Hate the Game

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Hate the Game Page 16

by Renshaw, Winter


  Talon exhales as he fills me to the hilt, the pain of the initial stretch morphing into sheer pleasure as my body accepts his. I dig my nails into his back as he settles into a rhythm, stopping to steal a kiss every so often. His cock is warm inside me, velvet soft, setting every last nerve ending on fire with want.

  “God, you feel so good,” he says, his voice breathy against my ear. “I could stay inside you all night …”

  My body shudders as I fight off another intoxicating wave I’m not ready to ride yet. Heat sears through my body in flashes and a fullness floods my center. It’s a strange feeling. Distinct. Almost indescribable.

  I never had this with Trey—or anyone else for that matter.

  I’m guessing this is what it feels like to sleep with someone you love, someone who loves you.

  “Don’t stop,” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair as my hips buck against him, thrust for thrust.

  Biting my lip, I squeeze my eyes as he drives into me faster, harder, deeper.

  I should be one hundred percent focused on this moment, but already I’m thinking of round two.

  And there will be a round two.

  Maybe even a three …

  We’re supposed to fly out in the morning.

  Looks like we’ll be doing most of our sleeping on the plane.

  Chapter 34

  Talon

  “I’m going to grab a quick shower,” Irie says, wrapped in my bedsheets. It’s the first Monday of spring break—which puts the biggest stupid smile on my face because it means one full week of having Irie all to myself, no classes, no quizzes, nothing but time on our hands. “Told Brynn I’d meet her for lunch today.”

  The thought of Irie doing her own thing for a couple of hours today makes me irrationally jealous of her best friend, but I push it away. It’s not like she won’t come back to me. I’ve just been spoiled the last few days with not having to share me.

  As soon as our plane touched California ground yesterday, we couldn’t grab our shit fast enough.

  I took Irie and Bette home first so Irie could help her unpack and get settled, but it wasn’t long before she was back at my door—and in my arms—ready for another round.

  I tug the sheets off her as she scampers away, stealing a greedy look at her perfect ass as she prances off to the bathroom with sex hair and an exhausted smirk. A second later the shower spray spits to life and I pull myself out of bed, heading to the kitchen to make a couple of coffees for us.

  Both of my roommates are gone—they left sometime over the weekend for Cabo. It’s the first time in years I opted not to join them, but I can say with one hundred percent certainty that I made the right call.

  I pop the first pod into the coffeemaker and grab a mug. While the machine percolates, I peek into the fridge to see what we have to eat. It’s slim pickings, most of it with questionable expiration dates. Looks like we might be eating out this morning …

  The first coffee finishes and I swing the fridge door shut, but the second I turn to walk away, there’s a knock at the door.

  I check the clock on the microwave before deciding to ignore it. It’s probably some place trying to slide pizza menus under the door or some shit.

  I switch out the pods and mugs and press the brew button for the next cup.

  Only the asshole knocks again.

  Louder.

  Harder.

  “Talon, I know you’re home.” And then he says my name. “Open up. It’s Mark. We need to talk.”

  Jaw tight, I force a breath through flared nostrils. If I ignore him, he’s not going to go away … he’s going to let himself in.

  He has the master key to every apartment in this entire building because he owns the place.

  Exhaling again, I head to the door. I’d rather let him in myself than put Irie through some kind of family drama shit show staring Mark Masterson.

  “Yeah?” I answer the door in nothing but a pair of navy sweats, one hand cocked on my hip.

  “I called you all weekend,” he says.

  “I know. I was out of state.”

  Mark pushes his way into the apartment, pacing the small kitchen and glancing around like he’s looking for something.

  “Can I help you with something?” I ask, scratching at my right temple.

  “You haven’t signed the contract yet,” he says.

  “I know.”

  “It expires this week. The hell kind of stunt are you trying to pull here?” Spittle flies with each syllable and his tan skin turns a shade of cherry almost instantly.

  “Tal, I had to use the last clean towel,” Irie’s voice floats from around the corner, and a second later, she appears in the hallway, a white towel wrapped around her taut body, hair dripping wet. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

  She scampers off, disappearing into my room and leaving nothing but a wake of thick tension in the air.

  “Is that what this is all about?” he asks, sneering.

  “No,” I lie.

  Kind of.

  My reasons are rooted much deeper than Irie, deeper than he could begin to realize, and I’m not in the mood to shoot the shit with my good ol’ stepdad over any of it right now.

  “I’m still figuring out a few things,” I say.

  “What’s there to figure out, Talon?” Mark throws his hands in the air, the whites of his eyes visible all the way around. “Don’t be a goddamned moron. Don’t throw away everything we’ve worked for over a fucking girl. You know how much tits and ass you’re going to be getting, kid? She’s nothing. One of these days, you probably won’t even remember her name.”

  My teeth grit. “Leave.”

  “Sign the contract, Talon,” he says. “Or else.”

  “Or else what? You’re going to leave my mom?” I scoff. “That might have worked on me when I was a kid, but that was before I knew how ugly and complicated a California divorce can be … especially when it comes to splitting up assets, and especially when one of you has been habitually unfaithful to the other.”

