Playing to Win

by Laura Carter

  “I do. Now, take that shirt off,” I say with a wink that has him laughing again.

  I kick his office door shut and he draws the blinds before pulling his T-shirt off over his head. Taking the measuring tape from him, I close the space between us, knowing the one thing that will make me feel better about tomorrow is having his arms around me now, being with him completely.

  Standing in front of him, I bring the measuring tape around his back and across his chest, my fingertips gently trailing his skin. I write down the size of his chest, then move to his side, wrapping the tape around his bicep, pressing my lips to his shoulder as I work. Bending to my knees, I pull down his shorts until his thighs are exposed. I nip the skin in my teeth while working out the girth of his solid quads.

  “Izzy, if you don’t stop, this is only going to end one way.”

  I look up at him through my lashes and see the lust on his face, as if it is a mirror of my own. With my eyes on him, I run my hands up his legs and press my lips to his navel, his abs, his sternum. I need this.

  Wrapping my ponytail around his hand, he pulls me up to him and crashes his mouth against mine with a growl.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful, Izzy.”

  “Be with me,” I whisper. “I need you. I can’t stand the thought that tomorrow—”

  He takes my mouth again, even more ferociously, and lifts me onto the edge of his desk. I kick off my trainers as he lays me back and tugs off my bottoms and knickers. He licks his fingers then strokes them along my sex.

  “You really want this,” he says, feeling my excitement.

  “Yes. Please.”

  He pushes his boxers down to meet his shorts, tugs my hips to the edge of the desk, then stops. “Wait, I need—”

  “No. I want to feel you, Brooks. I want to be with you, properly.”

  “Izzy, I can’t.”

  “You can. I get why you like to be extra safe, I do. But it’s not going to happen again. I’m on the pill. Please.”

  He closes his eyes and dips his head back, clearly fighting with himself. Then his eyes shoot open and he drives into me, covering my mouth with his hand as I groan with relief and pleasure. “Jesus, Izzy, you feel fucking amazing.”

  I kiss his hand and he takes it away from my mouth, moving to hold my hips as he draws all the way out of me and slides back in. The move sends shivers through my body. All I can think of is him. Not tomorrow. Not the what-ifs. Just him. Us. Fused together.

  I feel myself build with each thrust. I lock my legs around his arse, telling him to come at me harder. His muscles start to tense and I know he’s close too. My mind begins to cloud and I start the final ascent.

  A knock on the office door startles us both to stillness, Brooks inside me, both of us looking at the unopened door. I’m sure we’re both thinking we should have locked it.

  “Brooks? There’s someone calling on the main line asking for you.”

  He shakes his head quickly, as if clearing it. “Charlie, Izzy and I are just doing some measurements. We won’t be much longer. Can you take a message?”

  I slap my hands across my mouth to stop my laughter from escaping.

  “You got it.”

  Brooks takes my hands from my mouth, pulling me up to sit as my amusement finally escapes and is matched by his. He pulls my top over my head, then holds me to him, his skin on mine. His amusement fades from his dark, hooded eyes and he kisses me slowly, deeply, rotating himself inside me again in delicious circles.

  As I reach my peak, I wrap my arms around him, pulling him tighter to me, and groan into his chest. He thrusts harder, his fingers digging into my arse cheeks, and we come together.

  I feel like everything is charged around us, like I’m on fire, melting into this man who I am, without a shadow of doubt, 100 percent in love with.

  “I haven’t been with anyone like that since…” He tightens his hold on me and presses kisses to my hair. “I wish we were in my bed so I wouldn’t have to let you go.”

  “Me too.”

  With another gentle kiss, he steps away from me and pulls up his shorts. “Let me get you something to clean up.”

  He goes to the top drawer of his desk and takes out a box of tissues.

  “I wonder why a man would keep tissues hidden in the top drawer of his desk,” I tease. “Do you have a tub of lube in there too?”

  He pauses, holding the tissues midair. “You are crass, Izzy Coulthard. Very crass.”

