Holding (Moving the Chains Book 5)

by Kata Čuić

  “That’s why we have to put on our game faces.” I turn her toward me and kiss her for everything I’m worth.

  I already know she likes the way I kiss her, and I’d be lying if I said her drunken confession wasn’t a huge boost to my ego. A tiny part of my brain feels guilty for playing on her weakness, but since it’s both our jobs on the line, I tell that guilt to take a hike. I’m getting the best of both worlds, and it’s actually good for both of us for me to take it.

  Her hair feels like silk beneath my rough fingers and her soft lips like pillows against my sunburnt chapped ones. I haven’t gone this long without Peaches since before I realized how much I need her. The grueling conditions of training camp are enough to wear down the most dedicated football players, but hell. After over two weeks of giving everything I have to give for my team, I’m hungry for a taste of Tori’s sweetness.

  She sways on her feet a bit when we finally break apart for air. “Do that one more time, and I’ll be good to go for saying or doing anything you want.”

  This sober confession feels a hell of a lot more valuable than her drunk one.

  “So, you’re saying if I kiss you one more time, you’ll be cool with me dropping to one knee and putting a fat rock on your finger for the cameras?”

  She laughs. Just like that, we know where we stand. Lines are drawn, and our relationship—the real and the fake parts—all fit into nice, neat little boxes.

  “We don’t have a believable backstory,” she mumbles as we approach three of my favorite smiling women.

  “Sure, we do. Stick to the truth as much as possible. We met at work, became friends, and the rest is history.”

  “Speaking of history, what’s my favorite color?”

  I…have no idea. “We’re screwed.”

  She cuts me a look that says I told you so before plastering a smile on her face. “Sorry to keep you waiting!”

  There are two things to know about my mom. For one, she doesn’t do or say anything overtly, but she never tries to hide the way she feels either. Any thought she ever has rolling around her brain can be read clear as day in her expression even if she’d die before saying the words out loud. The other thing is that no matter how she feels, she never, ever withholds love.

  In spite of the raised eyebrows of disappointment, she wraps me in a big hug.

  I cover up my wince of pain like a pro. “I thought you couldn’t make it.”

  My sisters take turns with their greetings, but they’re much more careful with my sore post-training camp muscles.

  Faith rats out Mom first. “We weren’t given a choice.”

  Hope nods. “Either show up or face sanctions for the rest of the year.”

  I ruffle her hair because I know she hates being treated like anything but an adult. Too bad she’ll always be my kid sister to me. “I would’ve still made your tuition payments. I’d never blackmail you to come visit. If Mom cuts you off, you can always ask me for spending money.”

  Mom scoffs. “Honestly, Michael. Just because you make more money than I do does not automatically make you the parent.”

  Faith rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Mom. It’s not about the money.”

  This has all the makings of a classic family fight, and while it might make for a great distraction from the Tori situation, this is not the time or place.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re all here! How long are you planning to stay? This is the last day of the women’s training camp, so I’ll be able to go home with you tonight.” I can’t wait to take the hottest shower imaginable in my own bathroom then pass out in my own bed.

  Mom pats my cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me you volunteered for this? We would have come for the whole weekend if we’d known.”

  Now is also not the time to remind her that I did tell her, especially because she’s making googly eyes at Tori. Mom’s obviously trying to get in Tori’s good graces, and we definitely need her on our side to pull this off. “I know how busy you all are, so I didn’t want to push the issue. I’m always happy when you come visit for any reason, and I’m happy to get to introduce you all to Tori in person.”

  I tug her beside me with more effort than it should take. “Mom, Faith, Hope, this is Tori Russo. My girlfriend.”

  The attraction I feel for Tori that I refuse to give in to makes faking it a hell of a lot easier than it would be otherwise. Introducing her as my girlfriend rolls of my tongue so easily because if things were different…

  “That’s not what you said when you picked us up at the airport,” Hope accuses.

