by Sami Lee
It wasn’t true, but denying it would only muddy the message she was trying to get across. “Corey, I’m sorry. He told me I ought to be straight with you and I want to do that. That’s why he came over this morning, because he was concerned about you. The rest just…happened.”
“Right.”
Erica was ashamed of herself for using such a lame excuse. Sex didn’t simply happen, like an act of fate. It was an act of will. She’d willingly let Griff into her body. She’d willingly hurt Corey, let him think she’d used him to get to his friend. Was there any end to her sins?
“I have to go,” Corey eventually announced. “I’m at work and can’t chat on the phone all day.”
“Corey, I’m…”
He hung up on her before she got the chance to apologize again. Feeling nauseous, Erica braced her weight on the brick wall behind her with one hand while she bent at the waist, waiting for the bile in her throat to eject itself. Fortunately she’d barely eaten all day, or she might have made a mess right on the pavement.
“Miss Shannon?” Erica lifted her head to see the receptionist regarding her with a concerned expression. “Are you all right?”
Erica nodded, the gesture making her dizzy. But she remained steady as she straightened. “Is Dr. Singh ready?”
“Yes, you can come through now.”
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Dr. Mariana Singh began as she ushered Erica into her office and closed the door behind her. “I know you must be anxious.”
“I have to know. What am I dealing with?”
“I received your results from the lab.” The doctor took a seat opposite Erica and indicated the file on her desk. “You’ll be relieved to know the biopsy identified no abnormal cells.”
Erica’s breath suspended. She didn’t think she could have been more shocked if the news was bad. “What?”
“They could find no indication of cancer. The lump you discovered was a benign cyst.”
Benign cyst. Those two words might as well have been lottery winner. Erica was as shocked and disbelieving as she would be had someone rung to say she’d won a million dollars. “Benign? Are you sure?”
“I had the lab double-check the results. In fact I phoned them again before I called you in here. Yes, the cyst was benign. You don’t have cancer, Erica.”
Dr. Singh had guided her Aunt Claire through the process of her own discovery, one which had an ending not nearly as elating as this one. Her familiar, faintly accented voice washed over Erica, soothing her distress like the tide smoothes out a rough stone. “My God, I can’t believe it.”
“You are a healthy young woman.” Dr. Singh smiled kindly. “Believe it.”
Healthy young woman. It seemed such an alien concept. She’d spent the past year mired in her aunt’s medical issues and her own genetic misfortune. It seemed she’d been focused on cancer for so long it had shifted her attention from anything good or healthy that might exist in her life.
A burgeoning euphoria quickened Erica’s breath, but it was tempered by another harsh reality. She caught the doctor’s gaze. “This is just the beginning. It wasn’t breast cancer this time, but what about next time?”
Dr. Sing inclined her head. “There are no guarantees in life, and your risk is very real. We both know that. But with continued regular checkups, a good diet—”
“My chances of getting some form of cancer at some point are around eighty-seven percent,” Erica interrupted. The stress of the past week had taken a massive toll on her. She couldn’t go through it again. “I can’t simply wait around and hope for the best, not anymore. There are other ways to deal with this, and I think I need to start seriously looking at them.”
“Of course, you do have several options at your disposal,” the doctor agreed. “Your genetic abnormality need not be a death sentence. Let’s discuss what we can do in terms of preventative measures.”
Dr. Singh provided Erica with a wealth of information, most of which Erica had already familiarized herself with online over the past year. She knew what her options were, and for the first time they started to seem like exactly that—options. Not invasive surgeries, not disfiguring procedures, but realistic alternatives to the life of fear and dread she’d been living. There were methods of thwarting this disease. Many others did it, and right now in Dr. Singh’s office, Erica decided she could do it too.
She wouldn’t let cancer win. She would take control of her fate.
The impact jarred Corey’s body as he slammed into his opponent. Steve Waller landed on his back on the dew-damp grass, the air rushing out of his lungs in a gasp.
