The Gate to Everything (Once Upon a Dare Book 1)

by Ava Miles

  Looking down in her lap, she nodded. “Do you want space tonight? I can go on up if you want.”

  Shit. He could all but hear the resignation in her voice. Their old patterns were emerging right before his eyes. “How do you feel when I shut myself off and sleep on the couch?”

  Her head shot up, and from the widening of her eyes, he could tell he’d shocked her. “I feel…pretty darn awful. I wish you’d let me help you.”

  Help him? He’d just lost the biggest game of the season. “You can’t change what happened.”

  “No,” she said, releasing a long breath. “But I would like you to let me comfort you. When you’re like this…I feel like you want space from me.”

  “It’s not you.” Great, now he really felt like shit. “I don’t want to be around anyone. It’s hard for someone who doesn’t play to understand.”

  “You assume that I don’t know what it’s like to feel disappointment because I haven’t lost a game?” she asked, standing.

  “This isn’t disappointment, Grace. This is…agony. I lost us the game. Don’t you understand?”

  She fisted her hands at her sides. “It’s hard for me to understand because you don’t talk to me about it. You always make me feel like I’m doing something wrong when you’re like this.”

  He sucked in a breath. Well, points to her for directness. “I don’t mean for you to feel that way. Look, this is why I don’t talk to you or pretty much anyone after a loss. I’m a jerk. I need to deal with it on my own.”

  She stormed toward him. “Fine. Do it on your own. I was only hoping that since I bucked up and went to your game, you might change your routine for once and let me comfort you. Guess I was wrong.”

  He listened to her footsteps up the stairs and uttered a dirty curse word he wouldn’t have dared in her presence. Great, she was as mad as he was. This was not what he’d intended. He sank into the couch and wove his hands through his hair, thinking about what she’d said. Comfort him? He didn’t deserve comfort. He’d messed everything up.

  Then he realized he hadn’t asked her how she’d felt going to the game. He’d asked Blake, but not her. Was he so wrapped up in his own loss that he couldn’t support her?

  That didn’t sit well with him. No, not one bit. It hadn’t worked for them in the past, and it wouldn’t work for them now.

  He headed upstairs. Her door was closed, a telltale sign. He rapped on the frame and opened the door a crack. She was putting lotion on her legs in bed.

  “Can I come in?” he asked in response to her glare. “Grace, I don’t want us repeating old patterns either.”

  She nodded, her body stiff as she put the lotion back on her bedside table. She had on a serious mommy don’t-touch-me nightgown that fell below her collar. He sat on the bed and pulled his clothes off. Once he was nude, he slid under the covers.

  She lay back against the pillows as well, her body rigid beside him. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Why don’t you start by telling me how you felt going to the game?” he said, steepling his hands behind his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you. I asked Blake for his perspective, but…I didn’t ask you. That was inconsiderate of me, and I’m sorry.”

  She rolled onto her side, and he did the same. “I was glad I had friends with me. There were a lot of eyes on me. I didn’t talk to too many people. I hope that’s okay.”

  “I don’t want you to feel like you have to talk to anyone you don’t want to,” he said, reaching a hand out to her across the small distance separating them.

  She grabbed it. “I still don’t like Chaz. He’s a slime ball.”

  He laughed. “Slime ball? I don’t think I’ve heard you use that since third grade.”

  “I haven’t felt like using it since then,” she said, tucking her other hand under her pillow. “I really am sorry you lost.”

  The inner raging was quieter now than it had been a few hours before. He no longer wanted to storm through the house and watch replays until his eyes burned. Now he simply felt resigned…and sad. “That makes two of us. I’m sorry you didn’t have a better time.”

  She scooted a little closer. “Once the game started, I had a good time. It was…great to see you play again in person. Watching on TV is different. The fans…I’d forgotten how much they love you.”

  “Until I lose,” he said, sighing deeply. “I know the team is behind me, but the fans are a fickle lot. You should have heard talk radio.”

  “Blake said he didn’t see that lineman coming,” she said softly. “Can’t you take a little comfort in that?”

  He wished he could, but when it came down to it, he was the one who’d made the split-second decision to throw that pass. The guys might say the same thing would have happened to them, but who knows? “Not really.”

  “Well, at least that’s honest.”

  She scooted a little closer to him and let go of his hand, only to caress his face. His eyes met hers, and she gave him a soft smile. “Win or lose, I still love you. Ella does too.”

  Of all the things she could have said, that moved him more than he could have imagined. In fact, all the breath suddenly crushed out of his lungs. “Thanks for that. It means more than you know.”

  Her hand lowered. “I’m trying to understand what it must be like,” she said in a soft voice. “I’d feel pretty low if I messed up a meal for the people from Michelin.”

  “And blew your star for the restaurant,” he said. “That would be more like losing the Super Bowl.”

  “Yeah, the Michelin star is like our Super Bowl.” She gave a humming sound. “I sure would be upset about.”

  “Grace, I don’t want to shut you out after a loss,” he said, deciding it was time for a new tack. “I can’t promise I’m going to be at my best, but I don’t want to make you feel bad or sleep on the couch anymore.”

