Intercepted

by Alexa Martin

  “We’re here.” Gavin motions to the arcade in front of us.

  “Shut up!” I hit his arm a little harder than I meant to, but he still doesn’t flinch. “I’ve wanted to come here forever! I thought it was closed on Tuesdays though?”

  “Not for us.” His chest puffs out. “It’s just you, me, and Pac-Man in there tonight.”

  Gavin’s so laid-back and easygoing, it’s not hard for me to forget he’s loaded, and a date with him could include renting out Denver’s most popular hipster arcade.

  We’re walking to the door when it swings open and a forty-something man in a plaid shirt, skinny jeans, and a knit beanie walks out, giving Gavin a very enthusiastic welcome.

  Gavin and I listen to him for a few minutes before Gavin gives him a polite, yet very effective, brush-off.

  “That was real smooth, Mr. Pope,” I whisper when we’ve put enough distance between us and our hipster host.

  “Oh. You liked that, did you?” He bends over and brushes his lips against mine. “Don’t try and pick up my techniques to use on me.”

  “Please.” I roll my eyes. “I hope your ego’s not so bruised from me kicking your ass all night long that you don’t try them on me.”

  “Yeah right, Harper. You’re going down tonight.”

  #ThatsWhatSheSaid

  Pinball machines and retro video games fill the room—Donkey Kong, Centipede, and some Michael Jackson dance game I will definitely return to later. I’m halfway down the row when the perfect game comes into view.

  “What do you say, Pope?” I point to the giant, four-player game. “Pac-Man or bust?”

  I skip toward the game in the corner of the arcade, unable to prevent my hands from clapping like a child.

  “Damn, girl, you must not know you’re standing next to the Pac-Man king,” Gavin says from close behind. “They don’t call me the cherry-busting master for nothing.”

  “Oh my god!” I stop mid skip and turn into his chest. “Please tell me you did not just say that!”

  “Yeah . . . I heard it after I said it.” Gavin’s face flames red. “My friends started and stopped calling me that in second grade, it didn’t have the same meaning to our seven-year-old minds.”

  “Well, there will be no cherry busting, and you’re going to lose.” I pat his chest two times and walk toward the game. “I hope you still have fun tonight.”

  “You don’t stand a chance! Did you forget who I am?”

  #InfamousLastWords

  Twenty-two

  “Stop pouting.” I slap Gavin’s thigh when he gets settled in the driver’s seat. “I told you a million times. The football field’s the only place you’ll ever beat me. Learn to accept it.”

  “You’re a sore winner,” Gavin says.

  I give him a crisp nod. Duh.

  “The only thing I heard you say was I’m a winner.”

  At first, Gavin was letting me win, but he has not taken Naomi’s acting classes. He’s as bad of a liar as I am. After a little whining and taunting on my behalf, he finally gave it his all.

  I still won, and I didn’t ever ease up.

  Obviously. I’m a beast.

  “I’ll get you next time.” He stops talking and checks his rearview mirror as he reverses out of the parking spot. “And when I do, I’m going to gloat all night.”

  “I’m just happy to hear you still have dreams, babe.” Oops. My eyes widen, and I freeze. We had so much fun tonight, and I got so comfortable with him, it just slipped out.

  I can’t look away as every last trace of his pouty loser face (yes, that’s what I call it) disappears and a shit-eating grin takes its place.

  “Aw snap!” He glances at me from behind the wheel. “My master plan worked! Let you beat me, steal your heart.”

  I snort. “You’re so full of shit! I beat you fair and square and you know it.”

  “I do not.” He shakes his head. “You fell into my trap!”

  We’re laughing so hard, my cheeks are sore from smiling and we can barely hear the radio. So much so, I almost don’t notice it when the DJ says a familiar—and unwelcome—name.

  “What’s wrong?” Gavin asks, staring.

  “Turn that up.” I point to the radio. I don’t mean to whisper, but I can’t speak any louder.

