The Princess and the Player

by J Santiago

  “I’m ready.”

  Jamie nodded, pleased. “Good. And thank you for coming with me today.”

  She smiled. She couldn’t tell him she enjoyed being on the receiving end of his gratitude. For so long, he had propped her up, and she relished in being able to lend her support as Jamie played the overwhelmed fanboy.

  At Will’s knock, Ele started for the door.

  Jamie’s hand on her arm stopped her. “A token,” he said softly. “Wait.”

  He turned away from her and marched to the exit. Robert pulled the door open, and Ele gasped in surprised delight when Tristan bounded through like a hyped Tigger. He rushed her, sweeping her up, her feet dangling. He wasted no time in allowing her to slide down his body until their mouths could properly align. Then, he kissed her. Not a friendly hello peck, but a devouring, hungry, lip-locking, tongue-invading, soul-searing kiss. Ele’s hands slipped up to curve around his neck. Undaunted by a potential audience and unaware of anything other than Tristan’s mouth on hers, Ele let go, meeting his fervor with her own. When they finally came up for air, the room was empty.

  Tristan gently set her on the floor before walking her backward until her back hit the wall. “Good surprise?” he asked, his head burrowing under her chin.

  She leaned her head back, giving him greater access to her neck. “Best,” she said on a sigh.

  “Hmm,” was all he managed as he ran his nose along the length of her neck and his hands slid up her stomach until they reached her breasts.

  A sound she could only describe as a purr rumbled in her throat. Even with his hands on her, her body a taut electrical current, she could discern his smile against her skin.

  “I like that noise,” he commented, feasting on her neck. His kisses lightened, and he gradually added distance between them. Engulfing her jaw with his hands, he straightened her head, and their eyes met. “Hi.”

  Smiling, she said, “Hi yourself.”

  He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

  Ele quirked a brow. “You have plans tonight?” she teased.

  He tapped her on the nose. “Funny.” Releasing her, he turned and leaned against the wall. “Robert still mad at you?”

  “A bit.”

  “You don’t seem upset.”

  “I think he’s secretly proud of me, but he knows he can’t admit it, so he’s hiding his pride beneath a layer of gruff. Can’t have people knowing he lost his charge for a short while.” She shrugged, unconcerned.

  Robert had caught up with her and Tristan at Navy Pier, but a couple of hours had elapsed in between. He hadn’t said anything to them in public, but when they’d gotten into the car, he’d lectured them on their irresponsible behavior.

  Tristan laced his fingers with hers. “Listen, if for some reason tonight doesn’t turn out like I think it will, I just want you to know I have enjoyed every minute we’ve spent together.” His tone was casual, and when she chanced a look at his face, he was completely relaxed.

  But the elation of unexpectedly seeing him seeped out of her. Nothing he’d said was shocking, and if she had let herself go there, she would have realized that a loss tonight would be more than just a loss for her country. A pang of sadness rippled through her. It was just like Tristan to put it out there, to meet it head-on, but some part of her wished he hadn’t reminded her. It heightened everything about this interlude and the game to follow.

  “I’m not sure what will happen after the match, win or lose. If we lose, I think we fly back tomorrow. If we win, we might be on lockdown until the final. Either way, it will be difficult to find time.”

  He tugged her hand, pulling her into him. She pressed all of her weight against him. He wrapped his arms around her as she rested her head against his chest. Her head was spinning though as she tried to hold on to the memory of their last night together. She hadn’t known at the time, or she would have marked it in some way—a memory bookmark, a highlighted passage. She was a descendant of kings and queens but no more able to define the parameters of her endings than a commoner. It made the trappings of her life seem distinctly unlucky. There were words she was supposed to say, sentiments to share, but she found she was mute. The things looking to jump from her mouth were words better left as unspoken thoughts.

  “If there’s time, I’ll come to you after,” Tristan said.

