Play for Keeps

by Maggie Wells

  “But you are now,” she coaxed.

  “Yes.”

  He hissed the word, torn between pleasure and the strange impulse to deny himself, just to prove he could withstand the force of wanting her.

  “You remember when you were telling me about going to Greece?”

  His stroke faltered. For the love of everything holy, he had no idea why she would bring this up now. Closing his eyes, he moved his hand faster, setting the ruthless pace he liked. “Yes, I remember telling you about Greece.”

  “I came when you were telling me about the lagoon,” she whispered. “I kept picturing you swimming. The clear turquoise water. White sand. You, brown as a nut and bare naked. All long and lean and…wet.”

  “Jesus.” He gritted his teeth and slowed his strokes as he searched his lust-hazed memory. “I never told you I swam naked.”

  “Hey, my fantasy. I want you naked, I get you naked.”

  He’d also told her about the day he’d tried to outswim his grief over the end of his career, and she winnowed it down to him frolicking naked in the ocean. “Swimming naked. That’s what you took from that story?”

  “I understood the larger picture, but I have to admit, the image stuck with me.”

  “I was. I did.” Frustrated by his stammering, he cleared his throat and tried again. “I did swim naked.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  The shush of fabric brushing over the phone muffled her voice. “Too bad. I was hoping for pictures.”

  Her brassy response coaxed another laugh out of him. One night, he’d keep count, but not tonight. Tonight, after weeks of toeing the imaginary line, they were jumping right over it. “I know this might be hard to believe, given my ex-wife’s tendency toward exhibitionism, but I’ve always been a pretty private person.”

  “Skinny-dipping in the Greek isles aside,” she interrupted.

  Ignoring the bait, he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’m also pretty low tech. I think I’ve taken maybe a dozen pictures with a phone in my whole life.” He paused, watching his hand glide over his stiff dick as though the parts didn’t belong to him. “And I’ve never used one for…this.”

  “Phone sex,” she clarified.

  Heat raced through him, but he was hard-pressed to determine if the increase in tempo was arousal or embarrassment. “Yeah.”

  “Relax,” she cooed into the phone. “I haven’t either.”

  Her confession stilled his hand. He squeezed his dick hard, torn between the need to hold off the mounting pressure building inside him or to hold on to his hard-on. Suddenly, he was in the midst of a situation with the potential to top Mari’s defection on the humiliation meter. “You said you did,” he accused.

  “I said I got off while talking to you,” Millie clarified. “I don’t think it counts as phone sex if the other person doesn’t know what’s happening.”

  Still gripping his dick in one hand, he smashed the phone to his ear with his bicep and covered his eyes with his forearm. “Is this happening?”

  “Ty?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I meant what I said earlier. I’m going to climb you like a damn tree. Now, talk to me in your sexy seducer voice,” she demanded. “Tell me what you think about when you think about me.”

  The sultry promise in her tone assuaged any qualms he had. He began to stroke himself again, his palm growing damp with sweat as he picked up speed. “Everything. I think of everything.”

  Her breath whispered through the phone. Soft, swift pants. She was every bit as worked up as he was. “Can you be a little more specific?”

  “I wanna see you naked,” he growled.

  “Do better.”

  “Is your skin pale all over?”

  “Yes. Some places even more.”

  “God, I want to see me on you. You on me.” He licked his palm, then started to fuck his fist in earnest. “I want to wrap myself around you. You know the necklace thing your friend Avery always wears? The black-and-white one?”

  “Yin and yang,” she whispered.

  “Sounds stupid and corny, but that’s how I see us. You and me.” Closing his eyes, he confessed the one thing he’d tried to keep locked down since the day he first set eyes on Millie Jensen. “The first time I saw you, I recognized you. Not your face, but you. All I could think was, ‘Yes, there you are.’”

