Oh, Henry

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “No! I haven’t. But I need someone who will be there to build a life with me, Henry. You’re still a big kid—just as you should be.”

  Ugh! Foot in mouth! Why, why do I suck at this so badly!

  “You’re wrong about me, Elle.” The light turns green, and instead of continuing down the street, he takes a left into an underground garage. Above it is a huge high-rise building.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “The best place for grilled cheese in Houston.”

  It doesn’t look like the sort of building that has a restaurant, but okay. I’m too busy trying to pry my mouth out of my ass. My next words need to be clear and precise. Thinking, thinking, thinking…

  We pull up to a set of elevators and a valet shows up, opening the door for me. I get out and Henry hands the guy the keys.

  Still thinking, thinking, thinking…Ugh! I don’t know what to say and how to make it come out the right way.

  Once inside, Henry scans a card and the elevator doors pop open. It’s a regular elevator with numbers on the buttons. Usually, when there are businesses in a place like this, the name of the company is somewhere close to the buttons.

  “This is a residential building, isn’t it?” I ask.

  Facing the doors, he nods. “Yep.”

  “So why have you brought me here?”

  “Because we’re going to my apartment, and I’m making you lunch.”

  Huh? I know Henry’s family is wealthy, but Henry has an apartment off campus back in Austin. He never mentioned another place.

  “So this is what, your weekend bachelor pad?” Still thinking, thinking and…nothing! “Henry, let’s be friends, because I really want to sleep with you.” No. No. That’s weird. “Henry, I am a giant antisocial crazy person, but let’s take it slow.” Ugh. Worse! “Henry, I am afraid. I’m so, so afraid because you’re so, so wonderful. And if it didn’t work out, it might really, really hurt.” No! Too needy.

  “Bachelor pad?” Henry huffs. “Not exactly.”

  The elevator opens on the top floor and my mouth drops. It’s got a panoramic view of Houston.

  “Wow. This is…this is…impressive,” I say.

  “It’s a perk of my new job. A penthouse in the city. A weekend house wherever I want.”

  I blink at him. “What job?”

  “Helping my father run his company after college.”

  Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Stop the presses. What’s going on here? Because while I’ve been agonizing over my big emotional premier party, I’ve clearly missed something.

  “How are you going to have time for football?” I ask.

  “I won’t. I’m giving it up.”

  Whatthefuck?

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I protest. “I mean, you love football. And I don’t just mean like. You loooove it.” Plus, Hunter told me that Henry’s dad is a huge greedy asshole.

  “Everyone’s gotta grow up sometime. Don’t they, Elle?” He gestures over to the kitchen area, which is a big open space on the other side of the living room area. It’s got stainless steel everything, glass cabinets and marble counters.

  I’m shocked. Really shocked. Usually, I’m great at figuring things out—like in those crazy spy novels I love so much, but something’s not computing.

  “Henry, was this really your choice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did your dad pressure you?” I ask.

  “Since I was born.”

  “Okay, but did something new happen? Something that made you change your mind about the sport you love more than life itself?”

  “I already told you, you were wrong about me. Football isn’t everything.” Henry pulls out an apron from a drawer after checking three or four of them. Clearly, he doesn’t know his way around this kitchen, but he knows how to make a grilled cheese because he’s got out a pan, butter, cheese and bread. I’m guessing that grocery shopping comes with the package because this penthouse looks expensive, and I can’t see Henry doing the whole supermarket thing.

  “I guess…I don’t know what to say.” I watch him drop a pat of butter into the warm pan. I can’t help focusing on how he seems so different. More grown up maybe? And he’s ditching football of his own accord, which means our relationship’s probability of success just became a positive integer. A really, really big positive integer. Why doesn’t that make me happy? It’s like I’ve just gotten everything I wanted, but everything feels off, tainted and airless.

  “Is it stuffy in here?” I ask.

  “I feel okay, but the thermostat is right over there by the front door.”

