The Secret Arrangement

by Vanessa Waltz

  "I like this sports bra, too." Grayson snaps the wide straps pulled tight over my shoulder.

  He sinks into me. I'm somewhat aware of his other hand tugging at my bra. I look down in a haze of desire. My bra is pushed up my chest, tits bulging under the band. Grayson sucks my nipple, biting my skin as he lashes the hard bud.

  I almost lose my balance on the bench, and he catches me, laughing.

  I don’t like the tease, but Grayson lives for torturing me. He alternates, leaving each nipple wet and swollen. He hovers out of reach so I can’t twist my fingers in his hair or stroke his length, which I can feel pressed against me.

  A distant sound makes me jump. Grayson pays no mind. He slides his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and bends over. His cock rises, a thick flag already beading with precum. His hand wraps around it, and he moves my pinned legs to one shoulder. With his finger, he guides his length to my tightly clenched pussy.

  I have nothing to grip as he shoves. His eyes, narrowed with intensity, hold me still as he pulses in and out. He goes so fucking far that I bite my lip. Grayson seizes my chin, his rough gasps blowing across my lips as he pushes down. My spine grinds into the bench. I watch him in the mirror, his ass tightening with quick jerks. He fills me so deeply I can’t keep from screaming. My moan bounces off the mirrors, and then Grayson straightens. He yanks the pants from my ankles, cock throbbing, and moves my legs to his waist. His hands hook my thighs, yanking me into him as he drills hard enough to make my voice tremor. My walls tight, he glides through me, striking home with a resounding smack. His weight bears down as he angles me to take him deep. My body arches as Grayson spreads a greedy palm over my tits. He fucks me ruthlessly. I can’t process anything but my core buzzing with pleasure.

  And he was only supposed to be a good fuck, but he catches my jaw again and he kisses me like I’m the last woman on Earth and nothing else matters but us. I scream into his lips as the orgasm sets off. A crashing wave of bliss is followed by ripples of relief, and then he moans, a deep, guttural sound, filling me with warmth. My hand unsticks from his neck as his gaze finds its way to mine.

  He smiles, still lost in desire. "I’ve got a surprise for you."

  "Can’t we stay in bed and fuck all day?"

  "I have other plans for you. Get dressed and meet me out front."

  The sun blankets Los Albos Ranch with inescapable heat. I walk down the hall and look through the living room at the rippling blue waves of the pool, where the guys are hanging out. There’s still no trace of my asshole brother, and that’s fine with me.

  My phone buzzes with a notification from a sports website I follow.

  SHAW AND PARDINI FEUD AT 5-YEAR PARTY

  I grit my teeth as I read the article, but there’s nothing about my brother’s affair or the pregnancy. A blurry picture of Grayson screaming at Henry accompanies the column. A quick at the comments underneath tells me the fans weren’t happy about the fight.

  Grayson waits outside the front door, dressed in an aquamarine V-neck and khaki shorts. He lifts his shades and gazes at me as though he didn’t have me naked in his hands thirty minutes ago.

  After we fucked in the weight room, I did the walk of shame to the bathroom and took a long shower. It was a miracle no one saw us, and I wrestled with the guilt of having no regrets.

  Grayson's smirk brings it all back. "All right. Let’s go."

  He leads me toward the garage, which opens with a click of a button. The door rolls up to reveal a fleet of sports cars parked side by side. Cars with Italian names that cost more than my life is worth. He stops at a bright red beauty, an Audi.

  "Are we going somewhere?"

  Grayson unlocks the doors and gestures inside. "No, I just wanted us to fuck in the car. I’m kidding, Saffie. Yes, I’m taking you out."

  Is this a date? "You’re a goddamn rule-breaker."

  "Yes, I am. Get your ass in."

  I slide into the seat, nerves pricking my stomach as Grayson closes the door and walks to the driver’s side. The garage roars with the engine. Wind whips my hair as we glide out of the ranch and speed through suburban streets.

  "Where are you taking me?" It’s way too early for dinner, so he must be treating me to brunch.

  "Just a little place I thought would cheer you up."

  "Really?" My heart melts. "You don’t have to do that. I’m fine."