  She moaned so softly, he might have missed it if he wasn’t pressing the phone to his ear hard enough to make it ache. He knew she came because something in the silence clicked for him. The same comfortable intimacy enveloped them when he’d spoken of his trip to Greece all those years ago. They’d found the silence of acceptance. And as much as he relished that millisecond of blank space, something primal stirred deep inside him. Something that demanded he make her declare her release. Own it. And acknowledge the man who’d helped get her off.

  “Did you come, sweet Millie?”

  His own breathing grew rough and ragged, filling the heavy air between them. She gave a moan he interpreted as a yes. The smallness of her climax tore at him with a force equal to the eruption building inside him. He hated the thought of her holding back anything. Not with him. Not when they had come so far.

  “When I see you, I’m gonna make you scream.” Tightening the ring of his thumb and forefinger, he thrust his hips up to meet each punishing stroke. “I’m going to make love to you so slow and sweet, you’ll beg me for more. I’ll fuck you so hard, the neighbors will wonder if they should call 911.”

  Millie laughed at the last bit, but he was beyond serious.

  “Are you listening to me? I’m gonna…arruh.” He gasped as the climax ripped through him, drawing up from his balls and bursting from the head of his dick with a force he hadn’t known in years. “Coming,” he growled into the phone. “Oh, fuck me, I’m…”

  “I’d love to,” she purred.

  Her whisper kicked him the over the cliff. For the next minute, he was in free fall. His hand, slick with his own spunk, moved of its own accord. He stared down at his dick in wonder. Like he was twelve and enamored with beating off all over again. His thoughts tumbled over one another. Only two things kept him grounded—the smooth face of his phone practically implanted in his ear and the joyous ease of Millie’s soft exhalations.

  He grimaced with a mixture of pride and distaste as he released his dick and groped for the towel trapped beneath him. Gaze locked on the ceiling over the bed. Not his bed. Not his place. And Millie wasn’t his woman. Yet.

  Grabbing the discarded towel, he cleaned himself up as much as he could be bothered. His heart thrummed against his breastbone, beating harder than when he ran wind sprints with his team. A smile curved his mouth as he pulled the phone away from his ear, switched to speaker, and lowered the volume to minimize the chances of his father overhearing through the condo’s paper-thin walls.

  Resting his hand over his heart, he drew in a bracing breath. “This was great, but let’s not do it again.”

  “No?”

  He caught her disappointment, but her reluctance strengthened his resolve. Sort of. “It’s not that I don’t want you. Trust me, my right hand and I have been spending a lot of quality time together lately.” He forced a laugh but sobered quickly. “But as much as I want you, I don’t want our every call to be some kind of…” He trailed off, searching for the right word.

  “Foreplay?”

  “Yes.” The second the word was out, he realized he’d chosen incorrectly. “No. I mean, this is all sort of foreplay, right?”

  “I guess one could call whatever this is foreplay,” she conceded.

  “I don’t want to make our conversations all about sex, because I don’t think our relationship is all about sex.”

  A long silence followed. This time, he was pretty sure she wasn’t pausing for pleasure.
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  “Ty, you’re in a really weird place right now, and I—”

  He had to cut her off. “Don’t.” He took a shaky breath. “Can’t we just…let it be for now?”

  She laughed softly. “Yeah, Ty, we can let it be.”

  “I feel good. Incredible.”

  “But you don’t want to do this again.”

  “I wanna do it again so bad I can taste it.” She laughed, and he managed a lazy, “Wasso funny?” His words were slurred with lazy satisfaction.

  “I think we know which of us is gonna be the screamer.”

  Chapter 7

  Ty was steadfast in his determination to nip any further phone antics in the bud, much to Millie’s frustration. She also found him a little more appealing for his sexual scruples. Talk about annoying ironies. Tipping the paper umbrella out of her way with a flick of her fingernail, Millie didn’t even bother lifting the glass to take a long pull from the double straws Bartender Bill always put in her drinks. Icy shards of strawberry daiquiri slid down her throat but didn’t quell the searing heat inside her.

  The fire burning inside her started as an ember. A single unextinguished spark leftover from the holocaust of one indulgent phone call. As the days passed, the glow reignited. She did her best to play along, dampening her expectations each time the phone rang, but every time they hung up, she was aflame again.

