Second Dive: A Second Chance Sports Romance (Kings Of The Water Book 3)

by Jasmin Miller

  “Want to share a popcorn?”

  She studies my face. “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.” And I really don’t. I mean, things are good. And sharing popcorn doesn’t mean anything.

  We order our popcorn and drinks, and this time, Chloe flashes her money to the teenager behind the counter before I can even get my wallet out.

  Shit. I just paid for our tickets without a second thought. Old habits really die hard sometimes. At least we should be good now that she paid for the food and drinks, right?

  After a bathroom break—where we switch spots outside the restroom to hold our food and drinks—we head to theater two.

  The red not-so-plush-anymore seats welcome us, along with the familiar smell of stale, recycled air-conditioned air and buttery popcorn.

  Chloe lets out a loud sigh.

  “Same old, hey?”

  She nods, and I watch her take everything in. The theater isn’t huge, but it’s still a decent size. The red seats, the old movie posters on the sides, the small cutout at the top for the projector to shine through.

  Luckily, there are only a few people toward the bottom rows as I follow Chloe up the stairs and toward the middle of one of the top rows.

  We settle into our chairs just as the theater turns dark. The previews start on the screen, and once we’re settled in, our gazes are focused on the screen.

  A few minutes into the main movie, Chloe leans in, her arm brushing against mine. “Is the popcorn next to you?”

  I nod and whisper, “Yeah, let me get it.”

  I don’t know if she didn’t hear me, or if it’s one of those strange moments when you hear the other person but don’t fully process it until a few seconds later, but the result is the same. We bump heads when I lean in again to tell her and she tries to lean closer to get the popcorn.

  Out of reflex, my hand shoots to her head, touching the spot she hit, feeling if she’s okay. Wanting to soothe it because I hate when she gets hurt.

  Reality sinks in, my brain registering what I’m doing—what I’m thinking—and I freeze. That’s when I notice that Chloe’s been frozen this whole time, while I was touching her . . . exactly like I would have all those years ago.

  Like she’s mine.

  But it’s not like that anymore. It hasn’t been for so long.

  Shit.

  How can a simple touch feel so good?

  I pull my hand back, slowly, while brushing her skin one last time like I’m an addict and she’s my drug. Like I have to feel her skin under my fingertips, hoping it will imprint there forever.

  Fuck.

  I’m in so much trouble.

  “Sorry, you okay?” Thank goodness I have to keep my voice to a whisper, and she can’t hear how strained my words sound.

  “Yeah, thanks.” Her hand goes up to her cheek, brushing away a strand of hair.

  “I’ll get the popcorn, okay?” I hold up my hand and wait until I see her nod.

  Leaning away from her, I grab the popcorn from the seat beside me and hand it to her. The scene on the screen has switched and the earlier brightness is gone. Instead, the room is almost pitch black, and Chloe’s fingers brush over mine when she tries to get a hold of the paper container in my hands.

  “Thanks.” This time, she pauses for a moment before taking the popcorn, and therefore, eliminating the contact.

  Does she feel this electric connection between us too?

  It’s as intense as it used to be but different. The tie between us is definitely still present though. And I can’t be the only one feeling it. Is there something like physical memory? That my body remembers her, searching out that contact it used to enjoy so much?

  No. Surely that’s impossible.

  Or maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t been with anyone in a while. How long has it been? My brain is trying to put the puzzle pieces together. Stacy. Has it really been over a year since I spent that one night with her? And there wasn’t anyone before her in a while either.

  I brush my hand over my face, rubbing my chin, enjoying the scruff under my fingers. I barely ever let any facial hair grow, and it feels nice to not worry about something as simple as that. At least while I figure out my life.

  I attempt to focus on the movie, but my attention is shot. My brain is busy thinking about Chloe, about wanting to touch her again.

  With every additional brush of our fingers—accidental or not—I shift some more in my seat. Did someone turn up the heat in here? My heart pounds faster, and I close my eyes to inhale deeply, the same smell as always filling my nostrils but also something else. Or rather, someone else.

  Just like so often before my races, I focus on my breath so I can zone out. Escape this overwhelming need to be closer to Chloe.

  When the movie is finally done, my body is wound up tight. Why the fuck does this feel like the longest foreplay in history? And all of that from just a few innocent touches.

  Maybe I’m losing my mind.

  That must be it.

  Even though my suddenly too-tight pants don’t seem to agree with that.

  When the credits roll, I stand up first before bending to get my water bottle, at the same time Chloe pushes to her feet too.

  Which lands me right in her chest.

  Those breasts. Are they as amazing as I remember them?

  My dick strains against my zipper, getting way too excited.

  I straighten up and almost manage to headbutt her.

  Way to go. That’s definitely not how you get in her pants.

  What the fuck is even going on in my head right now?

  Who said anything about getting into Chloe’s pants?

  That can only end in disaster, and who needs that?

  I shake my head, ready to tell myself to shut it. “Shit, I’m sorry. You okay?”

  She laughs, brushing small pieces of popcorn off her clothes. “Yeah, no worries. It looks like we’re clumsy number one and number two today.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, something like that.”

