“Do I ask him or let it go?” Someone needs to come up with a how-to guide for dating a reformed player.
“It’s up to you. I know Mason. It isn’t all pretty, but I can say he isn’t a liar. He isn’t an actor, and the guy I saw here going crazy because you were mad . . . he isn’t looking for something else. He’s been upfront his entire life, and I don’t see it changing.” She’s right. Today we had a great time, and it was honest. It was real. It was normal. We fit.
“Okay, thanks, Lee Lee. I think I’ll let it go. You’re right and know him better than most.” I try to wink and crumble in pain.
“Up you go. Shower and hold a cold pack over that eye.” She laughs as she pulls me from the floor. “You going out tonight?”
“Supposed to.” I point to my face. “I’m rethinking it.”
“Nah. I have some awesome cover-up. Come see me, and I’ll hook you up.” She turns to leave my room. “By the way, you aren’t moving to the dorms.” At least I’m not envisioning Mason and the girl any longer . . . it’s been replaced by my brother fucking his girl . . . on the couch . . . where I sit . . . never again.
“What happened to your eye?” Mason is holding my face, inspecting every inch of flesh. I try to throw a dirty look at Emberlee because her so-called wonder cover-up didn’t hide this shiner. My message is lost. You can’t mean mug someone with one working eye.
“Long story and one I’m not reciting. Just know my psyche is ruined,” I deadpan.
His chuckle draws my one eye to his dimple. “You saw them fucking?”
Slapping his chest, I’m aghast. “Shut up. You just brought the memories to the forefront.” Mason and Emberlee get a laugh . . . my brother is still hiding in his room. I shiver in disgust and grab Mason. “Let’s go. Can we do take out and movie at your house?”
“Whatever you want, Doll. Bye Emberlee.” He winks. “Bye Brody!” I hear grumbling behind the closed door, but he doesn’t show his fornicating face. He leads me to his truck and helps me get situated . . . a black eye isn’t so bad when his hands are all over me. “What are you in the mood to eat?”
“Eh, I don’t care.”
He shuts the door and gets in the other side. “Chinese?”
“No.”
“Pizza?”
That doesn’t sound appealing. “Not really.”
“Burgers?”
“No.”
“Holy shit. We’re in a real relationship. This is the shit I heard about. You don’t care what we eat; yet, you discard my suggestions. This is gonna continue for hours. What do you want?”
He’s crazy. “I don’t care.”
“You do because Chinese, pizza, and burgers didn’t make the cut.” He’s so difficult. “We won’t leave this parking spot until I get an answer.”
“Someone is grumpy.” I purse my lips at his tangent. For fuck’s sake, I’m hungry. I just want to eat. “Just go somewhere. I’ll find something.”
His laughter fills the cab of his truck and vibrates my seat. “Tacos?”
“I think I love you. That sounds so good.” His face turns serious, and his gaze penetrates me.
“What did you say?”
I know which part he means, but I can play blonde. “I love tacos.”
“Nice try, Doll. I heard it, and that’s all that matters.” I’d love to roll my eyes. Instead I flip him off. He grabs my hand and kisses it as he starts the truck and takes me to fill my craving . . . for tacos.
“What movie do you want to watch?” He pulls me to his side.
“Nothing scary.” I hate scary movies.
“Crush my dreams. That was my plan to get you to cling to me and climb in my lap.” He jokes.
“Funny. Your tongue does that just fine.” I wink, but it just makes the room go dark . . . because I shut the single working eye I have. He’s muffling his humor. “That wasn’t cute was it?”
“Fucking adorable.” He picks me up and places me on his lap. “Pick a movie.”
I’d love to. But I can’t. “Ugh. I can’t see the menu. Read the names to me, please.” I pucker my lips, trying to entice him. He takes the bait, drops a kiss on my lips . . .
And reads me every title so I can choose.
I love him.
“I love you.” I blurt and don’t regret it.
I hear the air whoosh past my ear. “Say it again. Looking at me.”
