Always been You

by Mia Scott

  "What the fuck ever, Keller. You got lucky last time. Let's do this," Big said, his swagger in full effect.

  Big had James's guy totally cornered, and he was completely about to annihilate that fucker when James opened his fat mouth and said, "Dude, how long have you been having sex with Alisha?"

  He faltered for half a second on the controller, but that was all the opening his douche of a best friend needed to fucking kill his ass. Again. He wondered when the hell James got smart enough to play mind games. "What the fuck, dude?"

  A shit-eating grin spread slowly across James's face. "I'm sorry, is this breaking news? You and Alisha are sleeping together. Am I right?"

  "Shut up," he grumbled.

  "Nice comeback," James snorted. "I'll just take that as confirmation."

  Big wasn't in the mood for this conversation right now. It wasn't that he felt the need to keep things a secret from his best friend, but it's how Alisha wanted it for the time being. He also half wondered what it meant that part of him kind of wanted to have a conversation with James about it…even if now wasn't the time. Jesus. He hadn't been to the beach lately, so he wasn't sure where this sand in his vagina had come from.

  Not one to use his words in every situation, he took action and chucked the game controller at James, smacking him right above the left eyebrow.

  "Ow! Goddammit!" James yelped, rubbing the rapidly reddening spot on his head. "You're such a dick!"

  "Sorry, bro," Big said soberly before bursting out laughing. Honestly, he hadn't aimed for James's head. It was merely a happy accident.

  "Yeah? Well, sorry this, douchebag," James snapped, punching his friend hard in the chest.

  "You hit like a fucking girl, Keller," Big jeered, as he reached out and pulled a titty twister on his friend.

  Next thing he knew his laugh was dying in his throat and he was tackled to the ground; James pushed his face into the carpet. Big slapped his chest, hard ('cause let's face it, sometimes girls had the right idea!)

  "Slapping, really?" James chortled, continuing to sit on his chest.

  The air slipped out of his body as James pressed down hard with his hands. He balled his fist and swung, landing it square against James's jaw.

  "Motherfuck!"

  Big got the upper hand and knocked Frankenteen off and pinned him to the ground. "Now what, big boy?"

  James punched him in the solar plexus.

  "Dude, this shit is super gay!" Big coughed, struggling for breath. Then with an Indian burn to end all Indian burns to James's forearm, he released him and scrambled to his feet. He snorted and extended a hand to help his buddy off the ground.

  "That was dumb," James said simply, running a hand over his smarting jaw.

  Big rubbed his sternum and bit out a gruff, "Fuckin' A."

  The two men smirked at each other and headed for the kitchen and more beer.

  James yanked open the fridge and pulled out two beers, handing one to Big. He held the bottle to his jaw, letting the cold soothe the throbbing ache. "Tickets to Ray LaMontagne? Awesome," James exclaimed, noticing the tickets under a magnet. "When'd you get those?"

  Big took a long, slow pull from his beer, eyeing his friend. "Hanukkah gift," he admitted.

  A knowing grin spread across James's face. "From Alisha?"

  "Yeah, so," Big shrugged. His friend smirked, and he rolled his eyes in response. "What?"

  "You bought her tickets to a Colts game and then she got you tickets to Ray LaMontagne? Dude. Dude!" James's eyes rounded, and his mouth fell open.

  "Spit it the fuck out already, Keller," Big said crossly.

  "Alisha's your girlfriend."

  He nearly choked on his beer. "Are you shitting me right now? Think about me and then that crazy ass statement you just made. I don't do girlfriends. Lisha and I are just fuck buddies, alright?" Though as the words left his mouth, he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more.

  "Oh that is such bullshit, Big, and you know it."

  "No. It isn't," he retorted quickly.

  James rolled his eyes. "Okay, so she's not your 'girlfriend.' But friends with Benefits don't buy each other expensive presents on gift-giving holidays."

  He had a point. A very valid point. But he and Larrington made their own rules. They didn't need to conform to society's norms on whatever-ships.

  When Big didn't respond, James pressed for more information. "How long has she been your non-girlfriend, then?"

  "If you're asking how long I've been banging her, then the answer is since the night we played the reunion show."