  And then I stare at her as the lights slowly get brighter. Her purple ponytail is a little crooked, her eyes shiny. There’s a slight flush to her face, and my eyes wander down to see if the flush extends to her chest.

  Damn it, I forgot her shirt goes up to her collarbone. When my gaze ascends again, I pause at her mouth. Those lush lips that have brought me so much— Stop.

  Of course, they part in that moment and her tongue darts out to swiftly lick over them.

  Fuck me now.

  Not literally.

  I think.

  Shit.

  I’m screwed.

  Seventeen

  Chloe

  I don’t think any other movie has ever felt this long, and I’ve watched this specific one a gazillion times before too. With Noah, of course.

  But why does everything feel so different this time?

  Is it the touches, the stolen glances, my own thoughts and wants? The longing that’s been settling deep in my bones? It’s been getting more intense with every minute I spend with him.

  From the looks of it, I might need an extra minute in the restroom to calm down my flushed face. I run cold water over my hands and wrists, hoping it will cool me down. Extinguish that fire that’s burning me up from the inside, and take care of the pulsing between my legs.

  According to my body’s reaction, watching a movie together at the theater is now some weird kind of foreplay. Even the air from the hand dryer feels like a caress as it blows over my sensitive skin.

  And now you’re officially losing your mind.

  A snort escapes me as I shake my head at myself. I clearly have issues. But, nothing a night in bed with my trusty vibrator can’t take care of. Even though I can’t help the images that have been flooding my mind. Noah’s strong hands on my body and him taking care of things.

  I’ve been fine by myself for a while now, somewhat happy even, but imagining Noah’s body covering mine, of him pushing me over the edge instead
is . . . bliss. And so unhelpful. Daydream-induced wet panties definitely won’t solve my problem right now, that’s for sure.

  After a few calming breaths, I finally leave the restroom to find Noah waiting outside in the hallway. Leaning against the wall in all his handsome glory, searing a hole into my heart with his torching gaze.

  My panties might get ruined tonight after all.

  He pushes off the wall and walks over to me in long strides. “Are you ready to head home?”

  It takes everything in me to not think about the definition of home and what I once thought it would mean for us at this point.

  Instead, I push those thoughts away and nod. Even smile at him.

  Fake it ’til you make it and all that.

  My focus shifts back on his presence beside me. On the warmth that radiates from his body when we walk out into the breezy evening. The brush of his hand on mine when he reaches past me to open my car door for me. His breath on my face when he straightens back up and stands closer than before. So much closer.

  By the time we leave the parking lot and head “home,” all my senses have zeroed in on him again. He makes it easy, and it’s a nice escape for me. It makes me forget about that dang competition for the publisher that still gives me trouble. It makes me forget about everything I want but can’t have. It lets me be.

  It might be self-destructive in the long run, but oddly enough, I’m still grateful for it.

  Noah’s fingers tap on mine. “You okay?”

  I lean my head on the headrest and turn his way. “Yeah.”

  “Good.”

  “Thanks for today.”

  His gaze stays on the road, but one corner of his mouth lifts half an inch. “Always.”

  I repress the sigh, this snippet reminding me so much of when we were younger. When we were carefree and so in love. When I didn’t get to wake up next to him nearly as often as I’d like because of course, our parents didn’t agree with that.

  Where would we be now if things had gone differently? Where would we be if things had gone as they should have gone? As we had planned them?

  My insides churn, and I pull up my mental wall. Bring my thoughts back to my mural sessions at the hospital this week, to my time spent with my family and my friends. With Noah.

  Noah, my friend.

  My friend I’d also really like to see naked and do naughty things with.

  But I shouldn’t. Daydreaming is one thing but to be with him for real, I just . . . I can’t. How would that even work? How would I explain—

  “We’re here.” Noah unbuckles and gets out of the car, while I stay there, frozen in place.

  I can’t tell him what happened. That might make me a coward, but just thinking about telling him the truth—the whole story—makes me nauseous.

  What I can do though, what I’ve perfected over the years, is to pretend. It’s what I’m good at, and what works for me.

  Carpe diem.

  That’s it.

  I swing open the door—almost hitting Noah in the process who had come around the car to help me—and step out.

  Look at this man.

  What a damn miracle that life has brought us back together like this. It might not be in the way I’d once thought, but here we are nonetheless. And I like having him in my life.

  So if he’s willing to forgive me and be my friend, I’ll be the best fucking friend he’s ever had.

  When I’m out of the car, there’s a spark of something in the air, an electricity that wasn’t there before, and I shiver.

  Noah shuts the door behind me and locks the car before he puts his arm around me. “Cold?”

  Cold? With him right there? Ha. Good one. I wish he could see the fire that’s threatening to burn me alive from the inside whenever he’s around.

  Before I can respond, he pulls his arm back and I immediately miss the weight of it. And the heat.

  We get to my front door, and I unlock it before turning back to face him.

  He grimaces and scratches his neck. “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to—”

  My gaze flicks from his glorious biceps to his eyes.

