Sacrifice The Knight: Checkmate, #6

by Finn, Emilia

  “It’s his loss.” Fuck society, and fuck our rules, I still lean forward and tuck her loose hair back, and because I’ve come this far, I keep going and press my lips to her forehead. “It’s his character flaw, Katrina. It’s his mistake for not appreciating what he had.”

  “I know.” She lets go of some of her anger, but in doing so, she also steps back and makes a point to put space between us until her scent retracts from inside my lungs and leaves me wanting. “Anyway.” She pulls in a deep breath. “I don’t know why I told you that. Sneaky sex doesn’t mean a shoulder to cry on, so I’m sorry.”

  “You can talk to me,” I whisper. “I have broad shoulders, remember?”

  She chuckles under her breath and steps aside so I can continue into the diner. “Come have your breakfast. I’ll add fresh cookies to your plate and call it even.”

  “Did you make them yourself?”

  Laughing, she follows me in and misses the way Stefan and Franky dive for cover when they see us coming. “I did make them. First thing this morning.”

  “But you’ve only been at work for half an hour?”

  Just like her son, she swings an arm out and smacks me. “Shut up.”

  * * *

  I don’t even pretend not to wait for her later that night. I sit on my stairs in the cool breeze and stare up at the stars while I count the minutes. Leaning back on my elbows, I tap my foot against the bottom step just before eleven, studying the twinkling Andromeda galaxy while I think back to all the classes in school I paid such keen attention to.

  It’s not a secret at this point in my life I was – and still am – kind of a dork. I’m the friend for all of my friends’ girlfriends. The shoulder to cry on, the one they show their puppy dog eyes and ask me to fetch them something to eat. I’m the guy all of the women feel safe around because I don’t hit on them. I don’t even pretend to hit on them. And I always say yes.

  Want a snack?

  Sure.

  Want a ride somewhere?

  I’ll do it.

  Want to buy your man a gift?

  Sure, I’ll help you shop.

  I don’t mind my place in this setup, since I never wanted to fuck any of those girls anyway. But still, I stare up at Andromeda and think about how we got here. Katrina’s sneakers scuff against the loose gravel and bring my lips up into a smile. I shouldn’t let her walk even those two blocks from the diner to here, but the very moment I offer to walk with her, I know she’ll pull her I don’t need a man card and run in the opposite direction. Katrina is like a field of explosives: one wrong step and we’re all dead. So I choose my battles, and maybe I tip Spence and the chief off that she’s walking at this hour, in case they’d like to patrol and keep an eye out on my behalf.

  I cast a glance to the left as she comes around the side of my building with shy eyes and bowed shoulders. She’s so proud, it almost hurts her to come to me in the middle of the night. It hurts her to ask for anything, even if I’m practically throwing myself at her and hoping she’ll accept.

  To save her, I turn back to the stars and don’t make a big deal about the way she folds her arms and hugs herself as she stumbles forward. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I tap the metal stairs and scoot a little to the right, and as soon as she sits and her hip rests against mine, I drag her scent into my lungs until I’m full and wear a goofy grin. “Good night at the diner?”

  “Eh.” She lies back and rests her shoulder against mine. Following my lead, she makes herself comfortable and looks up at the stars. “Same as always. Nothing dramatic happened.”

  “That’s good.”

  A star shoots across the sky above us and makes me smile when Katrina gasps. It lasts only a second and ends with her grunt of disappointment. “Did you see that?”

  “I did. It didn’t last long.”

  “I only caught the last second,” she pouts. “It was so pretty.”

  “Uh-huh.” When I reach across and take her hand in mine, she doesn’t react at all. She allows me to move her arm, bring her hand closer, and folds her fingers around mine when I twine them together. I guess the rules don’t apply when we’re alone in the dark.

  “Did you know some cultures think the stars can tell the future?” She glances toward me for just a second, then goes back to the stars with a smile. “It’s cool to think they can predict what’s coming.”