  He wrinkles his stout nose. “The hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Dierdre … Cara … Hollie … Becca,” I say. “Want me to keep going? Because I can.”

  Mark turns a deeper shade of crimson than before. His thin lips move but nothing comes out.

  “That’s what I thought,” I say, walking back to the door and swinging it open. “Like I said, Mark, I’m figuring some shit out and you need to leave. Now.”

  He puffs his barrel chest and storms out the door, slamming it so hard behind him it rattles the apartment windows.

  I give myself five deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down, and then I make my way to the bedroom, where Irie is perched on the edge of my bed, fully dressed as she combs through her damp hair.

  “What was that all about?” Irie asks.

  “Nothing,” I say. “Just Mark being Mark.”

  Chapter 35

  Irie

  I switch a load of clothes from Aunt Bette’s washer to her dryer Tuesday morning when my phone rings. A strange number flashes across the screen, but the area code is local. I’m tempted to answer it out of sheer curiosity … and I almost don’t …

  “Hello?” I catch it on the final ring.

  “Irie?” a woman asks.

  “This is she …”

  “Irie, hi, it’s Camilla,” she says with a chuckle in her voice. “Camilla Masterson. Talon’s mom …”

  “Oh, yes! Of course,” I say. “Hi, how are you?”

  I shut the dryer door and press the start button before leaning against the counter, phone pressed hard to my ear. I have no idea why Talon’s mom would be calling me out of the blue like this or what she could possibly want. His birthday is in July, so it isn’t that. Easter’s a solid month away, so I doubt she’s inviting me to some family dinner.

  “I’m doing well, sweetheart,” she says. “I was just calling because I’m going to be in the area this week and I thought maybe
the two of us could meet for brunch? Just a ladies’ thing?”

  I’m speechless at first, then flattered. The fact that Talon’s mom wants to spend time with me solo makes me wonder if he’s told her how he feels about me. Maybe she wants to get to know me better?

  “That’s really kind of you, Camilla,” I say. “I’m pretty free all week, so shoot me a text when you’re heading my way and we’ll make it happen.”

  “Wonderful!” she says. “If not tomorrow, it’ll be the day after.”

  “Sounds great.” I end the call, grab a basket of whites, and head to the kitchen to start folding.

  “Well, hey there, stranger,” Aunt Bette says as she sorts the mail next to the microwave.

  “Are you teasing me or guilt tripping me?” I ask. “Because I probably deserve both …”

  I didn’t intend to become so joined at the hip with Talon.

  I also didn’t intend to fall in love with him.

  We’re in that stupid-in-love phase where you’re only thinking about each other, woefully addicted and barely alive until you get your next fix.

  “Neither,” Bette says with a wink. “I’m happy for you, Irie. I am. And you’re still making time for all my chores and errands, so I’ve got nothing to complain about. It’s a little quieter around here, that’s all. Don’t let me hold you back. Can’t say I’d be doing it any different if I were in your shoes. Just glad to see you’re having fun for once.”

  I fold a towel and place it aside. “You know … his mom just called me.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “She wants to do brunch … just the two of us.”

  “She’s scoping you out,” Bette says.

  “You think?”

  She nods, brows lifted. “She must know her son is crazy about you, so she wants to get to know you a little better. It’s both a courtesy thing and a precaution.”

  “Too bad she’s wasting her time,” I say, mumbling under my breath as I fold another fluffy towel. “Two more months and I’m going to Malibu and he’s going to Richmond.”

  Bette sighs. “I’m sure this isn’t easy for you, but I just want you to know you’re doing the right thing. You might be head over heels for this guy right now, but the worst thing you can do is rearrange your entire future over someone you just met—and I say that as someone with far too much experience in that arena. One minute you’re turning down your third-grade teaching job to run off with a guy who looks an awful lot like a young Burt Reynolds and the next minute you’re managing a cockroach-infested strip joint.”

  I know she’s right.

  But it doesn’t stop me from wishing she was wrong.

  Chapter 36

  Talon

  “Come with me,” I say Wednesday night as we lie naked in my bed in a quiet apartment that feels worlds away from reality.

  “What? Where are you going?” she asks, sitting up a bit.

  “Come with me to Richmond, I mean.”

  She lies back down, settling against my shoulder. “Talon …”

  “I’m serious, Irie. I can’t walk away from that contract … but I can’t walk away from you either. I know I’m being selfish, but I’m putting it out there. Come out east with me. We can start a life out there. We won’t have to say goodbye after graduation. We’ll pack our things in a U-Haul and—”

  “Shh.” Irie places her finger over my mouth. “Let’s just enjoy the time we have, okay?”

  “You love me, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “But you have no reservations about pulling the plug on this and going our separate ways in two months …”

  “Look, this wasn’t supposed to happen.” She rolls to her side, propping herself on her elbow as she studies me. “You talked me into a date and then you talked me into another date and then you told me you loved me and all of this is happening so fast … and don’t get me wrong, I’m loving every minute of it, but now you’re asking me to walk away from my dream so you can live yours? Do you really think that’s fair?”

