. The way he felt.
I realize that he is about to tell the lie we’ve been spreading for well over a month, but this time it will no longer be a lie. Say it, Leo! Frankie and I are really in love. There’s nothing pretend about it.
I clasp my hands together and squeeze them so hard I’m probably cutting off circulation. My heart dances and flips as Leo pauses for a long time, then puts his lips next to the mic.
We did such a good job of making the entire world believe we were in love, it eventually became true. Now he’s going to say it, and it’s going to be real.
Why is he waiting so long to respond?
“I can’t…” Leo’s gaze falls down to his hands resting on the table in front of him. “Do this anymore.” He swallows hard and looks back at the camera. “Frankie and I are not engaged. The whole thing was fake. There is absolutely nothing romantic going on between us. None of it was real.” He walks of
f the screen.
The entire room shifts and spins, and I have to sit down to keep from falling or fainting or puking. I shudder as reality crashes down on me, harder and harder every second.
None of it was real.
My mind races a mile a minute. He must have found out about the promotion at Ryan’s agency. He must assume I’m taking it and that I kept it from him. But why the hell would he say it’s all fake on national freaking television?
I drop my head into my hands and choke out a sob. The painfully familiar shatter of heartbreak spreads through my chest and makes it almost impossible to breathe. I feel the blood draining from my face.
Betrayal stabs at my heart, and suddenly the walls of this gazillion-square-foot house are closing in on me, the entire room melting and swimming as more tears fill my eyes. He could have just talked to me about it. He didn’t have to be so drastic and, frankly, immature. I was gonna turn down the damn job to be with him!
“Come on, Tebow,” I say, wiping saltwater from my cheeks and yanking myself off the stupidly oversize leather couch. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I have to physically hold myself together while I throw my belongings into my bags, stuffing everything in messy balls of clothes, not giving a shit about organization.
I need to be gone before he gets back.
I shove T-shirts and dresses and disgustingly expensive shoes into my duffel bag as sadness and pain begin to take the form of anger, as they so often do. “Why the hell would he do that? It was all a lie. A fucking lie. To sleep with me?” I slam a pair of Jimmy Choos into the bag. “Why, Leo? Why?”
The sobs come back as I force the zipper to shut the bag and hurry out the door, Tebow at my heels. I throw everything into the Jeep as fast as I can and jump into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel tightly, raw, searing pain gripping harder in my chest.
My eyes fall on the plastic ring, still on my left ring finger. “Hold on, buddy,” I tell my dog as I push the car door open and jog back into the house.
Wild Ride (South Florida Riders Book 1) Page 15