The Play

by Karina Halle

  I kiss her, melting my mouth into hers, wanting to be as close as possible.

  “This won’t take long,” I nearly whimper against her lips. “I’m sorry.”

  “Apologize afterward,” she tells me, her breath so airy and soft with pleasure that it nearly derails me.

  But I know I won’t. I’ll make sure there’s nothing to apologize for.

  Our faces are just inches apart as I slowly pull out and ease myself into her. Our gaze never breaks. Hers is full of lust and wonder, as if she’s seeing me for the first time. I can only hope she likes what she sees, that I’m enough for her. When our hips meet, it makes me still, and I have to suck in my breath to regain control. There’s something about her that makes me want to completely lose it and I’ve been losing my mind since the day I met her.

  She wraps her legs around my waist and rocks her hips backward, each movement pulling me further and further into her. Her hands are at my back and pushing into my muscles. Our skin moves against each other like we are one.

  “Fuck, love,” I croak out, sucking along her neck, to her breasts. My tongue teases around the hardened peak of her nipple and I pull it into my mouth with one long, hard draw. Her moan is so loud, so uninhibited that I feel like a fucking king. I barely notice that we’re in a hayloft, in a barn, somewhere in California. I only notice her and the warmth, that damn, intoxicating warmth of being really, truly inside of her, of feeling her in every way I can.

  “Harder,” she says, arching her back. “Fuck. Lachlan.”

  My name on her lips is a tonic. I piston my hips to drive into her deeper, my knees burning from the hay as I pound her again and again and again. Her perfect tits bounce with each thorough thrust, and suddenly there are no thoughts. No pain. No nothing, and yet everything. That feeling of falling, of realizing how good it can fucking be when you actually care about someone.

  And I care for her. More than I should, more than I could ever admit.

  “Lachlan,” she whispers to me but never finishes her sentence. She just repeats my name. Like I’m revered, like I’m her religion.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  The flush on her face spreads to her chest and her legs quiver around my waist. She’s holding onto me like I’m about to take flight and she doesn’t want to be left behind.

  I go to slip my hand over her clit, to give her the boost, but she’s already there. She cries out loudly, hips jerking upward, body shaking like a minor quake. She’s so unbelievable when she’s coming, this pulsing, writhing spirit, and I’m the cause of all of it. I’m the one who brings this little creature to her knees, to the edge.

  And she does the same to me.

  My orgasm sneaks up on me, like being hit from behind. It’s devastating. Stunning. I know I’m loud when I come. I know I’m groaning and grunting loudly, but from the way she’s gasping for breath and still holding tight, she feels it. I want her to feel it. To feel me.

  I collapse against her, sweat dripping off my brow and over my nose. I can hardly breathe but I don’t care. I’m shuddering on the inside, completely unraveled.

  This woman. This beautiful woman that I’ve just come inside of, this woman whose gorgeous, elegant neck I’m kissing because it’s the only thing to do.

  I can’t leave her. I just can’t.

  I stay inside her for as long as possible, until she starts to adjust underneath me. When I pull out of her, the loss is deeper than I thought it would be.

  I brush the hair back from her damp forehead. “Hi,” I say softly. Because I feel like we’re meeting again for the first time.

  “Hi,” she says lazily, breaking into a smile. Her hands ghost up and down my back, as if she can’t quite believe I’m here.

  “I rather enjoyed that,” I tell her.

  Her smile is coy. “So did I.”

  “I could do that again.”

  And now, now she looks pained. She swallows, running her fingertips, light and soft, up to my neck. “I could too.”

  I take a deep breath, throwing all decorum away. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

  She blinks, as if this idea is something new. After a beat, she says, “Neither do I.”

  So then what do we do?

  The answer is nothing.

  But I don’t want it to be nothing.

  ***

  “Are you ready?” Kayla asks me, surveying the hotel room one last time.

  I nod, though I’m the furthest thing from ready. When we woke up, we spent as much time as possible in bed before we finally had to get going. Now we’re running a little bit late, which doesn’t bode well for me when I have a plane to catch.

  Still, I can’t blame myself for dragging my feet. I’m trying to hold onto the seconds and they’re just slipping through our hands.

  I grab the dog crate, my duffel bag, and we head out to the car. I planned to head back into the hotel to say goodbye to Bram and the others, but the four of them are waiting outside for us, suitcases packed.

  “Sorry we couldn’t make breakfast,” I tell Bram as we come up to them.

  “Understood,” he says, and I can’t see his eyes underneath his Ray-bans, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume he has that same sentimental look as he did yesterday during lunch. The last thing I need is for someone to draw attention to the whole going away factor. I fucking hate goodbyes; in fact my whole life I’ve just ghosted in those situations.

  It wouldn’t have been right to just leave without saying anything, but even so, we make it quick. I hug my cousins, tell them it was great to see them again, and make sure they know I mean it. I kiss the hands of Steph and Nicola, who still regard me in the same way that people look at a pit bull, untrusting and on edge, and get in the car before anyone has a chance to get sappy on me.

