He pulled at my thighs, dragging me to the edge of the bed, his head lifting to look at me. “Skip it?” I felt the stretch of my panties and then they were gone, pulled down and off my legs, the last barrier between his mouth and me, and I’d never felt so exposed in my life. Thank God the lamps were off in the room, the only light coming from the bathroom. Thank God he couldn’t see my blush in the dark.
“Skip it,” I whispered, suddenly too shy to take this step, to have his mouth on my most private place, a flood of doubts and insecurities taking over.
He didn’t skip it. He ignored me, leaning forward, and then his mouth was on me, and it was different than a kiss, different than his touch, different than anything I had experimented with on my own. I pushed against his head, resisting, scared and insecure … then he moved his tongue, a soft flick of it across my clit, and I groaned, my hand twisting in the short length of his hair, the sound from my mouth one that I had never made. My toes dug into the bed, my knees pointed at the ceiling, and I lost everything. Every conscious thought, every worry, every understanding of what was pleasure and what was right. I watched his eyes close, felt the slow, beautiful movement of his tongue, and finally understood what the giant fuss about sex was all about.
His hands gripped my legs, his mouth gently made love to my clit, and my heart, after two months of struggle and a few minutes of ecstasy, finally stopped its fight.
There was no stopping this. There was no more resisting. Damn any of the consequences, damn any future heartbreak. I clenched my legs, I gripped at the bed, and I cried out his name in the moment that my soul broke open.
I was his.
54
“I love you.” He said the words so softly I almost missed them, my groggy mind too sluggish to comprehend. I was tucked under his arm, lying next to him in bed, my hand playing over his stomach, my lazy mind trying to work up the courage to drag my fingers lower, down the lines of his abs and toward the edge of his underwear.
My mind repeated the words, trying to sort them from background noise, trying to understand if I really heard them or just imagined it. “What?” I finally said, rolling toward him and propping myself up on his stomach.
“I love you.” There were pillows underneath his head, angled toward me, his eyes clear, his face strong and confident. He should be confident. I’d all but worshipped him in the last hour, my voice running wild, comparing him to God All-Mighty as I had bucked underneath his mouth, two orgasms stolen from my body before he finally stopped.
“Why?”
“Why do I love you?” There was a smile in his voice, as if it was a dumb question.
“Yes.”
“That’s a hard question.”
I made a face. “Ugh.” I pushed off him. “You fail.”
“Wait.” He stopped me, his arms strong as he held me in place. The same arms that had held down my legs as he had tasted between them. The same arms that swung a bat and brought millions of Americans to their feet. I lifted my eyes from those arms and to his face. “It’s not easy to answer. I love you because you look at me and see more than just a baseball player.” I went to speak, and he stopped me. “I love you because your smile does something to my heart. I love you because when I see you, I can’t stop staring at you. And when you’re away from me, I can’t stop thinking about you. I love you because right now, there’s nothing more tempting in life than to pull you on top of me and push inside of you. And I love you because you’re the first woman on Earth who I’ve wanted to wait for. Who I’ve treasured enough to be patient. I could wait a hundred years for you because the thought of doing anything that brings you pain makes my heart break. You are the most complex woman I have ever met.” I made a face, and he shushed me. “I’m serious. You are like a guy in so many ways—the way you call me out, the things you know, the way you swear, the arm on you that would put a hundred recruits to shame … you’re my best friend, Ty. And I haven’t had a best friend in a really long time. But…” He shook his head. “You’re also the most feminine creature on Earth.” He ran his fingers slowly down my side, over my hip, his fingers spreading as he placed a warm palm against my skin. “Your face, your body—the way you laugh, how you smell—hell, just the way you walk. It’s intoxicating.”
I held my breath, watching his eyes search mine, his hand soft as it ran through my hair.
“The end,” he finally said, and I smiled, his mouth turning up in response, his hand moving from my hair and gently rubbing over my mouth. “That smile right there,” he murmured. “You have no idea what it does to me.”