  She nodded. But she knew it wasn’t enough. So, she raised her head and smiled at him. He moved his hands from her waist to cradle her jaw, and she leaned into the touch. Then, she lifted up on her toes and pressed her mouth against his. This time the aggressor, she kissed him with all of the emotion she held at bay.

  On her tongue were the words she refused to speak. Maybe I can leave them here with him, swirling in his mouth, so he can take them with him and figure them out later.

  She ran her hands up his arms, mapping his glorious biceps, touching him wherever she could reach. Imprinting.

  Pulling away from the kiss, she looked up at him as he opened his eyes. He cocked his world-famous smile at her, and she melted a little.

  “I’ll make time,” he amended.

  She laughed, and he joined her. Then, he leaned his forehead against hers and paused. It was a moment where she could say something, injecting some truth, but she didn’t.

  As much as it was the time, it wasn’t.

  23

  11 July

  SeatGeek Stadium

  Ele was poised on the edge of her seat, her hands shaking with an unfamiliar rush of adrenaline. With five minutes left in the second period of extra time, the teams were deadlocked. The match had been a battle with bodies flying and tempers flaring. The humid night air had settled into the stadium, stagnant and heavy. The players’ jerseys were plastered to their chests, sweat beaded along their bodies, hair matted to their heads. Every tackle sent splatters of sweat flying, particles of water catching the bright lights shining onto the pitch.

  Ele turned from the field for a split second, like she was driving a car and a glance away from the road might propel her into oncoming traffic. “If it’s still tied, we go to penalty kicks?” she asked, returning her attention to the action below.

  “Yes,” Jamie answered. “A penalty shootout.”

  Without looking at him, she continued, “How does that work?” She didn’t have to see her brother to know he was most likely rolling his eyes at her ignorance. “This is the fifth football game I’ve ever watched, and none of them have ended like this.”

  Jamie snickered. “They clear the field. Each team sends a keeper to the goal. Both teams select five players to take a shot from the penalty spot, in rotating order. The team with the most goals wins.”

  Questions rolled around in her head. Ele had a deep-seated desire to know the ins and outs of things. She’d suppressed it over the years, allowing things to go unexplained as a way to keep her world smaller and more manageable. Fear sometimes lurked for her in the known rather than the unknown. If she suffered anxiety as a result of an unexpected occurrence, it was better than being afraid of something she should have expected. It exonerated her. After she watched the time expire and the teams huddle for water and then take their places for the shootout, she turned again to her brother.

  “Is the pressure greater for the keeper or the person shooting?” She looked back to the field, her vision narrowing to just one player.

  The lines of his body were both familiar and surprising. Her fingers curled into fists on her thighs as she remembered running her hands along the length of his back, tracing the rise and fall of sinew on his arms, rubbing her legs against his rock-hard ones. The man who had scooped her up in his arms mere hours ago differed from the athlete on the pitch. His jersey clung to the planes of his lean muscles.

  He appeared focused but loose, relaxed in a way Ele had only recently discovered she experienced in the presence of a few people.

  “I think most people would say the person shooting. The keeper isn’t meant to save ev
ery shot. You hope he can save one.”

  They were second, and Rowan stepped up to the ball. She recalled her terse encounter with him. She didn’t imagine much fazed the team captain. He proved her right five seconds later as his shot sailed past the keeper into the back of the net. Everyone in the box exploded with cheers and hoots. But Ele remained in her seat, tense.

  There were no dramatics for the next shots by both teams, and they were tied at two to two. Then, Tristan stepped away from the line of their team and walked to the penalty spot. Flooded with nerves, Ele leaned forward, dropping her elbows to her knees and covering her mouth with her hands.

  “Your poker face is rubbish,” Jamie commented next to her, low enough so only she heard him.