  Twice, she’d tried to tempt him into dumping his misguided moral code, and twice, she had been gently refused. Unaccustomed to being rebuffed, Millie found herself growing edgier and edgier with each passing day. Three nights ago, she had snapped and told him not to bother calling her until he was a free man.

  Ty, of course, ignored her hissy fit. He called every night, right on time. And when she refused to answer, he proceeded to have charming conversations with her voicemail. Though she wasn’t a fan of his impression of her voice, she had to admit his knack for exchanging flirty banter with himself nearly made her crack a couple of smiles. Giving her slushy drink a desultory stir, she indulged in the one big sigh she allowed herself each day, then took a healthy gulp of the rum-laced cocktail.

  “Who repressed your First Amendment rights?”

  Millie rolled her eyes as she released the double barrels of her straws and grimaced when she caught sight of her friend Avery’s latest thrift-shop getup. The other woman was three inches shorter and a damn sight curvier than a porn star, but the population at large would never know. Wolcott’s one and only women’s literature and feminist studies professor covered herself from head to toe in a mishmash of fabrics that would have made Joseph’s coat of a kazillion colors look drab.

  Though Millie liked to rib her friend about her boho-chic fashion choices, in her deepest, innermost thoughts, she envied Avery a little. Not that she wanted to swap closets, necessarily, but because she’d never once heard the other woman apologize or even appear uncomfortable with the way she looked. Avery’s utter self-possession twanged one of the few threads of insecurity Millie would admit to owning. So she covered with sharp-edged commentary.

  Cocking an eyebrow at the ancient army jacket Avery wore, she shook her head. “What? The Che Guevara look is back, and no one told me?”

  Avery simply smirked as she lifted her usual glass of neat scotch in mock salute. “Power to the people.”

  Millie didn’t bother to hide her smile as she watched her friend’s smirk slide to a grimace as she swallowed. Avery had started drinking scotch because she was all about tearing down gender barriers—real or perceived—regardless of her own personal preferences. Millie admired her friend’s tenacity but refused to feed Avery’s already healthy ego by saying so. She enjoyed the slightly contentious byplay the two of them had developed over the years, even if Kate got tired of playing the peacemaker.

  “What’s our cause of the week?” Millie asked, looking forward to the distraction of one of Avery’s tirades. “We’ve worn out equal pay.”

  Avery quirked a brow. “Oh? Are you getting paid the same as a man?”

  “A man wouldn’t have the balls to do my job.”

  Laughing, Avery toasted her again. “True. Too true.”

  Millie took another sip of her drink, tapping her nail against the side of her glass. “I’m bored with equal pay. Let’s save some for the next time Kate’s contract is up for renewal.”

  “Domestic violence? Maternity leave?” Avery visibly perked, her already bright eyes gleaming with the zeal of a crusader ready to rush into battle. “Genital mutilation?”

  Thankfully, Kate arrived in time to intercept the conversational grenade. “Not today, thanks.” The queen of women’s collegiate basketball dropped a gym bag beside the table then a kiss hello on each of their cheeks. “Danny says I’m perfect just the way I am.”

  Millie pointed an accusing finger at the willowy brunette as she settled on the high stool. “He steals his lines from Colin Firth.”

  “I don’t care where he gets his dialogue. It worked.” Lifting her hand, Kate signaled to the older gentleman behind the bar. Less than a minute passed before a frosty mug of beer appeared at her elbow. Hoisting the glass in a wordless toast, she took a deep gulp before setting the heavy mug down with an exaggerated, “Ahh.”

  “Refreshing?” Avery asked with a pointed look.

  “I worked up a thirst,” Kate replied.

  Millie nudged the heavy gym bag with the toe of her shoe. “Dragging your anvil around again?”

  “Never know when I’ll need to fire some iron.” Kate took another drink, then twisted the handle of the mug from one hand to the other. “I wonder how Danny’d look in a wet white shirt.”