  I definitely need cooler air. I hop up and go fiddle with the thing, setting the temperature to seventy-two. From the corner of my eye, I see his bedroom. It’s got a huge bed and hardwood floors. From the light pouring in, I know there are more views and big windows. Maybe one of them opens and I can hang my head out of it.

  I walk over to investigate while my brain is crunching on all this.

  “Wow,” I whisper, pushing the door wide open. It’s like something straight out of an interior design magazine. Alternating light gray and white walls. Highly polished hardwood floors. Sleek modern furniture—red and white. There’s a private patio with a gas fire pit and a hot tub, all overlooking the city.

  I slide the door open and a slight breeze washes over my face. I inhale deeply, trying to settle my thoughts. Part of me is selfishly happy about Henry’s decision because it means we might have a future. On the other hand, it’s not making sense that he’d quit. Really, it’s not. Something happened.

  “Like the view?” says Henry, startling me from behind.

  I jolt and turn, placing my hand over my heart. “Oh. You scared me.”

  “Sorry. Your sandwich is ready.” He’s still wearing his black apron, and I can’t help notice how it barely covers his broad chest, a chest I really, really miss touching.

  “So fast?”

  “You’ve been gone for five minutes. I thought maybe you’d gotten distracted by the big bathroom.”

  “Oh. No. I haven’t gotten past your patio. It’s spectacular.”

  He makes a little shrug. “Yeah. I guess it’s nice. But the place feels more like a hotel than a home.”

  “You’re really going to live here?”

  “I own it now, so I guess I should.”

  I narrow my eyes. “But you never mentioned wanting this or quitting football or—”

  “Elle, we’ve both admitted that there’s still a lot we don’t know about each other.”

  “But something is not—”

  Henry suddenly bends down and kisses me. His lips are warm and soft. The scruff around his mouth is bristly and rough. The moment his hot tongue slides through my lips and I taste him on my tongue, I realize that I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the way he smells—sweet, clean, manly, and a tinge of bad boy.

  He pulls back, and I stare up at him, noticing how serious he seems now. Or maybe he was more mature than I’d given him credit for. I chose to see what I wanted.

  Slowly, he takes his hand and pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I’ve missed you, Elle.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I say, my body unable to get enough air. He’s standing too close.

  “I’m glad we finally agree on something.” He leans down and kisses me again. His strong arms snake around my waist, pulling me into the heat of his large frame. An intoxicating rush of excitement floods my body. This is what I like about being with Henry. He knows just how to use every inch of himself—the right way to hold me, the way to make me feel like I belong to him.

  I throw myself into the kiss, cupping his rough cheeks with my hands.

  He lifts me effortlessly and carries me over to the bed. My mind forgets all the worries and squabbles of the past few months. I can’t even remember why I wanted to stop seeing him. Because Tassie was right, we do have chemistry. I’m reminded of it every time I look into his eyes and feel something beyond just physical attract
ion.

  Henry pulls his shirt over his head, and I drink in the masculine vision of perfection before me—his ripped abs and dusting of light brown hair on his lower stomach; the swell of his biceps and his broad shoulders. I love how despite his magnificent size, our bodies always fit together perfectly.

  Those green eyes are intense and locked on my face as he unbuttons the top of his jeans, revealing a patch of dark hair and his long, thick cock. I lick my lips and open my legs for him.

  I’m still dressed. Why am I still dressed? I kick off my low tops and unbutton my jeans. Henry watches as I wiggle my way out of my pants.

  “Gonna take off that top?” He grins.

  “Oh. Yeah. I almost forgot.” I didn’t, of course. I am just feeling greedy and anxious to get that hard cock inside me.

  I grab the hem of my T-shirt and pull it over my head. The bra follows quickly and Henry just stands there staring at me with this look in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  I don’t believe him, but clearly he’s not ready to open up. Like me, he just needs time. Maybe I’ll juggle for him later. It’ll be a nice icebreaker. Intro to Elle 101.