  “I did know that.” Dorky McDorkerson, science class favorite, here. “Astrologists speak of myths and supernatural legend. It’s a little more hooey and not at all scientific, but their predictions are solid. Meanwhile, their snobby foes, the astronomers, tend to come up with the same predictions, but because they use scientific data, they consider theirs fact.”

  “Snobs.”

  I chuckle. “I know. Bunch of snobs think they’re always right. Then every Thursday when the astrologers and astronomists are at the same dinner table, the astronomers get pissed, because the astrologists are all ‘we already knew that, Frank. Don’t you ever listen to us?’”

  Katrina snickers and turns a little toward me. Finally, I allow myself to turn my head and stare into her bright eyes. They reflect the moon and don’t look even a little bit sad. It’s rare she doesn’t have sad eyes. “That sounds like a totally legit conversation that probably never happened.”

  “You know what I mean.” For reasons unknown to me, I bring our joined hands up and press my lips to her knuckles. I was married once, and for Gemma, I did all of the sweet things women want: flowers, chocolates, picnics, gentle kisses, and soft whispers. But when that was gone, I didn’t try it again. The women I’ve known since then didn’t want sweet nothings, and I didn’t want to give them. Our interactions were a business transaction of sorts. No money was exchanged, but neither were pleasantries. But here I am now, staring at the stars and kissing a woman’s knuckles just because I want to. It’s terrifying. “Did you know that stars are often clustered in pairs?”

  Katrina’s brows furrow with thought. “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. They look like they’re all so random sitting up there by themselves, but many come in pairs. Binary stars,” I murmur. “That’s what it’s called when two stars orbit the same center of gravity. So many of them are paired.”

  “I wonder if every pair of stars has been allocated to a couple of humans?” She turns to catch my eyes. “Do you know what I mean? Like, there’s a pair assigned to each of us. Then they join and bind when their human counterparts meet.”

  “That sounds awfully romantic,” I chuckle. “So you’re saying Kane and Jess’ stars found each other?”

  “Right. Ray and Gloria. Jay and Soph. Bobby and Kit. You know all the couples we see, so blissfully happy together.” She shrugs. “It makes you wonder if their star equivalents are up there together.”

  “But I thought you didn’t know the Bishops?”

  Laughing, she squeezes my hand and rests her cheek on my shoulder. “Why are you always trying to call me out on shit? Why can’t you let me be stubborn in peace?”

  “I dunno,” I chuckle. “I guess I like picking apart the tight control you insist on having.” I arch my head back, close my eyes, and press a kiss to her forehead. “And yeah, I like your theory. Binary stars are bound couples. Finally together. Finally happy.”

  “So maybe shooting stars are people dying? Like they had their other half, but then their gravity let them go. They shoot away and light up the skies that one last time. Maybe it’s their last act of kindness, an act of selflessness, or that last declaration of love, ya know? And then they’re gone.”

  “Jesus.” I shake my head and turn back to stare at the sky. “That’s morbid as hell. What the hell is the matter with you?”

  She shrugs, but her lips quirk up into a grin. “Maybe the single stars are wandering around all alone, waiting for their patch of gravity and their other half. Maybe they’re watching the binary stars, mad as hell and green with envy because they found happiness.”

  “Maybe.” I reach
across with my other hand and draw her face up with a finger under her jaw. Leaning in a little closer, I press my lips to hers, hold the kiss, and I don’t stop until she exhales on a sigh and relaxes. Each time we’ve been together has been about hot and fast, a business transaction just like all the others, and definitely no kissing under the stars underscored by the soft sounds of frogs and birds on the breeze. Katrina’s eyes flutter closed when my tongue slides over her bottom lip, but my hand refuses to free her. I turn on the stairs so my weight rests on my hip, and though I’m tempted to slide my hand into her top, I cup her face instead, allowing myself to fall into the kiss with a thumping heart and a million reasons flashing inside my head on why I shouldn’t.