  “I know it isn’t fair,” I say. “But when you look at the logistics of it, you can find a design job anywhere in the country. I’m not going to find another thirty-five-million-dollar football contract so easily …”

  “So your dream is more important than mine.”

  “No.” I rub my eyes, gathering my thoughts. “This is all coming out wrong.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “I’m just trying to be rational about this. Logical. Whatever.”

  “Talon …” Irie traces her fingertips along my bare chest, sighing. “We can’t be logical with an emotion that knows no logic.”

  She’s right.

  “I’m sorry. I had to ask.” I take her hand in mine, lifting it to my lips and kissing her delicate fingers. “Can you blame a man for wanting it all?”

  “It’s an impossible decision. Either way, one of us loses,” she says. “And we both have too much at stake to gamble with something that isn’t …”

  Her voice trails into nothing.

  “Isn’t a sure thing?” I ask.

  She doesn’t confirm.

  She doesn’t deny either.

  “Nothing in this life will ever be a sure thing,” I say. Silence consumes us, both of us lost in our own thoughts for a moment. “What do you want out of this life?”

  Without hesitation, without giving it an extra thought, she answers, “A home of my own. A nice family. Stability. Meaning. The priceless things most people take for granted.”

  And there’s my old friend, irony, showing his face once again.

  I lean down, kissing her forehead. “Same, Irie … exact same.”

  Chapter 37

  Irie

  I sleep in Thursday morning, buried under Talon’s covers as he rushes out the door to catch an eight o’clock workout at the student fitness center. While I admire his dedication and discipline, we’ve been staying up until the wee hours of the morning every night all week and I could use an extra hour of shuteye.

  Only the second he’s gone, my phone buzzes on his nightstand.

  I reach across the bed, swiping it with an exhausted groan, and I flip the screen to find a text from his mother.

  CAMILLA: Good morning, Irie! Brunch at 10 today? The Gilded Ivy?

  I tap out a quick “sounds good … see you then!” before realizing I completely spaced off telling Talon his mom had reached out to me earlier this week. It’s not a huge deal though. I’ll just have to tell him all about it afterwards.

  Flinging the covers off, I grab my things and head out, locking up behind me with the spare key Talon gave me. Within minutes, I’m making my way back home to shower and get ready, all the while contemplating the perfect outfit.

  Camilla is stylish and polished, and a place called The Gilded Ivy requires more than a pair of faded jeans and a cute top from the back of my closet. I realize it’s ironic … wanting her to like me when I’m only going to be her son’s girlfriend for the next two months, but it is what it is.

  * * *

  The second I step foot inside The Gilded Ivy, it reminds me of the kind of chic eatery one might find on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. Everything is either gold or marble, but nothing about it is ostentatious. It’s a tasteful kind of glamorous, and I give myself a mental pat on the back as I make my way to the hostess stand.

  “I’m meeting Camilla Masterson,” I tell the woman with the bun slicked so tight it gives my scalp sympathy pains.

  Her magenta lips curl into a reserved smile. “Right this way, Ms. Davenport.”

  I follow her to a private room in the back, the kind people generally reserve for larger parties.

  Camilla rises the instant she sees me, a pink boucle Chanel suit covering her trim body. “Irie, hi. So glad you could make it.”

  I take the seat across from her as a server appears from out of nowhere to fill my water glass and hand me a gold-leafed menu.

  “Don’t you look lovely,” she says, eyeing my outfit.
I opted for wide-leg black-waisted pants and a fitted white blouse, finishing off the look with simple gold hoops on my ears and a red statement lip—a look not unlike the one Kira Kepner was rocking the first time I met her.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I love your suit. Such a classic.”

  She runs her fingers along a fringed boucle sleeve. “Thank you. I couldn’t decide between pink or ivory today … anyway …”

  Camilla takes a sip from a champagne glass filled with orange juice and I think about what Talon said about his mom always self-medicating. She places it aside, her fingers tapping on the table. Despite the fact that she invited me to this brunch, I’m picking up on a little nervousness from her end.

  “Are you enjoying your spring break?” she asks.

  I smile. “Very much so. Talon and I caught that new Tarantino film the other day, and just yesterday, we volunteered at an animal shelter.”

  Her brows lift. “Talon … my Talon … volunteered?”

  I pretend not to act surprised that she’s surprised …

  From what it sounds like, growing up, he didn’t have time to do anything but football. If he’d have been afforded a little more free time, I imagine he would’ve done amazing things with it.

  “What about you? What have you been up to these days?” I hate small talk, but it’s a necessary evil when you’re trying to establish a rapport with someone.

  She offers a polite smile, hesitating for a moment. “A little of everything I suppose …”

  And then I realize—she didn’t come here to vet me. She didn’t come here to get to know me. She came here with a mission.

  “Irie, I’m going to cut to the chase here,” she says. “The reason I invited you out to brunch is because Talon hasn’t signed his contract yet.”

 

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