Grasping Air (Flipped Book 2)

by Carrie Aarons

  “What?! Boston, get it?” James is pretty bad at humor, but he’s a nice guy.

  “If you have to explain the joke buddy, it was not a good one.” Duke shakes his head and pushes through the arena doors out to the tunnel. He’s about to rock on parallel bars and I can see him nodding his head in time with the music as he disappears.

  James has a point though, if he hadn’t said anything, I would have forgotten this was Boston. We’ve only been to four cities, and already they’re starting to blend together. It’s been a week, and the tour is monotonous.

  We load onto the bus, drive to a location, perform for either one or two nights, maybe do a meet and greet, get back on the bus and do the exact same thing in the next city. I love that I get to compete and perform in the sport that I’m soon leaving behind, even for just a little bit longer, but after this tour I need to clear my head.

  I’m not a city boy. I’m all country bumpkin. Sure, the lifestyle I’ve pursued has taken me all over the world to places I’d never dreamed of seeing, and it’s been amazing. But at the end of the day, all I want to do is settle on my porch in my small Texas town with a can of beer in my hand and my Bassett hound lying at my feet.

  “Nice going out there, Jared.” Peyton walks by, sending a small smile my way and shooting a quick thumbs up before heading down the tunnel.

  And damn her if this polite, reserved friendliness of hers doesn’t get me harder than a damn steel pole. I’ll never fucking win. I want her when she’s sassy, when she’s downright loud-mouthed and opinionated. And I want Peyton when she’s quiet, when she’s trying to be civil and not push my buttons and respect our deal.

  I can’t take it. She’s a thorn in my side that I don’t want to remove because the pain burns so good at the same time. I can’t stand her, but at the same time I want to throw her against a wall and stuff my rock hard cock inside of her.

  When she suggested taking the high road, suggested being cordial and not rocking the boat between each other, everything within me told me it was a bad idea. I wanted her enough as it was while I was still allowed to belittle her in front of the rest of our teammates. But now that we were acting like distant friends instead of trying to tear each other down?

  That is dangerous territory. It causes old feelings—or if I’m being honest, feelings that never went away—to bubble up to the surface and replace all of the horrible shit she’s caused me. I almost smiled back at her just now, in fact, I think I did.

  Nothing about this is okay, and yet, I can see exactly where it’s going. I’m running down the runway toward a sedentary object that won’t move, an object that I’m trying to make do my bidding. Bend to my will. And as much as I can convince myself it will, I know it won’t.

  I’ll end up on the other side of it, flat on my back as my lungs seize up and my heart breaks wide open in my chest.

  10

  Jared

  After hitting the major three cities on the Northern East Coast to drum up publicity for the Post-Games Tour, we’re hitting the smaller ones.

  First on the list were Syracuse, Rochester and where we found ourselves tonight, Buffalo. All smaller markets, but the tour was a big draw there. We could bang out the performances in three nights, but it was clear by this third that everyone was exhausted.

  Thank God it had been an earlier performance, because I don’t know if we would have all made it through an eight or nine o’clock show.

  “All right, we’re in Buffalo, we’ve gotta go to Anchor Bar. Who’s down?” Duke rubs his hands together.

  I can practically taste the world famous wings now. “Hell yeah, sign me up.”

  “Did you just curse? Fuck, those wings have got to be sin-worthy.” Ryan elbows me in the gut and I grimace.

  “You’ve never had wings like this, man. They totally are. I can probably eat about ten dozen.”

  “That’s disgusting.” Anna looks nauseous just thinking about it.

  “Well, I think it sounds delicious. I’ll go if you guys don’t mind. Not like it’s a Hooter’s. Although I do love Hooter’s.” Peyton smiles in our direction as we all walk toward the tour buses.

  “Wings do sound really good right now …” Julia looks as if she wants to join, but doesn’t want to seem too enthusiastic.

  She’s a mystery, that girl. Whip smart and extremely athletic, it’s like she’s playing mind games with the judges while she competes. I think I like her, but I’m also scared she’ll cut my balls off.

