“I know it seems like this whole conversation has been about Will and my psychosis,” she says, her voice dropping to a husky rasp. “But that’s not the only reason I called. I can’t stop thinking about you; about that night.”
“Dirty thoughts?” I ask hopefully.
“Oh, God,” she says with a breathy laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re avoiding the question, Ms. Hughes. Have you or have you not been thinking dirty thoughts about me?”
“Filthy.”
“Dammit, Avery,” I mutter, running a hand over the back of my neck and glancing at the closed door separating me from Kiera in the other room. “If my daughter wasn’t here—”
“Oh, I forgot, Deck. I’m so sorry for interrupting.”
“Are you kidding? I’m glad you called. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
All week. Ever since.
“Dirty thoughts?” she teases.
“Hell, yeah dirty thoughts.” I swipe a hand down my face, over my grin. “Filthy as charged.”
“Keep it that way,” she says, her voice softening even as it heats.
“Oh, what I’m feeling, it’ll keep.”
15
Decker
“Who’s next?” Seated on the couch of the San Diego hotel suite, I stretch my arms above my head.
“It’s the last of the day.” My assistant Marla looks up from my schedule on her iPad.
“Thank God for that.” I crook a grin at her. “Is it too early to start drinking?”
“You drinking?” she scoffs. “What? One of your protein shakes?”
“That would be nice.” My smile beseeches. “Could you?”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile is good-natured and longsuffering, two things anyone working with me needs to be.
“Let me get you set up for this last interview,” she says. “And I’ll run up the street to grab one.”
“From that place I like, right?” I push my luck.
“Yes, from the place you like.” She shakes her head and swipes across the iPad screen. “Gimme a sec and I’ll brief you on this last one.”
I’ve lost count of how many reporters I’ve talked to today for the San Diego Waves’ media blitz. I, along with other front office executives, have made ourselves available to the press for questions about the new NBA expansion team, our draft prospects, and the upcoming first season. My canned responses have started losing their shine. The more tired I get, the more I feel like the jock still wet from the shower, no compunction giving half-naked interviews, and less like the guy in the suit scoping talent and making multimillion-dollar decisions. Thank God this is the last of the day.
“It’s your old network,” Marla says with a smile. “SportsCo.”
I stare at her, my heart banging against my rib cage. I’m holding my breath like some lovesick chick waiting to hear Avery’s name. She texted me congratulations when my position was announced, but didn’t really engage much beyond that, even when I tried. Not that I’ve tried much in the last three months. She asked for space, and I’ve given it to her. Though I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. We only worked in close proximity for three weeks, and we only had one night and a few conversations, but I miss everything about her. I lick my lips before I ask the next question.
“Oh yeah? And uh . . . who’d SportsCo send for the interview?”
“Huh? Oh. Lemme see.” Marla trails her finger down the screen until she reaches the bottom. “Mike Dunlov. Ring a bell?”
“Sheesh.” I suck my teeth. “Ring a bell? More like a gong. Can’t stand that guy.”
Disappointment settles on my shoulders, but I square them, refusing to droop. When she’s ready she’ll come. Avery’s too strong-willed for me to force the issue. She knows how good we are together. She’s told me more than once she needs time to heal, and I’m giving it to her. That’s the thing with a full-court press. You have to know when to apply it, and when to let up, or it’s useless.
When there’s a faint knock at the suite door, Marla disappears from the sitting room to answer. I look up, grinning at Jerry, the cameraman who danced with Sadie at the Christmas party.
“How you doing?” I stand and wait for him to shift enough of his equipment to shake my hand.
“Good, Deck,” Jerry replies with a smile. “Congratulations on all of this.”
“Thanks, man. I . . .”
The words disintegrate from my lips and from my mind when Avery, not Mike Dunlov, walks into the sitting room with Marla. She looks beautiful as usual, but her hair is different. It’s curly, the way I told her I like it. The way it was the day we met in the locker room. She gives me her professional smile, but there’s a glint in her eyes that says she knows what I look like under this suit. We are intimately acquainted, and the closer she gets, the thicker the air becomes with our knowledge of each other. Unspoken, the memory of our moans, our rough fucking, our tenderness charges the room, and even though we’re having a silent conversation, it becomes obvious that Marla and Jerry sense something.
“Uh . . .” Jerry’s eyes move between Avery and me staring at each another. “Where should I set up the camera?”
His question jars Avery, setting her into motion. She assesses the room and directs Jerry. She doesn’t look at me again until everything is set up and we’re ready to begin. We maintain a friendly formality, just starched enough to be professional, but with the ease of former colleagues. I answer her questions patiently, forcing myself not to stare at her breasts, or the way her waist cinches, or the length of her legs. I don’t stare at those things, but I’m aware of them. I remember what she looks like and I’m hard as a motherfucker by the end of the interview. To avoid the awkwardness of my hard-on, I stay seated when we’re done and Jerry walks over to shake my hand.
“Good to see you again, Deck.” He glances at Avery. “You ready?”
She better not go with him. I’ve been good, controlled myself and given her this interview, even gave her a scoop on things I told no one else. If she tries to leave this room, I’m tying her to the bed.