  “You love it,” I say with a wink.

  He surprises me by kissing me in response and wiping me down with tissues. It’s a small gesture that feels intimate and tender. Yep, I am head over heels in love with this man.

  We move downstairs to the weighing scales, passing through reception on the way. Charlie is back behind the front desk.

  “Sorry about that, Charlie. Did you take a message?”

  I can feel my cheeks turning scarlet.

  “Yeah, but it was really odd. She wanted to know where you live and where Izzy lives. She seemed to know you are living next to each other.”

  “Press?” Brooks asks.

  “I don’t know. It didn’t really seem like a professional approach. Anyway, here is her number. She said her name is Mrs. Perriwinkle. She didn’t give a first name.”

  I dart forward, taking the notepaper from Brooks’s hand. “Let me see that.”

  “Do you know who she is?”

  I close my eyes and bite down on my lip. “Yes. It’s my mother.”

  “Perriwinkle?” he questions.

  “It’s a code name she uses when she doesn’t want people to know who she’s talking about. Like when she’s gossiping about someone at lunch. She’ll call the person Mrs. Perriwinkle so she doesn’t get caught out or overheard.”

  “What? Why would your mother call here asking for me and why would she leave her number with a fake name?”

  I sigh, knowing my mother too well. “Because she hoped you wouldn’t tell me that Mrs. Coulthard called. She wants to speak with you.”

  “Why would she want to speak with... Because of us?”

  I nod. “And she asked where we are staying, which means… Fuck.”

  “She’s here?”

  “Or coming.” And I know exactly what she’s coming to stop.

  Chapter 28

  Brooks

  I lean against the kitchen counter watching Izzy scurry around her apartment, frantically tidying.

  “I thought you said you didn’t care what they think.”

  “And I thought you said I secretly do,” she snaps. She stops fluffing the sofa cushions. “I don’t care. It’s just she’s flown halfway around the globe.”

  “Six hours.”

  She launches the sofa cushion at me. “Now is not the time to be a smartarse, Brooks.”

  The truth is, it’s all I can think to do because I’m afraid. I’m afraid her mother is coming here to tell her what a mistake Izzy will be making if she decides to stay with me. I’ve been here before. I know how this ends up. Me, alone, heartbroken.

  I tuck the cushion under my arms for something to hold. A comfort. I’m already hurting, and I don’t know if I should stick around for the main event.

  “You know why she’s coming, Izzy, and it isn’t to tell you that your two-week rental is untidy.”

  Izzy stops and faces me. After long seconds of us staring at each other, she says, “I don’t know why she’s coming, Brooks.” Her words hold no conviction. Her shoulders sag and I am struck by a need to hold her.

  I cross the living room, ditching the cushion and taking her in my arms. I hold her tight against my chest and stroke her shower-wet hair. “She’s your mom, Iz. What are you so afraid of?”

  “Everything. Letting her down, letting you down, letting myself down. You don’t know her, Brooks.”
/>
  And I really don’t think I ever want to. I pull back and hold her cheeks in my palms. “Look, she doesn’t get here until after midnight. Let’s go to my place and go to bed for a while.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “Izzy, tomorrow is our last day together. I don’t want to be apart from you tonight.”

  “But my mother is coming. I have to be here.”

  “Fine, then let’s go to bed here. Just let me be with you.”

  The expression she offers could be apologetic or full of pity. Whichever it is, it cuts me deep. “You can’t be here when she gets in, Brooks.”

  Those words finish me. I take a step back from her and nod, slowly. It’s happening again.

  “We have to be up early for AMTV, anyway,” she says, her words coming fast. “It will take me ages to get ready in the morning. You’ll have a better night’s sleep on your own.”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks for thinking of me.” I leave her apartment, slamming the door behind me. Instead of going to my place, I head outside and start walking, aimlessly.

