The Jock and the Geek (Gone Geek Book 3)

by Sidney Bristol

  “Pizza should be here any second.”

  “You got—pizza?” Her head whipped around and her eyes widened.

  “I figured…you know…you have to sneak it in when you can.”

  “Nice shirt.”

  “Thanks. It seemed…I duno. Appropriate?” He glanced down at the weathered gray shirt with a big Monster-Go logo across his chest.

  “I like it.” Sam smoothed her hands down her hips. It was almost weird seeing her this dressed down in jeans and a sweater-hoodie-thing. Rashae had rubbed off on Sam.

  They stood there, staring at each other for several moments. She still looked ready to bolt, partially leaning toward the door, so he didn’t reach out to her. He stayed on his side of the divide and she on hers.

  He’d hoped for more. Something. A spark. But he wasn’t feeling that kinetic energy they’d had before.

  Was this it? Were they over? Were they fated to always be torn apart?

  “Hi,” she whispered.

  “Hey.” He smiled, because she was there. Because they were talking. And he couldn’t not be a little happy when she was near. Even if looking at her and not touching her killed him. Even if he was starting to realize being together was a pipe dream. “I’m glad you wanted to hang out.”

  “I thought…it would be easier if we saw each other alone, you know?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach about where this was going. Why she wanted to see him alone. Before, he’d hoped it was so they could reconnect, and now he had to wonder if this was her plan. Let him down, then shield herself with the family.

  “How have you been?” she asked.

  “Since this morning? Good. Got my White Elephant present all set to go.”

  “No, I mean, how have you—been?”

  “I…don’t think I understand.”

  “We talk. We just don’t—talk. You know?”

  “We don’t talk about what happened.” He leaned against the wall, the full weight of the past coming to rest on his shoulders. She was right. They never spoke about it beyond a comment here or there.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m better than I thought I’d be. The nightmares have stopped, probably because I’m sleeping less.”

  “Sorry.” She winced.

  “I’m not. Talking to you, or even at you, it’s the highlight of my day. As much as I wish I could take it all back, I don’t know that I want to go back to the way things were.” He’d enjoyed sparring with Sam, knowing he got under her skin, but being in sync with her was the best thing. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

  “Me, neither.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Her face creased, the lines deep on her brow and around her mouth.

  Oliver took a step forward, and when she didn’t bolt, he took another. He very slowly wrapped his arms around her, not daring to breathe until the sweet moment she leaned into him, accepting the contact. Her eyes were so sad, so lost. He wanted to make her smile again, hear her laugh and be happy. If that meant letting her go, could he?

  He bent his head, resting their foreheads together and squeezed her a bit tighter.

  She’d come home to him. Even if just for the holiday. He’d take what he could because—

  Sam lifted up on tip-toe, pressing her mouth to his. He froze, the contact so unexpected, so shocking he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not.

  Was this real?

  Had she just kissed him?

  Why wasn’t he kissing her back?

  Oliver slid one hand up to the back of her neck and tilted his head. Her hands were everywhere, tugging at his shirt, in his hair.

  A sharp knock at the door startled them apart.

  He stared at her.

  She stared at him.

  There was still a spark…

  “I’ll get the pizza,” he said, his head still buzzing.

  “Yeah. Cool. Okay.” Sam backed up a step, then another.

  Oliver cleared his throat, adjusted the sudden erection that’d sprung up, and pulled the door open. While he signed for the pizza and breadsticks he could hear Sam behind him, moving around his place. She’d never really been here before, maybe a time or two when Rashae coerced her, but that was it.

  What’d she think of it?

  More importantly, what’d she think about them?

  He carried his food offering into the kitchen where Sam had pulled down plates, paper towels and was currently peering into the plastic bags of things he had yet to put away.

  Oh, no…

  “You hungry now, or—?”

  His throat constricted, cutting off the rest of the sentence. The last thing he wanted her to think was that he’d… He wouldn’t… It was…just…in…case…

  Sam pulled the jumbo box of condoms out, one brow arched.

  “I…ran out after…I mean, the ones I had left were in that bag and I just…fuck.” He shoved a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. He was mucking this all up.

  “I’m not hungry right now.”

  One of her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, the other in his hair. She pulled him down, their mouths colliding in a too-hard press of lips. She was kissing him again, her tongue in his mouth, her hand up under his shirt. It was the same, frenzied need from moments before. Only, this time he was a little more prepared.

  Fuck this.

  Oliver grasped her by the hips and sat her on the counter, solving the differences between their height.

  “I missed you,” she said against his mouth.

  “I missed you, too.” He kissed her neck and pushed his hands up under her sweater.

  She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and off before he could process the motion. He leaned back, taking in the sight of her dark skin, the jewel-toned lace cupping her breasts, and the simple fact that she was real. She was there. After months of talking to what seemed like a ghost, she was in his apartment.

  “Oliver.” She tugged on his shirt.

  This was what they were doing.

  He couldn’t see a reason not to.

  His shirt joined hers on the linoleum floor, quickly followed by her bra.

