Enjoy the Ride (Winter Games Book 3)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “Ladies first.” I handed her a plate.

  Even the ambitious amount that we heaped onto our plates didn’t put a dent in the mass of food that I’d ordered. Whatever, it was good as leftovers.

  “Friends?” Realizing how that sounded, I clarified, “Do you want to watch Friends while we eat?”

  She turned and a laugh escaped me, seeing that she already had a forkful of lo mein in her mouth.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  She sat down next to me as I powered up Netflix. Two episodes later, we were both sprawled towards different ends of the couch. Her feet slowly sliding towards my chest.

  “One more?”

  “Just one,” she insisted.

  Letting Netflix continue right to the next episode, I grabbed her one foot and she squealed.

  “Don’t tickle me!”

  Tickling her had been one of my favorite things—the way she would squeal and squirm against me, bursting into a fit of laughter; Christ, it lit my soul. And tickling her while my dick was still buried inside of her… well that fucking consumed me.

  “No,” I informed her regretfully. “I was just going to rub your foot. You look like you’ve had a long day.”

  “Well, I have this one patient who is so obnoxious and demanding…” Her eyes twinkled.

  “Oh, yeah? Demanding? He hasn’t done anything inappropriate, has he? Because I can have a nice firm chat with him.” Now, I was grinning too—our conversation much more entertaining than Phoebe and Joey on the TV.

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied. “But, I think I can handle him.”

  “Oh, yeah?” My eyebrow arched as my fingers pressed firmly into the arch of her foot.

  My dick twitched against her leg when she moaned. So, I kept doing it. Eventually her eyes made it back to the TV; mine stayed on her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured when the credits began to roll. “I can’t believe I ate all of that.”

  “Really?” I asked with a faked astonishment; Jessa had never been shy about eating or loving food. She was never embarrassed about taking what she wanted. Anything that she wanted. “Because I’m pretty sure that you just put it in your hollow leg.”

  “The hollow leg is only reserved for donuts,” she replied without missing a beat and we both laughed.

  “I’ll clean up.” I reached over and took her plate before she could reach for it.

  “You got dinner. I can do this.” She stood and her hands cupped mine, trying to take the dish back. She had the strangest look on her face—an unstoppable need to do something for me, only I doubted that cleaning the dishes was it.

  I raised an eyebrow at her and she took the hint, her hands falling to her side. My skin tingled from where her fingers had touched me.

  “You really don’t have to do this…” Now, she looked nervous.

  Since when was this girl nervous? Apparently, my memory didn’t get that that question was rhetorical, flicking back to the night she’d kissed Frost. Immediately, my entire body was on edge and I wanted to punch something the way that I’d punched his fucking face.

  A mistake, in retrospect. Sure as shit, the next day, Frost was still lying on the kitchen floor where I’d left him. He had no memory of what had happened which probably had more to do with the alcohol and drug cocktail that he’d consumed rather than my physical assault.

  He looked like death. And when I did tell him what happened, he fucking puked everywhere.

  “But, thank you.” Each word fell as softly as a snowflake, yet with a heaviness that crushed the anger that stirred from my memories.

  Clearing my throat, I grabbed the rest of plates and made for the kitchen, saying, “Figured I could give you a little break since you had such a pain-in-the-ass patient today.” Grinning, I set everything in the sink, wondering where to start. “But, don’t get used to this. I’m going to have to start putting you to work to pay for your rent.”

  Her laugh floated behind me. Even that was enough to make me screw the dirty dishes in favor of screwing her.

  “Well, I do appreciate that,” she said. “I’m gonna go grab a shower and then maybe we could watch a movie or something?”

  Netflix and chill. “Sure.”

  The only movie I was going to be watching was the way her body came apart as I fucked her. And that shit was going on repeat.

  Yeah, I needed to get upstairs to Ally’s—my room and get these scrubs off before I started to look like I’d pissed myself. I was halfway up the staircase when I paused over the bannister.