  Ele’s spine stiffened, and she quickly sat up but was still utterly zeroed in on Tristan below. With what looked like the most casual but natural motion in the world, he shot. The ball whizzed past the keeper’s head. The goalie didn’t even have a chance to move. The crowd erupted in a frenzy. He turned from the penalty area, facing his team. He paused, like it was for optimal viewing pleasure. Then, he crossed his arms over his chest, looked left—actually away from the box where Ele sat—and nodded. The whoops and bellows around her and in the stadium reached a crescendo. Ele remained completely still, overwhelmed by the noise, but the rest of the crowd descended into a mad chaos. Beside her, Jamie vibrated with enthusiasm. She wanted to ask him why, what was so different about this particular member of the team.

  But then she heard one of the dignitaries behind her say, “Definite crowd favorite, our T-Dav.”

  Our? It bothered her, more than she wanted it to. She didn’t want Tristan to belong to the collective. What she wanted was to stand up in the box, stomp her feet, cross her arms, and declare, Mine! She wanted that more than she could remember wanting anything.

  But as she continued to observe him from her place in the stands, she realized the adulation fueled him. He appeared to be levitating on the pitch. While his teammates radiated intensity, he looked like he had already won. Whether it was confidence or faith, Tristan made a prediction with his body and expression. And she believed him. Even with the rise and fall of the cheers, Ele hardly watched the byplay between the keepers and penalty takers. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Tristan.

  Suddenly, the people in the box around her exploded in cheers and handshakes, hugs and back-pounding. Still, she kept her gaze on Tristan as he and the team bombarded their goalie, falling on the ground in a pile. The thrill of victory captured perfectly. Rowan and Tristan were the first to extract themselves from the celebration and console the losing team. He had a long conversation with one of the men, his hand on the guy’s neck, their heads close together. The man gave Tristan a fleeting smile before they both turned to make their way around the field.

  Jamie touched her shoulder, and Ele startled, looking up at him.

  “Ready?”

  She blinked, waking from a trance, and stood. “Of course.”

  Turning toward the door, she quickly inventoried the people around them. All of the National Football Federation members were there, and they barely noticed Jamie’s and Ele’s movements. She scooted around the row and took her first step to the exit when everyone’s attention shifted downward.

  “Here they come,” someone said.

  Ele looked at Jamie. He had stopped and turned around, heading back to the front of the box. The whole of the National Team stood on the pitch in a line in front of the delegation box. As if choreographed, the player on the furthest end performed a bow, and the rest of the team followed, like a row of dominoes. It was all for Jamie, and he donned his prince mask as they bowed. But when they finished, he stepped up onto a seat, raising himself above everyone else in the box. He spread his arms wide, like he was trying to embrace the lot of them. And then, because he was Jamie and he instinctively knew how to inspire his country, he bowed to them. It was poignant and heartfelt, and Ele found her eyes welling. The whole team cheered then, in appreciation and jubilation. Jamie threw his arms in the air, his pride and excitement palpable.

  Ele chanced one last glance to the pitch below. The team peeled off, looping happily toward the changing room, tonight’s celebration the priority. But one player remained, attention focused upward. She was in the shadows, but she wasted no time in walking down the steps, into view. He saw her, but nothing in his face indicated recognition or acknowledgment. In fact, after the initial eye contact, he was careful to look beyond her, as if what he had been searching for wasn’t found. But she knew it had. Because, although no one else in the stands had seen it, his eyes sparkled with appreciation and promise. And she knew, later, when he came to find her, he would make certain he showed her.

  A hand ghosted over her, pushing the hair from her face.

  “Should I let you sleep?” Tristan’s voice filtered in, and Ele came awake all at once.

  She peered up at him, welcoming the warmth of his hand on her. Chasing it, she sighed in contentment. Tristan sat on the side of her bed, continuing to stroke her hair, her neck, the edge of her cheek. Ele scooted closer to him, so her hip brushed against him. He edged nearer, and Ele rolled to her side, curling around him like a parenthesis.

  “I tried to wait up,” she said, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.

  “I tried to get here sooner,” he said, leaning over her and nuzzling her hair. Tracing along her head, under her jaw.