  There’s a cool wind that chills me through my T-shirt. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans and keep moving west, until I’m standing on the edge of the Hudson. The city’s lights catch the ebb and flow of the water and take me back almost eighteen years.

  I could hear Cady crying before I even got to Alice’s parents’ house. For a small thing, she had a big set of lungs. I didn’t care that she was crying, again, I was just excited to see them both. It had been a long day at the garage. A few emergencies came in, on top of the cars we already had booked. And I had been to Crazy Joe’s gym early that morning. I was exhausted.

  But my feet started moving faster when I heard raised voices. I realized then that it wasn’t Cady’s normal crying; she sounded distressed. Alice was shouting above Cady’s screaming and, between the two of them, no one heard me enter the large suburban house.

  I knew Alice’s mother would kill me if I didn’t take my work boots off before stepping on the new rug, so I fought with them, wrestling them off my hot feet.

  “But I love him,” Alice shouted.

  I could tell from the direction of her voice that she was downstairs with her parents and Cady was upstairs.

  “Alice, you’re seventeen years old. You don’t know what real love is,” her mom said.

  “Real love,” her dad began, “is providing for your family properly. Not being a mechanic at someone else’s garage. Now, Brooks is a nice boy, but that’s where it stops.”

  “Look at his background, for goodness’ sake,” her mom said. “He comes from nothing and will come to nothing, Alice. We let you have Cady—”

  “Let me have Cady? Is that a joke? She’s my daughter. Our daughter. Mine and Brooks’s. And he’s a good dad.”

  Her father’s voice grew sterner. “He comes over every night for two hours, Alice. How can he be a good father?”

  “I only see you for two or three hours a night. Are you saying you aren’t a good father?” Alice yelled.

  “Now you watch that mouth, young lady. I put this roof over your head. I have given you a good education and, once this mess is straightened out, you’ll go back to having good prospects.”

  “Did you just call Cady and Brooks a mess?”

  “Open your eyes,” her mom shouted. “It is a mess, Alice. If you listen to your father, you might be able to salvage something of a life for yourself. You’ll be lucky now to find yourself a good, wealthy man who’ll take you on with baggage.”

  I was rooted to the spot.

  “I don’t want a wealthy man. I want Brooks. I want my family.”

  Her mom cackled, and I felt my face twist with hatred as I imagined her perfectly made-up face and salon-styled hair thrown back. “We are your family, Alice. The people who put a roof over your head.”

  I had heard enough and my baby was screaming. I walked upstairs and found Cady in her basket. I picked her up and held her to my chest. It surprised me every time I held her how tiny her head, her toes, her fingers were. How delicate she was. She was everything. And I would be everything for her.

  I kissed her cheeks and swayed with her in my arms until her body relaxed and her tears disappeared.

  “Brooks.”

  I turned to see Alice, tears streaking her face, her eyes red and swollen. She still looked beautiful. “I love you,” I told her, because I had nothing else to say. Her parents were right. I was a mechanic and didn’t even earn minimum wage based on the hours I worked.

  She sniffed. “I love you too.”

  “I’ll show them, you know. I will. I’ll make something better for us, Alice. I promise.”

  She crossed the room and put one hand on my head, the other on Cady’s back. “I know, Brooks. I know.” She dropped her cheek to my shoulder and we stood like that for what seemed like hours. Perfect. My family.

  The next day, Alice broke up with me.

  The wind rises from the Hudson in gusts. It hits my eyes over and over again, until they start to water. I can’t do it again.

  * * * *

  Day 14.

  I hate wearing suits. Men like Drew and Marty look good in suits. They own the look. I, on the other hand, look like the Michelin Man being squeezed into fine fabrics. I own two suits. One I wore to my grandfather’s funeral when I was twenty-four, with skinny shoulders and about forty pounds lighter than I am now. The one I’m wearing is a suit Drew convinced me to splurge on for a networking event we went to last year. He told me it was an investment, which was why I eventually caved. This is appearance number two for the dark blue two-piece.