  A few minutes later we’re pulling onto the highway that leads us back to San Francisco. The sun is shining but the mood in the car is heavy, a cloud hanging over us. We don’t talk. No music plays. Somehow the silence is comforting, something that we share.

  I keep thinking about the barn. The look in her eyes as she came, the way her hands held me to her, so tight, like she couldn’t stand to let go. It undid me in a way I’m not sure I can reverse. I find myself reaching for the back of her neck, holding her there, as if that could keep her close.

  She looks over at me, her eyes both sweet and sad. “I think Bram’s going to miss you,” she says. “He doesn’t have a lot of friends out here yet except for Linden.”

  I nod, not wanting to talk about Bram. I want to talk about us.

  “And you,” I say. “Will you miss me?”

  Her brow softens, and I have the urge to kiss her forehead, to breathe her in, to bury my hands in her silky hair. I know what I want to hear from her. I know what I need to hear from her. I want her to stop the car, to stop time. I want her for just a few seconds more than I’m allowed.

  “Of course I’ll miss you,” she says, and her voice is quiet, strained. It tells me the truth. That this is hard on her too. “I already miss you and you’re still here.”

  I swallow thickly, knowing exactly what she means.

  But what the fuck is there to say? We both knew this was coming. We knew very well. I just didn’t expect it to be so hard.

  It’s fucking killing me.

  I run my thumb along her neck, and I am filled with foolish thoughts, wants, desires. I don’t dare even repeat them to myself. I’m just having a hard time imagining myself next week, back in Edinburgh. Of course, rugby will sweep me away, consume me, as will the organization. But now that I’ve been consumed by her, I’m not sure it will be enough.

  I open my mouth to tell her something that could make it better, but there really isn’t anything that can. So that silence falls on us again.

  Until Kayla utters, “Fuck, traffic,” and I look to see the highway in front of us backed up with cars.

  “We have plenty of time,” I tell her. All
I have to do is get home, grab the two suitcases I packed, and leave. Emily is already in her crate, and I have a sedative to give her for the journey. Bram has an extra key to the flat and said he’d get a maid service to come by after I left.

  But half an hour later, the traffic is still ensnarling us.

  “Fuck,” Kayla says again, wringing her hands on the steering wheel. “Can you check again?”

  I open her phone and refresh the traffic app. We’re not too far from the Bay Bridge, but the highway is showing up as a thick red line. “Still showing traffic all the way through to the city, but the delay is only supposed to be ten minutes.”

  “That’s what they’ve been saying, and yet…” She shoots me an anxious glance. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ll make the flight,” I assure her calmly. “Don’t worry. They say you have to be there three hours before an international departure, but really it’s ninety minutes. We’re good. I’m just running in, grabbing my stuff, and going.”

  But time is playing a cruel trick on us. First I was cursing it—it seemed like the car ride couldn’t be long enough, that I wouldn’t get enough time with her. Now the ride threatened to never end.

  “You know, I didn’t think I’d spend my last moments with you stressing out about this fucking traffic,” Kayla says, resting her head on the steering wheel. “What would happen if I just started honking?”

  I look around us. There don’t seem to be any accidents, but it’s like every person in the world is on the road, lanes after lanes converging onto the bridge, the tolls slowing everyone down. “You’d go nowhere fast. And then I’d have to get out of the car and fight someone, I’m sure.”

  “You’d win at least,” she says. “Maybe you could take off your shirt before you do it.”

  “Always wanting me half-naked,” I chide her.

  “Excuse me? Fully naked, please.”

  I can’t help but smile at the sincerity in her voice. What the bloody hell am I going to do without her around? No one else brings a smile out of me like an automatic response, a knee-jerk reaction.

  An hour in traffic ticks past. Kayla is losing her shit and apologizing profusely, and I’m massaging her shoulders, trying to soothe her and keep her calm. But eventually, I have to face facts.

  I’m not going to make my plane.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says again, and I give her a measured look.

  “Once again,” I tell her, “it isn’t your fault. We didn’t know about the traffic. If anything, I should have made sure we were on the road earlier, but…it was just so bloody hard leaving the bed this morning.” We hadn’t even been screwing. We were entwined with each other, breathing, just being.

  “If I could rewind time,” she says, and her voice starts to crack. It cuts into me, sharp and deep, but she quickly covers it up, shaking her head.

  “I’ll call the airline and get on the next flight.” I tell her, bringing out my phone. I find my confirmation number through my email, and dial.

  “Isn’t that going to cost so much extra?” she asks.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “But—”

  “Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. It could give us more time together,” I tell her. She blinks slowly, considering that.

  By the time we begin our slow, aggravating crawl onto the Bay Bridge, I finally get through to the airline. I apologize to the clerk on the phone, explaining the dilemma.

  “Unfortunately, Mr. McGregor,” the clerk says, “the next available flight out to Edinburgh isn’t until tomorrow, even if we reroute you through Glasgow.”

  “All right,” I say. That doesn’t screw up too much. The first team practice isn’t until Tuesday. “Let’s stay direct. Are there any change fees because I missed it or…?”

  “No,” she says. “Because you’re business class, the fees are waived.”

  “Is it a full flight?”

  “Getting full, though it should be fairly empty in the business class cabin.”