  "Yeah, whatever. You can repeat that until you’re blue in the face, but I won’t believe you."

  I gaze at the road ahead. "What is it?" I ask, excited despite myself.

  "I’m not telling. Jesus, girl. Be patient."

  I’m dying to know what it is. I badger Grayson with guesses, but he denies them. It’s not a movie, lunch, or anything involving food. He nixes ice skating. I’m running out of date ideas. "Is it a strip club?"

  His laughter roars over the wind. "I don't think Santa Barbara has one. No, Saffie. I wouldn't bring you to a titty bar. Stop guessing; you’ll find out soon enough."

  Excitement ramps in my chest as he slows along a street filled with shops and boutiques. Are we going to a lingerie store? A sex-toy shop?

  He takes my hand, grinning as he leads me to a glass door with a cartoon cat stenciled in white, and the words "NEKO CAT CAFE."

  "You brought me to a cat cafe?" The hell is that? "What is it?"

  "You’ll see."

  We walk inside. The foyer resembles an average coffee store with a blackboard of cute, themed drinks. Under a case rests a display of Japanese desserts, and T-shirts with the cafe’s logo sit on shelves.

  "Welcome!" A young girl in a black smock greets Grayson. "Do you have a reservation?"

  "Yeah, I’m Grayson Shaw."

  "Oh, of course." She ushers toward a door, through which there’s a room with structures fashioned like trees. A walkway spans the entire place. A ginger cat sleeps on a ledge nailed into the wall. The sound of a dozen tiny feet and screeching meows blasts my ears as she pushes us through, and suddenly a horde of kittens surrounds my legs. I grab a ball of black-and-white fluff and hold him to my heart as the kitten raises its head, blinks, and screams.

  The attendant shows us the jars of treats and food. Grayson buys a few bags and tosses the kibble on the floor like he’s feeding chickens. I laugh so hard I startle the kitten. He launches from my chest.

  A dozen insistent voices follow Grayson as we wander into the cafe, which has tables and chairs, poofs to sit on, blankets, a library, and millions of cat-friendly perches. Felines of every breed and color imaginable bound from their hiding places and make a beeline toward Grayson.

  "I can’t believe you brought me here. This is…" I give the room another once-over. "So freaking cute. I love it."

  "Good," he says in a gruff voice. "I rented the whole place for a half hour."

  I gather a large calico in my arms. It seems very interested in my hair, and I follow him to the bundle of blankets.

  Grayson sits, avoiding the cluster of kittens. An impatient black-and-white cat stands on Grayson's thigh, clawing at the bag. "Jesus, be patient!"

  He holds the treats out of reach, laughing. The calico flows into my lap like liquid. She flops on her side, begging for a belly rub. My fingers glide through her black-and-orange fur. She closes her eyes in contentment. Her purr rumbles through my hand.

  It’s the most relaxed I’ve been in weeks, and I have Grayson to thank for it.

  His bag of treats is empty, but the cats sniff around him, clawing at his shirt. A gray kitten licks his thumb.

  "How’d you know I’d like this?" I ask.

  Grayson grudgingly scratches its chin. "You told me you loved animals."

  "That’s amazingly thoughtful." A tortoiseshell places its two front paws on my knees. The calico hisses softly, and the kitten bounds away like a rabbit. God, it’s so cute. "Thank you."

  "You’re—" He sneezes. The kittens scatter away from him. "Welcome." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Damn. I think I’m allergic. Don’t worry;
I’ll tough it out."

  I laugh as Grayson picks up a shrieking cat—can’t be older than five months—and makes baby noises.

  "This is what you need. A kitten photo op to show the world you’re not just a sex-crazed psycho."

  He sneezes on the cat, who jumps and leaves a six-inch gash over his arm. "Damn it!"

  "Did you have pets as a kid?"

  He shakes his head. "My sisters and I couldn't agree on what we wanted, so my parents never got us one."

  "My dad loathed animals. Mom wasn’t a fan either. I did a lot of volunteering for shelters. The plan was to study animal biology at UC Davis, but that didn't happen."

  "Yeah, but there’s still time."