I turn, staring at him through one eye, and squinting with the other. I see his face.
Soft.
Serene.
Perplexed.
“I love you, crazy fool.” I talk my heart into not hammering from my chest. This is huge for me. What started months ago as a game . . . a fun escapade . . . has turned into something that is shaping my entire existence. It isn’t so scary with his arms holding me.
He stands from the couch still holding me tight and stalks to his bedroom. His mouth covers mine, tongues dueling and mating, each part of us in sync. His arm lets go long enough to shut his bedroom door and is back pressing me to him. My back hits the mattress. My clothes disappear. After stripping me bare, he follows suit and stands, looking down, devouring me with his eyes. “You’re gonna say that when I make you come.”
My head bobs, words aren’t forming, and my heart soars. This glorious specimen in front of me . . . loves me. He loves me.
His hands skim my legs, my stomach, my arms. They don’t settle in one place, lighting me up from the outside in . . . the combustion is going to be hard, and I’m scared at the emotions he evokes. I let go of the last bit of hesitation loving him brings and focus on the present . . . storing these moments so I can draw from them in my times of weakness.
“Stay with me, Doll.” His voice holds grit and makes me quiver.
“I’m here.” My reply breathy.
Grabbing a condom and placing it by the pillow, his head dips and takes a nipple with his teeth. Tugging, nipping, sucking . . . soothing with his tongue. His hand and mouth alternate, never seeming to get their fill. My hands tug his hair, fingers scrape his scalp, down his neck, squeeze his shoulders while I lift my hips rubbing my core over his dick.
His hand continues working my breast as the other glides down my stomach, and he slips two fingers inside me, letting me grind to find some friction and alleviate the tension. His thumb presses down, rubbing my clit, and before I can find release, he stops and removes his fingers. I watch as he sheaths himself and spreads my legs.
Guiding his cock, he sinks in slow, allowing me to feel him stretch me and causing my muscles to clench around him. “Jesus,” he exhales.
Eyes locked.
Hips rocking.
Hands roaming.
Breaths intermingled.
He thrusts and I lift.
He gives and I take.
Pleasure.
I’m on the brink of falling over. “Look at me and tell me.” His voice is hoarse.
“I love you.” I stare as I feel the tingles in my toes, working through my body and exploding into the most intense orgasm I’ve had. Those words set him free. He pushes harder, rotates his hips, thrusts faster until he follows me.
Shouting, “I love you,” and collapsing, still holding me tight in his arms.
He and Caden are mesmerized by the film play they’re watching; throwing stats to each other, arguing over pitches, and ruining my Zen. I finished the project and instead of being lazy, they’re interrupting me with their banter. I’ll go gather my shit and pick up his room. I can at least sort his clothes, and he can take them to his parents’ house.
Walking in here makes my skin crawl with the lack of organization . . . it isn’t functional, and it’s distracting. I start placing my stuff on the bed after I strip the sheets and push a pile of clothes with my foot to the corner to sort through. His workout clothes need to be sprayed with OxiClean first and washed separately. I’m sure they have a washing machine, and I’ll just do it to save my skin from being scratched to death with the hives it gives me. I run t
o the basement, and luck is on my side. All kinds of laundry detergents sit atop a shelf. I spray, scrub, and wash.
Heading back to his room to tackle the rest. I grab a pair of shorts and shake them to make sure I don’t wash pens or the gum he’s so fond of. A few condoms fall from the pockets, and I roll my eyes . . . just like a boy scout— always prepared. Except there is nothing boy or scoutly where Mason is concerned.
Lipstick stains stop me.
Gripping the shirt in my hand, I recognize it. I pull my phone from my pocket and pull up that image. It’s the same shirt. Not the same color lipstick this girl was wearing. And the shorts . . . the ones condoms just fell from. He’s wearing them in the picture.
I need Visine to clear my vision. That must be the reason I’m seeing what I am. Ice. Take down the swelling so I can see clearly. Except, in my heart of hearts I know what I’m seeing is absolute. And the questions begin.