  He nipped her earlobe and ran his nose down her neck, across her collarbone, and then back to the base of her throat. A rumble of appreciation sounded from him, warming Ele and waking her the rest of the way. She shimmied out from under the sheet and twisted around, so she was on her knees, on his side. She threw her leg over his thighs and straddled his waist. His hands landed on her hips, and he held her on his lap, resting his head against her chest.

  “Tell me about your night.” She curled her fingers around the nape of his neck and held him to her.

  “Hmm,” he murmured, pushing her camisole down with his chin, baring her breast. He turned his head and licked around her nipple.

  Ele moaned, her head dropping back.

  “It was amazing,” he finally told her. “The whole thing.” His mouth never left her skin.

  “You must be exhausted.”

  “I was,” he admitted, his hands leaving their post to rub up and down the length of her sides.

  His thumbs wreaked havoc as his fingers danced along her spine and his mouth laced decadent licks upon her nipple. She shifted closer to him, wanting to feel his erection between her legs. He glanced up at her with a wicked smile. Then, his hands cupped her ass, and he fitted her to him. They groaned in unison as the thin barrier of her sleep shorts gave way to him.

  “I’m not anymore.”

  Ele had lost the thread of the conversation. “Not what?”

  He kissed her collarbone and dipped his hips before flexing them. He was teasing her, coming close to where she wanted him without actually touching her there. She could feel the dampness and heat between her legs, and she squirmed against him.

  “Tired,” he answered. Then, as if to illustrate his point, he pushed up, rubbing against her clit, making her gasp.

  “Right there,” she instructed, as if he didn’t know. “God, right there.”

  He chuckled. “Seeing you there tonight, knowing you were watching me, I loved it.” His hand skated down her back, over her ass, under the flimsy silken material, inside of her.

  She gulped, unprepared. “Yes. More.”

  He tormented her with his fingers, cupping her from behind, rubbing against her with his cock. Tristan leaned down and captured her unexposed nipple in his mouth again. He gently bit down. Ele panted, her breath heaving.

  “Tell me you watched me.”

  “Every step,” she admitted, her brain hardly able to form coherent thoughts. “You loved it. I was shaking with nerves, and you loved it.”

  He continued to nuzzle her and play with her, t
o pull her hips forward, to command every erogenous zone on her body. “I did. I do. I live for that.”

  Her hand reached between them, and she cupped him, stroked him. She kept moving her hips, bumping against her own hand.

  Tristan peeled himself away from feasting on her breast. Leaning back, he watched her hand work them. “That’s so hot. Fucking brilliant.”

  Encouraged, Ele pulled on the waistband of his shorts, freeing his erection. Her fingers curled around the head. She caressed him, running her thumb along the slit, toying with it. He moved them together, so her hand was touching both of them again.

  “Just like that, E. Just like that.” The hand between her legs moved quicker, in and out of her. “I need to be inside of you.”

  “You are,” she said on a snicker.

  His hand moved away, and she felt the loss of it.

  “No,” she whimpered.

  He produced a condom out of thin air, and while she gazed down at him, he rolled it on. He shoved her shorts aside. Ele placed her hands on his shoulders and went up onto her knees. He positioned himself and guided her down. She sank onto him, chasing oblivion. He slowed her with a squeeze on her hip.

  “Now, I’m inside of you.” He smirked.

  He was. He was so deep in her; she was full. She allowed herself a moment to feel him, to enjoy being filled by him. His hands ran through her hair, and he tugged on the ends, making her head fall back a little.

  “I loved that you were there tonight,” he said.

  Ele could hardly think, but Tristan was speaking in complete sentences. She pushed down with her hands and up with her legs, enjoying the slide of him as he almost left her completely. Then, she slid back down, and Tristan didn’t try to speak anymore. She set the rhythm, called the shots, and Tristan allowed her to. She reveled in the power, in the way his face projected every reaction, in the automatic flexing of his hands on her hips. She rode him, the silk of her sleep clothes an added sensation as it rubbed against her nipples. Tristan pulled her hand away from his shoulder, and he placed it where their bodies met.