Relieving myself and washing my hands after I’d sufficiently calmed down, I made my way back to my seat next to my other best friend, Duke Carrigan.
“Dude, that was pretty harsh. Awesome coming from you, but still Mean Town man.” He holds out his fist, wanting me to bump him.
I refrain, not proud of what I did. “I should apologize to her.”
He waves me off. “Nah man, you’re fine. Peyton won’t remember that shit three minutes from now. She has the fastest rebound rate of any chick I’ve ever seen.”
Except she won’t forget it and I know that. Duke doesn’t know the history of us, no one does really. For one blissful week we hid away from the world, gods in our right skipping around London in disguise when we weren’t holed up in our hotel room.
“You think we’ll stay in a hotel in Manhattan? Maybe I’ll have time to go to Times Square …” Duke looks out the window dreamily, as if there is anything special about the highway between New Jersey and the city.
I forget this is his first time. Everything about the hype, the pomp and circumstance, is brand new to him. In Rio he’d been almost rabid with excitement. Maybe I was just too old for this now, the excitement and specialness of the Games and everything that followed lost on my jaded mind. I’d gone in, done my job, won my third gold in the all around. Now I’d tour, put in the time, give the people who came out what they paid for.
And then what? I didn’t know.
While Duke was just starting, earning his stripes and being fueled by the adoration from the fans, I was ending. Retiring. This was my farewell tour.
It was horribly sad if I let myself think about it too much.
“Nah dude, you don’t want to go there. It’s a cluster … well you know. But Central Park is worth it. And maybe the High Line.”
Duke snorts. “Man, you can’t even say fuck just one time, can you? How do I get it to slip out?”
“Give me some alcohol and it’ll slip right out if you know what I mean …” I tease him flexing my hips.
Hey, I didn’t curse, but it didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate a dirty joke now and then.
“I know the hottest clubs and have the best hook ups. We’ll have to go out! I’m going to text all of my friends now.”
Peyton’s voice floated forward from where she sat in the back, and I rolled my eyes. I’d heard what she’d been up to in New York, partying her face off like the devil was about to punch her ticket. She never did take kindly to responsibility or growing up.
“I’m excited to start learning the routines! Do you think they’ll pair us up? Oh, I hope I get to dance with James!” Anna’s giddy voice sounded from the row in front of us, James’ arm thrown around his girlfriend.
“Of course they’ll match us up, babe. The fans adore us.” James leans down and presses a kiss to her nose.
For as annoying and air headed as the two of them can be, I still like them. They don’t have a mean bone in their bodies, and it’s refreshing to see a couple that isn’t completely dysfunctional. They’re pretty much the only normal couple among us.
Spence and Natalia are not a normal couple. They bicker and jab at each other, their entire routine of taunting like one long game of foreplay. And they also don’t have a problem being apart, their lives intertwining at the exact moments they want them too. While they have two of the most similar personalities I’ve ever encountered in a couple, they still love their time apart with friends. But at the same time, Spence has bragged about what it’s like when they do come back together.
I never knew how to do that, separate my significant other’s life from my own. I wanted each woman I’d dated, which has only been three, to completely integrate into my life. Do everything I did, value the same activities I loved. I wanted her to become an extension of me, only doing things that fell into my approved interests.
And maybe that made me a selfish bastard, but it was the only way I knew.
Which was what had sent Peyton running for the hills.
3
Peyton
Back in New York again, but under such different circumstances.
It felt weird, being back in such a short amount of time but with my whole life completely flipped on its head. I’d been in The City since that fuckwad cut me from the team. The heartbeat of America to me, it was the most vibrant place I could find. A new adventure every night, you could be whatever you wanted, do whoever you wanted. If The City swept you up hard enough, you didn’t have to face any kind of emotion. Depression, anger, sadness … they couldn’t break through the brick façade The City built up around you.