  Gemma blinks in my brain. On again. Off again. Blinking just to remind me she’s there and that it’s selfish of me to romance another woman. It’s not fair to Gem. Not to Callie. Not to Katrina or Mac. But still, our tongues slide together, and within minutes, Katrina’s leg hitches over mine so she can get just that little bit closer.

  I pull back with panting breath, a racing heart, a wish that things could be easier. “Will you come inside with me?”

  Dazed, she blinks the fog away and works to focus on my eyes, but I’m acutely aware of the security cameras that cover this property, and I’m not about to give my friends more material to work with.

  Gently pushing her leg off mine and climbing to my feet with a raging hard on and a heart that can’t make up its mind, I pull her up slowly, catch her when she sways, then I lead her up my stairs and into my dark apartment.

  I need to take care of my world. Get my home in order and remove old memories. How could I possibly have any kind of future, any semblance of a chance of moving on, if I continue to live in the past? Gemma stares at me from every wall. Her bright eyes and beautiful smile slather on a new layer of guilt. But I move through my apartment at lightning speed because I don’t want Katrina’s eyes to stray from me. I don’t want her to know my secrets or how truly fucked up I am, so I leave the lights off and lead her through my living room.

  “We have an hour?”

  “Yeah.” Her hand remains in mine. She walks out of her shoes as we move, loses half an inch of height as she goes, and pulls her top off one-handed so we enter my bedroom with most of the formalities out of the way. “One hour. And I finish early tomorrow, since Mac has something I have to be at.”

  I stop just a few feet from my bed. “You won’t visit tomorrow night?”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t. Mac would blast me for sneaking out, then he’d ask questions I don’t have answers to.” Stepping closer in jeans and a bra, she tries to cover her stomach with a folded arm, as though the tiniest bit of loose skin or a stretch mark bothers me. “You better get your fill tonight, DeWhit. Because tomorrow, you gotta use your hand.”

  I pull her close in the dark and fuse our lips together. She wears her hair in a high ponytail, so the ends tickle my hand as I blindly work on the latch of her bra. Sliding the straps over her arms without releasing her mouth, I drop it to the floor beside our feet, and when she pulls away to breathe, I drop to my knees and take her nipple between my lips.

  “Jesus! Eric.” Her body tenses, and her breath races out on a gasp.

  “I gotta get everything tonight.” One-handed, I work on the button of her jeans, and with the other, I squeeze her tit and tease the nipple with my tongue. “I won’t get another taste for days, so I need to make sure I taste everything I can now. To make you come so hard, you’ll remember I’m not a wasted fuck.”

  “God,” she groans. I push her back a step and tug her jeans down with one-handed jerky movements. Exposing her panties, I stop for a moment and study the black lace. The narrow straps. And when I peek around her hips and find bare skin at the back, my eyes shoot up and zoom in on her blush. “No teasing!”

  “You wear these for me?” I take the lace between my teeth and nibble. “You wore cotton the other times. Now you’re wearing lace, and I feel like maybe you thought of me when you put them on.”

  “I did.” Panting, she takes another step back until her calves touch the end of my bed. I follow her movements, and when she can’t stop wringing her fingers with nerves, I push her back so she flops with an umph, then I tug her jeans down to her ankles and bury my face against her fiery hot core. Lace keeps us apart, but the heat and wet are just as evident as if it weren’t there.

  “What if I buy you sexy underwear?”

  When she doesn’t answer, I look up to find her smothering herself with my pillow over her face. Reaching up, I tug it away and wait for her eyes. “How would you feel if I went shopping for underwear? I’d think of you. I’d think of how the colors would complement your skin, how the thong would sit between your ass cheeks and promise something naughty. I’d think about you working at the diner, bringing me dinner and wearing the underwear I chose for you.”

  “Eric…”

  “You’re too proud?”