If I wasn’t with him why’d he need condoms?
Why lipstick on his collar?
How many girls placed their lips on him that night?
And where?
I shove my stuff in my bag and sneak out the front door. He’s so engrossed in the television that he doesn’t notice. I don’t have my car, and I can’t call my brother. He’ll flip on me, Mason, and it’s just a scene I’m trying to avoid. I dash to Avery’s and knock.
“Hey, Brecklynn. You don’t have to knock. You need something?”
“Can you take me home?” My voice catches around the last word, and the tears I’ve fought are escaping.
She narrows her eyes and looks at the guy’s house and me. “Sure. Let me grab my keys.”
“Thanks.” She nods and disappears for a second. I follow her to her car, and the drive is silent. As we pull into my complex she tries. “If you want to talk I can keep it between us.”
“Not now. I need to process.”
“I get it. The offer is always there. You have my number.” I thank her and sneak into my apartment.
Emberlee and Brody aren’t home, so I scream and cry until I’m drained. My phone starts with messages and calls. I silence it and wallow in my misery until I’m too tired to stay awake.
“Damn. We’ve got some work to take Nebraska on and win,” I quip to Caden.
He stretches. “We got this. You hungry?”
“Yeah. Let me see where Brecklynn went.” I stand to search for her. “You have plans tonight?”
“Maybe.” Elusive bastard.
My room is in shambles. The sheets strewn off the bed, piled on the floor, clothes kicked in a haphazard way amid the room. She must be doing laundry. Taking the basement steps, I call, “Doll, you hungry?” No answer.
The washing machine is spinning and banging into the wall. Hell, if I know what to do with that. Warmness seeps through me at the image of her taking care of me. “Brecklynn!” I’m back at the top of the stairs.
Caden comes in view. “You lost your girl?” He chuckles. The warm feeling that spread through me is dissipating.
“Where the fuck is she?” I head back to my room. Maybe one of the lumps I stepped over was her sleeping. Good thing I didn’t start kicking piles. I move some stuff and still no Brecklynn. Her shit is gone! Her clothes, laptop, bag . . . gone. The shirt I wore to the club is on top of a heap of clothes with a few condoms sprinkled in a circle, surrounding it.
I knew I should have burnt those clothes. “You find her?” Caden walks in.
“No, but somehow she’s gone.” I drop my head and exhale. “She doesn’t have her car.”
“What’s wrong?” I point to the offending matter. “Fuck.” He sprints to the door. “Emberlee’s car isn’t at the house, but Avery’s is. Maybe she’s there. I’ll check.” I grab my phone and start dialing.
Voicemail.
I hang up and call back.
Voicemail.
ME: Call me.
No response.
ME: Doll, call me.
I still didn’t learn to do those heart and kissy face things.
I call back and decide to leave a message. “Breck, it isn’t what you think. Please call me. I love you.” That ending doesn’t seem weird. It’s as if I’ve been dying to end a call with the phrase my heart’s been screaming. Finally, my mouth can follow suit.
The front door slams. “Was she there?” Avery is with Caden, and he shakes his head.
“I took her home an hour ago. She was pretty upset. What happened?” Avery tilts her head, and I know she meant no harm, but she shouldn’t have given her a ride.
“A misunderstanding!” I snap. Could it be a misunderstanding if we didn’t talk and she assumed the worst with what she found? She misunderstood the appearance of it all. “She jumped to conclusions.”
“About what?” Nosy fucking Rosy.
“Go find her. I’ll explain.” Caden has my back.
“Thanks.” I’m crossing the entryway lickety-split. Speeding through the familiar streets my heart is beating double time, and it pisses me off she thought anything amiss. I punch the steering wheel and feel the sting up into my shoulder. Rotating it to work the kink out, I concentrate maneuvering the asphalt and calming down. Going in there half-cocked isn’t going to help.
I slam the truck in park and sprint up the stairs, pounding against the door and shouting her name.
No answer.
