Good Boy

by Sarina Bowen

  “He was,” I confirm. “But he was trying to protect Molly, too.” Not that she deserved it. I don’t hate many people, but Blake’s ex definitely tops the list.

  “I figured that, too.” She nods sadly. “That’s Blakey’s best trait, you know. His need to protect. To make everyone happy…”

  Even if it means sacrificing his own happiness, is the unfinished sentiment. And my heart clenches painfully, because I know it’s true. As over the top as Blake is, he lives his entire life for other people. Look at the way he took Wes under his wing last season, the way he dropped everything to help take care of Jamie when he was sick.

  Blake Riley is a better man than anyone gives him credit for. And I’m ashamed of myself. I’m so fucking ashamed for ever believing that he was just a stupid jock who was incapable of being serious.

  “Anyway, you’re a trooper, Jess,” Mama Riley says, while I continue to beat myself up for being such a jackass. “Just want you to know I appreciate it.”

  Then she gives me another oxygen-depriving hug, which I try to reciprocate. Maybe in time I’ll learn to get a full breath of air before she does that.

  It’s only an hour later when Charlie reappears in the waiting room wearing a surgical smock and a smile. “It’s a girl!” he announces. “Six pounds even. No name yet, but we’re working on it. Brenna’s all woozy, so I think my choice will prevail.”

  Mama Riley gallops over and places both hands on his shoulders. “Is Brenna okay?”

  “Of course. She just yelled at me to take more pictures, so I’m thinking that’s a good sign.”

  The other Rileys swarm Charlie to congratulate him. But not me. I need to sit down, like, yesterday. I slide into a chair, relief washing over me. The room is too bright all of a sudden and there’s not enough air. Brenna could’ve died. The blood pressure the doctor had rattled off in the waiting room downstairs was scarily high. And when I’d Googled preeclampsia during my sister’s pregnancy, I’d been greeted by a lengthy list of horror stories involving seizures and both maternal and fetal death.

  I put my elbows on my knees and curl up around myself, quietly freaking out while the Riley family rejoices.

  “Jessie?” Blake sits beside me. When he takes my hand, his is cool where mine is clammy. “Hey…” He kisses my palm. “What’s the matter? Everything is fine.”

  “I know.” My voice shakes. “It’s just…” My whole body shudders as I imagine other outcomes. “That was scary,” I croak.

  “Oh, baby.” Blake pulls me onto his lap and kisses my neck. “You were amazing. You knew exactly what was wrong and lit a fire under everyone to get to the hospital.”

  “I was just guessing.”

  “Naw,” he scoffs. “You saw some things. You had a gut feeling. You went with it. That’s all everyone does. That’s how I win hockey games. That’s how your man Hozier writes those songs that make the girls throw their panties at the stage.” He runs a comforting hand down my hair, and I lean back into his touch. “You know what? I have a gut feeling right now, too. It says, my girl hasn’t eaten all day, and she’s fried. We’re gonna take a peek at the baby, and then we’ll go fix that, okay?”

  Someone brings us some pretzels and soda from the vending machines, and a bit later we’re summoned to the nursery window. There, behind the glass, in a little bassinet, is the newest Riley. She’s a teeny peanut-shaped person swaddled like a burrito in a blanket, wearing a pink and white striped hat. All that’s visible is her round cheek and a shock of brown hair poking from beneath the edges of the hat. Her eyes are scrunched tightly shut, as if her slumber requires great determination.

  “Awwwwwwww!” the Riley clan choruses.

  “That’s…she…” Blake sputters. “I’m an uncle! She looks just like me.”

  I assume he’s kidding, but when I look up at Blake’s face, it’s rapt, and his eyes are shiny. I press myself against his great bulk and push my face into his chest. One hand clamps around me, and I have a moment of complete happiness. What’s more, I no longer feel as though this was the weirdest day ever. Standing here in the circle of Blake’s arms, witness to this amazing family moment? It feels absolutely right. Maybe I am suffering from low blood sugar. And there must be reproductive hormones off-gassing throughout the maternity ward.

  “LOOK!” Mama Riley crows. “Here comes the name!”