  Is that why he brought me here, to remind me that I have options?

  Am I more than just a fling?

  My heart clenches. I can't bear not knowing the answer to that question for another second. Pressure builds behind my eyes when I think of leaving, but I can’t tell him. This is only temporary. We're supposed to keep a distance. Grayson was clear it’d never last.

  Then why take me on a date?

  He winks at me through red-rimmed eyes and blows a kiss.

  Heat flushes my cheeks as my fingers curl in the calico's dense fur. The more time I spend around Grayson, the more my heart breaks with his kindness.

  11

  Grayson

  Twitter loves the cat cafe date. My fans lose their shit over the paparazzi photos of me being mauled by a dozen kittens, but they’re not pleased with Saffie. They think I’m crossing a line by dating Henry’s sister. Most have read the article about my five-year party. The fact neither of our reps has denied the rumors speaks volumes.

  And now Henry’s fans are out for blood.

  They tag me with highly imaginative death threats if I don’t leave her alone. Others blast me for causing drama so close to the World Cup. I’m an asshole. A traitor. A source of constant negative PR.

  Grayson should be traded.

  Yes. The moment I read that comment, a smile spreads across my face. It’s what I’ve been working for, and the idiots don’t realize they’re playing into my hands.

  I thumb through the vitriol of my Twitter feed with less enthusiasm than I expected. I’m still using her. I looked her right in the eye and denied it. Going through with a big PR blowout feels too cruel. I can’t do that to her, and I don’t want to.

  Kris, however, is a ticking time bomb.

  I stand, gazing at the desk where the letter is tucked out of sight under a pile of mail. Seeing her with that baby bump was like a cattle prod to my ass. I need to deal with this. No more running. Wouldn’t it be better to know now? Face the music?

  If I’m the father, Kris will be in my life forever. I’ll never have a moment’s peace. And if I’m not, she’ll be Henry’s problem.

  My heart kicks a frantic beat as I slide the envelope from the pile and turn it over. I clutch it in my hands like a fucking bomb, sliding my finger under the curve. There’s a tear—

  The door knocks and opens before I can toss the envelope aside. Saffie pauses in the doorway. "Did I interrupt something?"

  As long as it’s her, I don’t mind. I blow a ragged sigh and gesture for her to join me. "You’re supposed to wait until I say come in. Were you hoping you’d catch me touching myself?"

  Saffie edges into the room, wearing a white tank top and a pair of dark red shorts that expose creamy lengths of thigh. Faint yellow bruises smudge the skin on her tits where I bit her. The memory of giving them to her fills me with fire.

  She crosses her arms. "The guys wanted to know if you were interested in a game of foosball."

  "So they sent you."

  Saffie’s dark eyes shine with mischief. "I volunteered." She touches my waist and bounces on the balls of her feet to kiss my cheek.

  Heat infuses with my blood like a fast-acting toxin. I fall under her spell, my arms wrapping around her waist. She crushes her mouth against mine, and I’m halfway between ripping off her shirt and throwing her on the bed until I glimpse the fucking letter.

  I stop with a tortured sigh.

  "What’s wrong?" she says.

  "Nothing." I force a smile.

  She steps back, frowning. "Tell me."

  My hands fall from her sides. "You don’t want to know."

  "Yeah, I do." She takes a seat on my bed, her legs hanging from the height.

  Fuck it.

  I grab the envelope sitting on my desk and sit next to her. She peers over my shoulder. "What is it?"

  I take a deep breath. "Paternity results for my ex’s baby."

  Saffie inhales sharply. "Jesus."

  "She’s suing me for child support. The fucking kid hasn’t come out of the womb yet, and she’s already lawyering up."

  "So why haven’t you opened it?"

  "Scared, I guess." I’m man enough to admit being a father terrifies me. "I don’t want her in my life, but it’s not like I hate children. You know?"

  She smiles. "I understand."

  I glance to the letter. "Anyway, I better open it. Delaying is causing my lawyer all kinds of problems. I’d rather nip this in the bud now."

  "Do you need me to leave?"

  "No."