I crawled up his stomach, my bra dragging along his chest until we were face to face, my hair a curtain around our faces, his chin lifting up as he met my eyes. “I love you too,” I said softly, and even through the veil of my hair, I could see his smile.
“I’m going to marry you one day, Ty Rollins,” he said softly, gently tucking my hair behind one ear, and my heart stopped.
“One thing at a time,” I said, leaning down and pressing my lips to his, a soft brush that became a fire, his hands tangling in my hair, his lips turning desperate on mine.
I stayed by his side until the sun rose, pink sunlight tentatively pushing through the open curtains, my name a beg off his lips when I finally rolled out of his bed, pulling on my jeans, sneaking barefoot down the hotel hall and back to my room.
I undressed in the dark of my own room, crawling into my bed, my phone plugged in, and fell asleep quickly, my heart soaring, a smile stretched over my face.
It was perfect.
More than I’d ever dreamed of.
55
New York
Wish u were coming home with me. You still need to see my place.
I stretched in the hall, my bag at my feet, eyes on my phone, halfway through a response, when the hand landed on my shoulder. I jumped, lifting my eyes off my cell, and stuffing it in my back pocket, the text from Chase still open on it. “Mr. Grant,” I said with a smile. “Good game.”
“Great game.” He beamed. “I can smell the playoffs now.”
“Me too.”
“What are your plans this week? Tobey’s at the house, and we’d love to have you over for dinner. Maybe Tuesday?”
The door to the locker room opened, and the owner of my heart stepped out. I kept my eyes on the man before me, the act heroic in its struggle. “I’ll check my schedule. Dad keeps me pretty busy when we’re home.”
The soft smack of shoes on wood, Chase slowly wandered closer, the hall too thin, my control too weak, and I met his eyes despite myself, my mouth curving into a smile. Mr. Grant followed my eyes, his mouth breaking into a smile, and he clapped Chase on the shoulder. “There’s our star! Man, am I glad that we got you in pinstripes, boy.”
“I just score the runs, sir.” Chase nodded to me. “Her dad’s the one keeping them off the board.” And Dad had done a great job of it, closing the last eight games without a single hit.
“While you’re here,” Grant said, gripping Chase’s shoulder and turning to me. “Convince Ty here to take a few days off. I’m trying to get her over to our house for some home cooking that will fatten up those bones of hers.”
Chase smiled at me, and I could read everything he was thinking in those eyes. My return smile was less enthusiastic, a hard pit forming in my stomach, as I hoped, prayed, that he wouldn’t take this conversation any further, wouldn’t mention—
“Is she the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen or what?” Grant peered at me alongside Chase, and I shifted, reaching down and picking up my backpack, my stomach tighter.
“I won’t argue with that.” There was too much feeling in his voice, and I looked up in warning, my eyes sharp, Grant catching the inflection and turning to him with a laugh.
“Now easy there. Don’t go getting any designs on her. You may not know it, but you’re looking at my future daughter-in-law.” My stomach dropped even further and I felt suddenly hot, stars appeari
ng in my vision, and I didn’t realize that stress could make you physically sick.
“Is that so?” Chase’s voice was low and steel, and all I wanted to do was escape.
Instead, I tried a laugh, the sound almost strangled. I reached out, patting the older man’s arm. “Did you see the Marlins’ highlights?” I babbled. “Grio batted 4 for 5.”
The man brushed me off, turning back to Chase. “Have you met my son yet? Tobey’s at Harvard. He’s smart as a whip and has had eyes for Ty here since she first joined us.”
“I was twelve,” I interjected. “I don’t think Tobey liked me then.”
“Well,” he conceded, “maybe not then. But those two…” He smiled big, turning to me with a wink. “They’re destined to be together. I just know it. So, what do you say Ty? Dinner with us Tuesday night?”