  “Sometimes you wouldn’t come over at all after a game when we lived apart,” she finished for him, shadows under her eyes. “That’s when I really worried about you.”

  He opened his arm to her. “Come here.”

  She slid next to him and cradled her head against his chest. They stayed that way for a while. She caressed his skin gently while he ran his hand up and down her nape.

  Finally she rose over him. “Why don’t we try this too?” she asked, and then she lowered her mouth to his.

  The feel of her lips was soothing and arousing all at once, and he surrendered to the pull. She was soft, and when she parted her lips, he slid his tongue in and kissed her long and slow. Cupping his face, she straddled him.

  He tugged her nightgown off. “Not that it doesn’t have its charm…”

  She was still a little cautious of her breasts when they made love, but he slid his hands under them and caressed their weight the way she liked. Her head fell back, and she moaned.

  Soon she was joining their mouths again, everything about her suddenly hot and lush. She broke the kiss to slide down his body, putting her mouth to his skin and making him tighten with arousal. And when she took him into her mouth, he fell back into the most beautiful, generous gift she could give him. When it became too much, he tugged her up and over him. Now that she was back on birth control, there weren’t any barriers between them. She slid onto him in one fluid line.

  Rocking, always rocking, she joined their hands and urged them toward release. He kept his gaze on hers as he lifted his hips to hers in a tantalizing rhythm. Even when his body was screaming for release and all he wanted to do was roll her under him, he bit his lip and held back, letting her give. And give and give until there was nothing between them but a hundred moans and a thousand sighs.

  When she fell to his chest and laid her cheek against his, he whispered, “I love you.”

  “I love you,” she whispered back, and the lingering agony of the loss fell away, leaving nothing but peace in its wake.

  Chapter 25

  Agreeing to go out on a public date with Jordan felt like an even bigger step th
an attending his game. He hadn’t been with her in the stands, so the press hadn’t zeroed in on her presence the whole time. But they would when he was next to her. They always did.

  She told herself the date was the right move. Jordan had let her in after his huge loss a few weeks ago, and it had deepened their connection. Putting it off any longer would have hurt their relationship. Before their breakup, he’d stopped sharing his frustrations about things that came up in practice. He’d associated football with the problems between them, and so he’d shut her out. Because he’d stopped talking about work, so had she, and the air between them had started to dance with all the things left unsaid.

  Now they were pretty much sharing everything, and she felt more included in his life than ever before—this crazy life packed with so much pressure and attention.

  Last week, she’d switched one of her two days off to Tuesday, which had enabled them to spend more time together, even though he went to the stadium for longer than she might have wished. Jordan didn’t always make it home before Ella fell asleep, but he tried to, unless he was staying at the hotel with the team the night before a home game or traveling for an away game. Their life together no longer seemed like the soft peaks of egg whites, but solid, sturdy baked meringue. She realized they were living together—something she’d always resisted—and told herself he would surely ask her to marry him someday soon. Integrating herself more into his life and facing her fears seemed an integral part of the process, and she was willing to play her role. Jordan was playing his, after all.

  Grace had chosen Bacchanalia, one of Atlanta’s top restaurants, for their date. Jordan had suggested a few places, leaving the final decision up to her. Marcellos hadn’t been on the list. Before the breakup, they used to hang out there because it provided Grace with a buffer from the press and made her comfortable, but tonight couldn’t be like that.

  She had to step out with him.

  In the past, she’d worn black to subdue her presence and deflect attention. But not tonight. Because she knew their date was special, she had splurged on a fiery red designer dress that fit her curves and made a statement. Her nails and toes were painted the same fiery color, and as she put on her make-up, she made her eyes smokier and more exotic than usual. After finishing with a touch of matching red lipstick, she surveyed herself in the mirror. She looked like a woman on a mission—and maybe she was.

  Grace planned to reclaim her power by acting—and looking—like the kind of woman who wouldn’t mind being photographed with a gorgeous, successful man. She was going to fake it until she made it, like the experts said.

  When she came down the stairs, Jordan was sprawled on the floor with Ella, tickling her belly. She was laughing out loud, and from his side profile, she could tell he was grinning. He had on gray slacks and a white shirt with an Italian belt and shoes. His cheeks looked freshly shaved, and even from across the room, he smelled delicious.

  Ella turned her head and screeched, kicking her legs as she caught sight of her. Grace smiled.

  “Who’s having fun with Daddy?” she asked and walked forward.

  Jordan gave her his full attention, his eyes trailing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “Whoa,” he uttered in a baritone voice shades deeper than his usual.

  Grace tried not to fidget. As far as she could remember, she’d never worn a red dress before. T-shirts, sure, but they both knew this was different.

  “I’ve never…” He cleared his throat as he pushed off the floor. “You look stunning, Grace. Beautiful is too tame a word. Wow. That’s all I keep hearing in my head. Just wow.”

  His hand reached out and traced her bare collarbone. Their eyes locked, and she could see the heat in them.

  “You’re making me reconsider going out,” he said, his voice still rough as gravel.

