by Piper Rayne
“I’ll be in the waiting room,” he says.
“Can I just kiss her quick?”
He nods and bends down, leaning her toward me. I get a whiff of his scent, one that’s all man. The one I associate with losing my virginity, lazy Sunday mornings in New York City, long nights that ended with me cuddling into him in a cab, slow dancing at weddings. Jamison’s scent has always been like being wrapped in a warm blanket in front of a fireplace.
And I realize in this moment, I miss that.
I kiss Palmer’s forehead and close my eyes, my mind drifting to once upon a time.
“I’m really glad yer good,” he says at the door, leaving me before I can respond.
If someone would’ve asked me years ago if I ever thought Jamison and I could be in a room together and be so uncomfortable with each other, I would’ve said they were crazy.
A few minutes later, Kingston comes in and kisses my cheek before falling into a chair at my bedside. He gives me a sad sort of smile. “Don’t worry. We worked out the schedule in the waiting room.”
“What?”
“Palmer will stay with Stella and me during the night, then go to Phoenix or Brooklyn’s during the day. Juno said she can take a day off if needed. I have to work tomorrow, then I’m done for forty-eight. I just have to coach the Thunderdogs, but Palmer loves coming with me. I’ll bring Maverick, and he can—”
I put up my hand. “You’ve all figured out a schedule without consulting me?”
He tilts his head, forehead creased.
Can I really blame them? My family has helped me so much since I returned a hot pregnant mess. I’m appreciative, but at the same time, I hate that they know they’re going to have to step in and help me. Have I really abdicated the responsibility of making decisions and taking care of myself? If Jamison weren’t here, would I think twice about their plans? Allow them to keep treating me like the baby of the family who always needs a helping hand?
“I’d like Jamison to see her.”
He guffaws.
“I’m serious, Kingston. He’s here and Palmer deserves to know her father.”
He rolls his eyes, his big frame taking up so much space in the room. The chip on his shoulder takes up even more. “Why? So she can become attached to him before he leaves her?”
I blow out a breath. “At this point, I don’t have a choice. He’s her father, and whether we all like it or not, he has rights. He could take me to court if he wanted to. I’d rather do this slowly on my terms. Ease Palmer into it.”
“Ease her into it.” He shakes his head. “She’s plastered to his chest right now.”
“Maybe she has some innate understanding that he’s her father.” I shrug. “She deserves to have her father in her life.”
He sits up ramrod-straight. “You’re serious?”
I nod.
“This is going to end in disaster,” he says, shaking his head.
“Please don’t give him a hard time. Meet him at a park or at the house or go on a walk. I don’t know, just keep things civil in front of Palmer.”
He stands. “It’s your life, your heart. You’ve always been too forgiving though, so no promises about not giving him a hard time.”
“Thanks for making this easier on me,” I say with sarcasm.
He stares at me long and hard. Kingston and Stella know better than anyone how hard it was for me when I returned home from New York. The postpartum depression that plagued me after I had Palmer. How much I missed Jamison. I can’t fault King for having bad feelings toward him, especially when he doesn’t have the good memories that I do. Like that time Jamison showed up on my doorstep when he got into the MLS.
Ten
Sedona
Twenty-one years old
It was my last year of school and my first year in my own apartment, and the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom were all one room. Small but efficient. It was enough for me.
On the way home, I stop to pick up pizza because I have an article to write for the paper. It’s an ongoing series about hot places to visit in the city on a budget. Last week, I scoped out numerous coffee houses that were good places to study. I rated them, and although I have most of the research done, I’ve been procrastinating writing the actual article.
Just as I sit down with my laptop and pizza at my dining table for two, a knock sounds on the door. A few years ago, it would have startled me since I’m not expecting anyone, but I’ve come to enjoy New York. I don’t fear the unknown of big cities anymore.
I rise on my tiptoes to peer through my peephole, and all that’s there is a bouquet of ranunculus—the peach and apricot ones I love so much. Only a few people know they’re my favorite.
“Who is it?” I ask, my eyes not straying from the peephole.
“Flower delivery,” a man says in a muffled voice.
I’d wonder how he got buzzed into the building, but sadly I know the answer. Too many times, I’ve seen people allow others to come into the building without even asking them what they’re doing there.
I unlock the door and swing it open. The man holding the flowers lowers them, but he didn’t have to for me to know who he is. I memorized those hands years ago, lying on a blanket under the stars in Lake Starlight.
“Jamie!” I say, my heart floating out of my chest and right into his capable hands as if no time has passed. But it’s been four years since I’ve laid eyes on him in person and not through a television screen.
“Surprise!” he says, his smile wide and welcoming, his arms open and inviting.
It doesn’t take but a second before I’m rushing into his arms, wrapping my own around his shoulders and allowing him to lift me off the ground.
“You still smell so damn good, lass,” he says, his accent making my skin tingle.
“Like sweat and pizza?” I laugh, inhaling him and the familiar scent that is Jamison.
“No. You smell delicious.”
Tingles scatter along my flesh. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
He lowers me and hands me the flowers.