I almost swayed, the need to vomit growing stronger with each shade darker that Chase’s face grew. “Let me check with Dad,” I promised Grant. Then, gripping my backpack tightly, I turned tightly on my heel and all but sprinted down the hall, hitting the bathroom and bending over the toilet.
I didn’t vomit. Maybe all I needed was to escape the situation. Maybe wiping my face down with cold water helped. What didn’t help was the bathroom door opening, Chase entering, and staring at me with a face of fury. “What was that?” he bit out. “You’re betrothed to that prick?”
“I was being polite,” I yanked at the paper towels and pointed to the door. “You’re not allowed to be in here. It’s the women’s bathroom.”
“And you’re the only woman within a hundred feet. And it didn’t sound like you were being polite. It sounds like you’re childhood sweethearts with this guy.”
“I wasn’t. I’m not,” I shot out, my phone buzzing in my pocket, probably my Dad, looking for me.
“Have you ever dated him?”
“No. Not…” I amended. “Not ever a relationship. Just isolated things.”
“Things?” he pressed, stepping closer, caging me against the sink. “Like what?”
“You know. Dates,” I managed, and this conversation would be a thousand times easier if I hadn’t slept with Tobey.
“And?”
“And what?” I exploded. “I haven’t done anything wrong!” But I had. Even if it was fresh off the heels of seeing him with those girls. Even if I was mad, and we weren’t exclusive, it had all been wrong. From the minute I stepped into his room, it’d been wrong.
“Have you kissed him?”
I flushed. I could literally feel the heat on my cheeks and watched his face pale, his features tighten. “You have,” he said, the words carefully controlled.
“I’ve known him a long time,” I said. “We’ve kissed before. It’s not a big deal.” Now was the moment I should tell him the truth. I knew that, yet it seemed the stupidest decision ever.
“Just kissed.”
“No.” The word was a rough exhale from my lips, and he closed his eyes in response, his fist flexing and unflexing, the motion one of bare control. I was almost afraid to continue, this side of Chase one I’d never seen. “I slept with him.” My mind begged, silently, for him not to ask questions, for him to take the information and leave, for this to be a brief fight that would continue later. Instead, he asked the one question I hoped he wouldn’t.
“When?”
I looked down at my shoes, my weight heavy against the sink, my voice small when it came. “The night we first … when I saw you with those girls in your room.” I lifted my head. “When you had left me alone in the room and went to do drugs.” The final sentence had fight in it, and his eyes flared.
“So ... you told me no. You stopped me. And then you went to him? And let him do that?”
“We weren’t … us … then. We weren’t anything then.” I sobbed the words, my heart breaking as he looked at me in a way I’d never seen, like I wasn’t the person he loved, like we weren’t in love.
“I loved you…” He stepped back from me, his voice gruff, cracking on the syllables. “I loved you from the minute I saw you. I thought…” He brought his hands to his head and turned away from me. “I thought it was the same for you.”
I did. It was. I never had a chance to respond. He pushed on the door, and, before I could get a word out, was gone. I sagged against the sink in the empty room, my hands gripping the edge of cold marble. Unable to control myself, I burst into tears.
I should have chased him. I shouldn’t have worried about anyone seeing, or anyone hearing, and just run after him. Tugged on his arm and told him everything that I felt. How much I regretted that night with Tobey. How little it had meant to me. Instead, I let him go and cried, alone in that bathroom stall.
I should have chased him, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know that it would be the last time I would see him.
56
Each step away from her was agony and relief, all at the same time. His chest tight, he rubbed at it, unsure if it was physical symptoms or just heartache. He didn’t understand how she could do it. He’d have sworn, having her in his bed, that she was a virgin. From her reactions, her hesitancy. He’d thought that everything they were doing was special, had taken his time with her, had thought of her virginity as this precious fucking gift that they were preserving, her first time one that would be done right, and only when she was really ready. The concept that, less than a month ago, she’d been in Tobey Fucking Grant’s bed, had him inside of her, was mind blowing, and against everything he thought about her, every way he looked at her.