  “Well,” I say, with a sigh, thinking aloud, “I guess now that you’re giving up football, we’ll have a lot more time to get to know each other.” I like that idea. I’m just not sure I like how it came about.

  Henry’s nostrils flare a little, and I can see his chest rising and falling. I can’t tell if he’s turned on or a little irritated or both.

  He leans forward and joins me on the bed, capturing my mouth with an aggressive kiss, like he’s got something to say and wants to show me with his body. His tongue is demanding, his grip on the back of my neck is firm, and his body is tense. He pushes me back and stares hungrily at me for a moment before reaching for my waist and flipping me over. With his size and strength, he has no problem maneuvering my petite body.

  I hear him grab for something in the nightstand and see him toss a condom wrapper to the floor. I’m glad he remembered because I’m too caught up in him and us to think of anything else.

  He grips my hips, forcing me onto my elbows. With one quick thrust, he takes me from behind, sliding deep. My breath whooshes from my lungs, and I wince. I had not been expecting that. He always plays with me first. He loves to mess around and goof off and make me laugh a million times with raspberries on my thigh or licking me in that ticklish spot behind my knee. He definitely likes foreplay, too. He’s great at it.

  Henry pulls out and slams into me again, driving deep. I’m shocked by the fierceness of his thrusts and the hard way he’s fucking me. There’s anger in it. There’s despair in it. I’m not afraid, it’s not like that. I feel more confused than anything.

  Henry begins pumping hard with his hips, driving in and pulling out at a ferocious pace. I brace my arm on the headboard, thinking that whatever this is, he sure as hell isn’t thinking about my needs because there is no way I’ll come like this, and he knows it. Nor does he seem to care.

  No juggling for you!

  Henry hammers into me, his large hands holding my hips so he can angle the head of his thick cock deeper. It’s to a point where I can’t take more of him, but he drives again and then stills with a deep guttural groan, coming inside me. I feel his cock twitching out his cum, which makes me feel fifty degrees hotter. Now my c-spot is throbbing, wanting more. My nipples ache for the hard suction of his mouth.

  Henry pulls out and lets go. I expect him to slap my ass or something—he always loves to hear me yelp a little. But that’s that. He’s gone into the bathroom, leaving me on all fours with my ass in the air.

  Jesus, what just happened?

  I get dressed and then go to the guest bathroom near the entryway to clean up. When I come out, Henry’s in the kitchen, putting the frying pan in the sink, and putting away the butter and cheese.

  “Henry?” I say quietly. “What was that?”

  He doesn’t look at me.

  “Henry?”

  “Let me take you home,” he grumbles.

  “Eh…no. You just rode me like a pony strapped with dynamite.”

  He gives me a hard look and goes back to cleaning up.

  “That was a joke, Henry. Get it…if he’s got dynamite, you won’t want to stay on him too long.”

  “Are you going to eat?”

  Okay. I’m missing something. Perhaps my overjoyed state due to my mother’s improved outlook has clouded my ability to see the pieces.

  All right. Deep breath. Think.

  Henry is quitting football and leaving behind his dreams for the NFL. He’s going to work for his wealthy a-hole of a father. Henry doesn’t seem like the materialistic type in that he doesn’t wear expensive clothes, never brags about anything but his awesome “game,” and never discusses how freakishly wealthy his family is. Yet here he is in a penthouse. Angry. In a penthouse he wanted to show me. Why?

  My brain throws out a few horrible answers, but the only one that makes sense is… “Please don’t call me a pompous bitch for saying this, but, Henry, did you give up football for me?” I mean, I did tell him—at least twice—that he wasn’t a serious person and that I needed a man. A grown-up man.

  He looks at me. “What makes you think that?”

  “Uh-uh. Don’t play games, Henry. If you want us to have a shot, then this is the point you step up and answer honestly.” I run my hands through my hair, praying he did not just alter the course of his lifelong trajectory for my sake.

  “Yes.”