  Duke pushes me aside to walk closer to Julia. “They are really good, and guys are picking up the tab. Seriously, you girls should come.”

  He sounds like an overly enthusiastic puppy dog, and I’m not quite certain Julia isn’t about to jab her foot into his family jewels. And now he’s got his arm around her shoulders. This guy’s got a death wish.

  “All right, we’re definitely in then. Just let us wash up and change into our wing-eating clothes.” Peyton stands at the steps to the women’s bus.

  I hope she puts on long sleeves and pants. Maybe a sweater that hides all of those curves. I can barely keep my hands off her in the tour leotards the girls wear. If she puts on one of those mini-dresses she’s always wearing with those sky-high heels that make me want to grab both butt cheeks in my palms, I might have a stroke.

  If you don’t think it’s sexy to see a woman elbow-deep in buffalo sauce, then you’ve never seen Peyton Adams.

  “I think I just had a foodgasm.” She sighs, leaning back and wiping her hands off with one of those towelettes that smell like lemon.

  “You’re a fucking champ!” Duke holds up his hand, which she smacks from across the table.

  “Told you I’d put away four dozen.” She rubs her stomach and looks around the restaurant contentedly.

  The place is packed, even on a Thursday. The seven of us who decided to come out sit at a table in the back, shielded from those who might recognize us. Not that it happens a lot, but I wanted to eat my wings in peace tonight.

  And damn did we ever eat. I think we’ve just paid the Anchor Bar’s bills for the next three months with how many orders we had coming out of the kitchen. I think we ate them out of house and home, and that’s just the male side of this table. Julia, Peyton and Anna had at least twelve dozen split between them, and some of us still look like we could come back for more.

  “There is absolutely nothing better than beer and wings.” Peyton chugs the last of her Stella and flags the waiter down for another.

  If I thought she looked lethal in those club getups she frequently donned, it’s nothing compared to what my cock thinks of her in a jeans and T-shirt. The way the blue-dyed denim and white cotton stretch around her curves should be illegal. Yet, they make her look younger, less jaded. She’s approachable tonight, with her guard down and that all-important air she sometimes exuded just completely gone.

  “And here I was thinking you were the cosmopolitan and salad type of girl.” Duke ribs her as he tucks into his next batch of honey barbecue.

  “You didn’t know? She’s a small town New Hampshire girl.” The sentence pops out of my mouth before I can even think.

  It surprises even me, and I start to choke on a piece of chicken stuck in my throat.

  When I finally take a drink of my Guinness, I look up to meet Peyton’s hazel eyes. They’re shocked but warm, and I can’t help but get trapped in their gaze.

  “He’s right, I’m a suburban girl at heart. Although I do love my shoes and cars.” She winks at Duke before pulling on the new beer the waiter sets down in front of her.

  “We know you love your shoes. One pair almost put a spike through my big toe.” Julia bites into a saucy boneless chicken bite.

  Peyton wraps her arm around her teammates shoulder and smacks her lips to her forehead. “When are you going to stop hating me? I loveeeee you, Julia. This foreplay is intense.”

  Julia rolls her eyes but laughs as she pushes Peyton off.

  “Ask her about her town fair where she serv
ed cotton candy.” I lean back and rest my head on the wall while twirling my beer bottle in my fingers.

  I can’t help but tease her a little, let my guard down and almost … flirt. The atmosphere is joyful, everyone stuffed and content and a little bit tipsy. And she looks so … nice. It’s rare that the spitfire sitting across from me doesn’t set my teeth on edge. Even when we were … well, whatever we were, I never saw this amiable side of her. Sass, sarcasm, sexiness; those I always expected.

  “No fucking way!” Julia crows, “I would pay good money to see that.”

  “Pony up, bitch. I’m sure we could find some local carnie around here, and my wallet is crying your name.” Peyton shoots me a look of humorous content, but looks to be going along with everything nicely.

  I can feel my hands itching to touch her in this moment of vulnerability.