“Uh, actually . . .” She glances at me, a knowing grin spreading her full lips. “You go on ahead. We’re done for the day. I’m gonna catch up with Deck for a little bit.”
Or all night long.
Once the door closes behind Jerry, I just stare at her for a few moments, and she stares back at me. It’s not awkward. It’s anticipation, like we’re not sure where to start first, but I just want to begin.
“I like your hair like that,” I finally say.
“I know.” She tugs at one springy dark curl. “I wore it like this for you.”
“For me?” I lean back deeper into the couch, relaxing my legs so she can see the wood I worked so hard to hide from Jerry. Her dark eyes go hot, glancing from my lap to my lips. She takes a step in my direction.
“Stop.” I release the word as a command. “There’s something you should know before you come any closer.”
She links her hands behind her back, pushing her breasts up a little in the silk top she paired with fitted slacks.
“What should I know?” She cocks one brow, waiting.
“Don’t come if you’re not ready.” As much as I want her, as much as I’ve missed her, I mean every word. “If you’re not ready to be with me, to really be with me, then don’t come because I’m not used to settling, and I’m not starting with you.”
She blinks rapidly over the surprise in her eyes, and takes one step in my direction.
“Anything else?” she asks. “Before I come to you?”
“Yeah, I’m not letting you go.” I haul a hand through my hair, freshly cut for today’s dancing bear media blitz. “Shit, Ave. I’ve been in relationships before. I’ve been married before, but I’ve never . . .”
I’m going to sound like a chick. I know it, but I can’t stop the words.
“I’ve never felt like this about anyone else, and I’m not giving you up once I have
you. You better get used to that.”
Another step, and now she’s close enough for me to see tears brightening her dark eyes.
“Is that all?” she asks, her voice rich with emotion.
I nod tersely, not sure she’s taking me seriously, but wanting to touch her too much to press the issue. Taking the last few steps and stopping at my knees, she nods to my lap.
“May I?” she asks.
I scoot down another inch, making room for her body to settle over mine. She scoots up until her knees rest on either side of me, and leans forward, pressing her breasts into my chest and her elbows on my shoulders.
“Now let me tell you some things that you should know.” She brushes a finger over my lips. “You should know that I have missed you every day we’ve been apart.”
I try to ignore what her scent and her warmth and the force of who she is does to me; how holding her is the best thing I’ve felt since I left New York before Christmas.
“Have you really?” I ask, my tone casual, my heartbeat anything but.
She leans down until her lips hover over mine.
“I did,” she breathes over me before going on. “You should also know that I’ve done a lot of thinking. My relationship with Will taught me a lot. I don’t want another relationship . . .”
She doesn’t want another relationship? Pain stabs me like a physical cut. Am I willing to be her fuck buddy? The itch she scratches whenever she needs it too badly to ignore?
No, the hell I am not. I make my eyes flinty for our stare off so she won’t know she just hurt me more than any woman ever has.
“If this is just some elaborate bicoastal booty call,” I say, starting to sit up and pushing her away from me, “Then you can just—”
“Shut up, Deck, and let me finish.” She pushes my chest so I fall back onto the sofa. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.”
She pauses to lift one brow. “I don’t want another relationship like I had with Will.”
Her eyes soften, the brown darkening with emotion.
“I want a relationship where I don’t hide and neither do you,” she says. “Where we trust each other even with the hard things; the things that break our hearts and cause us pain.”
“Avery—”
“Where I never have to worry about you cheating on me and you never have to worry about me cheating on you,” she continues. “Where even if we’re three thousand miles apart, we’re as close as two people can be.”
Hope climbs up my chest. I was afraid to let myself hope, but she’s here and she’s ready, and I can’t keep my hands off her even for another second. I grab handfuls of her ass and press her down onto me. We both pant at the first grind of her body into mine.
“That all sounds doable,” I rasp.
“’Doable?” she asks breathlessly. “I’m risking a lot here. I’m gonna need something more definitive.”
“Really?” My hand moves between us until I can get down her pants, past the barrier of her underwear. She’s wet and slick under my stroking fingers. Her hips rock into me, and her head drops back. With my free hand, I loosen the buttons on her blouse. It falls back to reveal a flesh-colored bra of such thin lace I clearly see her nipples.
“I love how big your nipples are.” I suck them through the lace, my mouth an eager suction. She moans and slides urgently over me, seeking friction.
“Dammit, Avery, don’t make me fuck you like this,” I mutter, eyes clenched closed. “I wanted flowers and candles and all kinds of romantic shit when we did this again.”
“Fuck flowers.” She deals with my belt and slides my pants down, barely waiting for me to lift my hips to help her. “There will be plenty of time for that. Right now, I need you.”
She pauses, swallows, her eyes filled with passion, affection and . . . more. I’m afraid to name it, but there is more there.
“I need you,” she says again.
“I’m right here, baby.” I slide her pants and panties off.
She takes me in hand and pushes down, her walls clinging to me.
“Oh, God.” Her head drops back. She rises and falls over me. “Yes.”
