Playing For Forever_An Erotic Love Story

by J. C. Grant

  “Where have you been?” I demanded, my tone harsher than intended.

  I had practiced all evening what I was going to say when he called; something cool and calm, as if I hadn’t even noticed he was gone.

  So much for that plan.

  “Hey, sweet girl.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  Undeterred by his sexy rasp, I muted the TV and strained to hear anyone in the background before I continued, “I haven't heard from you all day. What the hell?”

  He made a throaty sound of approval, and my suspicions started to melt away. Whatever he was up to, he was clearly pleased with himself.

  “David?” I demanded, staring unseeingly at the TV.

  “Just wanted to be sure,” he answered vaguely.

  He seemed amused, but I wasn’t. “Be sure about what?”

  “That you only want three hours a day.”

  “What?” My voice was sharp and disbelieving, horrified that he had intentionally tortured me for hours.

  “You said you wanted three hours a day, and lately you've been acting like you want space, so I gave it to you. Looks like you don't really want that much space.” His tone had a hint of arrogance in it. He was happy with my reaction. Proud.

  It. Was. A. Fucking. Test.

  Fergus’ behavior suddenly made sense. He had to have known what David was up to.

  “Don't do that shit again. You won't like what happens.”

  At my threat, he made a humming sound, a mix of smug satisfaction and arousal. “Fuck, that’s hot. I love it when you’re all riled up and pissed off.” He groaned. “Shit, you’re making me hard.”

  Obviously, he’d gotten the response he was looking for.

  Same as I did the other night.

  That thought calmed me some. I pushed his buttons all the time, to get a reaction, and he never got mad at me—not really. He probably assumed I’d respond the same way.

  I didn’t.

  “You wouldn't be so proud of yourself if you knew what I've been thinking for the past five hours.”

  “Austin, stop it. I had to take a fucking sleeping pill to keep from calling,” he defended fiercely. “I just woke up.”

  I could picture it clearly: David asleep in his reclined seat, his distressed white tee and worn thin jeans showcasing the contours of the muscle underneath. Despite being mad about his stunt, I was desperate for it to be true—that he was just testing me, that he was alone.

  When I didn't respond, he added, “Just need you to be sure you don’t want more than three hours a day... And the only way to know for sure was to give you a day of freedom. A day free of me.” He paused. “And apparently, you didn't like it.”

  His smugness was infuriating.

  “I liked it fine,” I said defiantly, unwilling to admit how miserable I’d been, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.

  “Until?” He drew the word out, either gloating or mocking, I couldn’t tell.

  I was kicking myself for not playing it cool when I answered the phone. “After I got home,” I lied. I had grown concerned four hours after he left, and it had slowly escalated from there.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, clearly not buying my act.

  I knew then, Fergus bringing my phone when he did, was no accident. They had talked. About me.

  “Whatever,” I breathed, giving up the charade. Scooting back, I leaned against the headboard, pulling the covers up around me.

  He huffed a laugh. “What're you up to?”

  “I'm lying in bed watching TV,” I grumbled reluctantly, playing with the edge of the sheet.

  “You're lying in bed?” His tone was disbelieving.

  “Like you’re surprised? Wasn’t this your plan?” I accused. “Keeping me at home with Fergus? Having him cook me dinner?”

  He didn't respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was eerily calm. “He cooked you dinner?”

  I stilled, realizing that hadn’t been his plan at all. My voice was quiet when I answered, “Yeah.”

  “Huh.” He paused. “Couldn't get takeout?” he challenged, his possessiveness creeping in.

  Instinctively, I tried to explain. “I was going to make that shrimp thingy that you cook for me. He took over and cooked it.”

  “Wow, I'm impressed. You actually pay attention when I cook?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “When I'm not staring at your ass, back, or pecs, yep.” My tone was matter-of-fact.

  He laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that warmed my insides.

  “I miss you.” It took a second for my brain to catch up as the whispered words spilled from my mouth. A twinge of panic raced through me at the openness, the vulnerability.

