Player

by Staci Hart

  I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop, not ever, but she called my name, and I had to obey. Because I was hers.

  Her pleasure was my pleasure. It always would be.

  She pulled me up her body, kissed my lips, tasted the salt of her body on my tongue. I broke away only to reach into my nightstand, returning to her lips again as I tore the packet open, rolled the condom on. Settled between her legs, felt the give of her thighs, felt the slickness between, felt every inch of her from the inside as I slipped into her.

  A pause, a breath, my eyes and hers, our hearts thundering and words of love on our lips. And I moved. My hips and hers, my hands buried in her curls and hers holding on, holding me close. Her legs parting wider, her knees drawing up, thighs bracketing my waist.

  A thrust, and she gasped. Another, and she came. A third, and I was behind her, filling her up, letting myself go, giving to her and taking of her. Loving her and reveling in her love.

  And it was over. But it wasn’t.

  Because when I looked at her, all I saw were beginnings.

  35

  The Red One

  Val

  “Tell me you don’t have plans today.”

  I heard the words muffled through the rumbling of his chest where my ear lay and clear as day from the other.

  I smiled. “Before last night, my plans included moping around like a sad panda and missing you.”

  “So, no?”

  I laughed, shifting to rest my hand on the broad curve of one pectoral, propping my chin on the back. “No plans.”

  “Good,” he said with a smirk.

  God, he was beautiful. Dark and lovely and naked and wrapped around me like a spider monkey.

  “What do you want to do?” I asked.

  “I have a list.”

  “A list, huh?”

  His smirk climbed, his eyes the color of honey. “Yup,” was all he offered.

  “Any hints? Clues? A treasure map maybe?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Come on, give me a teeny-tiny hint. Just a little bitty baby hint.”

  His arms flexed around me, bringing me a little closer. “Nope. But let me know when you figure it out. Until then, you’re on a need-to-know basis.”

  I chuckled. “When does it start?”

  With a twist of his body, he rolled us over, hovering over me with his hair mussed and eyes warm. “Right now.”

  He kissed me, soft and deep, kissed me until we weren’t just kissing, loved me with his lips, his hips, his hands and his body. He loved me right and thoroughly, and I loved him right back.

  #

  A few hours later, we were walking through the Village, bundled up against the chill. My eyes scanned every storefront, anticipating where we were going.

  “Is it brunch?” I asked when I spotted a new breakfast place. My empty stomach clenched at the prospect.

  “Nope.”

  I scanned some more. We were heading toward my place, and I cataloged everything between here and there to try to figure out a pattern. “You’re sure we’re not going to my place?”

  “I never said we weren’t going to your place.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I kissed you instead of answering.”

  A laugh bubbled out of me. “You did, didn’t you.”

  “I can’t help it. I love kissing you.”

  “And you love not answering me.”

  “That too. Ah, here we go.”

  My face quirked in confusion as he pulled me into the grocery store. “Groceries?”

  “Yup,” he answered as he picked up a red plastic handbasket.

  “Are you cooking?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Eventually,” I echoed. When he guided me away from the food and to the cosmetics, I frowned. “Are you gonna cook me tampons?”

  Sam laughed, stopping in front of a display of dental care. “Do you like your toothbrushes soft or hard?”

  “Hard. Always hard.”

  Another laugh. “Red. You’re getting a red one.” He grabbed it and dropped it in the basket, turning us around to the soaps. “What kind of shampoo do you use?”

  “You can’t get it at a drugstore.”

  “Do you have extra at your house?”

  “I think I have a travel size under my sink. Why?”

  “Good,” he said, avoiding answering. “We’ll pick it up when we go over to your place.”

  “Aha! So we are going to my place.”

  He shrugged. “I never said we weren’t. I’ll order some more so I can put it in my shower. Would it be weird if I used it every once in a while?”

  I laughed. “I mean, it’s just shampoo, so I’m gonna say no. You have to know I’m also going to ask you why.”