  A nurse in teddy bear-patterned scrubs walks over, flashing a smile to everyone on our side of the glass. She affixes a small sign to the bassinet. In black Sharpie, someone has written:

  Annalise Jessica Daly, born November 2, 4:36 p.m.

  “Oh man!” Blake chuckles. “The middle name was supposed to be Blake! You’ve stolen my honor, J-Babe.” He picks me right up off the floor and kisses my cheek, laughing.

  “Omigod.” I’m staring at that card in astonishment. Maybe “Jessica” was already one of the names they’d been kicking around? “There’s no way your sister named that baby after me.”

  “Yes, she fucking did!” He swings me around in a circle like a rag doll. “You’re stuck with us. Deal with it.”

  After more baby-ogling and several rib-cracking hugs from Mama Riley, Blake and I find the hastily parked Hummer in the hospital lot and speed away. He drives with a hand on my knee, singing along with Mick Jagger on “Play with Fire.” And I’m so peaced-out that when he butchers the lyrics I don’t even have the urge to correct him. Much.

  We pull through the drive-thru of a McDonald’s, and I feed him French fries as the lights of downtown Toronto approach.

  The food shores me up. So when Blake parks his car beneath his apartment building and turns to me, saying, “Thank you for saving my sister and my niece,” the words nestle comfortably in my chest.

  “I’m glad to have helped,” I say, instead of arguing with his logic.

  For the first time since I got here, I feel certain that nursing is something I’m going to excel in. Maybe my grades won’t be as good as Violet’s. Maybe I’m going to panic once in a while. But I’ll just keep paying attention like I did today, and I’ll learn to get more things right than I get wrong.

  That’s all any of us needs to do.

  “Will you stay the night?” Blake asks.

  “Yeah,” I say immediately. “And thank you for asking. Instead of, well, just assuming.”

  His face softens. “I’m sorry. I’m just used to…” He looks oddly embarrassed.

  “Women throwing themselves at you,” I supply.

  He clears his throat. “Well, yeah. Bossy works for me. On most girls.”

  “I’m not most girls,” I argue instinctively.

  Blake grins. “I know. That’s why I want to kiss you so bad. Can I?”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  His smile comes closer. Then he takes my mouth gently, his lips soft. I draw a deep, slow breath and slant my head to improve our connection. Blake’s teeth graze my lower lip, and then he deepens our kiss. I open for him instinctively, welcoming him in. Whenever he touches me—from the very first day we met—I always melt like candy in the sun.

  Before, I’d blamed this on my own lack of willpower. But tonight I don’t want to blame anyone. I just want to grab his shoulders and lean in. It isn’t long until we’re steaming up the Hummer.

  Blake groans and breaks our kiss, his forehead against mine. “Let’s go upstairs, baby. I want you in my bed.”

  In the way of two people who are in a hurry to pull each other’s clothes off, we hustle through the lobby to the elevator. It’s smooth sailing up to Blake’s floor.

  The minute we enter his apartment, he kicks the door shut and pushes me up against the wall. Our kiss skips all the preliminary stages and goes right to a five-alarm fire. He wedges one muscular knee between my legs and then lets out a loud moan. “I want to do you on every surface of my apartment. Can’t decide which one should go first.”

  I look up at his movie-star handsome, square-jawed face, my breath sawing in and out. This beautiful man wants me so
badly he’s trembling. How did I get so lucky?

  “I guess we’d just better start somewhere,” I say solemnly. “Sounds like it’s gonna be a long night.”

  His answering smile is so bright and warm that I might need to remove some clothing just to survive it. So should he, I suppose. My fingers find their way onto his buttons and I undo them. His chin drops as he observes me.

  “Am I doing it wrong?”

  He shakes his head. “You’ve never undressed me before. I like watching it.”

  When the halves of his shirt fall apart, I palm his chest and sweep a hand up and down his abs. Blake tips his head back and sighs with happiness. My fingertips tease lower, skimming the soft skin just above his waistline, trailing through the fine hairs leading down into his shorts. My mouth waters just knowing what’s waiting for me.