“We couldn’t have stayed at the Waldorf?” I complain, accustomed to much pricier digs when I stayed in the Big Apple.
“Oh I’m sorry, princess, but the rest of us don’t have sugar daddies.” Nat ribbed me, thrusting my suitcase into my hands.
“Carrying my own bags, too? Aren’t you guys Olympians or something? Shouldn’t someone else take care of this?” I was half-joking, having no problem carrying my own bags.
But while I didn’t mind, I’d come a long way from cleaning up after people, even myself. I’d sworn a long time ago that I’d climb through the ranks of society and get myself to a place where I’d never have to assist while my mother scrubbed people’s floors, her knees raw and ragged from crawling on them all day.
“Jesus, if you’re going to do this the entire tour I might smother you in your sleep.” Julia pushes past me, smacking my bag and jostling it off the sidewalk.
I huff, the wheels getting stuck in a sewer grate while taxis and black SUVs whizz past, nearly hitting me as I tried to pull it free. Finally detaching it, I clacked my way into the lobby of the Marriot in the middle of Midtown, the heat a welcome hug from the chilly November air that had sliced at my face outside.
Gail, the tour coordinator for all of the women, stood at the reception desk checking us in. She was our wrangler for all intents and purposes, the one who would keep us in line but cater to our needs for the next twelve weeks. I couldn’t wait to push all of her buttons.
“Who’s ready to go out tonight?” I grin at the various gymnasts who lounge on the couches or stand with their luggage.
Nat shakes her head, laughing. “Why do I feel like you’re going to get us in so much trouble over the next three months?”
“Because you’re one smart cookie. If I can help it, I am getting all of you wasted at Avenue tonight.”
I pull out my phone, clicking in some numbers of friends and promoters I know, people who would get us in for free at the hottest club in The City. And pay for bottle service to boot.
Some women would be ashamed of taking favors from random men. I called those women the lucky ones. They’d never known what it was like to be dirt poor, to work on my hands and knees, cleaning other people’s slop at night after eight hour days of gymnastics practice. No one had ever known that I’d only been able to train at my gym back in New Hampshire because my mother had cleaned their entire facility, as well as the coach’s houses, for free.
So no, I had no shame. I took what those rich men gave me; the drinks, the jewelry, the clothes, the trips. Sometimes I ponied up and did something for them, gave them the moments with a sexy young woman that they were craving. But sometimes I didn’t, choosing to assert my giving-no-fucks personality and telling them to shove it.
There were some people who’d call my tactics dangerous or despicable. I called it fun.
My phone was dinging within seconds. “Do you girls have stuff to wear? Mini-dresses, heels, that sort of thing?”
“Why don’t I just go in my leotard? It’s pretty much just as revealing as the get up you’ll be squeezing into,” Julia deadpans.
“The men will like that.” I wink at her, ignoring the sarcasm dripping from her tongue.
“Enough, ladies. Claws away.” Duke, the hot younger guy, moves in, shielding Julia.
Interesting.
Duke was tatted up, with almost full sleeves of
ink roping his thick arms. His shaggy auburn hair hung down into his face, making him goofy but mysterious at the same time. Chords of muscle led from shoulder to calf, and he was modeled more like a football player than a gymnast.
And Julian Edelman’s twin looked to have some kind of hard on for Miss Priss. Excellent, it would be mighty fun to stir up some trouble there.
“You gonna come with us tonight, big boy? We could use some protection.” I sidle up to Duke, running a finger up a bicep wrapped in cursive and Celtic signage.
He flashes me an amused grin, one that lights his entire face. “A party? I’m so there. You don’t have to ask me twice, plus it wouldn’t be much of a celebration without me.”
I squeeze, feeling steel under skin. “Excellent! Everyone is invited of course.”
“Don’t you think we should get some rest before the first performance tomorrow? It’s pretty irresponsible to go out tonight if you ask me.”
Jared stands, arms crossed over his broad chest, scowling at me in particular.