  “Okay?” Gavin turns up the volume.

  “And if you don’t remember, this Gregory Thomas guy—who has quite the record, by the way—attacked the girlfriend of Denver Mustangs player Chris Alexander. She managed to escape to quarterback Gavin Pope’s house. Thankfully, she’s fine and hopefully, with Thomas now in custody, she’ll be able to rest a little better tonight.”

  Holy shit.

  Gavin turns the radio down when the music starts playing again, but doesn’t say anything and neither do I. I don’t know how long I stare at the illuminated station numbers before my brain starts to function again. But the second it does, I reach to the floor and snatch my phone out of my purse. Sure enough, I have five missed calls and one new message.

  I unlock it and push play, letting the message play on the speaker. I’m gonna tell Gavin all about it anyways, so it’s easier for me if he hears it now.

  “Good evening, Miss Harper, this is Detective Long. I hoped I’d be able to talk to you rather than leaving this in a message, but since I’ve called four times without an answer and this is bound to get out in the press shortly, I guess this will have to do. We apprehended Mr. Thomas at around seven o’clock this evening. He’s being processed and with all of the other priors and women who have come forward since your report, the DA will press for him to be held without bail. If you have any questions, feel free to give me a call.”

  I play the message one more time to make sure I’ve heard him right, and after I’m sure I have, I take my first deep breath since the attack.

  “Are you all right over there?” Gavin asks.

  Only then do I notice we’ve pulled over on the side of the road.

  I turn to him with a smile so big my cheeks ache again, unbuckle my seatbelt, and crawl on top of the center console.

  “I’m better than all right. Take me home, Pope,” I say. “And I don’t mean my parents’ house.”

  It’s a demand, not a request. One I punctuate with a kiss.

  * * *

  • • •

  “OH MY GOD!” I run through my apartment and jump on my bed. “I missed you so much.”

  “Are you talking to your mattress?” Gavin asks from my doorway.

  “No. That’d be stupid.” I grab my pillow from under my head. “I was talking to my pillows. Here, come test them out. It’s like laying on a cloud.”

  He shakes his head but starts walking over, dropping his jacket on my floor along the way. When he gets to my bed, instead of climbing in nice and slow like I thought he would, he jumps in next to me, and I’m almost sent flying off the side.

  “Damn. These are amazing!” I think he says, but his face is shoved into my pillow, and I can barely understand him.

  “They’re amazing?” I repeat when he rolls back over to make sure I heard him right.

  “Yeah.” He’s a little out of breath from almost smothering himself. “Where’d you get them?”

  “Furniture Warehouse.” I turn toward him and toss one of my legs over his. “They’re the only thing in the apartment I splurged on.”

  “You’re gonna have to take me there sometime.” His hand finds its way to the back of my thigh and starts moving up and down. After a fun but eventful night, the simple touch is so relaxing, I struggle to keep my eyes open.

  “Next date,” I mumble, right on the cusp of sleep.

  “So there will be more dates, you’re saying. Want to make this official and be my girlfriend?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” I hook my ankle behind his knee and pull him on t
op of me. “What are the benefits like?”

  “Is this how you want to play it?” he asks, and his crooked smile changes to a full-blown, teeth showing, eye crinkling, one dimple–revealing smile.

  It. Is. Glorious.

  “Well, it’s been a while.”

  “It has, four years.” His eyes never leave mine as he inches his way closer.

  “Four years . . .” I repeat, watching his eyes change from bright blue to navy.

  “Are you sure?” he asks before he drops his mouth the last inches.

  In answer, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. “I’ve never been so sure about something.” I lift my head off the pillow that started all this and press my lips to his.

  It’s the only thing I need to do to make Gavin’s restraint snap.

  He brings his mouth to mine. His soft, full lips steal all of my breath.

  My back arches off the bed and pushes my soft breasts into his hard chest. The kiss becomes more insistent, more demanding. My hands travel down to his strong shoulders, pulling him even closer. I’m aware of every part of my body he’s touching, but even more so of those parts he isn’t.