  “I’m still wearing pants, Jessica. Why am I still wearing pants?”

  I snicker. “Sorry. Allow me to rid you of your trousers, milord.”

  His expression brightens. “Are we role-playing? I love role-playing.”

  Of course he does. “Maybe another time. I need to brush up on my Elizabethan English first.”

  He waves a hand. “Naah, they still use the same words for fucking. Like in Romeo and Juliet, when she’s all, a blowjob by any other name will still make you come.”

  I burst out laughing. “God, Blake, you’re priceless.” Then I drag his zipper down before he can spew more made-up Shakespeare lines, because as entertaining as it is, my body is tingly with impatience.

  Blake groans when I free his erection. It’s thick and pulsing in my hand. The bead of moisture at the tip moistens the pad of my thumb. Taking a breath, I slowly sink to my knees. He watches me from above with heavy-lidded green eyes. He slides a hand through my hair and leans his head back against the front door, the muscles of his chest tight with anticipation.

  When my tongue circles his swollen head, he makes a low, tortured noise, his fingers forming a fist in my hair. “Feels good,” he mumbles.

  “About to get better,” I mumble back, and then suction my lips around him. He jerks, and I smile against his hot, velvety flesh.

  I suck him down as deep as I can take him, which isn’t as deep as I’d like. But it’s his fault for having such a huge dick, the jackass. My fingers curl around his base to grip what my mouth can’t, stroking him in time to the glide of my lips and tongue along his shaft. Every loving lick makes my heart pound harder. I want him to like this. No, to love this. I want to worship his cock and show him how much I—

  How much you what?

  The curious voice in my head messes up my lazy rhythm. I end up taking him too deep, and my throat rebels against the thick intrusion. As I gag, Blake quickly pulls out with a soft murmur of reassurance. “’S’okay, baby, I don’t expect you to deep-throat me.”

  I choke out a laugh. If only deep-throating was the cause of my muddled thoughts. But it’s not. My emotions are all over the place right now, and I don’t know if it’s because of all the excitement today, or because…

  Because what?

  Awesome. My own brain is taunting me.

  I push aside the unsettling thoughts. I don’t want to think right now. I don’t want to search for answers to questions I’m not ready to face. What I want is to lose myself in Blake Riley.

  “C’mere.” I tug on his hand and urge him to his knees. He does it without protest, and then his mouth is on mine and his hands are snaking their way under my shirt. He peels it over my head, undoes my bra in an impressive one-handed feat of dexterity and tosses both items away.

  Neither of us cares that we’re still in the front hall. I don’t even blink when Blake nudges me onto my back. I barely feel the cold floor beneath my bare skin, because his body is producing enough heat to start a fire.

  “Wanna be inside you.” He latches his mouth onto my neck and sucks hard enough to make me shiver. Meanwhile, his hands are pushing up my skirt and coaxing my panties down my legs.

  I loop my arms around his neck and pull his hair to bring up his head. Then I kiss the living daylights out of him and rock my hips upward in a desperate attempt to create some friction.

  Blake grunts against my lips. His rock-hard erection is like a branding iron against my thigh. “Hold on, babe, lemme suit up.”

  I’m so mindless with need that I just keep rocking, until finally he grips both my hips and fixes me with a very un-Blake-like glare.

  “Keep doing that and I’m gonna come all over your leg. Is that what you want, you evil woman?”

  God, no. I want him inside me already. Why is he taking so long?

  My impatient grumble summons a bark of laughter from him. He reaches for his discarded pants and fumbles around until he finds a condom. In no time at all, he’s covered in latex and plunging into my needy core.

  “Blake,” I gasp.

  He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy setting a fast, relentless pace that steals my breath and my sanity. His thrusts are so deep, so deliciously violent, that our bodies slide forward on the hall floor. My head bumps into something—a duffel bag, I think. I don’t care. Nope, don’t care and hardly notice as his jack-knifing hips practically fuck us all the way into the living room.

  I cling to his shoulders and squeeze my eyes shut, letting the pleasure take over. When the orgasm comes, it’s not in lazy, pulsing waves, but an instant explosion of bliss. I shudder and curse and forget my name.

