by Aja Cole
I felt like a damned schoolboy, excited to be taking a girl out like I’d never done it before. Like a little kid.
Kids.
Damn.
I’d never told anyone other than Alex that I couldn’t have kids.
It wasn’t exactly something I wanted to mention on a first date. And I’d never felt like I met a woman that it would get that far with, so I just hadn’t told them.
But now Daya knew.
I’d come to terms with it for the most part. But it still hurt. I remember trying to be nonchalant when I told her, but I felt the little stabs of pain at admitting I couldn’t do my biological duty as a man.
I step out of the shower, on autopilot.
I could try my best at sports. I could be the best man and husband I could. A thoughtful son. But I couldn’t get the woman I’d eventually fall in love with pregnant naturally.
It was a hell of a mind-fuck.
You’d think I’d be grateful to not have to worry about an accidental pregnancy.
Instead, I’d be overjoyed if I woke up one day and found out that was the case.
BzzBzz
I look down at the bench, seeing Daya’s name pop up on my screen. Well…her nickname. I couldn’t help it; I liked it because every time I called her by it, I remembered how she’d clung to me after that first time we had sex.
To her, it was silly. To me, it represented a small victory.
“Please tell me I can wear jeans tonight.”
Hahaha. Of course that’s what she’s worried about.
“What if I requested to see those gorgeous legs in a dress.” I type, turning off the lights in the locker room as I leave.
“You could request that.”
“Would you grant it?”
“To be determined…”
“And if I said I wanted you in a dress so I could have easy access to my favorite place, what then?”
“Moan. I hate you.”
I smirk, heading towards the parking deck. I needed to put on real clothes at the townhouse and make sure Daya wouldn’t try to back out.
My friend texted me earlier saying they’d had to fly out early because of a family emergency, so it would be my last night there.
I’d be able to go back to my own space, and it didn’t have as much appeal now as it had before.
But a little space would be good. Maybe not seeing me regularly would make her realize how invested she was. Maybe I wouldn’t be the only one wearing my heart on my sleeve.
“Daya?” I knock at her door. I haven’t seen her since I’ve gotten home.
“Are you sure I can’t just cook you dinner,” she pleads, from the other side of the door and I roll my eyes.
“Nope. Get out here.”
“Greyson.”
“Daya.”
“You’re so annoying,” that’s the only part I can hear. She mumbles a bunch of other shit before I finally hear the door unlock and it starts to open.
I’m in no real rush. It’s only 6:20 and the reservation is for 7. But I do want to see her. It’s been a couple hours and I feel like I need my fix.
I see her curly head of hair peek out first, and her lips look extra kissable with some sort of sheen to them. They’re glossy? I think that’s the proper term.
When she steps fully out of the room, I let out a low whistle.
Damn, that’s all mine.
She’s wearing a deep purple dress that plunges a little in the front and ties at her hip. It looks like the two sides might separate if you untie the bow. Oh hell yeah. It stops a little before her knees and her sexy legs look even longer with the black sandals she has on. They have a thick black heel and there’s a single strap around her ankle.
“Turn around for me,” I demand. I want to see if the fabric molds to her ass like I’m imagining it does.
Fuck.
It’s better than I thought.
The dress molds to her every curve. Part of me doesn’t even want to take her in public now, because I don’t want any other man to see her the way I’m seeing her.
But I’d pushed for this, so I’d have to suck it up.
“So?” she prods, walking to the counter to grab a black purse that’s sitting there.
I survey her, trying to decide if I should go with an appropriate compliment.
Nah.
“It’s going to be hard for me to not eat you out on the restaurant table with you looking like that.”
Her mouth drops and I wonder if I should’ve classed it up a little.
Too far?
22
Daya
I have to force myself to close my mouth.
He’s hell.
I’d felt a little uncomfortable initially, trying on dresses I’d pushed to the back of my closet and digging out the heels I didn’t wear anymore. College seemed like forever ago, even though it was only about three years.
But now? Now I definitely wished we were staying in, and not because I didn’t want to be around people. Well, partly that – but also because now that he’d said it, I didn’t want anything else.
The ability of his words to light me on fire without a single touch was a constant. I’d known it when we talked with distance and it was even more undeniable now.
“You thought that was the right thing to say?” I demand, forcing myself not to fidget. Jesus. I could feel the swell of desire pulsing inside me, and now I was going to have to sit across from him like a normal person.
“You said you wanted honesty. Has that changed?” He comes near, turning me around and steering me towards the door with two firm hands on my waist.
Torture.
All I could think about with his hands there was him talking about fucking me from behind and holding on tight to my waist.
“Daya?”
“Hm?” I snap out of my reverie, realizing that Greyson’s holding the door of his car open for me. It’s then that I realize I don’t even know what he drives. Backpedaling a few steps until I have a full view of the car, I want to melt even more.