  “Oh hell yeah, I’ll get in on that action!” Duke vigorously wipes his hands on his napkin.

  “One little problem, guys. It’s the middle of November in Buffalo, New York. We’re not going to find shit here.” Peyton laughs.

  “Damn, she’s probably right.” James looks up from Anna’s eye contact for the first time the entire meal.

  Duke is intent in his phone, his fingers moving at light-speed. “I know what we can do in the middle of November in Buffalo, New York!”

  “What’s that?” The waiter drops the bill on the table as I question my friend.

  “Hockey!” Duke pumps his fist, and Ryan and James hoot beside him.

  “Ah, yeah! I love hockey. That shit is vicious.” Peyton nods, excited and already getting up from the table.

  “Going back to the First Niagara Center? No thanks, count me out.” Anna looks over at James, willing him to agree with her and go back to the buses.

  “Yeah, all right … sorry, guys, we are going to head back.” He looks like a puppy being led away on a leash.

  I’d never let a girl do that to me, partly because it’s not what I desire in a relationship and partly because I’m just not wired that way. It’s not like my childhood was particularly bad, nothing happened to make me this way. I’ve just always had a streak of dominance within me; I can’t give control over to anyone, most of all the women I date.

  “Well, we’re still in if you’ll have us.” Peyton speaks for her and Julia.

  Ryan rubs his hands together. “Let’s go see some guys beat the crap out of each other.”

  11

  Peyton

  Team sports were never much my thing. I compete in a sport that is solely about my performance, I can’t play defense or sabotage my competitors. So, I’ve never really taken an interest in the traditional big time sports in America.

  But, watching this hockey game, I wish I had.

  “Rip his throat out!” My lungs burn as I scream, urging the player’s down on the ice to get more violent.

  This game is whip fast and intense, with the guys shoving sticks at each other and body slamming into the boards.

  “Now you’re getting it.” Jared’s quiet southern rumble sounds beside me as I sit back down.

  “This is incredible! Wings and guys hitting each other? Feels like I’ve had a really long orgasm.” I lean back in my seat and lay my arm across the back of Julia’s seat next to my own.

  Jared’s eyes heat and I bite back my smile. I know we’re being civil, friendly … that I’m not supposed to push his buttons. But, come on, this is me we’re talking about.

  And even though I shouldn’t be out with him, even with a group, I couldn’t help not coming. He broke my heart a million ways from Sunday and I should completely avoid him … but Jared Hargrove is my Fourth of July sparkler. He’s shiny and beautiful, a forbidden kind of magic that is impossible not to get close to.

  Until I get too close. Until I touch him. And the pain is so searing it feels like my world is melting around me.

  “You’re still so vulgar.” He shakes his head, but doesn’t say it with malice.

  “Zebras don’t change their stripes, Hargrove.” I flash him a smile.

  This is nice, sitting together without slinging insults. The whole night has been nice. Hanging out at a bar, having a meal … these were things we never really did together when we were in the thick of it. Everything had been so intense, so fast. Maybe that’s why we tumbled out of the sky and came crashing back to earth so harshly.

  “So, have you ever been to a hockey game before?”

  Suddenly, I feel nervous. It hits me we’ve never done this “normal” stuff. I’ve never actually done this normal stuff with anyone, and it’s not my forte. I’m a flirt, a tease … and sometimes I even follow through on those promises. All of my relationships with men, if you could even call them relationships, are so transactional. So surface. I have only been wined and dined on the assumption that I’ll take my clothes off afterwards. I’ve never been spoken to like an equal, never been respected for my opinions or thoughts.

  Well, except with Jared.

  He nods. “I have, my dad used to take me to Dallas a couple times a season. But I can’t skate for anything.”

  Jared chuckles like it’s some kind of inside joke and my internal organs blush. He can be so domineering and intimidating, but at times like this he’s just a big teddy bear.

  “That must have been nice, some time with your dad.”