  I vaguely register a growl from Blake. An agonized “fuck yeah,” punctuated by one final thrust and then the ferocious trembling of his body.

  It takes several minutes before we’re able to move. I’m pretty sure I’m in cardiac arrest. Blake’s chest heaves as if he’s just skated his ass off to kill back-to-back penalties.

  Eventually he speaks, his voice laced with humor. “Front hall—check. What room should we tackle next?”

  28 Mick Jagger Is Yelling at Me

  Blake

  I don’t want to move. Actually, I might be physically incapable of moving. Sex marathons tend to do that to you.

  But as much as I want to stay in bed all day with Jess Canning wrapped around me like a full-body scarf, the sunlight streaming in through the curtains tells me that it’s morning. Or at least I hope it’s morning, because I have practice at ten. Shit, I hope we didn’t sleep through the alarm.

  Trying not to wake Jess, I carefully lift my head and crane it toward the clock. Eight-fifty. Nice. I’m right on schedule. I stretch my arm out to turn off the alarm before—

  “IF YOU START ME UP!”

  “Fuck,” I curse when an explosion of music rocks the bedroom. I have the song programmed so that it skips the intro and gets right to the good stuff.

  “—I’LL NEVER STOP!”

  Except the good stuff is loud.

  A tortured groan sounds from the mattress. “Why is Mick Jagger yelling at me?” Jess wails.

  I finally manage to shut off the alarm and grin down at the grumpy blonde in my bed. “Sorry, babe. I like to wake up with the Stones.”

  “Well, I like to wake up with my eardrums intact.” She sits up and rubs her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Almost nine.”

  That gets her attention. “Crap!” She flies off the bed with a burst of speed that my coach would be proud of. “I have to go!”

  “Me too.” I move a bit slower, staggering to my feet. “What do you have going on today? I'm not sure I’ll have time to drop you at the dorms this morning. Practice starts at ten.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m fine taking the subway,” she says as she ducks into the master bath. “I have a meeting with my program director at eleven.” Her voice grows muffled as she turns on the faucet. “…come back.”

  “What was that?” I bulldoze my way into the bathroom, flip open the toilet lid, and grip Snake Riley in one hand.

  “Blake!” she sputters in dismay. “Why are you peeing in front of me!”

  “Why not?”

 
“Because it’s…it’s…” She gives up and turns back to the sink. “Do you have a spare toothbrush?”

  “Second drawer.” I finish my business and flush, then walk over to stand next to Jess. His and hers sinks, baby. I laughed at the real estate lady when she raved about that particular feature, but now I’m digging it.

  Jess and I brush our teeth side by side. I make silly faces at her in the mirror, and she laughs so hard she spits out a mouthful of toothpaste and it drips down onto her bare tits.

  “Gross,” she says with a sigh, then bends over to wash her chest.

  I admire the view of those perky puppies swaying over the sink. Then I admire her round ass. And her firm thighs. And her cute feet and bright red toenails. I could get used to this. Waking up next to Jess every morning, doing this whole domestic routine together.

  I force myself to quit leering at her. My dick is already semi-hard and getting harder, and we don’t have time for a quickie. “What were you saying before?” I prompt. “About your meeting?”

  She rinses her mouth before shutting off the tap. “My final grades come back today,” she confesses, and there’s a deep furrow between her brows. “The director meets with all the first-year students one on one to discuss their first trimester’s grades and performance.”

  “You still worried about the pharmacy exam?” I ask sympathetically.

  “Pharmacology,” she corrects. “And yes.”

  “Don’t. I bet you aced it.”

  “I wish I could be as confident as you.”

  A smile touches my lips. “That’s your problem, J-Babe. You’re lacking in confidence.” I shift closer and capture her delicate chin with one hand. “Look at that hottie in the mirror,” I order.

  Her head tilts toward me. “Blake.”

  “Nope, just look.” I force her chin to the side so she has no choice but to look straight on. “See that sexy mama peering back at you? What’s her name?”

  “Jess Canning.” Her dry voice tells me she’s humoring me.