It’s then I see the suitcase and duffel bag at his feet. “What are you doing here?”
“Hear me out,” he says, grabbing his luggage and stepping inside my apartment that suddenly feels the homiest it has since I moved in.
I drag him by his hand to the couch. His lips look delectable, his body harder than when I last saw it. Watching his games and seeing pictures of him on Instagram, I noticed how he’s morphed into manhood with thicker muscles, wider shoulders, and steel calves, but those pictures didn’t prepare me for Jamison Ferguson live and in person.
“I got a position on the New York Storm.”
“A US team? You’re not playing in Scotland anymore?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to say anything until it was for sure. I had this whole idea to surprise you.” He bites the side of his lips, and I know him well enough to know that he wants my reassurance that it was the right decision.
“I’m so happy you’re here.” I throw myself at him, and he positions me so I’m over his lap. Such a familiar place.
After we said goodbye our senior year, we promised visits that never happened. Although there were calls and text messages exchanged, we were both so busy, maintaining a relationship was impossible, especially with him being in a different time zone and traveling so much. We decided not to do a long distance relationship. It was an incredibly hard realization to come to, and I felt the loss of him for a very long time. I’ve never seen him in a picture with a woman that would suggest he moved on, and I’ve never asked because I don’t really want to know. I’ve gone on a few dates, but nothing ever felt like this, like it does right now.
“Am I… I mean, is there someone…”
I smash my lips to his, answering his question. His hand slides to the back of my head, keeping me there as his tongue glides effortlessly into my mouth. God, I missed this… him… us. It always feels so right when we’re together. He draws ou
r kiss to a close and I shift so that I’m straddling him.
“That’s a no, I take it.” He grins.
I nod, my gaze falling to his lips. His fingers run along the skin between my shirt and yoga pants, goose bumps skittering along their path. “So you’re here permanently now?”
He nods. “Except for traveling for games. New York City is my new home.”
I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath. He tucks a strand of hair that’s fallen loose from my ponytail behind my ear, then he pulls out the elastic band. My long dark strands fall down over one of my shoulders.
“Yer so gorgeous. My imaginings of what this moment would be weren’t even close to what I’m feeling right now.”
“I know what you mean.” My body hums for his touch. For the exploration of his lips and his fingertips over my flesh. My core aches to feel him inside me.
His hands slide higher up my back and I sink down farther into his lap, feeling how hard he is under his track pants. “Yer so soft.”
“You’re so hard,” I say, my fingers gliding down the row of abs I feel beneath his T-shirt.
“Are we moving too fast?” he asks, his hands inching up along my sides, waiting patiently to touch my breasts.
“I don’t think so.” I grab the hem of his shirt and pull up. His hands leave my body briefly so I can shed the fabric from his body.
And I was right. A rippled, lean, muscular body resides underneath the thin fabric. I lick my lips.
“Like what you see, lass?” he asks, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
I nod. “You’ve grown up.”
He takes the hem of my shirt between his thumb and forefinger and raises it off my chest.
“I should shower,” I say.
He shakes his head, relieving me of my sports bra, which isn’t exactly the sexiest undergarment ever. But his eyes are fixated on my breasts and his tongue slides out and over his bottom lip, so he must like what he sees.
The hunger smoldering in his eyes eats away any reservations of what it will be like now that we’re adults. Ten minutes ago, I didn’t think I’d be having sex with my ex today, but it’s not too fast. Not for us. He was my first and only. Although I’m out of practice, he’s Jamie.
He kisses my collarbone, his lips moving up my neck, across my jaw. I grind down on his length, my hips on autopilot—like in high school, when we’d dry hump after everyone was in bed or out of the house.
When I fall forward, my pebbled nipples run over the hard warmth of his chest and my core tightens, screaming for release. As though he understands, he lifts me with him, rising from the couch and walking the five feet to my bed. He stares at me with hunger in his eyes.
“Yer too thin,” he says.
I inch my head back. “Excuse me?”
“Are you eating?”
“If this is your way of romancing me, it’s not working.” I grab the comforter and cover myself.
He lifts it off my body. “Yer beautiful. I’m just worried I’m going to hurt you now.”
“Hurt me? Maybe we just shouldn’t talk.” I climb to my knees.
“I’m scared to be on top. I don’t wanna crush you.” He nibbles on his lip.
I start laughing. Of course, this is us. The first time we had sex, we went through five condoms before we had it on right. Both of our heads bent down, examining the latex over his shaft, paranoid I’d get pregnant. The less-than-stellar blow jobs I gave him until I learned what made him tick. The fact that he had no idea what he was doing between my legs, but lucky for him, I’m a great teacher.
We explored one another’s bodies late at night when Austin was upstairs watching television, or on lazy spring days when we’d pretend to go swimming at the pond. Somewhere between the steamy make-out sessions and heavy petting, there was always laughter.
I place my hands on his chest and lay him on his back, straddling him. “Problem solved.”
His hands steady on my hips. “You always were a great problem-solver.”
With a grin, I rock forward. He raises his hips off the mattress, matching my pace. Even through the thin fabric of my yoga pants and his track pants, my clit screams for more.