  “Holy fuck, I miss you.” At his ardent response, I relaxed. “What else did you do today?” he inquired none too stealthily.

  Unable to resist, I responded impassively, “I hooked up with an old fuck buddy, to burn off some steam.”

  “Austin,” he warned.

  I laughed, relieved to have him grilling me on my whereabouts for the day. “I went to my appointments, and then I came home and fed Chance. Then... I was interrupted by Fergus.” My pride wouldn’t allow me to admit I was insecure enough to Google his Vogue photos.

  “Sorry, sweetheart.” He didn’t sound sorry. Not one bit. “I just wanted him to catch you off guard.”

  “What? Why?” As the words left my mouth, I realized I already knew the answer. If David couldn’t stalk me himself, he’d do it through Fergus. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of that sooner. David had Fergus watch me at the very beginning, back when I was working at the temp job. Why wouldn’t he do it now?

  “Why do you think? Because I’m a jealous asshole, who didn’t want you staying home, doing who-the-fuck-knows-what,” he growled.

  It was fucked up how much I loved hearing that. How comforting it was, knowing he couldn’t bear to give me even one evening of freedom.

  I bit my lip, as a happy noise bubbled up out of me.

  “Fuck, I miss you,” he breathed. Then his tone shifted, the domineering behavior I’d missed all day coming through in his quiet demand, “What're your plans tonight?”

  It was cute, reassuring. I loved it.

  “Sit in bed, watch TV like a loser,” I deadpanned.

  “Staying home and doing nothing when I'm not there does not make you a loser. Makes you fucking amazing,” he swore fiercely.

  I understood what he meant. Living in Hollywood, we had access to every flavor of depravity you could imagine. And I had access to men most girls only dreamed about. If our roles were reversed, I’d be freaking out.

  “I was teasing.”

  “Good. Relax, get some sleep. I gotta take a quick shower and make some calls, but I'll definitely call you before your shoot.”

  I felt a sharp twinge of rejection at his dismissal. I knew it was irrational, an extreme overreaction— brought on by his mere absence and the fact I was not his sole focus.

  Jesus, I’m as needy as him.

  “Yeah, okay.” I tried to hide my disappointment; I wasn’t ready to get off the phone.

  “I love the fuck outta you,” he swore fiercely.

  “Love you too,” I murmured.

  “See you soon.”

  When David disconnected the call, I immediately felt empty. Lonely. That was a new emotion for me.

  And I didn’t like it one bit.

  *****

  When I woke, that uneasy sensation was still there inside me. I had never actively worried about infidelity, never gave cheating a second thought. But with David... It was becoming some kind of phobia. Was that a thing? Fear of being cheated on.

  As I laid in bed, looking out at the cloudy LA skyline, I tried to focus on the deep rumbling snores vibrating against my back. It was like a mini massage. It was almost pathetic how comforting it was—Chance and I sleeping back to back. But it wasn’t enough to make me forget about last night.

  Not long after David ended our call that
dull ache had returned, along with all the uncertainty. The what ifs. Because he’d never said he was alone, and had clearly intended to hurt me.

  Don’t think about it.

  Getting out of bed, I ditched the too short shorts for oversized sweatpants, and pulled my hair up into a messing bun before making my way to the kitchen, Chance right beside me.

  There was a Green Tea Dream and take-out containers on the kitchen island. Just as I was about to snoop through the containers, the garage door opened, revealing a sharply dressed Fergus. He already had on his black suit and crisp white shirt.

  “Good, you're up. I was coming to wake you. I noticed you like to drink these,” Fergus explained, gesturing toward the kitchen island. “And I couldn't figure out how to use the coffee maker.”

  I couldn't help but smile at that, feeling much better that I wasn't the only one who couldn't work that beast of a machine.

  “Thank you.”

  “Aaron picked up an omelet for you. David said that's what you prefer for breakfast on shoot days.”

  “Uh... yeah. Thank you,” I repeated, impressed and a little surprised.