  I fight with my tie in the mirror, with one eye on YouTube and the video that is instructing me how to tie a Windsor knot. Once I’m finally suited and I have run product through my hair—enough to look like I’ve made an effort, not enough to make me look like Leonardo DiCaprio’s Jay Gatsby—I shine my shoes and get set to leave.

  When I receive a message telling me the car sent by AMTV is downstairs, I close my apartment door, really wishing I could spend the morning at the gym, rather than a television studio.

  The door to Izzy’s apartment is ajar, as if someone exited and intentionally left it open so they could reenter.

  “You don’t know anything about him,” I hear Izzy say.

  The voice that replies is stuffy—with overpronounced vowels and drawn-out consonants. “I know that our friends and family have seen your blog. You’ve made your point, Isabella. You’ve flaunted a relationship with a man I could never approve of. Imagine what the ladies at the Savoy will think. The man is covered in tattoos. He’s a weight lifter, for crying out loud.”

  “He’s a fitness instructor and he owns his own gym,” Izzy fires back, her words sharp, almost a shout.

  “A fitness instructor, then. It’s hardly a life I want for my daughter.”

  “How can you say that? I’m a fitness instructor.”

  “Oh, please, we all know what this is, Isabella. You wanted to show your father and me that you can do something on your own that we wouldn’t endorse. You’ve done it now. The silliness ends here.”

  “Silliness? This is my career.”

  “No, darling, it’s a flirt with dancing and a few recipes. Do you intend to write another book about breakfast shakes and salads? How long do you expect to salsa yourself to a size whatever? You never stick to anything. It’s time for you to grow up and do something constructive with your life. Having some kind of public fling with that man is not a step in the right direction.”

  “That man has a name.”

  “I don’t care to learn it. You can do your show. Then you will fly home with your father and me and we will get your life back on track. You have a very good degree in English literature. We are well connected. If you want to write books, write something worthy of being read.”
/>   “When will you realize that this is my life? I want to work in fitness. I want to date Brooks.”

  “He has a grown-up child, Isabella! Do you really believe he is the man for you?”

  Izzy’s voice seems to lose its conviction. “That’s my decision.”

  “We both know you are incapable of making good life choices. Now, let me tell you how this goes. You will come back to London and fix your life. You will stop turning your back on the people you need to socialize with to thrive in life. And you will walk away from that man.”

  “But—”

  “You will do it, or your credit cards will be cut off and we will stop paying your rent. Then you could really see how far your life choices have got you on your own.”

  I’m startled by the sound of a throat clearing behind me. I knock into Izzy’s door as I turn. A man stands before me, holding three coffees. He has Izzy’s eyes and nose. He’s tall and slim, with thin gray hair and an immaculate suited appearance.

  I swallow deeply. “Sir. I’m going to take a guess that you’re Izzy’s dad.”

  “That’s correct. You must be Brooks Adams?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He takes a deep breath and seems to stand even taller than before. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

  He gestures to the apartment door, sending my mind right back to the conversation I just overheard. I care less about her mother’s opinion of the inked, muscled man with no prospects, and more about what Izzy didn’t say. She didn’t really defend me. She didn’t stand up to her mother. She didn’t say I was the man for her.

  I nod to Izzy’s father because I am struggling to form words. I’m seventeen again. My heart is breaking, again. It hurts every bit as much as it did then, maybe more.

  “Could you tell Izzy the car is downstairs?” I manage.

  “Yes, of course. We’ll be down soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  Outside, I lean back against the apartment building wall, needing a few minutes of air before I get into the ridiculous stretch limousine that must have been sent so that Izzy’s parents can ride with us. Great.

  I can feel heat rising on my skin. Sitting in front of a camera, inches from the woman I love, knowing my eighteen-year walls have cracked… I don’t know if I can do it. I yank my tie loose and unfasten the top button of my shirt, needing to cool down, needing to breathe. I ball the overpriced fucking tie in my fist and lean my head back against the wall, trying to get a grip on myself.