  It’s not at all what I remembered.

  It’s so much better.

  He pulls his face back and watches as his fingers grab on to the hem of my shirt and slowly raises it up and over my head. My skin is so sensitive, even the small feel of the cotton—of his fingertips—gliding up my stomach causes me to shiver.

  “God. You’re so fucking beautiful.” The words come out so rough, so raw, I swear I can feel them across my skin.

  “Come here,” I whisper, feeling a confidence and a boldness I’ve never felt before. My hands find their favorite position at the back of his head, his hair like silk under my fingers, and pull his face to mine.

  The small gesture is like a bolt of lightning. Both of us feel it. The charge of electricity shooting through our bodies, the crackling energy surrounding us, the sparks that fly with every look, every touch, every kiss after.

  He pulls his mouth away from mine, and I almost whine in protest. But then he reaches for the bottom of his shirt and he pulls it up, revealing the V cuts peeking out of his jeans and his toned abs one magnificent inch at a time.

  No words.

  But when a shirtless Adonis is on his knees between your legs, words aren’t necessary.

  “How about we get the rest of these clothes off?” he whispers. His tongue glides down my neck, and my legs clench together.

  “No more clothes is good,” I say. My voice is unrecognizable. I’m sure it’s the exact voice phone sex operators shoot for.

  #Dial69ForYeeeesssssss

  “Glad you agree.” One second he’s whispering in my ear, the next he’s at my feet and my jeans are nowhere to be seen.

  His fingertips skate up my legs, dancing and twirling around my thighs, causing goose bumps to follow in their path. He just brushes over the fabric of my thong, but it’s enough to make my already arched back lift even higher. I don’t even get the chance to beg for more before he’s taking advantage of my position and making easy work of undoing the clasp of my bra. I hold my breath as he slides the straps off my shoulders ever . . . so . . . slowly . . . and by the time the room stops spinning, my bra and thong have joined the rest of our clothes piling up somewhere in my room.

  He takes a deep breath and sits back on his heels while his gaze travels over every inch of my body. The urge to cover up I always felt with Chris never comes. I lay there unflinchingly, feeling the heat of his gaze as it moves up my legs. Goose bumps break out all over my body as I wait for any hint of contact.

  “Holy shit, Marlee. You’re what dreams are made of.” The words are quiet but forceful, like he’s never meant anything more in his entire life.

  I’m soaking up his compliment when his hands are back on me and they aren’t the whisper they were before.

  His tongue traces a pattern down my throat as his calloused hands drag over my hips, up to my waist, and grab on to my rib cage. His thumbs and forefingers brush across my chest, my nipples hardening under their touch when his tongue reaches the curve of my breast. I’m trembling so hard I twist the sheet around my fist to anchor myself to the bed.

  “Please, Gavin.” Between the moans and my heavy breathing, I might as well be speaking a foreign language.

  “Tell me what you want, Marlee.”

  I try to answer, but every time I find the words, he takes my nipple into his mouth, and I lose the ability to speak.

  “Tell me what you want,” he says again.

  “Touch me, please,” I beg, my body crying out for more.

  “With pleasure.” He drops his head back to my nipple and before I know what’s happening, his free hand is between my legs.

  “Oh my god.” I moan when his finger dips inside of me.

  “Fuck, babe.” Gavin kisses his way up to my face. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, I have to taste you.”

  I’m in such a lust-covered haze, I can’t even comprehend what he says before his warm body is no longer covering me and his mouth is on my mound.

  I might be well into my twenties, but I’ve never felt this good before.

  “What are you . . .” I try to ask him, but when his tongue flicks at the same time his finger moves, my head flies back onto my pillow, and I tangle my hands in Gavin’s hair. I don’t know if I want to pull him away or never let him move, but before I can decide, heat starts to radiate from my core and from my toes to my head, everything insides me tenses.