  “Don't thank me. David's the one who texted me your wake time, breakfast requirements, and schedule.”

  Fergus’ tone confirmed my suspicions, he knew exactly what David was up to yesterday, and was trying to help smooth it over.

  I couldn’t deny it felt good knowing David was taking care of me even when he was over six thousand miles away. I also couldn’t deny his easy dismissal, ending our call, still stung. But I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about what it meant. Because it had to mean something, right?

  “That one's yours.” Fergus’ voice broke me from my thoughts, pulling my gaze to his. Nodding toward the container closest to me. “Let me know when you're done. I'll take you to the gym. Go eat. You have a schedule to keep,” he directed, as grabbed Chance’s food, feeding him.

  Grabbing the container and Green Tea Dream, I headed for the couch. As I sat there watching Fergus, I noticed he had taken over David’s role almost seamlessly. My husband had sent a spy—literally—to babysit me. I should have been mad about that, David thinking I needed someone to take care of me, keep me focused and on schedule.

  But as embarrassing as it was, it was exactly what I needed. I didn’t want to think, I didn’t want to feel, I just wanted to get through the day. In all honesty, I'd gotten my fill of freedom the day before. I was completely confident all I needed or wanted was a couple of hours a day to myself.

  David’s plan was an asshole move.

  But it worked, even though I was pretty sure he did it to reassure himself, not me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was cloudy and gray and smelled like rain when I parked my RS 7 in an underground parking garage downtown—three hours earlier than planned.

  Elaine had called just as we were about to leave for the gym. Apparently, there had been a mix-up with the schedule. It wasn't clear to me if it was her mix-up or the studio's, but her call came at the perfect time.

  As I turned off the car, I noticed a thin waif-like woman waiting by the lobby doors.

  When I made no move to climb out, Fergus spoke up, “Have you not met Elaine?”

  “No... that's her?”

  “Yeah,” he answered as he opened the passenger door, seeming relieved to be getting out of the car.

  While he refrained from being a backseat driver, he made no attempt to hide his displeasure at being a passenger.

  As I stepped out of the car, Elaine approached. I was still in disbelief that this was Elaine. I had envisioned her as a woman in her forties, possibly fifties. The woman in front of me couldn't have been older than thirty-two and no more than a size two, with jet-black hair, almost shaved on one side, long and flowing on the other. She wore cropped slacks with suspenders, a sleeveless, button-up, crisp white shirt, and heeled booties that I was envious of.

  “Elaine?” I checked.

  “Hi.” She responded with a little wave. “We finally meet,” she said as she reached me.

  That's when I realized why I’d thought she was so much older than she was. Her voice. It was refined, elegant.

  Instantly, I felt like a schlub in my flip-flops, black skinny sweats, and—in an incredibly pathetic attempt to feel closer to him—David's gray Helmut Lang cashmere hoodie. He'd worn it Monday and Tuesday morning, and it still held his sweet exotic musk, but it was incredibly big on me, not flattering at all. At least I had my Balenciaga bag to class me up a bit.

  “You ready for this?” she asked kindly, seeming to detect my discomfort.

  “I think so.” Not at all.

  “You're going to be great.”

  I hoped she was right.

  She grabbed my hand, leading me toward the entrance where Fergus was waiting, holding the door open.

  “I'm going to report this PDA to David,” Fergus stated dryly, as we entered the building.

  “Very funny,” I muttered. But I was genuinely shocked at his attempt at humor. At least I hoped he was joking.

  “How can you live with David?” Elaine asked rhetorically as she led us to the elevator. “I could never date anyone like him.”

  “I loved my freedom yesterday—for a little while. I was way over it by five,” I babbled nervously.

  The elevator arrived, and all three of us entered.

  “Geez, you're both crazy. I would've gone buck wild as soon as the door shut behind him,” Elaine stated as she pressed the button for the fourteenth floor.