He breezed through the exit door and toward the employee lot, two security guards standing at his approach, one tipping his hat at Chase before holding out a hand for his pass. He yanked at his bag, pulling out the card and passed it to the man, who held it at the card reader. It lit red, and something inside of Chase snapped. He took a deep breath, watching the man scan it again, the same result produced.
“You know who I am, just let me through.”
“Mr. Chase, if you could just step to the side.” The man had an attitude, the tone one used on misbehaving delinquents, and it pushed tacks into the thin skin of his self control. Any minute, Ty and her dad would come outside. Any minute she’d be feet away, her eyes on him, those begging eyes, and he would lose his mind.
One of the guards stepped to the phone, his eyes on Chase, and who the fuck could he be calling, why the fuck were they keeping him here, and they needed to fix their machine and open the damn gate. He pushed forward, past the man and reached for the handle, the man shouting a protest, and when hands closed on his arm, the final thread of his self-control snapped.
A little known fact about Chase Stern: At fifteen, he was an amateur boxing champ, a career that could have brought him much success, had he not instead focused his fast hands and hand-eye coordination on baseball. It didn’t take much to drop the three-hundred-pound security guard. One right cross on the man’s left jaw did it.
One right cross that changed everything, instantly, for them.
57
“This isn’t like you.” Dad was worried, I could hear the strain in his voice. I pushed open the door to the bathroom and came face-to-face with him. I ended the call and dropped it in my bag.
“I wasn’t feeling well,” I lied. “Something I ate. You know. Diarrhea.” It was a crude but effective answer, his face relaxing, though worry still pricked his eyes.
“Want me to get the team doctor? He can give you—”
“Oh my God,” I interrupted him. “I am not going to Dr. Z about this.”
“It’s a long way home. Do you think you’ll make it?”
“I’ll be fine.” I nodded to the door, ready to get out of here. “You ready?”
There was a commotion at the end of the hall, a group of security guys hauling someone away, and his eyes flickered to that before returning to me. I swallowed, hoping that all traces of my cry were gone, the last few minutes spent fixing my makeup. “Okay,” he said
slowly, suspicion lacing his words. “Let’s go home.”
We rode home in silence, the only break when he asked me, twice, how I was feeling. It felt wrong to lie to him. But on the other hand, I’d been lying to him for a month. But those lies hadn’t been so blatant. They’d been lies of omission, me telling him goodnight and then walking out of my hotel room. He’d never asked me, the next day, if I had done anything other than go to bed. He’d had no reason to.
But now, the air in the truck thick with distrust, I felt the pain of lying, the guilt of everything I had kept from him. I hadn’t told Chase about Tobey, and look where that had gotten me. Chase stormed off, and I couldn’t even call him and properly apologize. Not until I got home and had some privacy. Dad wouldn’t storm off if I told him about Chase. But he would be disappointed. And hurt. And would probably never let me stay in my own hotel room ever again. The thought of going on the road and not spending time with Chase … the concept was a physical ache in my chest. Before, I had loved our life on the road, Dad and me, the team, the life. But love had dulled that. Love had made everything brighter, my smile bigger, my days longer. Every secret smile from him, every stolen touch, had been a shot of happiness. Every night we’d spent together had been a step deeper into our friendship, a cut deeper into my heart. I should have told Dad. Right then, before anything else happened. But I couldn’t risk ruining the remaining weeks of the season. I couldn’t risk a moment away from him.
After the season. That was when I would tell Dad.
At least that had been the plan.
When I got home, I called Chase, but his phone went straight to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and took a quick shower, washing off the clay and dust of the game before putting on pajamas and getting into bed. I tried to call him again, with the same result. I opened a text and struggled with the words, part of me still stubbornly mad, a month after that night, about what I had seen in his room. We hadn’t been dating, so I hadn’t, technically, done anything wrong, especially not after what I had seen.
Moonshot Page 11