  Oliver knew he was staring, but damn. He’d missed seeing her. Their romance, however short lived, was burned into his brain as everything he’d ever wanted. Even this moment was all Sam. When she made up her mind about something—it happened. He was just along for the ride, and he could think of no reason to not jump all aboard this plan.

  He ducked his head, cupping her breast and licking the stiffened point. She braced her hands on the counter, thrusting her chest forward. He plucked the other nipple, and there—her moan was music to his ears.

  Every second proved his worst fears were groundless. He’d feared that after so many years—they wouldn’t work. They had. He’d feared that after the scandal and the kidnapping, she wouldn’t want him. She did. He’d feared that the time apart and not being part of her healing would drive a wedge between them. It hadn’t. Maybe they were closer. Maybe they needed more time growing together. Either way—there was hope.

  Oliver thrived on hope.

  She clawed at his belt, the button on his jeans while he lost himself between her breasts. Her hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him, and it was his turn to groan, lost in the sensation of her skin on his.

  So. Damn. Good.

  “Oliver,” her voice was full of need. Of want.

  He groped blindly for the box she’d set down.

  Given the opportunity, he’d have liked to go slower, spend more time together, give her gentleness, but Sam had other ideas.

  He ripped the plastic off the box and jerked the cardboard flap open while she toed off her boots and shimmied out of her jeans.

  This was crazy, but when did anything they ever did make sense?

  He loved that about them. That despite Sam’s fast adherence to logic and well-thought out plans, them, together, didn’t add up. They just worked.

  Oliver ripped open t
he condom and rolled it on. Who would have ever guessed lazy housekeeping would contribute to right time, right place?

  Sam’s hands on his hips, her calves wrapped around his thighs, pulled him into the V of her legs. Her gaze bored into him.

  It was going too fast, but he couldn’t slow down. He guided the head of his cock to her entrance and glanced up, and felt as though he were falling into the depths of her eyes, the way she stared at him as if he was the one thing she needed. It was what he’d always wanted, for Sam to desire him. For them to be together.

  She leaned in, hands on his hips, and kissed his lips. Her fingernails dug into his skin, urging him onward. He flexed his hips and slid into her. She gasped and he felt the way her body tensed, but only for the initial penetration.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face against her neck.

  His Sam was home.

  She was here.

  And she wanted him.

  Her limbs tightened, driving him deeper into her body, joining them fully. He gripped her to him, savoring these first, few seconds.

  I missed you.

  I missed this.

  I love you.

  All the words stuck in his throat, things he didn’t dare yet to say. But he could show her. Before she’d walked through that door he hadn’t been sure there was a them, now he knew there was. And he’d have to win over her head for there to be more. Because he wanted all f her. This. Them. Forever.

  Oliver leaned back, bracing his hand on the counter, and stared into her eyes. He withdrew and thrust, easy, slow motions, watching the way her face tensed, the way pleasure unfurled across her features.

  “You’re fucking beautiful, Sam,” he whispered.

  “I missed you,” she whispered back. “Harder?”

  He kissed her shoulder and slid her closer to the edge.

  Slow and easy they could do later.

  He widened his stance and thrust, harder, faster, watching her face, the sweet tide of pleasure wash over her. The way her pussy hugged him. How she tightened around him just before her orgasm.

  It was perfect.

  He loved her, and he wanted to do this—forever.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  Her vaginal muscles tightened around him. His vision blurred. Any hope for a multi-orgasm, blow-her-mind session went right out the window. It’d been too long since they’d been together and his body simply reacted.

  Oliver buried his head in her neck, grinding against her, at the mercy of his own orgasm. She squeezed him, her hips working with his, drawing out the pleasure for as long as they could.

  She squeezed him tighter, the warmth of her body chasing away the chill.

  “Now I’m hungry.” Sam stroked his hair and kissed his brow.

  He felt, more than heard, her chuckle.

  He hugged her a moment longer, then let go, easing out of her body though all he wanted to do was stay there forever.

  That’d be more than a little awkward.

  Oliver gathered her clothes first and helped her off the counter. He’d never again be able to look at that spot without thinking of these moments.

  She went to the hall bath while he ducked into the bedroom to clean up and gather his thoughts.

  She wasn’t done with him. They weren’t over.

  If he played this right, he’d get to keep her. Be with her. Right? He hoped so. He was banking on it.

  By the time he’d cleared his head and gotten dressed, Sam had re-heated and plated the pizza.

  Oliver kissed her cheek, because he could and he wanted to.

  Sam glanced up at him, smiling, no shadows behind her eyes or hesitation about the moment. It was…easy.

  “So…now what?” she asked.

  “Well, food and Doctor Who?” The show wasn’t his favorite, he didn’t quite get it, but just mentioning it had Sam grinning, so he’d learn to like it.

  They ate on the sofa, the conversation easy. Light. Before she’d left, before everything went to hell, they hadn’t really had the opportunity to do this, just be together. He wanted more of this. More with her. And if he was reading her right, so did she.

  Hope.

  They had it.