It took a moment for Steve to catch his breath. When he did he sounded pissed. “Fucking hell, Corey. You got your period tonight or what?”
Corey offered him a tight smile. “Trying to stay in shape for next year’s game, that’s all.”
Every man at the evening’s footy practice knew there was more to Corey’s zealous performance than an attempt to perfect his tackling technique. The annual Guns and Hoses rugby league stoush, where the fieries challenged local law enforcement to a grudge match, had already been played, and won. Tonight’s post-season practice was more an excuse for some rowdy exercise and male bonding than anything.
Not that Corey was in much of a bonding mood tonight.
As he got back into position, fully prepared to take on the next man who tried to pass him with the football, Erica’s words rang in his head.
…getting in deeper with you is out of the question. You have to stop phoning my house. If you do it again, I won’t pick up. I won’t call back.
She’d punctured his lung with those words, but what followed was worse. More than twenty-four hours later Corey was still prone to bouts of breathlessness that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
Steve Waller came running at him with the ball, and Corey made a beeline for him. The other man shook his head and quickly offloaded. Corey pulled up just before he slammed into Steve again.
Too bad. Corey really wanted to body slam someone.
Admittedly, Steve wasn’t his preferred target.
I had sex with someone else.
“Here he is now. You’re late.”
Steve’s greeting made Corey whip his head around. Sure enough there was Griff, dumping his duffel by the sideline and giving the team an unapologetic shrug. “Stuff to do, Waller. It’s called a life.”
“Funny. For that, you can take my spot for a while. Wachawski’s broken my spine.”
Corey took little notice of the mock-filthy look Steve sent him as he pretended to limp off the field. He had eyes only for the man’s replacement. He tracked every step Griff took as he moved into the vacated position. Griff didn’t look him in the eye once.
Coward.
Corey continued to stare at Griff, until he finally looked up. What he saw in his golden eyes knocked the wind out of him.
Not regret, but defiance. The bastard. All that talk about standing aside so he could have Erica, about how the three of them could never work. He hadn’t meant any of it. He’d been waiting for his moment to waltz in behind Corey’s back and steal her.
His blood pumped with impatience as the game got going again. Corey took a pass and ran straight for his mark, not bothering to sidestep or feint, even when Curly called for the ball. He ran straight for Griff, who came equally hard toward him.
At the last minute, Griff ducked, grabbing Corey around the waist instead of meeting him chest to chest. The surprise caught Corey off-guard and he was propelled backward. He fell onto the earth like a sack of cement, Griff landing with an oomph on top of him.
Grinding his teeth, Corey pushed at Griff’s body weight until the other man stood. Griff offered his hand to Corey, but Corey ignored it, standing on his own with a glower. He bent to play the ball through his legs. When he straightened, he was still glaring.
Griff faced the look levelly and came to a simple conclusion. “She told you then.”
The cavalier w
ords made Corey so mad his blood burned like acid. “Told me what?” he spat. “That you fucked her or that you told her to dump me?”
He thought he saw Griff wince but he couldn’t be sure. His vision was a little blurred from that body-shaking tackle. Griff turned his attention back to the game, and Corey barely resisted the urge to push the other man into the dirt.
The game proceeded. Penalties were awarded, scrums conducted. Griff’s team scored two tries, Corey’s three. All the while Corey grabbed every opportunity to slam his opponent into the ground. Most of the time it could be chalked up to legitimate score-line defense.
Sometimes not.
“I thought you wanted to share her with me,” Griff drawled after one such incident had them both sprawled flat out on the field.
Rage gave Corey the energy to stand again. “Not like this,” he hissed.
“So only on your terms. Anyone else have a say in how this plays out?” Griff pondered, standing too. “Obviously not me. What about Erica?”
“Fuck you.”
Mitch, who acted as referee on account of a recent knee injury, blew his whistle. “You guys need to sit out for a while?”
“No,” Corey denied immediately.
He wasn’t done hurting Griff yet.