  “Because I have dreams about the way your hair smells, and I wouldn’t hate for a second to smell like you for a whole day.”

  “That’s fair. I have dreams about how you smell, but I have no idea what it is. Mostly I think it’s just you, which is problematic. I can’t exactly rub you all over myself to make me smell like you.”

  “I mean, it couldn’t hurt to try.”

  I nestled into his side, laughing again.

  “I don’t know what it is. My soap maybe. There’s this fancy lotion my mom uses that I stole from her because it makes my skin super soft.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll definitely be using that.”

  “My deodorant? But that’s not pH-balanced for a woman. How about we sniff test later and find out?”

  “Are you asking me to smell your underarms? Because…okay.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “All right, do you want your own soap? Have a special toothpaste you like?”

  “No, yours is fine. So, we’re getting stuff for me to keep at your place.”

  “Your powers of deduction are astounding.”

  “I know, I’m a regular old Sherlock. But…I mean…you’re not…you don’t want to…”

  “Move in together?”

  I think I could hear him smirking still, which was reassuring because the thought of moving in made my stomach hit my shoes.

  “I wouldn’t buy you a new toothbrush, babe. I’d move the one from your place instead.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I said on a sigh.

  He leaned back to look down at me with that notched brow arched. “I know, wouldn’t that be the worst?”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I love you, but I’m not ready to share a toilet with you.”

  He laughed, this time lowering his lips to kiss mine.

  We wandered through the grocery store.

  “Okay,” he said. “Mimosas or Bellinis?”

  “Bloody Marys,” I amended.

  “My kinda girl. How about…poached eggs? Do you like eggs Benedict?”

  “You know how to poach eggs?”

  “I know all kinds of things. Like how to Manhattan Dip you on the dance floor and the fastest ways to make you sigh. So, hollandaise or no hollandaise?”

  “Hollandaise, extra Canadian bacon. Okay, so toothbrush, breakfast—brunch? I don’t get it.”

  “You will,” he said on a chuckle as he loaded the basket with breakfast stuff.

  Our next stop was a liquor store. He sent me in for Bloody Mary supplies, heading for somewhere else in the meantime. Where, I had no idea.

  Until I stepped out. There he stood on the sidewalk with a grocery bag in one hand and a gorgeous bouquet in the other. Peonies, pink and salmon and cream, with soft green lamb’s ears, purple thistle, and fern fronds.

  But I barely noticed it. All I could see was Sam. The sweetness of his smile, the depth of love in his eyes. The black of his hair, the breadth of his shoulders. The soft pink against the dark of his jacket.

  “Sam,” I breathed, stepping into him, setting my bag next to us, so I could take the bouquet with both hands. I saw in the bouquet a few ranunculus, a bit of jasmine. It smelled divine.
r />   He was divine.

  I found my throat tight, my nose tickled with tears. I’d never thought I’d be a flower girl, but now, I got it. It wasn’t about the flowers, the beauty or delicacy of them. It was about the man who’d chosen them simply because he wanted to make me smile, simply because he’d been thinking of me.

  Simply because he loved me.

  “They’re b-beautiful.” I buried my nose in the silky petals to hide the tears as they rolled away.

  “I love you, Val. Don’t cry.”

  “I love you, too, and I can’t help it. How’d I get so lucky?”

  He slipped a hand around my waist. “I’ll be asking myself that every day, maybe forever.” He smiled, searched my face. “So, have you figured it out yet?”

  I considered, smelling the flowers again. Jasmine had always been my favorite. “Breakfast, toothbrushes, and flowers. Boyfriend material? Are you boyfriending me?”

  He laughed. “Val, I’m gonna boyfriend you so good.” And as he leaned in for my lips, he added, “And that’s only the beginning.”

  Epilogue

  Val

  I tipped the bell of my trumpet to the ceiling of the club, perched on Sam’s shoulders. And I hit that high note with all the joy in my heart.