  “Don’t use the water. It makes the shower cold,” I said, wincing at my words that suggested he didn’t know how his own house worked. Living with well water made life very interesting; nice, toasty water could turn quite frigid in a second if the water was turned on anywhere else in the house.

  At this point though, I could probably use a cold shower.

  “I take it that’s not an invitation, then?” he yelled up with a grin.

  No, Jessa. Say ‘no.’

  You better say no. If you don’t—“No.”

  Good job.

  “Maybe next time then.” I could hear the laughter in his voice.

  “You wish,” I teased back, taking another step. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  His voice followed me all the way to the second floor. “Or maybe we could go for a dip in the hot tub. I love watching your face as the jets—“ I slammed the bathroom door, cutting off whatever he was going to say.

  Back up against the door, I half laughed and half whimpered at my current predicament. And then the memory of what he was about to say made its way through my amusement. Looks like it was time for a cold shower.

  Turning on the water, I reached back over and locked the door.

  Not to keep Chance out… but to keep me in.

  I wanted him so badly it felt like the lower half of me was revolting. But I needed to talk to him. It was written all over his face what he thought I’d meant when I’d suggested a movie, but really it was because I didn’t want him to disappear down into his man-cave. Now that I’d decided to finally tell him, the truth burned my throat like acid waiting to get out.

  The water was only lukewarm but I barely felt it. You’d think by now, after eight years, I would know what to say—how to tell him what happened, what I’d been thinking. I didn’t. And I dreaded the moment because I knew that it was only half of the battle—telling him this.

  Less than half.

  The real battle was to tell him the part that he knew nothing about.

  The real battle would come when I had to figure out how to tell him about our child.

  Turning the water off, I threw open the shower curtain and let the cold air bring me back to the moment.

  One thing at a time.

  I pulled on a soft cotton romper, opting for something that had slightly more fabric to it than most of my silk pajamas because those did not hold up well around Chance. The towel scrubbing against my head became less for drying my hair and more for stirring up courage and coherent thoughts.

  Looking over the bannister, I saw Chance standing at the counter in front of two glasses of ice and a bottle of gin. Shirtless and those sweats. He’d worked quickly, clearing every last container of food that had covered the island, the clean granite reflecting under the lights.

  I tried to keep my bare footsteps silent, watching the subtle flex of his muscles as he poured the clear liquor over the crackling ice. At this point, who needed alcohol? I was quickly getting drunk on the sight of him.

  As I rounded the corner, a spot on the floor squeaked. (There’s always one step that will…) Chance froze in the middle of pouring a drink and looked up at me. The glass bottle clanked down on the countertop as he stared at me, desire making his eyes storm.

  Yeah, cotton had been a good idea, a little voice in the back of my mind whispered as I felt warmth seep between my legs and my nipples scratch against the fabric.

  I swore it was my bo
dy’s reflex to him—like when they test your reflexes at the doctor, hitting your knee and watching to make sure your legs jump in response.

  That’s what this was.

  The sight of him hit me and it was all I could do to stop my body from wanting to jump him. With a mind of their own, my eyes roamed down his body that I could now see being in the same room.

  Those damn sweats of his made my mouth dry. I was tempted to burn them when he wasn’t looking. Asshole would probably just walk around wearing nothing then. Nope, this was not going to be easy. Not. One. Bit.

  Easy would have been saying ‘screw it’ to the truth and throwing myself into his arms. I would have been up against the glass sliding door with his dick buried inside of me faster than you could say ‘Pride.’

  “Do you own any other sweatpants?” was the only thing I managed to squeak out.

  I saw his cock twitch underneath them, knowing that it was what I was looking at.

  “Do you own anything that doesn’t make me want to fuck you?” Oh, damn.

  “I-I don’t know.” I walked over to the counter so that I could lock my legs together without him noticing.

