by Paige North
“Gabe has never been remotely violent toward me. Chandler Harrison attacked my reputation by lying about the nature of my relationship with him— like plenty of young, wealthy men, he saw the life of a woman as something to be toyed with rather than something of actual value. Gabe was merely standing up for me. That’s what Gabe Forest does— he stands up for people, whether they’re his friends or teammates or girlfriend. It’s why he’s such an amazing football player: He has your back, even if it means doing something that hurts himself, even if it means standing against Buck Harrison, one of the most influential men in the city.”
I feel my father’s hands tighten on my shoulders, but there’s no going back now, so I forge on. “Standing up for others is something I learned from my dad. He’s always done the same thing, only it’s in the senate instead of on the football field. I think that’s why I was so drawn to Gabe, to be honest.”
The crowd smiles in a lovesick, goofy sort of way, and they press in tighter still. “Is that why you’re here, Senator Shaw? For Gabe?”
My father audibly swallows, and I swear I can feel his pulse pounding through his fingertips on my shoulders. “Well, obviously. The boy stood up for my daughter. I can’t simply let him go to jail for it.”
“So you’re here to pay his bail, then?” a familiar voice— Jacob Everett’s voice— calls out from the back of the crowd. He’s grinning, and I can tell that he and Sasha have both figured out what’s going on— that this whole thing was planned.
“Absolutely,” my father says with a tense grunt to his voice. “Of course.”
“Jacob, do you know Gabe personally? Finn, do you agree with Lucy Shaw’s statement about him always having your back?” The audience turns toward them— while my father and I are interesting, in this part of the country two football stars are a thousand times more so. My father and I are able to slide out of the crowd and walk toward the police station.
“We’ll talk about this later, Lucy,” my father growls under his breath.
“Sure thing,” I say over my shoulder, flashing him a smile. “Gabe and I would love to come over for dinner and talk it out. Just let us know when?”
Epilogue
“I’m just saying, the wind is mean. Just mean,” I say, tossing down my bag on the floor. The loft Gabe and I live in now is gorgeous— a repurposed pencil factory, of all things, with exposed wooden beams and a view of the Boston skyline. The Boston skyline which, while beautiful, shines above a city that is about four billion times colder than Atlanta in the winter.
“I know. There was snow earlier. Like, flurries. And no one cared. We kept practicing,” Gabe says, coming out of the far bedroom, shaking his head in amazement. “They said everyone from the South is like this when they come up here, but that we’ll get used to it. That soon snow won’t even matter to us.”
“I don’t know…” I say, shaking my head as he wraps me in his arms and hugs me tight to his chest. He has a new tattoo now, his new NFL team’s logo, on his right bicep. It’s fresh, the colors still vibrant and the skin still shiny.
I bury my face against him, enjoying the familiar feel of his muscles against my cheek, of his breath pushing his ribs against my temple. He leans over me a little, sliding his hands down to my lower back. He smells like sweat and new football pads, and I love it.
“How was your first day?” he asks.
“Great. Really great, actually. They listened to my ideas and actually took them seriously. We’re going to do an outreach program at the local schools to try to get more middle school aged girls on board,” I say. The program— called Girls Going Strong, aimed to make girls feel more confident about playing male-dominated sports— has been my baby project for the past year, when a sporting goods company offered sponsorship to make the idea a reality.
Both my father and Gabe’s offered to donate to the project, but it felt like we needed a new start free of familial weight when we moved here, so I turned them down.
“Of course they took them seriously. It’s a great program,” Gabe says sincerely.
“And they didn’t just listen to me because I’m engaged to an NFL player. They didn’t even know until I told them,” I say, looking up at him.
He kisses my forehead. “So I’m your secret boyfriend again?”
“Ha,” I say, and play-shove him. He responds by sweeping me off the ground, ignoring my protests and carrying me across the loft to our bedroom. He drops me on the bed and stands over me, like he means to punish me for my teasing.
I bite my lip and crawl backward, eager for him to stop me from escaping. He does— grabbing my foot and pulling me back toward him. He wraps my foot around his waist and leans over me, pinning me to the bed and kissing me on the neck as he traps my wrists above my head with a single hand.
He moves down my neck, nipping at my collarbone, sliding his tongue along the edge of my shirt, then finally tugging the fabric aside entirely with his teeth. My lace bra is still between my nipple and his mouth, but that’s never bothered Gabe; he sucks me between his lips, lace and all, and tongues my nipple until it’s hard.
“We have a party to get to tonight,” I moan. “Black tie. Formal. You can’t leave bite marks on me this time.”
“Oh, can’t I?” Gabe growls, then moves to my other nipple, pressing his hips against me so I can feel the swell of his erection. Gabe might be as slick as anyone else at a formal event these days, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t every bit as strong and rough as he ever was. I wouldn’t have it any other way, frankly.
He sucks at the skin along my chest, and I arch up to meet his mouth. His cock grows harder, and he rocks forward until it’s pressing into my stomach. He sweeps a hand down toward my knees, then drags it up between my legs, massaging at my pussy through my pants until he can feel my wetness.
“Saying I can’t do something,” he tsks at me with a wry smile. “You know better than that.”
I try to smile back, but I interrupt myself with a moan. This man knows exactly how my body works, each and every way to make me his. “Gabe,” I say, tilting my head back in pleasure.
“I never get tired of hearing you say my name, Lucy,” he answers, then sits up, pulling his shirt off. “Not since the first time I saw you.”
“I was saying it in a very different tone, that day,” I remind him. I move to pull my own shirt off, but he stops me— he wants to undress me, and probably ruin a few of my clothes in the process. Good thing playing the NFL pays well, since I need replacements almost daily.
“True,” he says, and pulls my shirt off in one smooth movement. He moves to my pants, which won’t give quite so easily. As he’s working on the buttons, he adds, “But I knew then I had to have you. I knew then I loved you.”
“Oh really? Which one did you know first, though?” I ask playfully. Gabe shakes his head at me, then in a single move flips me onto my stomach and pulls me over his lap like an insolent child. He pulls my pants down and spanks me lightly, then kisses my ass cheek before pulling my pants the rest of the way off. I arch up toward him as he hooks his fingers through my panties and slides them down. His erection is pressing into my stomach, right now, thick and large, still frighteningly so sometimes, if I’m being entirely honest.
Gabe enjoys looking at me spread across him, for a moment, then leans forward and says almost directly in my ear, “That I had to have you, of course. You’re the only one in the world I’ve ever had to have. That’s how I knew I loved you.”
“Good answer,” I say, and when he pulls me up toward him and kisses me on the mouth, I know that this is us, this is real, this is forever.
THE END OF PUMPED
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r /> Paige North, Hard Stick