  Sighing, I turn the envelope over, and glide on the smooth surface. My finger catches the seal and tears the paper. The folded note slips out. It’s a single letter. I open it, scanning the wall of text for a familiar block of words.

  My heartbeat drums in my chest.

  DNA MATCH: NEGATIVE

  I’m not the dad.

  And the impulse to jump up and down is absent. My shoulders roll forward as the page falls from my limp fingers. Saffie scrambles to catch it and gasps.

  She clutches my shoulder, squeezing. "You’re not the father!"

  I’m supposed to be excited, right? That bitch is out of my life forever. Except there was a time I would’ve been overjoyed to discover I’m a father.

  The baby isn’t mine.

  It’s Henry’s.

  Relief and sadness pour in from all sides, and Saffie’s grin disappears.

  "I'll be okay," I say to her worried face. "I’m relieved, but it’s complicated. I wanted kids."

  She touches my back. "There’s plenty of time for that. You’re not eighty."

  My words from her lips. "I know."

  The baby is his. I wait for a torrent of rage to consume me as it would have weeks ago, but I don’t give a shit. The part of me that loved her is gone.

  Saffie puts the letter aside with a deep sigh. "I guess I’ll have a nephew. Or niece."

  "Do you want kids?"

  "Yeah," she says, nodding. "Not for a while though. My life needs to get back on track."

  I don’t know what to do with this strange, lingering sadness.

  "What will you do now?"

  "First, I gotta fax this to my lawyer. Then I'm taking you away." I need to leave this place.

  She sits up straighter, a smile curving her lips. "Where?"

  I plant my hands on either side of her. "Far. Somewhere we won't have to worry about seven other dudes walking in on us."

  "Like Hawaii?"

  "Perfect. I’ll make the arrangements."

  Laughing, she seizes my wrist. "Grayson, we can’t just drop everything and leave."

  "Why not? Henry has plans for you to repaint the house or something?"

  "No, but what’ll the guys say?"

  "The secret’s pretty much out, babe. And you forget that I don’t care what they think."

  It takes a half hour to charter a jet from Santa Barbara to Hawaii, and then another fifteen minutes to sweet-talk Saffie into coming with me. Photographers shot Saffie and me walking into the airport, so I’m sure my Twitter will scroll with more violent threats before the day ends.

  Saffie clasps my hand in the cab as it whisks us away from the terminal. Hawaii in July is hot and thick. The atmosphere wraps around me like a blanket. Tall, jungle-filled mountains surround us as w
e weave through Maui’s coastal highway, heading for the all-inclusive resort that’s free from tourists, paparazzi, and Saturday-night karaoke at the ranch.

  Saffie gapes at the sprawling hotel as the cab wheels to the entrance. "You booked the Ritz? Holy crap."

  It’s about a thousand dollars a day. No big deal. "Three-star hotels give me hives."

  She rolls her eyes, and I practically hear her thoughts: Crazy rich bastard.

  I climb from the car and inhale the humid, salted air. The sun still burns on the horizon, casting an orange glow on turquoise waves.

  A woman sits behind a giant harp in the foyer, playing music as we walk in. The marble floors are polished enough that I can see my face. The receptionist hands me our hotel keys, and someone takes our luggage down the hall. It was worth booking the Ritz just to witness Saffie’s excitement. She’ll appreciate this way more than I ever could. The awe fades after years of five-star hotels.

  The bellhop opens our door, ushering Saffie into the beachfront villa I rented with a private outdoor terrace and pool. She gazes at the furnishings in wide-eyed delight. I toss my bag onto the king-sized mattress and tip the man, who bows out of the room.

  "This is gorgeous," she moans, inspecting the bathroom and terrace. She stands there, listening to the crashing of waves. Saffie closes her eyes in contentment, grinning.

  It’s a nice hotel—perfect for a quiet weekend with no one butting into our lives. Maui used to be the getaway I shared with Kris. A place to relax, sip mai tais, and eat barbecue. Opening that letter was like cutting the last thread to her. All I wanted was to share this with someone who’d appreciate it.

  Saffie lounges in the patio chair, settling in to watch the sunset with a huge grin on her face. "This is perfect."