  The way he looks at me so expectantly. It’s mesmerizing. The way he’s so unsure about how he’s supposed to navigate our reconnection, just like I am. It’s endearing. The way he still ignites this instant lust in me whenever I catch a glimpse of him looking at me. It’s maddening.

  “Don’t be sorry.” I swallow. “Please.”

  There’s been so much regret where we’re involved. I don’t want there to be any more.

  All regret does is eat you from the inside while you try your damnedest to patch up the holes in your soul faster than new ones can form.

  I don’t know if it’s my spinning mind, or my pleading words, but something snaps between us.

  And then we’re moving.

  I’m in his arms.

  His delicious lips are on mine.

  The same ones I’ve dreamed of for so many years. Those dreams that gave me hope and destroyed me at the same time.

  My soul infuses me with greed, and I open up for him, ready to take everything he gives me.

  He groans into my mouth with the same fierceness he puts into pressing my body against the door.

  My hands are in his hair, pulling him as close as possible, while his are under my butt. Holding me, squeezing me, tempting me.

  One of my hands fumbles behind me until I find the doorknob. A few seconds later, we’re inside, and the door is locked behind us.

  “Bedroom. Upstairs,” is all I get out before attacking his lips again.

  When we make it to the bottom of the staircase, I slide down his body, and grab his large hand.

  We don’t talk as we rush up the stairs and walk into my bedroom. We don’t have to. Being with him is like activating another part of myself without having to think about it.

  Excitement and pleasure flood my body as he closes the distance between us in strong, confident strides. This man exudes sex appeal and strength with every step he takes. While his approach is slow, it’s the opposite once he’s within reach. Immediately, we grab one another, pulling hair and pulling on clothes as we unabashedly convey each other’s desire and need.

  I don’t waste any time. Getting him undressed is my main focus. When he pulls his shirt over his head, I work at the button of his pants, unfastening it as quickly as I can before slipping a finger beneath the waistline fabric.

  A guttural groan escapes him that makes my movements even more frantic.

  I need to feel him. All of him. I need to know if it’s as good as I remember or even better.

  Now.

  I pull on his pants and underwear like my life depends on it. He hisses when I finally succeed and make contact with hot, hard flesh.

  His reaction is unexpected, and I revel in this mixture of old and new sensation. When he starts to pump into my hand, I bite his lip without thinking. He groans and pumps faster. I love it.

  The heavy weight in my hand somehow contrasts with the soft skin, and when I move my hand again, he steps out of my reach, pointing behind me. “On the bed, now.”

  I take slow steps backward, watching him as he fumbles with the pockets of his pants until he finds his wallet and pulls out a condom. I bump into the edge of the mattress when he puts it on.

  Then his sole focus is back on me, and the throbbing between my legs gets so insistent, I’m afraid I might spontaneously combust.

  He closes the distance between us and picks me up like I weigh nothing, just to throw me on the bed. I shriek, but don’t get a chance to figure out what’s happening when his hands go to my pants. He undoes them, and pulls them down faster than I thought was possible, my underwear along with it.

  When he looks at me from beneath my spread legs, my knees go weak.

  “Are you ready to fly, little bird?”

  The fluttery sensation in my chest is impossible to contain—his intensity and focus a major turn-on—and I nod.

&n
bsp; How else do you react when you know your whole world is about to change?

  Eighteen

  Noah

  The taste of her on my tongue has my dick flexing.

  She tastes of sweetness, adventures, and an unabashed brazenness that is so fucking sexy, I have to double my efforts to not come before I’m inside her.

  Has she always tasted like this?

  I know I always enjoyed the sex we had, so why can’t I recall how she used to taste?

  What a tragedy.

  Her inner muscles tighten around me when I push in a finger, then two, and I groan when she moves her hips up to rub against my hand.

  Holy shit.

  She definitely never did that before because I sure as hell would remember that.

  The way her ass flexes with every push.

  Using my shoulders, I push my way farther into her space, wanting to take over, wanting to be the one who makes her lose her mind.

  When I latch on to her sensitive skin with my mouth, I don’t just hear her moan but I feel it vibrating through her body. My eyes widen when her hands grab the sheets next to me before they find their way into my hair, pulling roughly at my strands.

  Who is this little wildcat?

  Spurred on by her behavior, my licks and nibbles get more intense too until her legs start to shake around me.

  “Noah. Oh fuck.” Her hips, her pelvis, lifts up as much as it can with me keeping her grounded as her orgasm rips through her so intensely, a small sob escapes her.

  My movements turn gentle as I continue to watch her, continue to savor her, wanting to make sure she’s okay. Needing to know she’s more than okay.

  When she gives me a small, lazy smile after a few deep inhales, something realigns in my chest. The drumming behind my breastbone echoes through my whole body before my dick takes over again.

  Reminding me that he wants in on the action too, that I want to be inside this woman as soon as possible. Feeling her warmth all around me, having her vibrate around my hard length like it’s the best she’s ever had. Like I am the best she’s ever had.

  “I need you. Now.” She claws at my shoulders, trying to get a hold of me so she can pull me toward her.