  “If you hose him down when you get home, we want pictures,” Millie instructed.

  “I was thinking of making him go for a swim in the campus pond. If we’re doing Firth, I want it done right.”

  “I’d love to do Firth,” Avery said with a wistful sigh.

  “Speaking of doing Firth, when is Coach Handsome coming back?” Kate asked with an oh-so-innocent lift of her eyebrows.

  Millie dropped her straws back into the hurricane glass and gaped at her friend, astounded by the lack of subtlety from a woman known for her finesse. “What? How is that…” She sputtered to a stop, then narrowed her eyes as she caught sight of the sly smile curving Kate’s lips. “Nice segue.”

  The smile morphed into a grin, and Avery let loose with a giggle-like noise she immediately covered with a snort.

  “I thought it was a real attention-grabber,” Kate said, preening on her stool. “Must be about time, right?”

  The six-week mark had passed the previous Thursday. Classes had started, and Ty’s assistants were holding conditioning workouts. To Millie, they looked suspiciously like full practices. But she couldn’t tell him about them, because she’d stopped taking his calls. Then, when she finally broke down and tried to reach him, she went directly to voicemail. Apparently, Ty was done taking it on the chin, and she couldn’t really blame him.

  Still, she hadn’t expected him to go completely radio silent. No talking, no texting, not even any responses to business-related emails. Like he was punishing her for their telephonic transgressions. Or the lack of finesse in her gamesmanship. Either way, she was the one in the doghouse, and she hadn’t a clue when to expect him back on campus.

  Taking a stab at studied nonchalance, Millie reached for her purse and pulled a tube of lip gloss from the inner pocket.

  “Errrrrrgh!” Avery made an obnoxious nasal sound reminiscent of a scoreboard buzzer.

  Millie froze, her gaze darting from one friend to another, her fingers clutching the tube like a lifeline. “What the hell?”

  “The lipstick defense won’t work.” Kate reached over and snatched the gloss from her hand. “And don’t even bother with your phone. I’m onto the bit where you email yourself from one account to another to make it buzz.”


  Avery gave her a slow, pitying shake of her frizzy head. “Almost as bad as the bit where a woman sends herself flowers to make herself look desirable.” Millie glared, but Avery simply shrugged the pointed look off. “I saw someone do that in a movie. Or maybe it was a rerun of Cheers.”

  Seeing her opening, Millie dove through. “I loved that show. Sam was hot, but I think I would have done Woody instead. The name, you know.”

  “Of course.” Kate nodded. “So, are you going to spill, or do I need to get Gloria Steinem”—she gestured to Avery—“to remind you the solidarity of sisterhood is the only thing that separates us from the animals?”

  “I thought we were superior due to our ability to accessorize,” Millie quipped, lunging for another pop culture lifeboat in hopes of distracting her friends from this line of questioning. “Did I tell you about the handbag I scored? Kate Spade. Well, a fake Spade, because university salary and all.”

  She tossed in an airy wave of her hand but quickly tucked it back into her lap when she saw the women across from her were as entrenched as CNN reporters. Sucking in a breath, she exhaled in a huff strong enough to stir the stack of paper napkins tucked into the condiment caddy on the table. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leveled a stern stare on one, then the other before owning up. “No, I don’t know when he’s coming back.”

  Kate grinned like a cat covered in canary feathers as she sat up even taller on her stool. “I do.”

  Millie squinted at the woman who, up until three minutes before, she would have called her best friend. And she kept her narrowed gaze locked on her on the off chance her laser-like focus might cut through the barroom gloom and extract the data directly from Kate’s brain. When the mind meld failed, she cocked a brow and reclaimed her daiquiri.

  “Good for you.” She lifted the glass and latched on to the straws with a vengeance.

  “Tell me you’re sorry about wanting to leak my honeymoon pictures to the press.”

  “But I’m not,” Millie countered. “If anything, it would have given you an opportunity to be the first collegiate coach with a legitimate shot at making the swimwear editions.”