“Well, it’s a good thing no one did ask you, Party Pooper. Don’t come if you’re too tired. I know how old men like their rest.”
His handsome features transform into a deadly smirk. “Yeah, I’ll bet you know what those old men like.”
Jared’s words sting more than I’d like to admit. He’s trying to goad me, embarrass my choice of lifestyle in front of our teammates. I school my features, giving away nothing, but inside my heart bleeds a little from his cut. I should expect he’d think the worst of me. And while it’s never bothered me what people thought about my choices, for some reason, any bit of judgment from him sends me reeling.
Brushing him off, I ignore the thump of my bruised heart, glancing at the text messages dinging on my phone. “We’re on for tonight! This is going to be epic.”
The rest of the group gives a mix of claps and sighs; everyone resigned or excited to go along with my plan.
Jared just looks pissed off.
Good.
I wasn’t here to appease the man who had smashed my heart into a million tiny pieces with no effort at all. He wasn’t going to dictate what I did and didn’t do, ever again.
The only one who controlled my life was me. I took care of myself, looked out for number one. Picked myself up from any fall, vaulted over all obstacles in my way.
Because letting someone else in, to protect, help and support you, that required giving away a piece of your heart. I’d paid that price before.
And it was far too high.
4
Jared
Do you know what’s worse than listening to Rihanna songs set to techno beats for two hours straight?
Listening to drunk girls screech-sing the lyrics in tone-deaf droves.
“I want you to make me feel, like I’m the only girl in the world!” All of the female gymnasts throw their hands up, grinding their body to the beat in the small, elite dance circle they’ve made.
I want to cut my ears off with a dull knife.
First of all, this music is horrendous. Every person in here must know nothing about Pearl Jam, Radiohead, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Foo Fighters … my list could go on and on. Because if they did, they wouldn’t be listening to this poor excuse they call music. Which is really just the same beat over and over again, with the simplest lyrics to ever hit my eardrums.
Second of all, the entire crowd of this nightclub is in some form of drunken disorderliness. Thrashing about, sloppily humping each other, slamming poison down their throats … or God forbid, up their noses.
I’d been nursing the same beer for two hours, the overly expensive bottle of Heineken way too warm to even drink now. But I’d paid nine dollars for the thing, and I wasn’t one to waste. I gulped down a tepid swallow and grimaced, uncomfortable in my own skin here.
And it looked like I was the only one. All of the gymnasts from the tour were having a grand old time, dancing and laughing as they bought each other drinks or flirted with other club-goers. If Spence were here, he’d be living it up as well. Even Anna and James, the couple who was the definition of white bread and apple pie, looked like they were enjoying themselves.
And in the middle of it all, lighting up the room like she was the sun and the earth revolved around her, was Peyton.
As much as I didn’t want to look at her, I couldn’t resist. It was like trying to peel my eyes away from a miracle, an eighth world wonder. The way her curves swayed to the beat, her black mane loose and thrown back as her hazel eyes went skyward, her arms swinging up above her head. She was in her own world, unaware of the girls trying to suck off her energy or the men trying to grope at her.
Peyton lived in a world others couldn’t see, that no one could penetrate if she didn’t want them to. It was her strength and her weakness.
“You guys fucked, didn’t you?” Duke dances over to me, his moves better than I expected for a Midwestern boy.
I nearly choke on my warm beer. “Who told you that?”
“So you did! I knew it! I had my suspicions, but the way you’re baring your teeth at any guy who comes within twenty feet of her kind of gave it away.”
My fists clench, her hold over me and the need to protect her angering me more. “I’m not. I’m watching out for all of the girls, especially Natalia. I promised Spence before I left that I’d make sure she stayed safe.”
Duke chuckles. “And if you were paying any attention at all, you would have noticed that Natalia went to bed about a half hour ago.”
I swivel my head in a panic looking for the trademark golden-blond ponytail of the reigning Olympic champion, my equal at the Rio games. And I don’t see her.