  She decided to be bold. “That was the idea. I want you to be thinking about bringing me home tonight while we’re out.”

  His brows rose. “Be assured I will be.” He leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips.

  She put her hand on his chest, feeling the soft cotton of his Italian shirt and the heat of his skin. He tugged on her bottom lip, and she wanted to moan.

  “If Ella weren’t here,” he whispered against her lips, “I’d take you right now before we left.”

  And he would. He had before. She missed that.

  She couldn’t help but smile as she edged back. “If Ella weren’t here, I’d take you right back.”

  He ran his hand down the small of her back until it curved over her behind. “Amy will be here shortly. Come have some wine before we go.”

  She had some wine while he looked on and some more in the back of the town car he’d arranged to drive them to the restaurant. The driver was likely going to double as a security guard, she expected, but she didn’t ask. This was an important night for them, so she tried to stay in the moment and enjoy holding his hand on their first night out together since the breakup.

  When they arrived at the restaurant, they were greeted with special attention by the staff. It was impossible not to feel the stir their presence caused amongst the patrons, even in a restaurant as high-end as this one. Heads turned. People gasped and lurched for their phones. The hand Jordan had placed on the small of her back pressed into her skin with a little more pressure, as if offering his support. She inhaled deeply, keeping calm as camera flashes punctuated the restaurant.

  Their driver was right behind them, she realized, and the male members of the wait staff seemed more alert now.

  He kissed her cheek. “I’m going to take care of things. Give me a sec.”

  After stepping away from her, he planted his feet and surveyed the crowd. The cameras continued to flash, but the noise level dropped.

  “Hey, everyone,” Jordan said, flashing that killer smile of his. “Hope you’re having a great meal. I just wanted to let any fans know that I won’t be signing autographs or taking pictures with anyone tonight. This is the first night out Grace and I have had since having a baby, and for those of you that are parents, you know what a big deal that is. I’d really appreciate you helping make this night special. Thanks.”

  She blinked, shocked he would handle things so directly, but then he crossed the room to rejoin her and took her hand. The hostess escorted them to their table in the corner. Their driver positioned himself off to the side with his arms crossed, keeping his eyes on the crowd.

  After helping her into her seat, which had her back to the restaurant, Jordan took his own seat across from her. “See. That wasn’t so bad. What would you like to drink?”

  Parts of her were still shaking, but she gave him an encouraging smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. I’d like to see a wine list.”

  Jordan arranged that with their server, and after looking it over, she selected an earthy bottle of Burgundy that she knew they both enjoyed. She made herself ignore the price. The restaurant might comp them on the wine or the meal. Jordan often received favors, but the chef also knew Grace.

  “Most people have to make reservations three months in advance to get in here,” she said, putting her napkin on her lap.

  “You knew that when I suggested it, and yet you still chose it.” He gave her a wicked grin. “I was proud of you.”

  “It felt a little naughty, but I decided to go all out,” she confessed. “I talked it over with Tony to assuage my guilt. They could always have said no.”

  He laughed. “Like they would have. They might put up with me, but they like you. The chef insisted on making something special for us.”

  “Chefs always do that for other chefs,” she said, looking forward to seeing what he had created for them. “It’s out of respect and competition.”

  He waggled his brows. “And that’s what I benefit from when I go out with you. People are always going to serve us their best food.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “Happy to bring something to the table.”

  He took her
hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. “You bring a lot to the table. And you look ravishing tonight. I’ve never seen you more beautiful.” Then he shook his head. “No, that’s not right. You’re this beautiful when you’re nursing Ella. And when you held her for the first time.”

  “That’s a mother thing,” she said, fighting the urge to tug at her bodice.

  “No, that’s a woman thing,” he said, continuing that lazy stroking. “But this is another side to you…one I haven’t seen before. I like it. You’re hot.”

  She immediately lowered her gaze. “No, I’m not.” Although she wanted to be. For her and him, but also to stick it to everyone who had ever said she was “Too Dull for Dean.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Yes, you are. And it does things to me. Ones I’m not going to get into here. But when we get home…don’t agree to a drink with the chef after dessert, okay? I’m really going to want to go home.”

  The heat between her thighs made her want to shift in her chair. Given his reaction, she might be a little hot, she supposed. It was a victory she’d take. “Okay, I won’t. But it will be rude.”

  “Tough. Take a rain check. We can always come back.”

  That knowledge set her back in her chair. She supposed they could return for dinner. Tonight was the beginning of other nights out. Funny, how she’d only focused on this one—as if it were some challenge to be bested.

  “This is going to be fun, Grace,” he said, squeezing her hand again. “I promise.”

  “And you made sure my back was to the restaurant.”

  He gave her a look. “Of course. I told you I would do my best to take care of you.”

  “You always sign autographs for the fans,” she commented, raising her brow.

  His shrug was half-hearted. “Not tonight, and perhaps not as much anymore when we’re out. I’m making adjustments too.”

  The middle of her chest expanded with so much love for him, she leaned across the table. “I love you. I just…needed to say it right now.”