  21.

  Samantha scooped ice cream out of the carton. She couldn’t be bothered to care about what Rashae would say about it. Not after the way her day had gone.

  Her sister flopped on the bed and started talking to the laptop screen. Rashae and her girlfriends had a regular video chat date, regardless of holidays or schedules. Sam liked the other girls and getting to know them while living with Rashae, but she still didn’t feel like she knew them all that well. Even if they had been a great sounding board for Sam’s Oliver troubles this last week. Thankfully, none of them knew, or asked, about how it’d gone with Oliver.

  She wasn’t ready to talk about it. She still didn’t know what to think, or do. Only that…the moment she’d seen him she had to kiss him. And once they kissed, it was all over. She needed him inside of her, in her life, in ways she wasn’t truly ready to face again.

  Which was why she was eating ice cream. Ice cream understood complexities.

  Sam listened to the girl chat with only half her brain, which was really unfair to her sister.

  Rashae had been invited to collaborate on a board game, which was really exciting, but Sam’s head was filled with the all too present memory of Oliver. His touch. His kiss. They hadn’t done much more after their hurried coupling, but that was probably because neither of them were ready. He’d been patient. He was the only other person who understood what they’d gone through. He could actually understand her guilt and the healing that silence and being together did for her.

  Rashae’s friends signed off and she turned her attention on Sam.

  “Talked to your not-boyfriend?” Rashae asked.

  “Yes.” What use was there in denying it anymore? She spent all her time waiting to talk to Oliver, or thinking about him. They were still important to each other. But what did that mean?

  “Is that why you’re eating a pint of ice cream?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Sam was quiet for a moment. Did she own up to her feelings? If she was going to tell anyone, she should tell Rashae.

  “I love him.” Sam stared up at the ceiling.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He clearly still has feelings for you,” Rashae said after a moment.

  “Yeah.” She’d all but heard him say those words…

  They were written on his face, the way he touched her, how he kissed her. The question was, could she love him back? Could she shed the guilt, get over the past, and really love him?

  Oliver paced the apartment. His whole day was…off-kilter. Probably because Samantha had called him earlier than their usual one o’ clock and they’d talked only briefly. It seemed silly to stay on the phone longer when they’d spent most of the day together already and had tentative plans to hang out today.

  Sam would have come over right after her parents were supposed to leave for work, except Oliver needed a little bit of time.

  He hadn’t been sure, everything had been so up in the air before yesterday, but now he knew.

  They had a chance.

  And whatever that looked like, he needed to be ready for it.

  He’d had a lot of time to think about this, which had made this morning’s purchase not quite as spur of the moment as it might have been otherwise.

  It was still in his sock drawer, wasn’t it?

  Now he had to go look.

  He wheeled around, stalking into the bedroom, and pulled the drawer open.

  Nestled between his dress socks and the ones for working out was a small, black jewelers box. He pulled it out, holding his breath, and opened it.

  The diamond wasn’t the biggest, but it screamed Samantha. The band was slightly vintage, the platinum crafted to look lik
e twining vines. It spoke of new life. Rebirth. An opportunity to grow together.

  He didn’t know when the time would be right. Maybe today. Maybe next week. Maybe next year. Whenever it felt right, he’d be ready. That was what was important. When it made sense, he’d ask.

  His mother would love Sam.

  Oliver didn’t think of her often. His memories of her were fuzzy. He’d been very young when she and his father split in a nasty divorce. She’d stepped off a curb at the wrong moment and was a casualty of a police chase, of all things, forever leaving Oliver in his father’s care. Still, his memories of his mother were all smiles and warm hugs.

  The faint tap at the door brought him out of those old memories.

  Sam.

  She was here.

  He closed the box and nudged the drawer shut with his elbow.

  He’d been half afraid that by postponing this she might not come, but when he’d called her on his way home she’d sounded cheerful. Excited.

  Oliver pulled the front door open and his heart pulsed.

  “Here, let me help you.” He grabbed the clothing bag and her duffle.

  Yesterday had been all about figuring out where they were. Today was about enjoying each other’s company. And treating her right.

  “Thanks, I swear I’m not moving in. I just couldn’t decide what to bring.”

  “Fine by me.” He shrugged and carried her stuff into his bedroom, hanging the bag in the closet and leaving her bag on the dresser.

  “Have you had lunch yet?” she asked.

  “No, you?”

  “I was with Rashae.” She chuckled. “I did everything I could to avoid eating what she’d pick.”

  “Understood. What do you want? I can cook or—”

  “Chinese?” She had her hands in her back pockets, shoulders lifted, face scrunched up. “Sorry, I’m starving for some good take-out and—”

  “Rashae doesn’t allow it.”

  He grinned and wrapped his arms around her waist. Being able to touch her again, getting to see her easy smiles, they were the best. She curled her hands over his shoulders, not a bit of hesitation behind her eyes.

  Oliver ducked his head and kissed her, gently, keeping it light.

  Yesterday had been intense. Today he wanted to remind her how good they could be together when they were just having fun.