  James's brows shot north and his lips twitched into a smirk. "Dude."

  "Fuck off! Don't say it again," Big snapped. "And don't you know any words besides dude?"

  "She is so your girlfriend."

  "You want my fist in your face again?" He set his bottle down on the counter and pushed up his sleeves. "Let's go."

  James shook with laughter. He never thought he'd see the day that his best friend would be so riled up about a woman. The fact that he had no clue about it either was even more hilarious. He wondered how long it would take him to clue in.

  "You're a douche." Big slugged him (hard) on the shoulder and stalked out of the kitchen.

  No matter how awesome and hot and wicked in the sack Alisha Larrington was, she wasn't his goddamn girlfriend.

  Biggerone didn't do girlfriends.

  Right?

  Right!

  Big and Alisha left the stadium after the Colts/Jets game. Her team lost and she wasn't taking it well. At all. He shouldn't have found her so fucking sexy at that moment, because honestly, she was being a big Debbie Downer about the whole thing; her lips were curved in a deep frown and the annoyance from the loss was vibrating off her in waves. With the twin braids sticking out Beneath her white Colts hat, the blue horseshoe painted on her cheek, and all the rest of her Colts gear, she really worked the whole dedicated sports fan thing. (He also knew how she liked to get railed when she was in a bad mood, so he figured this worked in his favor.)

  "Come on, Shorty," Big prodded as they walked through the parking lot towards the shuttle. "You've been pouting since the start of the fourth quarter."

  Alisha shrugged and tromped along silently beside him.

  If she'd only listened to him, they probably could have avoided this whole pouting business. He'd told her that they would probably lose because the Colts would rest their starters for most of the game, so they'd be ready to go for the playoffs. He hadn't said it to be an ass (shocking, right?), but hello, he watched a lot of Sports Center and he was a dude that knew his football. She'd adamantly disagreed with him, stating that they could have a perfect record (and perfect season if they won the Super Bowl) and that there was no way the Colts would just throw it away like that.

  So they made a $10 bet (with a side of some hot, nasty sex—winner's choice) and traded barbs throughout the first half. They laughed a lot; and Alisha was super into yelling and cheering for her boys in blue and high-fiving fellow Colts fans in their section. (Her knowledge of the game, by the way, was impressive and hot.) The Colts took a commanding lead early on and she took a great deal of pleasure taunting him and the Jets fans nearby. She'd delighted in calling their quarterback Dirty Sanchez and he'd nearly choked on his beer. And when he teased her and asked if she even knew what that meant, he almost pissed his fucking pants when she described it to a T. (Alisha Larrington had a dirty mind, kids.)

  At one point he thought was going to have to step in when some douche Jets fan got mouthy with her, but she shut ol' dude down and verbally annihilated him without so much as batting an eyelash. (She was awesome in a lot of areas.) Big had been so proud (and turned on) that he'd tugged on one of her braids and dropped a loud, smacking kiss to her lips; then he bought her a beer and a jumbo pretzel with hot mustard because the victorious smirk on her face was fucking adorable. (Shut up.)

  It went downhill after halftime. She'd nearly gone apoplectic when she saw Peyton, Dallas,
Reggie and the rest of the first string take the Bench while third string Curtis Painter stepped in as QB. But she insisted that a 17-6 lead was more than adequate, and she was still confident that they'd pull off the W.

  She'd taken his teasing in stride at first, companionably flipping him off or rolling her eyes at him over the top of her beer.

  And then the Jets took the lead in the fourth quarter and the profanities that had been flowing impressively off her tongue in the third quarter died out and made way for extreme pouting as she sported her Mayor of Sore Loserville demeanor.

  They were halfway through the parking lot and her silence and crazy speed walking was annoying the shit out of him. "Hey, Pouty McPouterson—slow your roll a little," he bit out testily.

  Alisha stopped and turned towards him, taking in the pinched expression on his face. She was being such a brat and it made her feel like a total asshole. Grabbing the front of his coat, she glanced up at him with a crooked and embarrassed smile on her face. "Big, I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I'm such a sore loser. God." His response was an arched eyebrow. "What I'm about to say will probably not seem like the truth, but the game was so much fun." Big's signature smirk appeared and her own lips twitched. "Okay…everything until the fourth quarter was fun."