I slide the cups of her bra over her breasts urging her forward for my bites and licks.
“Shit,” I mumble against the silky skin. “Avery, it’s been a long time. Slow down or this’ll be over before it starts.”
She pauses, looking down with a smug grin. “Exactly how long are we talking?”
“If you’re asking if I’ve been with anyone since Christmas, since you.” I thrust up, hard and sure. “The answer is no.”
I grip her hip, commandeering the pace from beneath her.
“And if you’ve been letting anybody else in this pussy,” I say with grave seriousness. “It’s better you don’t tell me because that motherfucker might end up dead.”
Her husky laugh breathes over my lips.
“No other motherfucker’s been in here.”
“Shit.” I grimace my frustration. “Why can’t I remember a condom with you?”
“It’s okay.” She leans her forehead into mine. “I’m clean and safe.”
I get to fuck Avery raw? I might shed a tear before this is all over.
“Yeah.” I nod quickly. “Me, too.”
A salacious smile curls her lips. “Then let’s go.”
She resumes the ride, her face twisting with the effort, with the grind. I flip her onto her back. Eyes locked, we fuck so hard the couch is scooting with the vigor of it. Just inches scraping across the floor, but the sound of it turns me on even more.
She anchors her feet at the small of my back.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she chants, eyes rolling back. “Harder, Deck.”
“Fuck, baby,” I mutter. If I go any harder, I’ll break her, but I take her word for it and as soon as I thrust harder, go deeper, her scream pierces the luxurious quiet of the suite. And I’m not far behind, falling over a cliff into the hottest, wildest, longest orgasm of my life.
We lie there on the couch, hot and sweating and panting, laughing between kisses until our stomachs growl. Who would have thought that first night in the locker room all those years ago, that we’d end up like this? We spend the rest of the night feeding each other from room service trays, bathing together, making love, making plans, making promises. Sharing hurts, shedding tears, and loving. Yeah, the words aren’t said, but it’s there, and we have all the time in the world. For me, there’s no doubt it’s there. We’ve both had suffering mixed in with love. We’ve loved and lost and were never satisfied. But I’m satisfied with her, and I see in her eyes that she’s satisfied with me. We both have pasts and we’ve both had pain, but what we’ve never had was each other.
But now we do. Thank God, now we do.
Epilogue
Avery
It’s Christmas Day, and in D.C., my parents are shoveling snow from the sidewalk. That was me a year ago today. This year, in beautiful stark contrast, I’m watching azure blue waves lick at golden sand. I lean over the balcony to wave at the little girl and older woman down on the shore collecting seashells.
“I’m a lucky bastard,” Decker says from behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and tucking me closer into him. “All my girls under one roof for Christmas.”
I turn to face him, reaching up to fiddle with the collar of his shirt.
“Your mother is amazing.” I trace the bold planes of his face with one finger. “Now I know where you get those eyes.”
“Hmmmm.” He bends to kiss the curve of my neck.
“And Kiera is so beautiful.” I bend my neck back, giving him better access. “I’m so glad she’s spending Christmas with us.”
“I’m glad we’re spending Christmas with us.” His big hands slide down my back to squeeze my butt. “This ass. Don’t ask how often I think about your ass when we’re apart. I might creep you out.”
“If I wasn’t creeped out by you flashing your junk at me the night we met,” I say, l
aughing against his chest, drawing in the familiar scent of him. “I think you’re probably safe.”
“Then we won’t talk about these either,” he says huskily, pushing aside the lapels of my Kimono dress to suckle my breast through my bra.
“Deck.” I gasp and clutch his head tighter to me, starting to rock my hips into him in rhythm with his mouth. A seagull’s squawk reminds me that, though Deck’s beachfront property is private, we’re still out in the open. “We have to stop, baby.”
“I need you.” He growls into the cleave of my breasts before righting the dress. “Stay an extra week.”
He knows I can’t. The interview I’ve scored with one of the world’s best soccer players is a huge coup. Unfortunately, the interview is in Brazil at the beginning of the year.
“We get seven whole days together,” I whisper into the tanned column of his neck. “And we have so much time to make up for.”
His sober expression doesn’t lighten, and I shake him a little, offering a smile to cajole him into a better mood.
“Deck, come on. You came to D.C. to meet my parents at Thanksgiving. I’m meeting Kiera and your mom for Christmas.” I cup his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “We’re making this work.”
“But when do I get you next?” He laces our fingers together. “The season is about to kick into full gear. It’s our first year, so I know we won’t make the playoffs, but we’re doing better than expected, and I can’t let off the gas. My travel schedule—”
“Is part of your job,” I cut in. “Just like mine is. We’ll see each other every chance we get. That’s what we’ve been doing, right?”
I once dropped everything and raced to LaGuardia where Deck had a layover. We only had an hour, but we made the most of it. I can now say I’ve been fucked in a men’s bathroom. Hard.
No regrets.
“I just want this so bad, Ave.” He rubs a thumb over my lip, leaving a trail of tingles. “I want this to work.”
Hoops Holiday Page 10