  I wouldn’t know what that’s like. The guy who donated my sperm took off on us before I even had proper eyesight. It’s a miracle Mom supported us for as long as she did. Sure, sure … I don’t need to go to a therapist to know why I’m so fucked about relationships. I’ve got daddy and trust issues out the wazoo.

  “How about you, did your mom ever take you to anything like this?” He’s asking out of courtesy, or at least I think he is.

  “Nah … my mom was too stuck at the bottom of a bottle to ever bother doing anything that was considered bonding.” Part of me wants him to feel sorry for me.

  The other half wants to punish him. He’s had an easy life, all of my teammates have compared to me. They might be pushed to the physical limit; they might have to endure the verbal abuse of coaches. But they would never truly know what it meant to be kicked down by the world.

  “Oh man, I’m sorry … I forgot about that.” Jared has the decency to look truly apologetic.

  A loud horn blows overhead, signaling the end of the game. Buffalo wins three to two, and the whole arena is jubilant as the fans stream towards the exits.

  “You’re the USA Gymnastics Team, right?” An attendant in an arena jacket and shirt approaches us.

  “Yes, sir!” Duke salutes him.

  “The team would love to have you come back for a meet and greet if you’re up for it.”

  We all look at each other before Ryan chimes in, “We’d love to!”

  The attendant takes us through the bowels of the stadium, the same halls we’d been in just hours before. It was different to be down here under these circumstances, like we were guests instead of the main show.

  “This is going to be awesome! Hey, do you think Garrett Mulner will sign something for me?” Duke looks like a kid in a candy store.

  “Is he always like this?” I question Jared.

  “Always. But it’s hard not to love the guy. He’s always so damn happy.”

  The look on his face shows how close they are. It makes me miss the relationship I had with Nat back when she was still single. Sure, she’s on the tour. But most nights she just wants to Skype with Spencer, or spend our down time on the phone with him. I get it, but I miss my best friend. I miss our movie marathons and the stupid shenanigans we used to get into.

  My next response is drowned out by the noise as the hockey players enter the room. Big, burly, frat boys who howl and joke with each other as they fill the doorway and pour into the tiny room housing VIPs and family members. They’re all attractive, don’t get me wrong, but there is something obvious about their physique, something too show-off-ish. Male gymnasts hone and sculpt th
eir bodies until you could lick through every curve and dip, and they do it because they have to or they wouldn’t be able to compete. Meatheads like hockey or football players hang out in the gym or weight room just to say they did so.

  The hockey hunks with wives or girlfriends dart to them, scooping them up and wrapping them in bear hugs and big kisses. A part of my heart aches for that, someone so solely focused on me. Another part of it rejects the idea altogether.

  A bunch of the younger looking, read: single, players come over to our group and begin shaking our hands.

  “We followed you throughout the entire Games, you guys were so sick!” One particularly thickheaded hockey guy starts fawning over Duke and Jared.

  “Thanks, man. Great game!” Equally as frat-ish, Duke gives him a fist bump.

  “Hey there … Peyton, right?” A blond with bright green eyes sidles up to me.

  He’s hot, in the obvious athlete way. He’s New England, WASP hot, with his preppy pink pocket square and perfectly gelled hair. There is nothing smoldering or controlling about the way he looks at me. The valleys between my breasts and thighs don’t begin to dampen in anticipation just talking to him. In fact, I don’t feel a thing as he stands here ogling me.

  Which is exactly how I like it these days.

  “Sure am. And who might you be?” I bat my lashes and thrust my chest out, the chess game between us only just starting.

  “Grant Lawrence, center forward.” He says his position with pride, as if I have any clue about his role on the team.

  “You were great tonight.” A standard compliment lie. Just go with what they want to hear.

  “And you look great tonight. Listen, I’d love to maybe take you for a drink, go somewhere a little more private.”

  A date. Or a hookup. Either way, I can feel Jared’s eyes boring holes into my neck as he stands close to mine and Grant’s proximity. I make the mistake of glancing up, and I see murder in his chocolate pools. He’s clenching his fists, and the vein on his jaw looks like it might explode.