She’s gonna give me some kind of heart condition before I get signed to the majors. Hopefully a physical can’t diagnose pussy-whipped. That would suck because I meet all requirements for that ailment.
The neighboring apartment door opens and some beady eyes leer at me, but I ignore her annoyance and continue beating her door. “Open up, Doll.”
I hear the locks turning, and the door swings open, shielding Brecklynn. Her eyes, or eye, is red, swollen, and I can see the tear streaks marring her face. All because she didn’t fucking ask me. “What are you doing here?” I have to strain to hear the quietness of her voice.
“I’m here for you.” I step in. I’m not waiting for an invitation.
“Mason, there’s nothing to say. I saw the picture, found the evidence. Please, just go.” The resignation in her voice kills me. It slashes across my chest, and I’m hemorrhaging from causing her pain.
“So I’m condemned without a trial? And what fucking picture?” Her eye closes, and she sighs, stepping back, and I’m grateful she isn’t slamming the door in my face . . . but I’m angry she didn’t ask me . . . just assumed me guilty.
“You at Diamonds and Denim— the blonde kissing you. It’s all over WSU social media pages.” Shit. I know what she’s referring to, but who the hell put them up?
“When did you see it?” She was fine all weekend.
“After the lake. I figured that’s why you had me leave my phone so you could hide what you did. Lee Lee talked me down.”
“Lee Lee talked you down? Do you know how fucked up that is, Brecklynn? You should have asked me. Talked to me.” I pace the small space, feeling like I’m in a cage. “That girl appeared outta nowhere. Caden and I went out, and I got swarmed when I walked in. I didn’t do anything wrong, and you assume the worst.”
“Because you hid it. I was letting the picture go. I realized it was just a photo, and a lot of times images aren’t what they seem. But the lipstick. The condoms. This is all too much for me.” Her bullshit and lame excuses are becoming a burden I shouldn’t have to carry.
“What’s too much, Breck? Me hanging with friends. The fact I fucking love you. The groupies . . . explain it to me, so I know how to fix it.” My lip curls into a sneer and besides the anger, fear is freezing my veins.
“We are— too much. I can’t deal with being jealous. Insecure. It isn’t who I am, and I won’t let you turn me into that girl.”
“How is this my fault? I did nothing wrong.” I bellow. She flinches but holds her posture.
“Your past. That’s your fault. I can’t compete with it, and I can’t let it shroud me in doubt.” Her word
s concise. She’s made it clear what she is doing.
“So that’s it. Just like that. One picture. One time your mind conjures up falsehoods. You throw in the towel over that?”
“It isn’t just that night, Mason. There’s more where this came from. Hell, there was more than one instance that night. Don’t deny it.”
“There wasn’t anyone but you. Sure, I posed for pictures, but that’s going to be my reality. I don’t know what you want here.”
“I want out.”
Knife.
Heart.
Pain.
“You don’t mean that.” I’m close to grabbing her, shaking some sense into her. “Talk to me.”
“You have to focus on your future— baseball. Me on mine— photography. This is always going to be an issue between us.” She’s determined to wreck me.
“Because you don’t trust me?” I hate myself.
“Because I can’t trust you.”
“We all have a past, Brecklynn. I don’t use yours against you, and it isn’t fair for you to do that. I can’t change your mind.” I slam the door in my wake and force myself to leave.
Nothing I said to her was going to penetrate. She has in her head that I’m that guy. The one she can’t trust. The one who will hurt her. The one who will leave her.
In the end, her love is untrustworthy. She hurt me. She abandoned me.
Everyone is having babies . . . people are moving, which means the object of my desire . . . and ire, will be living next door to me. She answers my texts with one-word responses, even if it requires additional explanations. I could ask her what the theory of evolution was, and she’d respond complex. It’s clear space isn’t what she needs.
Through my anger, I miss her. I understand the baggage I carry . . . but she was unexpected. She was my game changer. But it seems I’ve run outta innings and struck out.
“You helping?” Caden breaks me from stewing in my anger— without a plan.
Karma (Endgame Series Book 3) Page 9