  Tori tenses beside me, so I squeeze her. I’ve got this. “That’s because she knew I wanted to tell you myself, and she was probably nervous about spilling the beans before you got here.”

  Mom beams. She totally buys it. The twins, however, study every place my body touches Tori’s with laser-like focus. Their identical narrowed eyes do not believe my words. At all.

  I’m not giving us away. Tori’s tense posture is.

  I squeeze her hip again. “Babe, did you already get them registered?”

  She smiles up at me. Her lips look like they’re seconds from cracking under the pressure. “David took care of it. They’re registered for the rest of the day’s activities.”

  Why am I not surprised? Mom would barely accept a jersey from me, but I’m guessing she scooped up all of David’s obvious Wolves gear gifts gratefully.

  “All right, then. Mom, you’re with Tori. She’ll take you to the field house where dinner and the women’s health presentations are being held in a few hours. Girls, you’re with me on the field.”

  They whine simultaneously.

  I grin. This is easy and familiar. If I play my cards right, I can buy Peaches a few more hours to regroup. “Hey, you know I love giving you a taste of my life whenever I can.”

  Hope points at me. “False. You won’t let us anywhere near your teammates because you’re afraid they’ll corrupt us.”

  She’s not wrong, but a brilliant plan forms in my mind to shock her into submission.

  I yell, “Templeman! Add my sister to your practice squad for the rest of the day!”

  “You got it!” he calls back from somewhere behind me.

  “What position does Templeman play?” she asks.

  “Offensive line.”

  Hope shakes her head and takes a step backward. “I’m good staying with you.”

  That’s what I thought. I don’t tell them there’s no actual tackling allowed at this camp. And frankly, I could use their help keeping my top fan with the grabby hands at bay. “Awesome. We’ll all meet up again at the field house in a few hours. Sound good?”

  Mom has this almost creepy glaze to her eyes when she smiles at Tori. She’s imagining grandkids. I just know it. “Sounds wonderful.”

  Tori’s entire body goes ramrod straight at my side.

  I lean down and whisper in her ear under the guise of another kiss. “Trust me. You’re getting the lesser of two evils. Mom is a walk in the park compared to the twins.”

  “This is not the lesser of two evils!”

  Mike leans against his closed bedroom door. “You did great today. Calm down.”

  Oh, no he didn’t.

  “Calm down? Calm down? Mike! Your mom and sisters are under the impression I am sleeping in here with you tonight! How am I supposed to calm down?”

  His firm hands on my shoulders actually do make me feel a little calmer, but that is beside the point.

  “They assume you’re sleeping here tonight because they bought it, Peaches. David wanted to test us, and believe me when I say, there is no bigger test than the twins. If they think we’re really together, then we’ve got this in the bag. Your job is safe. I’m going to be on the starting lineup again this year, and it’s smooth sailing for the rest of the season for both of us.”

  I am well aware from the reports I’ve been following like it’s my job—because it is—that Mike has gone above and beyond with his performance during trainin
g camp. He’s still putting his nose to the grind and making a name for himself where it counts—on the field.

  I glance around at the sparse furnishings and the empty walls that are a serene shade of blue-gray. The king-size bed that’s the focal point of the room has a deep gray comforter and sheets that are already turned down. It looks like a beautifully comfortable place to pass out after this exhausting day, but this is definitely not the field. Neither of us wanted to do business this way, but here we are.

  “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t let me play the respect card with your mom here. It’s not like we’re engaged to be married. It’s rude of me to sleep with you while she’s under your roof! My dad would never stand for something like this.”

  His hands knead into the tense muscles of my shoulders and upper back, even as he holds me at arms’ length. “Yeah, it’s a weird combination of past and present ideals. Mom thinks she understands the pressures I’m under as a pro football player, so she just kind of ignores the parts she doesn’t agree with because she wants me to be successful. I get that. Because the twins are modern women, and they expect us to sleep together after a few weeks apart. I one-hundred-percent do not want to think about them sleeping with anyone. This is all actually kind of my fault for keeping them out of the reality of football. I just let them assume whatever they want without giving them too many of the facts.”