  “Oh . . . my . . . GAVIN!” My eyes clench shut, and a light so bright explodes from behind my eyelids, I worry I might be dead.

  Death by orgasm? I could think of worse ways to go.

  After minutes . . . or hours, my breathing slows, and my body stops trembling. I gather the strength to open my eyes and when I do, I’m met with Gavin’s dark eyes and bright smile.

  “You taste even better than I dreamed.” He kisses me.

  Even while I’m laying naked on my bed, he can still make me blush.

  “That was amazing,” I tell him, because after a performance like that, the man deserves to know.

  “It was.” He peppers my breasts with kisses.

  “Is it time for more?” I ask, really wanting more.

  “Oh yeah,” he responds while reaching in his pants’ pocket and pulling a condom out of his wallet.

  “In your pocket? Pretty sure of yourself there, Pope.” I lay on the bed, totally satisfied but still craving more, watching as he takes off his jeans, pulling his boxer briefs down with them until he’s left standing naked in front of me.

  “Just hopeful.” He winks before ripping the condom wrapper with his teeth.

  I thought he looked good in his jeans? I didn’t have a clue. These past four years have been very kind to him. I immediately focus on his V cuts. I try to keep my gaze there, but the V is a giant arrow pointing to his very impressive, bordering on scary, manhood. I watch, enamored, as he stands at the edge of the bed, rolling on the condom.

  He finishes and looks to me, and a cocky smile—no pun intended—crosses his face as he makes his way back to me. I see the way his quads and hamstrings flex with every step he takes and nearly have to wipe the drool from my face. I didn’t even know sexy hamstrings were a thing!

  He climbs onto the bed and settles between my legs. He softly touches his lips to mine and looks directly in my eyes. “I’ve been waiting for this for the last four years.”

  I wrap my legs tightly around his back, pulling him to me so he’s nestled to the edge of my entrance. “Then stop waiting,” I tell him, my voice never wavering, my eyes never leaving his as he moves his hips forward and connects us.

  #Touchdown

  With every movement, every moan, every deep kiss, it becomes clear this is where I’m supp
osed to be. I’m not comparing Gavin to Chris, not only because there is no comparison, but because Chris is a long forgotten memory. It’s scary how much I feel for Gavin. How right it feels to be in bed with him, feeling his bare skin against mine, running my hands down his back. It almost causes me to mourn the last four years of my life that I could’ve spent with him, reveling under his touch, blossoming under his words. But I don’t.

  “Yes, Marlee.” His becomes voice even deeper, gravelly even, and I know he’s on the edge right next to me, waiting for me to fall so he can follow. “Give it to me. Let me watch.”

  And this time, I listen to him. I let go and my body, still loose from earlier, rewards me with an orgasm so powerful that when I scream out, there is no sound. My eyes slam shut, my back curves off of the bed, and my arms fly around his neck, pulling him toward me. Gavin’s hands are firmly pressed against my thighs, holding them in place as he drags out my orgasm to uncharted lengths before a guttural moan comes from him, and he collapses on top of me.

  Then we lay there with his weight pushing me into the bed, my fingers drawing circles on his back, saying nothing while our heart rates return to normal and our breathing calms. When he does roll off of me, it’s not before he gives me one more kiss and breaks the silence.

  “Did I pass the test? Are you my girlfriend now?”

  “You did pretty good. If I’m your girlfriend, can I wear your ring?” I attempt to joke, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I panic. “I mean, you know what I mean. Not a ring, ring. Like no diamonds. A class ring like from Happy Days when they did that kind of stuff . . . of course I don’t need a ring from you. That’d be crazy, and I’m not crazy. Totally sane. Totally.”

  Being awkward isn’t new for me, but being awkward and naked? New heights. And it’s the worst because I’m pretty sure my entire body might be blushing right now and Gavin can see my entire body! The only thing I can hide under is Gavin, which is so not optimal, but I go for it anyway because . . . desperate times.