  It was glaringly obvious Elaine didn’t understand our relationship, but most people wouldn’t. And for whatever reason, I felt compelled to defend David.

  “Honestly, it’s comforting, knowing he is keeping tabs on me, that he cares that much... knowing I’m his focus,” I confessed.

  Elaine said nothing, just gave me an accessing look.

  That look picked at my insecurities, reminding me, I hadn’t been David’s focus the past two days. Because while he had made sure I was taken care of this morning, he hadn’t called me. That fact niggled at the back of my mind, adding to the weight of those other unanswered questions.

  We arrived at the fourteenth floor, and all three of us exited the car, Elaine first, with Fergus following closely behind me.

  Elaine didn't pause, leading us down a long corridor. Her quick steps echoed on the black marble floor, matching my quickening heartbeat.

  Suddenly, I was nervous as hell.

  I felt ridiculous.

  What reason did I have to be on a cover?

  “This is going to be a play on David.” Elaine’s soft voice gave me a small reprieve from my growing anxiety. “They decided to go with a sexy baseball player theme. This needs to be risqué to get attention.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, trying to keep my voice level and relaxed. I’d never admit it, but I was scared to do a cover shoot without David present. And I wasn’t even sure why.

  “I have a plan worked out for you. Just work with me, and we will try to make sure that we don't do anything to ruffle David's feathers.” She winked at me. “Not too much, anyway.”

  “Whatever we need to do, I trust you with this.”

  And I did. My press was bad; I was well aware of that. Everyone loved David and hated me because of it, or any number of other reasons they came up with.

  “It's not going to hit the stands for months, so we have time to diffuse him, if need be,” Elaine assured me as she led us through the hallways of the seemingly abandoned building.

  She finally turned down a hallway with signs of life, ushering me past several open doorways before reaching the dressing room. The room was sparse, with only a small vanity and stool, old sofa, and a rolling rack.

  “Are you going to be okay wearing this?” Elaine asked, pointing to the rolling rack.

  I felt my eyes widen as I stared at a pair of blue, old-school, knee-high tube socks with white stripes, tiny white bikini bottoms, and a Dodgers jer
sey that had been cut and cropped into the tiniest top. It was basically a low-cut tank that was skintight and only two inches long. It'd barely covered my nipples. And the bottoms... they were microscopic.

  Everything was going to be on display.

  At my expression, Elaine explained, “Don't take offense, but after your outing at the furniture store—your frumpy outfit.” She looked over my current frumpy outfit. “We really need to do something that kinda shocks people and shows you... all of you.”

  Those fucking pics.

  I knew they were going to come back and bite me in the ass.

  “Okay, fine,” I relented. This was her area of expertise, and I was going to let her do her job. I just hoped David didn't fire her.

  I stripped down and dressed in the nonexistent outfit, grateful that my waxer managed to fit me in for my Brazilian the day before. Grabbing one of the robes off the back of the door, I slipped it on, wrapping it around me, cinching the belt tight, making sure I was completely covered before exiting the dressing room.

  I stopped short, finding Fergus waiting for us.

  He was almost as bad as David, and I couldn't help but wonder if David paid him to be that way or if he was that way on his own. Elaine led us to the makeup room and made sure I had everything I needed—my purse, bottled water, fuzzy slippers—then left. I was hugging my bag in my lap, feeling incredibly insecure about what was hidden underneath the thick terrycloth, when I felt my phone vibrating in my purse.

  When I saw David flash across my screen, relief washed over me.

  “You still miss me?” His deep rich rumble greeted as soon as the call connected.

  My chest bloomed with warmth, comforted by just his voice and the fact he was thinking of me.

  I was fucking pathetic.

  “Hey, babe,” I whispered. “Of course. How's it going?”

  “That's what I was calling to ask you.” He kept his voice low, matching mine.

  “Nervous. Never done a cover before.”

  “Is that why we're whispering?” he teased.

  My cheeks heated with embarrassment, and I whispered, “No, I don't know why... Fergus is standing in the room, though.”