If there was one thing other than sexy ass men that made my panties disintegrate, it was a beautiful ride. How smooth it drove, the exterior, the interior – hell, everything. I’m not one of those girls that can spout off car types or all the specs, but damn if there weren’t some cars I just felt when I looked at them.
Greyson’s truck was one of them. And the matte black? I wanted him to bend me over that delicious paint job.
Shameless.
Maybe it was even sexier because I was going to get to see Greyson behind the wheel, controlling all that power. They talked about guys with trucks overcompensating, but I already knew he had nothing to bluff about.
The man was just a walking wet dream and I was having a very hard time staying dry.
He had to match me so well in bed.
He had to be a mama’s boy in the best way.
He had to be so consistent in showing his interest.
He had to be so damn strong and optimistic.
He had to be sexy as hell.
And there were still things I didn’t know about him. Somehow, I knew I’d only fall deeper into the rabbit hole with every new thing I learned.
It’s like the man was specifically engineered to meticulously destroy my entire view on men and intimacy. How the hell was I going to combat that?
“What are you doing?” the furrow of his brows is even cute. I step back to the large cab, letting him help me in.
Wishing I could use some of the chrome on this truck as armor.
“Hey,” he gets in, putting on his seatbelt and starting the car. “Sorry if I really made you uncomfortable by saying that.” He looks forward for a second, hands clenching briefly on the steering wheel. “I’m so used to us talking sexually that I didn’t really think about how you might feel differently now that we’re trying things out.”
Is he real?
“What makes you think I’m uncomfortable?”
“You’v
e been kind of quiet since I said it.” The little furrow in his brow is back and I still can’t believe this is the man that fisted a hand in my hair and guided my mouth on him last night. Seeing these sides of him; the sweet one, the dominant one, the annoyed one – they’re all just pieces of a mouthwatering man.
I wonder how he sees me, because I’m nowhere near as put together as he is.
I thought I was…but the sheer terror I feel at disappointing him, at not being good enough at this relationship thing, at opening up and being someone he continues to be interested in – maybe not.
I reach out and smooth the wrinkle in his skin, stroking down his face and the slight curve of his mouth as he laughs at me pawing at him.
“I’ve just been thinking about this. You. Me. Us.”
“Good things?”
“Yes, but they’ll turn bad if you don't feed me.” I don’t want to have a full discussion about all my thoughts just yet. He chuckles and starts to drive and we talk casually the entire ride.
For him, I was determined to have a good night no matter how many people were around. It was my first real date. It was our first real date.
Nothing was going to mess this up.
I can’t really pinpoint the exact moment dinner started going downhill.
Maybe sometime in the middle of us eating delicious gnocchi and me tucking away a healthy amount of the phenomenal bread they offered. I’d also taken the liberty of tasting Greyson’s lasagna. Amazing.
That was about when a couple sat down at the table across from us, and even in the dim and cozy lighting, recognized Greyson. A couple who both still played adult league hockey. At first, it was just a few glances, as they were regulars at the restaurant and thought for sure it wasn’t him.
Then those glances became longer. And somewhere around me sliding my bare foot up Greyson’s leg, relaxed by the great food and fun conversation…they decided to confirm their suspicions.
I thought I’d been hallucinating when their table seemed to get closer and closer to us. An inch there, a few centimeters here…nope.
The husband’s annoying voice so close to us slams me right into confusion…and my foot back to the floor.
“Listen, we don’t mean to interrupt you, but you’re Greyson Mathieson right?”
He smiles politely, masking the grimace that’d taken over his face when I removed my foot, “Yes. I am.”
“Oh good. So my wife and I play hockey, yeah? And we want to know if you might have a few tips for us on making our play better. Obviously we’re not professionals, but we’re competitive too! Adult league is crazy man. So, any help?”
You know when you can’t really believe something is happening, so it takes you a second to form an appropriate response?
Did these people really disrupt my FIRST DATE to ask about tips for a hobby? Did they not see us in our own private little bubble? How could someone be so rude?? I could see asking for an autograph in passing, having a little casual conversation…but they’d moved their table nearer to us and wanted a full rundown of ways to improve their game.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Did some people just not know what the hell boundaries were?
Greyson doesn’t seem like the type to alienate a fan. Word traveled fast and it’s not like he could shoot them down without making himself into an asshole.
So…he gave them a few tips. Brief, but simple. And tried to extricate himself from the conversation. But then they wanted to talk about his past season, whether he’d take advantage of trade rules, and what he thought the challenges would be with the upcoming season. I finished off the bread and signaled the perplexed waiter for another glass of wine.
Yeah, girl. I don’t know what the hell these people are doing either.
I noticed her go to the host and speak to him quietly. He looked back at our table too, with a stern frown on his face.
Aw yis, help is on it’s way.