Never one to admit he might be bested in a matchup, Griff let Corey see his lips twitch. A few minutes later when Griff was passed the ball and started making a run for it, Corey flew straight for him in top gear.
Griff showed no fear as he hurtled forward. He had opportunities to offload, guys in position and yelling for the ball. But he held on to it and kept running.
Bring it on, Corey thought, a second before they collided.
Griff had more speed but Corey had the size advantage. Griff hit the ground with a loud thump and Corey followed him down.
For a second he panicked, thinking he’d actually caused Griff damage. He sat up and surveyed Griff’s body. “You okay?”
“Do I fucking look okay?” Griff wheezed.
The shrill of Mitch’s whistle was ear piercing. “Wachawski! Griffin! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mitch lit into them in a diatribe fit for the occasion and ended it with a screamed instruction. “Both of you, off! You’re sin-binned for ten!”
“There’s only eight minutes to go,” Corey pointed out.
“I know,” yelled Mitch. “Both of you out of my sight now.”
“Fair enough.” Griff staggered to his feet. “I’m too old for this shit anyway.”
Remorse mingling with his simmering anger, Corey followed Griff off the field. They each headed to their bags in silence, drank water and wiped their faces on the hems of their ratty T-shirts. Although they didn’t face each other once, Corey was aware of every action, every sound Griff made as he threw his stuff back in his duffel and closed it. Corey zipped up his own bag and stood.
Griff stood in his path, his gaze steady in a way that made Corey’s blood skip. “Do we need to finish this discussion elsewhere?”
“My oath we do.”
“My place.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but a command. “Now.”
Chapter Nine
Corey never lost sight of Griff’s taillights as he traveled the same roads in his wake. Griff’s house was on the outskirts of Ashton Heights. Griff had bought it years ago before the suburb had boomed and spent the intervening time renovating the timber cottage into a three-bed, two-bath showpiece with floorboards polished to a high shine and a plethora of chrome fittings throughout.
Corey had been to the house on numerous occasions, but never like this. Anticipation made his heartbeat thump erratically. His tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of his mouth. Whole body throbbing, Corey screeched into Griff’s driveway after him. He didn’t think to lock his car as he stalked down the front walk. Griff pushed the door open with his foot and tossed his bag carelessly down the hallway. Corey followed, his steps eating up the polished floorboards.
Griff didn’t turn to face him until he stood in the middle of the open-plan living room he’d decorated with modern black couches and red-patterned rugs. When he did, his expression was bland. “Come on, out with it.”
Corey hardly knew where to start. “What the hell was it about the other night? All that shit about how you didn’t want her and I should go for it?”
“I meant it. I lost my head for a moment, that’s all.”
“You lost it. That’s it?”
“Okay, so I lied too when I said I didn’t want to make a play for her. I only stepped aside so you could do your thing.”
“Thanks for the fucking favor,” Corey spat.
“Hey, you used me in your little phone-sex games. Knowing what you do about me, didn’t you think that would drive me out of my mind?”
“What Erica and I talked about has nothing to do with this.”
“Bullshit. You made it my business when you told me about it. You made me as horny as hell, and a man can only deny himself so much.”
Corey’s dick flexed as Griff’s admission penetrated. You made me as horny as hell. His anger morphed into something else, something equally as hot that gave him an instant erection. Concentrating on why he was pissed off became difficult. “How do you mean?”
“Knowing you two fantasized about me like that is hot,” Griff said, his tone lowering. “Three-way sex, it’s the ultimate payoff for me.”
Because he liked to be with a man as well as a woman. Corey’s blood pulsed, just thinking about it. The ultimate payoff. “Would it be that way for me, too?”
“Are you asking if I could make you love it, Cor?”
He was supposed to be furious, wasn’t he? How come all his bodily energy was now channeled into creating an erection the size of Queensland?
“I could, you know.” The turn of Griff’s lips was arrogant in a way that was more sexy than annoying. “I could make you scream my name ’til your throat’s raw, the way she did.”