  “No, Jessa. The answer is ‘no.’” He laughed and reached for the bottle of expensive Citadella gin again. “And if I did own another pair, why would I wear them when these make you so hot and bothered?”

  “Gin and tonic. Extra lemon.” I looked down at the glass; it didn’t look right. “I jazzed it up a bit for you, J-bird. There’s some blueberry jam in there, too.”

  “Interesting,” I mumbled, looking at the cup once more before taking a sip.

  “Good?

  It was. Nodding, I took another sip. “Thanks.” At this point, maybe a good drink would help.

  “Still your favorite?” he asked, eyeing me as he screwed the cap back on the bottle. Who knew you could actually wish to be a bottle cap just to be screwed by him? I nodded and swallowed more of the cocktail; the combination of blueberry and lemon—sweet and sour—was addicting.

  “So, when are we taking this show to the mountain?”

  “What?” I blurted out, unable to focus on anything except what I needed to tell him.

  “When are we going to the mountain? To snowboard?”

  “Um… Friday?” I suggested Dr. Lev didn’t usually come in on Fridays; I wasn’t sure taking patients on field trips was one-hundred-percent sanctioned, but Chance needed that more than he needed the physical therapy or the aquatherapy or the stretching. He needed to realize that his life wasn’t over.

  “I hope you’re prepared. This isn’t going to be like how it used to.”

  Yeah, I was already well aware that nothing was like how it used to be. It was all so. Much. More.

  “Calm down. We are just going to go and enjoy the ride,” I offered, clutching my glass to me. “You’ll see that you are making way too much out of this.”

  “If you say so, J-bird,” he said wryly, raising his glass in a toast.

  Gingerly, I lifted mine in response, wondering just what we were—

  “To enjoying the ride.” The sound of the glasses clinking together echoed through the room—a soft alarm that I was on borrowed time.

  I took a sip; he drained the entire thing. And his wasn’t the fruit version either.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. His eyes narrowing on me were like two bright blue spotlights focusing in on their subject.

  “N-nothing.” I set my glass down before it became one more mess that I had to clean up.

  The step he took closed the distance between us. “Don’t fucking lie to me, J-bird.”

  I swallowed, letting my gaze fall to the solid wall of chest in front of me, his muscles rising and falling like mountains underneath his skin. As though I was watching a movie, I saw my hand come up, tracing along the hard, heated dip down the center.

  Chance hissed like a pressure-valve was being slowly opened inside of him.

  “I need to talk to you,” I whispered.

  “About what?” His voice rasped. I could see his erection now pressing out distinctly against his pants. If I just—

  I sucked in a breath as my hips swayed forward, just brushing against him. Later, I would blame it on the alcohol.

  Slowly, my eyes made their way back to his. “I-I need to talk to you,” I gulped, “about Frost.”

  His body was already hard. My words turned it to stone.

  I stepped back, trying to put some distance between the bad decision that I wanted to make.

  “Don’t,” he growled, stalking after me.

  My hands came up as I got to the end of my retreat—the half-wall and bannister against my back. My hands gripped the rungs behind me as though I were on the wrong side of a jail cell, desperate to get in instead of to get out.

  My head shook mindlessly as his one hand held onto a rung next to my face, the other gripping my chin, forcing my movements to a halt.

  So, with wet cheeks and a wobbly voice, I begged, “I have to, Chance. I have to—“ His mouth swallowed the rest of my statement.

  He punished me for speaking, for mentioning Frost, for mentioning the past. His mouth punished me and I begged for more.

  I was crushed to him. And by him. And by my guilt.

  What if I had done the wrong thing?

  Everything with Chance only felt right. What if I’d thrown it all away for nothing?

  “You are mine.” He bit the words into my lip. “I never want to be reminded of the fact that that fucker touched you. That he touched what’s mine.” His knee wedged between my legs, pressing greedily against the part of me that ached to be his.