The bald man made a calm beeline to our area, stopping at the offending table with his hands behind his back. Hockey Husband is on a roll by now, talking about team player stats and where he thinks there’s room for improvement. He doesn't even notice the host.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask your companion and you to please put the table back in it’s original place.”
“We’re regulars here, man. We just want to talk to Greyson for a bit. I’ll only be a few more minutes.” Wandering Wife is sitting there, paying more attention to my man’s face and body than what her husband’s talking about. She nods her head eagerly at her husband’s assertion, making eyes at Greyson, and my hand twitches.
She’s got a few more seconds before I forget I’m in public.
“Sir, if you don’t comply, I’m going to ask you to leave.”
Whoo boy, Hockey Husband isn’t happy about that and finally stops his jabbering to turn and look at our gracious host.
“Really man? Of course you wouldn’t understand, you’re some stuffy pansy that probably has never seen a hockey game in his life. This,” he gestures between he and Greyson, “is real men talking about the best game in the USA. Can you stop interrupting us and go away?”
Greyson looks pained, and I imagine the expression on my face isn’t much better. Ol’ girl is sonly seconds away from me wrapping that bottle blond hair around her throat so she stops biting her lip like a wannabe playmate.
The waitress comes back with my wine and I take a healthy sip, settling back into my seat and crossing my arms. Throughout all of this, the couple didn’t even acknowledge me. Greyson might as well have been sitting there alone for all the respect they had for our night. He’s sent guilty glances my way the entire conversation and I know he feels bad. I’m not mad at him. He’s too good a guy to brush off these people. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to let go of some of my irritation, and reach for his hand across the table.
That’s when shit starts getting real.
“Oh my,” Wandering Wife gasps, “You’re dating this woman? She’s not the type of girl I thought you’d like, Greyson.”
My hand clenches in his and I feel my eye start to twitch. It’s like an episode out of some bad-taste comedy sketch.
“What do you mean by that?” his voice is low, deceivingly pleasant, but the way he’s gripping my hand is the same way I’m gripping his.
A talon-tipped hand flutters to her chest.
“I just mean I thought a professional athlete like you would enjoy being with someone…thinner.” She leans back and glances at my hips, “I guess you’re looking for someone who might bear a child very easily.”
I glance at Greyson, watching his jaw clench. I knew it hurt even more because he couldn’t have kids. I grip his hand tighter. Both of us don’t need an assault charge.
I can take one for the team.
“My husband’s always told me that black women are like animals in bed, practically un-civilized. I’m sure he likes that about you too.” She leans over conspiratorially while her husband argues with the host. “Between me and you, I gave him a hall pass with a black escort once. It didn’t bother me since I knew he’d never want that long term. Good for you, finding a white man that can overlook your ancestry.”
I’m going to jail tonight.
Before I can land a right-hook on the bitch, hell breaks looks for another reason.
Hockey Husband punches the host in the face, and in a surprising twist, the host knocks him a good one right back, making him fall back and crash the table. The other diners are gasping and yelling, someone calling for the police.
Husband is knocked out cold on the floor, his wife knelt over his body and slapping at his face to wake him up.
The host straightens his blazer, and nods succinctly at us, taking an ice pack that someone offers. Greyson looks confused, I’m pissed that I didn’t get to put Barbie in the same position as her husband, and the owner has come out of the kitchen yelling in Italian.
Definitely time to
get the hell out of dodge.
23
Greyson
We drove home in silence.
Mine because I felt like my job ruined our first date.
I should’ve just gone with Daya’s want to have our first date at home, quiet and without any possibility of being interrupted.
Now it’d been fucking ruined by an unbelievable couple and the first woman I’d ever wanted to hit my entire life.
I couldn’t believe that shit about Daya had come out of her mouth. I knew if the husband hadn’t punched Marco, then I’d have had to drag Daya off the woman.
I would’ve let her go to her heart’s content before I pulled her away, too.
That woman was foul.
I tighten my hands on the wheel, remembering her comment about childbearing.
What a cluster-fuck.
Excited fans were one thing, but nothing like that had ever happened to me. I almost couldn’t believe it. And it’d had to happen when I was with the woman I was trying to convince to take a chance on a relationship.
I get out of the truck, striding around the front to open Daya’s door. She takes my hand with a muted thank you, immediately heading towards the front door and unlocking it. She’s disappeared inside before I even make it up the stairs.
I don’t know what’s going on in her head, and I’m nervous as hell that she’s mad at me.
I follow her lead, finding her in the kitchen unscrewing the cap on an unopened bottle of something dark. I think my eyebrows fly right into my hairline. She looks at me briefly, and then takes down two snifters.
“Ice or no?” I shake my head for the latter, walking closer to the breakfast bar. It’s Delemain Reserve de la Famille.
Goddamn.
A woman after my own heart.
I didn’t even know she drank anything other than wine.