  My mouth drops. “No. No. No. Why? Why would you do that? I never meant for you to give up everything just to please me. I meant that we were different and on different paths and that was reality. I never intended for you to go out and try to be someone you’re not. That’s ridiculous.”

  “You did it for your mother. You just told me so.”

  I’m about to protest, but he’s got me on that. “Yes. I did go to college to make my mom happy. But I also told you that I’m correcting the situation. Henry, if being with you means that you have to give up who you are, then I don’t want it. Not like this. Not at this price.”

  No wonder he passive-aggressive humped me.

  “Well,” he says, “I didn’t quit football to please you. And what’s done is done. I can’t go back.”

  “Of course you can. You just walk up to your coach and say I want to play. Boom. You’re back.” No team lets go of a player like Henry voluntarily. And yes, I’ve been stalking him on social media and in the sports news. I know his career just grew rocket boosters. He’s the talk of the town, the belle of the beefcake ball.

  “No, Elle. I really can’t. I’ve made a commitment. I have one semester left after finals and then I’m SVP of Walton, Inc., and CEO of several subsidiaries.”

  “Oil. You’re going to work for big oil.” I roll my eyes. If he thinks this will win me over, he’s got another think coming.

  “Not all oil. My father’s been investing in other ventures. He knows oil isn’t the future, but he needs help and I can’t complain about the money.”

  Whoa. Henry’s never cared about money. Not in the greedy, sell-your-soul sort of way. His father must’ve made some sort of threat or had some new leverage…

  This is the part where my brain does stuff I don’t ask it to. It’s almost like having neuropathways made up entirely of bullet trains that travel at the speed of light.

  The lightbulb flickers, and I tilt my head. That’s it. Henry paid for my mother’s care. Or he had a hand in it. I mean, angels just don’t fall out of the sky and give people medicine in a day and the best doctors money can buy. Henry had once mentioned his father didn’t approve of the whole football thing and that Henry always had to pay with his time.

  I cover my mouth and my eyes tear up. “Oh, Henry,” I gasp. “You didn’t. You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.”

  He looks at me, and I see it in his eyes.

  “Oh, He
nry,” the tears begin to stream down my cheeks, “you did. You asked him for help, and he made you give up football, didn’t he?”

  Henry lets out a slow breath toward the floor.

  “Goddammit. No.” I sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “And say what? That my father is a supreme heartless asshole who owns the drug company making your mother’s medicine and that he told me to choose between helping her or something he knows I love.”

  I cup my hands over my face. “Oh, God,” I whisper. It’s worse than I thought. I’d assumed Henry had asked for a loan or something. But his father owns the company and used it to blackmail Henry?

  This man has got to be the world’s biggest prick. “No wonder you didn’t want to work for him.”

  Henry scratches the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ve agreed. He’s making sure your mom is getting what she needs, and I’m not about to risk that just because I love to throw balls around on a grass field with a bunch of big dudes.”

  I walk around the counter and throw my arms around his neck, pushing up on my tiptoes. I was so, so wrong about what I’d been thinking earlier. This version of him isn’t mature. It’s the sad version. He’s heartbroken. That’s where all of the seriousness came from. That’s why he seems so different.

  “I changed my mind. I like the guy who wants to play and have fun and work hard for what he wants, because that’s the guy who just gave it all up. For me.” I push my mouth to his and pour my gratitude and my “I’m so, so sorries” into the kiss. I drink him in and let go for the first time in my life. I really don’t give a lab rat’s ass if he wants to make football his life because I know how to make things work, and I know a man like him is so hard to find.

  He holds me by the waist and returns my kiss, but then pulls away.

  Those green eyes pierce me, and I can hardly breathe just standing here looking at him.

  He whisks away a tear trickling down my chin. “Please don’t cry. I am going to survive. I promise there are worse fates.”

  “I know, but you deserve better. You deserve to live your dream, Henry.” And I’m not about to let him give it up.

  “Aside from the obvious parental shortcomings, I’ve always had everything I’ve wanted.” He draws a smooth breath. “But now I found something I need, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get to deserve her.”