  For a second, I let myself get lost in the kiss that followed—punishing in its possessiveness. Demanding in its desire.

  And then the sweet saltiness I tasted on my tongue was like adding salt to an open wound. Necessary for healing. Beyond painful.

  Just like the truth.

  Lovers: Perfection and harmony. This card represents a very strong sexual connection that goes beyond lust, that suggests a very deep desire and passion between two whose bond is reflective of a soulmate connection.

  “WE CAN’T DO THIS.” I tore my lips from his—the sensation like ripping off an oxygen mask underwater, reality flooding my lungs. “I can’t do this. I need to talk to you.”

  I was still pinned to the wall, his knee between my thighs, but I couldn’t stay here. This couldn’t happen like this.

  Hands on his chest, I pushed. Hard.

  He moved back, but only slightly. “Don’t do this, Jessa. We both want this,” he rasped. His face was tortured with desire. “We both need this. Don’t fucking drag Frost back between us. Don’t.”

  I shook my head frantically, using the small space that had opened up to duck underneath his arm.

  “No, Chance.” I shook my head. It was so foggy, but he didn’t understand what I meant. “I need… to talk to you… first.”

  Icy anger glazed over his eyes. And I understood. He thought I’d cheated on him. He thought that I hadn’t wanted him. He wanted me, but he didn’t want to remember that the last time he’d wanted me it had cost him his pride—on so many levels. I had been his downfall.

  And he had been mine.

  But he didn’t know that.

  It was the finely veiled layer of sweetness over the sneer in his tone that told me I shouldn’t have approached this subject without full-on body armor and an eight-foot shield.

  Instead, I had a cotton romper and an unquenchable desire as my defense. “What’s the matter, J-bird? Feeling guilty? Or do you just need to tell me that you still prefer the taste of Frost?” Chance demanded. He was determined, I would give him that, determined to cut me as he pulled every last shard of my broken heart from my chest.

  The way I gripped the rungs of the bannister I’m surprised I didn’t snap one off; my knuckles were probably whiter than snow. But they needed to be in order to hold me up because his words had cut my legs right out from underneath me.

>   I stood there and took it because, after eight years, I deserved to hear these words spoken to my face.

  But they weren’t enough.

  The man I’d broken continued, vehemence dripping from each syllable.

  “Is that it then? I’m good, but not good enough? Was it always Frost? I want to know,” he laughed harshly, “were you always just trying to get his attention? Did you ever love me?”

  Now, like my cheeks had been coated with Rain-X, tears slipped down them easily. Every fear, every thought that had ever crossed my mind before and after what I’d done came raging back—an army of accusations attacking an already faltering heart.

  Somehow, I manage to look at him. Him with his strong, proud jaw, the right-side twitching as his perfect teeth that were made to smile, clenched with an expression far more sinister.

  “How long were you fucking him while you were with me?”

  The last straw. The damn broke inside of me and the truth angrily, unattractively, and hysterically poured out of me.

  “Don’t.” I rasped, my tongue darting out to lick my dry, cracked lips. My outburst was fueled by self-loathing rather than self-vindication. The truth changed nothing, in my mind. I had still cheated. I had still kissed his best friend—whatever my reasons. And he could hate me for that. But I refused to let him hate me for wanting Nick or for thinking that I’d slept with him. “I was never trying to get his attention. It was never about him. You want to know why I kissed Nick that one time? Because. Of. You. Because you were going to come with me to Texas.”

  I barely caught his eyes narrowing as my tears overflowed my eyes. I didn’t care that I looked like a crazy lady with bright pink hair, ranting hysterically.

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Jessa? Of course I was fucking coming with you. Did you not want me to? You should have just broken up with me then.”

  I choked on my own laugh. Damn, I hated how this man could make me cry.

  “Would you have believed me? If I tried to break up with you? Because I sure as shit wouldn’t have. I loved you, Chance. And I did want you to come with me. That was the whole fucking problem.”