  "Alright," he nodded curtly.

  "Thank you for bringing me," she smiled brightly. "I couldn't tell you how long it's been since I've been to a game. You're super badass and awesome for giving me such an amazing Hanukkah gift." She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but it was pointless. Her laughter tinkled through the air around them.

  "Now, that wasn't so hard was it?" he asked with a wicked grin, folding his arms around her shoulders and hugging her tightly against him. She leaned into his torso, wrapping her arms around his waist and lifting her mouth up for a kiss. He kissed her soundly and then smirked against her lips. "Just so you know, Larrington, that apology saved you from getting the Dirty Sanchez later." Her mouth dropped in shock and he laughed, skirting away from her and narrowly dodging the blow she aimed to his side.

  "This city is full of fucking lunatics," Big said, as they spilled into Alisha's apartment. He toed off his sneakers and shrugged out of his jacket.

  "Oh, come on, Big," Alisha giggled. "It's not every day that you see a man reading Keats to a pigeon." She took off her Colts jacket and hung it in the hall closet; she gave his the same treatment.

  Big rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Not just a lunatic, but totally bat shit crazy then," he murmured, splaying his hands over her denim covered hips and drawing her closer. He smirked down into her eyes. "Sorry your team lost."

  Alisha's lips fell back into a pout, but quickly twitched up into a smile. She'd gotten over the sting on the ride back to the city. (Mostly) "It's okay," she shrugged, running her hands over the front of his shirt. "I really had so much fun at the game; thank you again," she told him sweetly. Tipping her head back, she Rosemary up on her toes and pressed her lips to his, lingering there. She grinned at him when she dropped down again.

  A crooked smile formed on his lips and he tugged playfully at her braids. "You're welcome, Shorty."

  "I'm going to go wash this horseshoe off my face," she said, gesturing to the blue Colts emblem she'd painted on her cheek earlier. She patted his chest and headed for the bathroom.

  He watched her go (he loved to watch her go) and plunked himself down on the couch, switching on the TV. Flipping through the channels, he found Bad Boys II on one of the movie channels. "Fuck yes," he grinned, tossing the remote down. He got up to get a drink. "D'you want a drink, Lisha?" he called from the kitchen.

  "Some water—thanks," she answered.

  Pulling open the fridge, he grabbed a coke for himself and the pitcher of filtered water she kept there. He poured her a glass and walked back out into the living room, pausing to quote the movie.

  "You got porno and homo shows up in here in front of my babies? What kind of freak-ass store is this? And you two muthafuckas need Jesus!"

  Big snorted out a laugh and walked into her bedroom, where it quickly died in his throat when he saw her standing at the mirror in just her Colts jersey and white cotton panties. Panties that, upon further inspection, he discovered had a blue horseshoe on the front. Goddamn. (Her team spirit was fucking hot.) He took a big gulp of the water he'd brought for her and swallowed thickly.

  Alisha spotted him in the doorway. "Hey," she smiled coyly, undoing the braids in her hair. "I didn't hear you come in." She picked up her hairbrush and ran it through her chestnut locks.

  "Nice outfit," he commented roguishly, stepping behind her. Their eyes met in mirror.

  "Yeah?" she asked with a breathy laugh. "I was going to try and entice you into bed with this." She felt the laughter rumbling deeply in his chest as he pressed against her.

  He expelled a breath and let his eyes leisurely rake over her body in the mirror. She was so toned and petite and perfect; utterly mouthwatering and gorgeous. Lifting the hem of her jersey slightly, he stared at the sports themed panties and grinned wickedly. "It worked…I'm enticed." His eyes gradually raised to hers again, held there.

  Alisha cocked a knowing brow and continued to glide the brush through her hair as his eyes studied her. (They were a soft, dreamy shade of green just then.) He made no move to rush or to possess the way he normally did; his calloused fingers merely stroked slow, indecipherable patterns on her hips and down the tops of her thighs, sending tingles up her spine. "What?" she asked quietly, unsure what that curious look in his eyes meant.