“How did I think my life was good until I got here?” His hands slide up my ribcage and take my breasts into his palms. “Being here, right now, feels like I just made it to the World Cup.”
His words, always so on point, make me blush. I feel so desired and dare I say loved. Jamison’s never made me feel anything other than gorgeous. As though I was made to be his.
“How have we gone so long without us?” I ask in a breathy whisper. I rise off him to pull down his track pants and shed my yoga pants. “Do you have a condom?”
Please say yes.
“Side of the duffel bag,” he says.
I unzip it and pull out a box still in the plastic bag from the corner drug store. I tap it against my lips, looking at him. “Felt lucky today?”
He chuckles—probably since I’m naked while asking. He didn’t have to assume. He knew that if we were both single, we wouldn’t be able to keep our hands off each other.
“Yeah, okay.” I drop the plastic bag as I walk back to him, opening up the box and pulling out a strip before tearing one off.
“Yer the problem-solver and I’m the planner. It’s how we work so well together.”
I nod. “Very true.”
And he’s so right. Jamison has had his life planned out since he was fourteen. Checkpoints along the way to make his dream come true. I wonder how long he’s been planning this move to New York. Questions for later.
I pull back his foreskin and roll the condom down his rigid length.
He sucks in a breath as though having my hands on him is too much. “Now get yer arse on top of me. I can’t wait to be inside you.”
I straddle him then arrange him at my entrance. As soon as I sink down, we both groan.
If I thought we’d take it slow, that I’d rock and tease him while we lovingly stared into each other’s eyes, I was completely wrong.
I plant my palms on his muscular chest, his fingertips digging into my hips. Our speed increases with every thrust, sweat slicking our bodies and our mouths tangled in a frenzied kiss. Our hands grip and grope as if we’re afraid we’re in a dream and about to wake up.
“I’m never leaving you again,” he says and flips me on my back, locking my hands above my head.
His weight is heavier than I remember, but I love it all the same. He slides back inside me, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
We find that rhythm we mastered as kids, as though it’s as easy as riding a bike. Our breathing is labored, curses and praise for one another coming out in a tangle. My body races toward the cliff’s edge. Jamison can still tell when I’m there because a devilish smirk crosses his lips. He thrusts over and over, tilting my hips up with his hands on my ass. Then I’m falling, plummeting into an abyss as I clench around him. All that built-up sexual frustration bursts apart in a glorious orgasm my body has ached for.
“Almost there,” he whispers, his pace still punishing.
He pumps into me twice more and stills, gazing at me with love in his eyes.
A year later, I moved in with him.
Eleven
Jamison
I’m not sure I understood what I’d feel when I saw Palmer the first time. Would I have immediate love for my daughter, or would she feel like a stranger? But the minute I saw her, I fell in love with her and felt even more regret for missing her first eighteen months of life. So as I transfer her sleeping body to Kingston, the urge to erase that pain with alcohol is a sharp reminder of why I lost it all.
After the rest of the Baileys leave the hospital, Phoenix lingers. I bet she stays with Sedona for all three nights. She’s going to be my biggest roadblock to winning over Sedona.
“Please feel free to go on with your life now,” she snips.
“I was going to stay and keep her company,” I say.
She r
olls her eyes and huffs. “Yeah, sorry, buddy, that’s my job now.”
Phoenix and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. I never imagined dating a twin would be so hard. From day one of being with Sedona, it’s proved a challenge. Phoenix is the alpha dog and likes to dictate what Sedona should do with her life. I’m guessing their relationship has always been that way because it took years away from Phoenix before Sedona stopped letting her railroad her into everything.
“I get that you hate me—”
She’s quick to laugh. “Hate is a mild way of stating my feelings for you.” She crosses her arms.
It’s a strange sensation to fight with someone who looks exactly like the person you love. “Fine. You can loathe me or whatever level of hatred you have for me, that’s your right, but let Sedona figure this out on her own. Let her decide whether she wants to give us another chance.”
“Another chance? Are you delusional? You left her.”
“Technically, she walked out on me.”
“Because you were a drunk! Partying all the time while she was preparing to be a mother. She had no choice because you were such a mess over losing your dream.”
A few nurses side-eye us while they walk by.
“Yeah, I fucked up. I think you’ve had more than your fair share of fuck-ups over the years.”
I’m not going to bother asking her what would happen if she suddenly lost her voice and couldn’t sell a record to save her life. What she would do doesn’t matter. The fact is, losing my dream crushed me, and yeah, I made the wrong choice. A lot of wrong choices in fact. And now I have to own them.
“Why were you gone so long? I mean, you could have come sooner. Reached out?”
I eye Griffin and Maverick sitting outside on a bench, hoping they’re waiting for Phoenix so I can go see Sedona. “I had to make sure I was stable and wouldn’t make the same mistake again. If I came too early and I wasn’t prepared to handle everything… I don’t expect you to understand.”
Another roll of her eyes. “You could still fuck this up—again. Believe me, if that happens, I won’t be taking a backseat. None of us will.”