  His eyes are droopy, and his words are a bit slurred. I can sort of follow his logic, but he also seems to be all over the place with his explanations. I should let him go to sleep, but…I’m too tantalized by the carrot he’s dangling in front of my face. I’m in over my head with this act. I need all the help I can get. “What are the facts I need to know? You’re the only person currently in this house who realizes I have no idea what it’s like to date a professional football player.”

  “Fact number one.” He yawns and squeezes my shoulders one more time before letting go and stumbling toward his bed, which he collapses onto face-first. “Do not touch us after training camp. I’m so sore, my skin hurts. All the press you see about players being…players? That’s only after a big win when the adrenaline takes a while to wear off. For a few hours, we feel invincible, but most of the time? We feel like we’ve been in a car accident.”

  That’s information I never learned from even the likes of David. “What do you need?”

  He mumbles something incoherent into the mattress then turns his head to the side, so I can actually hear him. “I’m so tempted to take the easy out and ask you to call Evie for advice, but she’s a pro at this. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell we’ll fool her. For tonight? I have extra toothbrushes and shit in the bathroom from away-game swag packs. Plenty of t-shirts in the drawers. Just make yourself as comfortable as possible. It’s a big bed, and I’m not gonna move for at least twelve hours. If you wanna sneak out before everyone wakes up in the morning, I’ll come up with a believable excuse.”

  I’ve known Mike for over a year, but this is our first training camp together. I had no idea it would look anything like this. “Do you want a massage?”

  “No!” He actually picks his head up from the bed to fix me with a look of absolute horror. “That’s lesson number two. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you can actually hurt us more. Leave the massages to the pros. Seriously. I’m going to pass out soon. I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. Just…stick to the game plan, Peaches.”

  All of five seconds passes before he’s snoring. The sounds of his family making themselves at home floats through his closed bedroom door. If I’m going to be trapped in here, the least I can do is a little reconnaissance since I’ve been given carte blanche to make myself comfortable.

  The problem is…there’s nothing in here to gain better knowledge of the most intimate workings into what makes Mike Mitchell tick. There are no photos—not even of the people I already know he’s closest to. His bedroom honestly resembles a hotel room. Richly appointed, but no personal touches. On one hand, I suppose that’s to be expected from a bachelor who gives all his time and energy to his chosen profession. On the other? It makes me sad that this is where he sleeps every night.

  With nothing better to do, I wander into the adjoining bathroom to shower off the sweat and anxiety of this exhausting day. As promised, there’s an extra toothbrush and plenty of sample toiletries hiding beneath his massive vanity. They’re all masculine scented. Very good branding. If David would actually let me speak with Mike’s agent, I could maybe get him a contract marketing one of these spicy-scented body washes. The kind that promise to hydrate a man’s skin, while still stroking his masculine ego by also swearing to have extra-tough exfoliants for the rough parts.

  Mike definitely has rough skin. His fingertips alone send goosebumps racing across my entire body. My sensitive skin already itches with imagined hives from using any of these cleansing options, so I forego them for what’s in the massive shower stall that’s separate from the jacuzzi tub.

  I shouldn’t be surprised about what I find in here because this is the Mike I know. Simple, inexpensive scentless bar soap and shampoo greet me from the built-in shelves in the shower.

  The waterfall showerhead does wonders for my tense muscles, but nothing for the throbbing between my legs. Mike’s kiss from the field still lingers on my lips. Try as I might to erase the memories, I can’t help but imagine a similar scenario of him in his own shower as the one I witnessed for myself in a hotel room. The whole problem with this forced scenario is that it would be all too easy to let my baser instincts take over my mind. He’s the kind of man any woman would fight to keep—thoughtful, loyal, in control of himself, and with goals he works hard to attain.