  His hand fell away from her hip and he rested his chin atop her head, just watching, before he reached for the brush, gently removing it from her grasp. Her big brown eyes grew curious in the mirror and his lips twitched in response; he liked her that way. He especially liked the way her eyes rounded and dilated when he ran the bristles gingerly through the dark strands from top to bottom.

  "Your hair drives me crazy," he whispered lowly against her ear. He continued brushing her hair, piece by piece, alternating using his fingers and the brush in his hand.

  Alisha leaned into his motions (she almost felt like a damned cat), but the sensual feeling of Big brushing her hair had her on the verge of purring, so she supposed cat-like was fairly apt. She laughed quietly when his fingertips skittered down the nape of her neck. (A spot where he knew she was ticklish.)

  "You drive me crazy," she murmured back, brown meeting hazel in the mirror once more as she watched a smile stretch leisurely over his chiseled features.

  Big put the brush down on the dresser and smoothed her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck. Her lashes fluttered in anticipation and he smirked, wrapping his arms around her middle and pressing his cheek against hers. "We look good together," he said lowly, the smirk falling away. They really did look amazing standing there leaning against each other.

  "We do," she agreed with a faint smile, resting her head back against his shoulder; her hand rubbed lightly over his forearm.

  "Damn right. We're two good lookin' Jews," he said, making her laugh again. He turned and trailed his lips lightly up the delicate column of her neck and over the curve of her jaw. "You're beautiful," he said thickly, nipping at her ear.

  That was the first time, she thought hazily as her head began to swim. (His lips had that effect on her.) The first time he'd referred to her as beautiful and not hot or sexy or some other similar adjective. Butterflies raged wildly in her belly as the word sounded over and over again in her brain. "Jake," she whispered, growing desperate to feel his hands on her fully.

  Big lifted his eyes to hers in the reflection. "I mean it—you're so damn beautiful, Alisha." He didn't miss the blush that swept up her neck and stained her cheeks. His heart hammered in response—he'd never used that word to describe her before—which was ridiculous, because anyone with working eyes could see that she was; and remarkably so.

  "Kiss me," she breathed, angling her head back.

  He gladly obliged, cupping he
r chin with one hand and brushing his lips teasingly against hers. His tongue smoothed over her bottom lip, seeking entrance, and delved inside when she opened for him. Leisurely sampling her mouth, their tongues glided lazily around each other in a slow dance. Alisha's hand slinked up to the back of his head, pulling him closer as the kiss grew more and more breathless.

  She groaned softly when his lips broke from hers, but then his hands (his amazing, amazing hands!) snuck under her jersey and inched it up and off her body, exposing her breasts that were wrapped in royal blue lace. (She had a lot of Colts spirit.)

  "Sexy," he rasped as a little smile tugged at his mouth. He skimmed his fingertips along her collarbone, watching her watch him in the mirror. (Hot!) Brown eyes lowered when his fingers softly brushed the gentle swells popping out at the top of the lace.

  Familiar heat stirred low in her belly and began to pulse at the apex of her thighs. She arched back against his chest, eager for more. Any moment, she figured. Any moment now he'd fire up the burners and they'd flash and spark and rage for each other. Her breath hitched when that flash didn't come as expected, but rather moved at a snail's pace as his hands slid along her ribcage and down over the smooth skin on her stomach. She was pretty sure she whimpered, because she saw the corners his lips quirk up in the mirror as he continued to explore her body (tortuously slow) with his hands. One hand disappeared behind her back and traced up her spine, making her quiver involuntarily. "Jake," she purred softly, working her bottom lip between her teeth when she felt the clasp of her bra give.

  Need and lust swam in those Bambi eyes and with every touch he watched her head further down the path of insanity. He'd driven her insane before; on multiple occasions. But this? This was something different. Something more. He kept waiting for his own need to kick into overdrive and just Bend her over and fuck her senseless…but something in him didn't want just that this time. What he wanted was to savor her body; to worship it; cherish it. He didn't know what the fuck that meant, nor did he really want to know. Everything he wanted (and needed) at the moment was there within the confines of her lowly lit bedroom with dark eyes imploring him to give her more.