  And that was saying something. My heart was so full that joy constantly spilled out of me.

  I couldn’t help it. I was a mess for Sam.

  A year we’d been together, six months since I’d moved my permanent toothbrush in.

  Well, truth be told, I had thrown my old one away. I much preferred the red one.

  My favorite red dress pooled around his neck as he slapped the strings of his bass, and I played on through the end of our duet. And when I jumped off, I kicked my saddle shoes as high as I could, the force flicking the featherlight chiffon over my butt to flash my drawers.

  The crowd went ballistic.

  I fox-trotted around to face Sam, and for a minute, we played to each other, with each other, for each other in utter harmony and synchronization.

  Tonight was different from the hundreds of others we’d spent at Sway only because tonight, we were celebrating Sam.

  When the band joined in, I stepped back in line next to Chris, the other trumpet player, and we played out the rest of the song, our last of the night. I spotted all the faces we loved in the crowd. Hadiya and Ahmed jitterbugging, my mom and dad triple-stepping. My brothers, all with girls in their arms. Rin and Court bouncing, Katherine spinning in the arms of her boyfriend with her head kicked back in a laugh that held no abandon. Amelia and her husband slow-dancing their way through a fast song, lost in conversation with lovesick smiles on their faces.

  How she’d gone from never being kissed to the first of us married was a hell of a story.

  But that wasn’t my story to tell.

  With a long, climbing run, the song ended along with our set. The crowd stopped dancing just to cheer and clap as we bowed, and Sam took my hand as we trotted offstage. He paused, pulling me into his chest to lay a searing kiss on me, just like he always did after a show. As if he’d been watching me the whole set, just waiting for the second he could lay his lips on mine.

  God, how I loved those lips.

  Down the stairs we bounced, down to the dance floor and our friends and family. And then we were dancing.

  Around and around we went, the adrenaline from performing zinging through us as we flew around the dance floor. He tricked me all over the place, using the flood of energy to fuel him as he flipped me over his shoulder, across his back, dropped me between his legs, dipped me. We didn’t stop moving, not until I was breathless and giggling and a small circle had formed around us.

  He pulled me out of a Charleston to bring me into his chest, spinning us around cheek to cheek, hip to hip. And the circle dissolved into dancing bodies.

  Sam looked down at me, his lips tilted in that crooked smile I loved so much. “You’re beautiful.”

  I laughed. “It’s just this dress. My boyfriend says it’s his favorite.”

  “Mmm,” he hummed, pulling me closer. “He sounds like a smart guy.”

  “He really is. He just got a job composing a Broadway show.”

  His smile climbed. “You don’t say?”

  “It’s true. I’m pretty sure he’s on his way to being the next Andrew Lloyd Webber.”

  That earned me a laugh and a flash of his brilliant teeth.

  “What can I say? I’m a lucky girl. He even got me these hair combs. See?” I turned my head to the side, smiling coyly. “He said when I wore them, he’d know I belonged to him, but really, they just remind me of how much he loves me and the moment he gave me his heart.”

  “I wonder what he’d think of this,” he said just before he brought his lips to mine.

  The kiss lingered, our lips parting in a slow, easy rhythm.

  I sighed when he pulled away, gazing up into his face with a dreamy look on mine. “Oddly, I think he’d approve.”

  “Maybe we should ask your fiancé instead.”

  My brows quirked. “But I don’t have a—”

  I swallowed a gasp as he dropped to my feet, my hands in his. The music played on, but the people around us stopped. If I could see their faces, I would have noted I knew every one. But all I saw was Sam. Sam bathed in the golden light of the naked Edison bulbs, the same color as his eyes. Eyes that looked up at me with hope and love and nervous anticipation.

  “Once upon a time, you asked me to teach you how to be brave. But it was you who taught me. You taught me how to love. You taught me how to jump. You gave me a reason to be brave, to be more than I was. I don’t want to learn another lesson without you. Be with me always, Val. Marry me.”