  The sort of bathroom only the wealthiest in society can afford is just a fringe benefit.

  If I’m going to get any sleep tonight and be fresh-faced and ready with more lies in the morning, then Mike’s right. I have to relax. With shame clouding my every movement, I jill off with my own fingers. But I absolutely—one hundred and ten percent—do not imagine Mike doing the same thing for himself when he’s in this steamy space.

  Okay. Maybe I do. Just a little.

  Then, I do penance. Right after I don one of his t-shirts that’s big enough to swallow me whole.

  “Mike,” I whisper as I oh-so-gently rub his back. “Come on. Move up onto the pillows. Let’s get you comfortable.”

  He mumbles at me, but he cracks open his eyes. “Babe, you coming to bed yet?”

  Tingles from my self-inflicted orgasm compete with the memory of his kiss on my lips. “No, teddy bear. I didn’t work as hard as you for the past two weeks. I’m not tired yet. I’ll come to bed later. Okay?”

  He smacks his lips together a few times, sits up then whips off his shirt, and finally crawls high up enough on the bed so that tucking him in beneath the silky soft sheets is at least possible.

  His skin is smooth and cool when I run my hand across his forehead. “Do you want anything? A glass of water for the nightstand? Some ibuprofen for your soreness?”

  He smiles even as his eyes slide closed again. “A peach.”

  Thank God he’s still aware enough to crack a joke. His sculpted chest and arms are on full display. He’s left plenty of space on one side of the bed for me to climb in with his arm extended over like a silent invitation. I was this close to kissing him goodnight, and there’s not a soul around to perform for.

  Silence blankets the massive house, so I crack the bedroom door open to listen. His family must have gone to sleep. As quietly as possible, I creep downstairs for the glass of water and pain relievers. If I can’t behave myself, then I can at least be useful.

  The house is dark and quiet. A clock ticks somewhere on an unknown wall. Shadows cast long lines across the expanse of the open floor plan between the living room and kitchen. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in Mike’s house, but it still feels like I’m an intruder lurking around. I don’t belong here in the intimacy of the middl
e of the night.

  The grocery order I placed before we even left the stadium complex fills the fridge. I consider a quick snack for myself but think better of it. I’m a guest here, so I don’t want to make myself too at home. I grab a bottle of water for Mike, close the fridge, then turn around.

  The plastic bottle hits the ground with a dull thud, but it’s enough force to break it open and splash cold liquid all the way up my calves. I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle my scream.

  Sitting in Mike’s favorite armchair, one leg crossed over the other, arms spread like a queen on her throne, a woman stares at me silently in the dark.

  My shoulders impossibly tense further, and I brace myself for the interrogation that’s been brewing all day. Without Mike as a referee, I’m about to get what’s coming to me.

  Except the longer we stare at each other, the more I realize her presence is unlike Mike’s mom or either of his sisters. She seems to fill the entire vast room with a judgmental silence, yes, but there’s also an inexplicable attraction that draws me closer like a moth to the flame.

  “Eva Falls.” Her name falling from my lips cuts like a flashlight through the darkness.

  “Tori Russo,” she returns evenly.

  “What are you doing here?” It’s a rude question, made even ruder by my harsh tone. She has more right to be in this house than I do. A fact I’m acutely aware of, clothed only in one of Mike’s t-shirts. I should have asked how she knows me, or why she seems so unfazed to find me here in the middle of the night.

  She barely moves except for a slight tilt of her head as she studies me with an unnerving focus. “Mike’s mom let me in when I arrived an hour ago. I didn’t realize they were visiting this weekend, or I would have rescheduled my flight.”

  “Let me rephrase,” I grind out. “Why are you here?”

  I feel bad for what this woman’s been through, sure, but if she thinks she’s getting another crack at Mike’s poor head or face, then she’s got another thing coming. I’ll claw her eyes out first. Then, maybe give her a hug when I’m satisfied she’s no longer a threat.