“She left?!”
“Yeah, dude, she let me know she was going back, and then texted me a couple of minutes ago to tell me she’d gotten to the hotel. You’re not the only gentleman around here.” Duke holds up the text from Natalia as proof.
My heart slows to a gentle gallop, calming from the sprint it flew into when I couldn’t spot Spence’s girlfriend. He would have had my balls if I’d lost her.
“If you weren’t making fuck-me-eyes at party girl over there, you’d have noticed. Just go bang her, man.” Duke shimmies as a new song comes on, and I can’t help but laugh at my fully-grown male best friend shaking his non-existent tits.
The bass of the song invades my body, making all of my limbs beat like one strong heartbeat. “Been there, done that. Won’t ever go back.”
Duke shouts over the music. “Ah, star crossed lovers. I get it.”
He didn’t get anything, and I didn’t want to explain.
Slowly the group starts peeling off; Anna and James giddily leave the club, Duke escorts a group of the girls back. It’s late, the club emptying a bit with men and women who have paired off, stumbling out arm in arm to head back to one or the other’s place. But Peyton’s still going, jumping along with the beat of a new song, her black dress hugging every inch of creamy skin.
A guy in a suit, too hipster and smooth for her taste, has been flitting around her all night like an annoying gnat. And there he is now, moving his hand too far south, pushing his waist in far too much to be innocent. I instantly want to clock him, watch as he drops to the floor and away from her.
Peyton giggles, her hands coming up to his biceps and her hips thrusting against his. She sucks from the straw in his drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey sloshing in the glass. She’s had way too much tonight, I’ve seen her down at least eight drinks and/or shots. And those are only the drinks I know about.
My feet are carrying me before I tell them to move. “I think that’s about enough.”
Peyton’s lithe body is in my arms before I know what I’m doing, my hands cupping the hips and arms that have mesmerized me for the last four hours. Or the last four years.
“Aw, Jared you’re jealous. How cute. But I do what I want.” She pushes at me, her hazel eyes pure fire as she thrashes.
Her speech is slurred, her h
eels sliding dangerously across the alcohol flooded hardwood. Hipster eyes me, and I know he’s sizing me up. I could break him in half, and that’s the only reason caution fills his eyes, the only reason he doesn’t reach for the wild beauty in my arms.
“Y’all have a good night, now.” I tip my head to him and the buddy who appears at his side to back him up, at the same time turning Peyton away.
She tries to wrench out of my grasp. “You don’t tell me what to do!”
I keep walking, caging the fury threatening to spew out at her. Her muscles move under my fingertips at the places I touch her, my cock ignoring the ban I’ve put on sexual thoughts about Peyton Adams.
Half-dragging her in the state she’s in, we break through the side door of the club and spill into an alley. Cold air hits me in the face, pushing through the cloth of my sport coat and running it’s icy fingers over my skin.
Peyton laughs maniacally, breaking free of my grasp and twirling in the frigid air of the dark alley.
“Are you insane?” I pull my jacket off, stepping towards her and trapping her in the fabric before she can escape.
The chilly air hits my thin shirt, causing me to shiver, but at least I can sling the jacket around her slim shoulders. I don’t need her catching pneumonia the first night of the tour.
Only … the move pulls Peyton to me, sending her footing off balance in the mile-high heels she dons. Then she is falling, stumbling backwards to try and keep her balance. And I’m stumbling with her, my hands still holding either lapel of the jacket that’s now wrapped around her back. Our hands grasp at nothing, no object able to stop our tumble.
Peyton squeals, no control over what’s about to happen.
It feels like we’re spiraling for hours, time slowing to a stop while we try to grab a hold of each other. And then … Peyton’s back connects with something solid, a whoosh of air huffing out of her.
I’m still tilting until my hands come up, landing hard on brick.
Grasping Air (Flipped Book 2) Page 2