  That makes me pause.

  “How much do those seats cost?” I ask her, but before she can respond, I follow up with, “Never mind, it’s not important.” I pause and take a deep breath, because I’m started to feel amped by something crazy. “Do you mind if I put you on hold for a moment?”

  I don’t even hear her response. I move the phone away from my face and look over at Kayla. She’s gnawing on her lip, her brow pinched in worry—maybe sorrow. She has a tiny crescent moon scar on her chin, and I realize I never got a chance to ask her about it. I never got a chance to learn a lot of things.

  But chances happen all the time. You just need to take them.

  “Kayla,” I say gently, as if I can’t believe it myself because I don’t.

  She turns her head, shining eyes meeting mine. “What?”

  “Come with me to Scotland.”

  It’s more of a demand than a question.

  But I’ve said it.

  She stares at me blankly for a moment, blinking, until I smack my palm against the dashboard to draw her attention to the car she’s about to rear end. She slams on the brakes and we both jolt forward against the seatbelt.

  “What?” she asks delicately, as if she didn’t hear me right.

  I clear my throat, conjuring up the sheer nerve to say it again.

  “Come with me to Scotland. Tomorrow. I can get you a seat on the plane.”

  Her mouth drops open but she doesn’t say anything. She gives me a brief, confused smile. “I don’t…are you being serious?”

  “When am I not serious?” If she could feel how fast and hard my heart is beating, she wouldn’t ask me that. “I’m serious. I’ll get you a ticket. Just come with me.” Please.

  She’s staring at me, trying to read my face, and I know she’s having a hell of a time pulling anything from it. Finally she shakes her head. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.

  “But I can’t,” she says. “I wish I could. I mean…I would. But…my job.”

  “Use your vacation days.”

  “I can’t just up and leave them. They wouldn’t let me go.”

  I know it’s futile now, but I can’t help it. “You can ask. It sounds like they owe you for a lot of things at this point.”

  Fuck it. I put the phone back to my ear. “Hello, miss? Yes, actually I’d like to buy another seat, business class, since there is room. If there is one next or close to me, that would be brilliant.”

  “What are you doing?” Kayla asks, panicking.

  I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “Don’t worry about it.”

  The clerk asks me for Kayla’s name and info.

  “Kayla Moore,” I tell her, then I have to pause. I don’t even know this girl’s birthday. Just what the fuck am I doing here?

  “Uh, love,” I say to Kayla. “Mind supplying me with your birthdate?”

  “Lachlan,” she says. “Don’t.”

  I give her a long look, trying to read her, what’s she’s really feeling, really thinking. “Don’t what?” I ask her. “You don’t want to come?”

  She looks so utterly helpless that I almost feel bad for putting her on the spot. But fuck, the hope it brings is worth it.

  “I want to come,” she says quietly. “I just don’t think it’s possible. It’s so last minute. Do you really want me to come with you?”

  I nod quickly. “I’m getting the ticket.”

  “No.”

  “No, listen. I’m getting the ticket. The flight leaves tomorrow at three o’clock. I will be on it. If you don’t make it happen, then that’s the way it goes. But that ticket will be there, in your name.”

  She’s shaking her head. “I can’t let you do that. The cost—”

  “The cost is worth it in the event that you show up.”

  “And if I don’t? I mean, if I can’t make it work?”

  I manage to give her a half-smile. “Then at least I tried.” I exhale loudly. “Your birthdate, love.”

  I can see the whe
els turning in her head. Spinning around. Going over every scenario. Not sure what the right answer is.

  Finally she says, “July first, nineteen eighty-five. And it’s Kayla Ann Moore.”

  I grin at her and get back to the phone. “Pardon me, miss, you still there? I have the information you need.”

  And just like that, there’s hope.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Kayla

  In a few seconds, everything has changed. Everything. I’ve gone from feeling deep, aching, crazy despair to thinking of brand new possibilities in the blink of an eye.

  Because he asked me to go back with him.

  It’s everything I have wished for. Hoped for. It’s the same scenario that has played out in my head over and over again the last few days. The dream that he would ask me, would actually want me to go. The sign that this, us, is something. It has legs, and given the right circumstances, could go on and on.

  He ends the call on the phone, his long fingers curling over it, giving it a squeeze, as if he’s not quite sure what he’s done. He turns his head to me and a half-smile slowly appears. This time his beautiful lips are twisted with something like shyness. It’s disarming to see him look so unsure and anxious, though I can’t be sure if it’s over what he just did or whether I can go or not.

  The truth is, I don’t know what to say. But I know how I feel. I don’t want to say goodbye right now. And suddenly I have the power to make a change and take a risk and follow him to another land.

  It’s crazy. I know it is. It’s absolutely crazy.

  I shouldn’t even be considering it.

  But I am.

  I just don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, especially not my own.

  “So,” he says finally, after a long pause. “You have your seat if you want it.”

  I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “I’m just thinking about how crazy this is. This is crazy, right?”

  “Aye,” he says with a single, determined nod. “It definitely isn’t normal. But…why not?”

  “Other than the fact that my work might not let me?”

  He smiles tightly. “They might, though. Make a case.”