  He held out the box, opened to display the ring inside—a band of gold set with small diamonds, and in the center was a square cut diamond the size of a meteor, faceted and twinkling in the amber light.

  I didn’t know if I responded or what I said, only that I was crying and reaching for him and kissing him and holding him. And he was holding me, his lips pressed to mine. And the ring was on my finger, and my heart was his.

  And we were forever.

  Everyone around us cheered and clapped. Distantly, I heard our names on the microphone, felt hands on our backs and arms and shoulders. But the only people in the world were me and Sam.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked with that smile of his as he pressed his forehead to mine.

  “That’s a, Yes. That’s an, I love you. That’s a, Please tell my boyfriend I’m sorry, but I’ve recently upgraded.”

  A laugh, the sweetest sound. “I love you, Val. I’ll love you forever.”

  And the kiss he laid upon me left me without a single doubt that he would.

  Sneak Peek—BOOKED

  Amelia

  Three more people.

  The girl in front of me shifted the weight of her bag on her shoulder, the bulk of which rested under her arm like a pack mule, her body leaning in the opposite direction for balance. I eyed the bag, wondering how many books were inside like one of those How many jellybeans are in the jar? games I was terrible at.

  There were eleven, if I had to guess.

  I might not have had spatial awareness of jellybeans, but I probably could have sniffed that bag and determined how many books were inside.

  Two more people.

  Sweat bloomed in my palms as we all shuffled a few steps closer to the table where Thomas Bane sat.

  All I could see between bodies was an unrecognizable sliver of face and bit of his elbow, clad in a black leather jacket. But there he was, and in two—shit—one person, it would be my turn.

  Fortunately, the girl in front of me had plenty to keep him busy.

  I took a breath—a deep, thick, anxious breath—and recited the words on the damp piece of paper in my back pocket.

  It’s nice to meet you.

  I’m Amelia Hall with the USA Times.

  Please sign that generic.

  I’m
fine, thank you.

  Yes, I’ve read every word you’ve ever written.

  No, I actually didn’t enjoy them at all.

  Okay, that last one wasn’t on the list. And I’d never admit that to him—not aloud, anyway. I’d be lucky if I could do anything but squeak when faced with him directly.

  I wouldn’t have been standing in Stacks, a hip little book store in the East Village, if it hadn’t been for my boss’ insistence. New boss, that was, as I’d only recently gotten the gig book blogging for the Times. My personal book blog had, with a few viral reviews, essentially exploded, and the Times approached me to join their team.

  This was my first big piece.

  Cover the Thomas Bane signing, get a stack of hardbacks signed for giveaways, and try not to have a stroke when I had to actually have a conversation with him.

  The girl in front of me unloaded her haul onto the table with shaking hands.

  …Nine, ten, eleven. Ha!

  A rumbling laugh from the other side of the table. He said something I couldn’t make out, something in a snarky, smoky baritone that did something shocking to my insides.

  I chalked it up to nerves.

  I hadn’t purchased groceries at the actual market in well over a year. I hadn’t answered the phone for anyone but my best friends or parents in at least five. And I didn’t go anywhere without a buffer who, in case of emergency, could speak for me.

  It was almost always a case of emergency.

  I wasn’t sure exactly why it happened—my speechlessness. God knew I had enough words in my head, words in my heart, chittering, chattering words that never saw the light of day when the spotlight was on me.

  It didn’t even have to be a spotlight. A flashlight was plenty.

  It was a physiological response to a psychological hurdle I’d never overcome. Such was my curse as the colorlessly pale, eccentrically shy daughter of the SlapChop fortune who had grown up with a speech impediment.

  Not only was I an odd only child of inventors, and not only were we the wealthiest people in our provincial South Dakota town, but I couldn’t pronounce Ls or Rs. It doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, I realize.