Corey swallowed. “I thought you didn’t want to take the risk of getting screwed.”
“I won’t risk a relationship, Cor. I’m not going there again. But sex is a different story.” Griff took three languid steps toward him. “Since I can’t seem to help myself around either of you, I might as well reap the benefits.”
Corey’s dick twitched, receiving another blood infusion. His lips were so dry he had to wet them. Griff’s gaze tracked the movement of his tongue with a look that could only be described as predatory.
“I’m not going to push, Cor.” Everything radiating from him told Corey that was one of the hardest things Griff had ever said. “I know you’re not ready to go that far.”
Heart pounding without restraint, Corey asked, “What makes you think I’m not ready?”
Griff eyed him steadily for a long moment. In the vacuous silence of the open-plan house, the only sound was their combined breathing, raspy breaths drawn in with difficulty. Then Griff grasped the hem of his T-shirt and drew it over his head. The garment hit the floor, followed a minute later by his shorts and jocks.
He stood there, nude, administering some kind of test. Gripped by the determination to pass it, Corey let his gaze trail downward. At the sight of Griff’s red-flushed erection, he caught his breath, refusing to shy from what lay before him. A naked, aroused man. A line he’d never thought to cross until recently. Untold, unknown pleasures—if he had the guts to explore them.
Fingers trembling, Corey fisted his shirt at his back and hauled it over his head. He didn’t pause to think before removing his own shorts and underwear, letting them fall to the floor beside Griff’s.
Just as he hadn’t shied from ogling all Griff had to offer, he didn’t flinch when Griff now looked his fill. The thoroughness of the other man’s scrutiny made Corey hot with a tumultuous mix of pride and pure carnal excitement.
Without a word, Griff turned and walked to the bathroom. He left the door open as he got the shower running. Corey couldn’t stop staring at the taut globes of Griff’s ass. The show
er stall was clear glass, and Corey’s view was unobstructed as Griff stepped under the spray and started soaping himself.
His breath shallow, Corey followed. Taking up Griff’s implied invitation, he opened the shower door and stepped inside. The last time he’d shared a shower with Griff, Erica had been between them. In some ways she still was. Yet Corey’s anger about how things had gone down with Erica drifted to the back of his mind when Griff wordlessly handed him the soap.
Unable to speak, Corey turned the soap to lather in his hands. Then he put those hands on Griff.
Griff’s eyes fell closed as Corey rubbed the soap into his skin. His flesh was smooth and hard, so different to a woman’s. Fear evaporated in the face of fascination. Griff’s muscles were as inflexible as boulders, the tension in them thrumming against Corey’s fingers.
Touching him felt better than good, and Corey’s groin burned in response. He’d seen Griff shirtless before, but the tactile sensation of his flexing muscles made him seem more impressive, hot and real beneath Corey’s fingers. Tracing the line of Griff’s armband tattoo, he said huskily, “I’ve thought about getting one.”
“Nah.” Griff’s own voice was threadbare. “Don’t mess with perfection.”
The compliment warmed Corey’s chest. He’d always been susceptible to the slightest hint of praise from Dale Griffin. The thought sobered him. Was that why he was doing this? Was he seeking Griff’s approval?
“Problems?”
Griff’s gaze had sharpened on Corey’s face. He was ready to put a stop to this any time Corey showed signs of hesitation. Corey sensed it in the way Griff held back, the fact he still hadn’t reached out to touch. But Corey didn’t want to stop. He had to see this through—he needed to. He didn’t want approval. He needed to see where this was going.
He needed Griff.
He shook his head. “No problem.”
Then, heart hammering, he reached down and curled his soapy fingers around Griff’s dick.
“Ah, yeah.” Griff swayed a little and his fingers dug into Corey’s shoulder. Encouraged, Corey stroked up and down his length, marveling at how it felt to touch another man this way, to feel that rod of smooth steel pulse within his grip. Familiar, yet a little awkward. “Jesus, that’s good.”