  She confirms my suspicion with a nod.

  “You don’t wanna say it?”

  She confirms that with a shake of her head.

  I work on her panties with a smile, sliding them down smooth legs and nipping at her skin as I go. “You’re too proud to admit that I can buy you panties. But if I did it anyway and said that you had to wear them, you’d do it?”

  Our eyes meet.

  She nods.

  With a grunt of satisfaction, I bury my tongue in her wet pussy and lap up everything she’s already given. She lifts her legs, opens herself up, and slams her hands over her face to keep her scream in.

  15

  Katrina

  “Breathe, big momma. Take that oxygen in and don’t pass out.”

  “Shut up!” I smack Meg’s hand away, and when she reaches for me again, I slap her again. My son is being led toward a regulation-size boxing ring surrounded by spectators and trainers. He’s my baby! He was crawling on the floor and eating mashed banana for dinner not so long. He was waking up thirty times a night because he was a shitty sleeper, and sending me into a tailspin because he wanted to walk at nine months old, and wore the goose eggs and bruises to show for it.

  But now he’s standing on the outside of a boxing ring with his best friend by his side. In boxing trunks, no shirt, sixteen-ounce gloves, and sweaty hair because Ben and his trainer, Bobby Kincaid, have already been working him while the other fighters take their turns.

  I should be concerned about the girl fighters who are currently competing for dominance, the blonde-haired fighting machine who kicks her opponent’s ass and makes it look so unbelievably easy, it looks like anyone could do it. She demands the attention of every person in this gym – everyone except me. I watch Mac’s every single move, while he and Benny watch the fight going on just three feet in front of them, as they shout their instructions, dodge the strikes that Evie dodges, lift their legs when Evie lifts her legs, then they throw a phantom strike a mere second before she does, knocking her heavier opponent on her ass. Evie’s small crowd shoots into the air on a celebratory roar as though they haven’t watched her win at least a dozen times in the past.

  Aiden Kincaid jumps into the ring before the other girl regains her feet. Where Bobby Kincaid is my son’s coach today, Aiden is Evie’s – always. He picks his daughter up into a crushing hug and tosses her into the air with laughing cheers.

  If I were a smarter woman, I would have taken Evie’s fighting time to relax and breathe through my he’ll be okay mantra. For as long as she was fighting, Mac was just a spectator. But that’s not what I did. Instead, I panicked and focused only on the fact that once she’s done, it would be his turn. And now I’m out of time.

  So stupid!

  The boys are already sweaty; they ride their adrenaline, and add to it with Evie’s victory as the crew of teens chest bump and tap fists. They’re a group of fighters, and it does strange things to my heart that my son has this whole other world outside of me. Once upon a time, I was all he had. I knew ev
erything he did during every minute of the day, but then he grew up, made friends, joined this gym, and now he has these relationships that have absolutely nothing to do with me.

  I love that he’s chosen such amazing friends, and I’m simultaneously heartbroken I’m not a part of it.

  This place today, this competition, isn’t a real fight. Not in the sense that people will be injured for real or walk away bloodied and hurt. There’s no prize money involved, no fame or fortune, no television interviews for the victor. This is just a day for kids to get their feet wet and learn what it feels like to fight someone who isn’t your friend from the gym.

  Well. Except Evie.

  She’s well into her real competition career, and here today only because the gym belongs to her family and her reputation precedes her. These kids come from other gyms and challenge the blonde to a bout because they’ve heard of her, but they swear the girl who looks so glamorous could never be so skilled. Her mother might be a princess from another time, but her father is a fighter to the core, so it would be impossible for her to grow up here without knowing how to kick ass.

  These other kids swear they’ll be the one who can put her down, the chosen one, the victorious one, but for as long as Mac has been here and I’ve been following him to his fights, those girls always walk away with a bruised butt from when they land and a bruised ego because their mouths are faster than their feet.