Playing For Love

by J. C. Grant

  The movers showed up just as the doctor was finishing. I showed them the desk and came back to the living room, sitting with Chance as David walked the doctor out.

  “You okay?” David asked quietly as he approached me.

  “Yeah.” I was fine, but I shouldn't have been. “Still hungry and I want to pig out now.”

  He laughed, sounding relieved. “We'll get something on the way home. It'll take the movers longer than us to get there.”

  “Call Tomato Pie.” Since I wouldn't be spending much time over here anymore, I wanted to get pizza from my favorite place.

  He looked surprised either at my sudden statement or that I was letting the whole Zach thing go so easily, I'm not sure which and I didn't want to know.

  “Yes, ma'am,” he agreed readily.

  I went to my room to finish emptying my drawers while he placed the order.

  *****

  David argued, but I won. He needed to get Chance home and fed, unload my clothes, and be there in case the movers made it there before me, so I went to Tomato Pie by myself. It also gave me time to think. I tried to think of all the possible outcomes of the altercation that took place only an hour earlier.

  Would he press charges? Would he use it for publicity? Or both?

  I felt sick.

  David hadn't even settled the Kelsey thing yet and I was bringing more drama into our lives.

  David didn't seem worried. He thought Zach would use it for publicity and he’d said the deal with Kelsey had several angles that had to be covered and I shouldn't worry. But that's all I could do was worry.

  Pulling into the drive, I noticed the movers still hadn't arrived. I parked in the garage—where David was waiting, looking happy and relieved. He had a shy smile on his too-handsome face when he opened my car door. I stepped out and he leaned in, giving me a sweet kiss, reminding me of a shy boy. He grabbed the pizza with one hand and my hand with his other, leading me into the house, much like my first time here.

  Setting the box on the kitchen island, he pulled me close, leaning in until we were nose to nose.

  “You go get changed. Get comfortable. I'll take care of everything else.” He placed another too-sweet kiss on my lips.

  “My trunk—”

  “I got it,” he whispered sweetly. “Go.”

  I couldn't put my finger on what it was. Maybe he was being sweeter or maybe more attentive, which was saying a lot, because he was always attentive. It was almost like he was trying to compensate for me seeing the fight or seeing what he was capable of.

  Once in our room, I stripped and pulled on some joggers, or skinny sweats as I like to call them. Then I dug through David's drawers until I found one of his old, faded tees. Slipping it over my head, I instantly felt more relaxed. The old material—even freshly washed—stilled smelled of him.

  Making my way into the living area, I found the pizza, plates, and waters on the ottoman. I sat down on the couch just as he walked in carrying the desktop, taking it into my office. Then he went back out to the garage. He completely emptied my trunk before coming to sit next to me, which made me feel pretty bad, considering his freshly stitched fingers.

  “What's wrong? Do you need something? Why aren't you eating?” he asked, getting comfortable.

  “Waiting on you,” I admitted sheepishly. It seemed stupid now.

  “You can be so fucking sweet,” he muttered as he placed a kiss to my temple. He grabbed his plate and sat back. “What're we watching?”

  “I don't know.”

  “What's up?” he asked before taking a bite of pizza.

  “Just distracted watching you.” Then I admitted what was really bothering me. “Wondering what's going to happen, with what happened today. He isn't going to just let that go. People are going to see him.”

  “He'll probably spin it. Don't worry about it. I told Elaine what happened. She'll deal with whatever comes of it.”

  “Yeah, but what if—?”

  “Sweet girl,” he cut me off, his voice patient and gentle, “it's what I pay her for. Don't worry.”

  I tried not to think about it, tried to relax and enjoy him. Taking a bite of pizza, I moaned as my taste buds exploded. I'd forgotten how good it was.

  I swallowed. “I love this pizza.”

  “It's good.” His smile was genuine. “I texted Aaron to get your mail forwarded and to cancel your gym membership. Won't be needing that anymore,” he added wryly.

  “Thank you, babe,” I murmured, shocked he was meticulously taking care of me after the events of this afternoon—I hadn't even remembered my gym membership.

  When the movers arrived, I showed them where to put the two pieces and stood out of the way, watching as my mid-century office came together with my black walls, pale pink couch, dark wood desk, armoire, and black high-backed office chair. The white ceiling and wall of white shelves popped in stark contrast.

  “I love it. Thank you,” I whispered when David came back in from walking the movers out.

  “Good, I'm glad you're happy,” he whispered as he wrapped his thick arms around me. I tried to ignore his stitches and enjoy the moment. “Up,” he said suddenly.

  I looked at him. He nodded, telling me he meant what I thought. I hopped up and he caught me under my thighs, carrying me into the bedroom.

  “You mind if we spend the rest of the day in bed?” he asked as he walked to the bed.

  “Not at all.”

  “Good.” He sat me down. “I'll be right back with the pizza and water. Want anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  I watched as he walked out, staring at his broad back and strong legs. I was still a little stunned I wasn't afraid of him after what I’d seen him do—the violence in him. He walked back in with two plates and two waters and Chance on his heels. He handed me one plate and set the other plate on his nightstand, tossing the bottles of water on the bed.

  “Be right back.” He gave me a sexy smirk and wink as he went into the closet.

  I heard drawers opening and closing.

  “By the way, I fucking love you in my shirts,” he called.

  “You've mentioned it before,” I laughed.

  “Just making sure you know.”

  He stepped out of the closet wearing low-slung lounge pants.

  “Damn. And I have you all to myself.”

  “Yes, you do,” he rumbled, crawling into bed, tossing the bottles of water out of the way as he settled next to me. “And I get you all to myself. Forever.”

  “That's the plan.”

  “No. That's what's happening, sweetheart.”

  “Mmmm.” I tried to smother my smile.

  He turned on the TV and we settled in. Chance hopped up and laid across the foot of the bed.

  We watched TV and ate the rest of the pizza. Well, he ate the rest of the pizza.

  “I just want to watch TV and hold you for the rest of the night.” His voice was a soft purr as he curled his big body around mine. His arm snaked around my waist pulling me snug against him as his leg pushed between mine until his thigh was pressed firmly against my sex.

  I slid my leg over his, getting comfortable.

  “I need the rest of my clothes,” I hinted, rubbing my hand over his muscled forearm, feeling the muscles shifting under my hands as his grip tightened.

  “I'll get 'em this weekend,” he murmured quietly. “That okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I'll put everything away tomorrow and set your computer up.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  I knew I should say “Oh no, you don't need to,” but I didn't.

  *****

  David woke me—just like he always did, but he was sweeter, more attentive—with an amazing breakfast of pecan pancakes with maple syrup and an extra-large coffee.

  We easily returned to our morning routine, like he hadn't viciously beaten a man the day before. We agreed to skip the gym for a few days, so his stitches could do their thing.

  “We're goi
ng to turn into lazy bums,” I teased. “You're going to have to pry me out of this bed when you're ready to go back.”

  “You're still getting a workout every day.” His tone was unreadable.

  David got up, taking everything to the kitchen. Minutes later, he popped his head in while I sat in bed drinking my coffee, a bit confused by his behavior.

  “I'm gonna start getting your office ready.”

  He was gone before I could respond.

  David spent the morning setting my office and hooking my desktop, printer, and whatever else he deemed necessary up.

  With my freshly washed face, clean black sweat shorts, and vintage Guns N’ Roses tee, my hair up in a top knot, I sat in the living room on the oversized couch with my laptop. I was checking my e-mail when David appeared in the hallway.

  “You wanna keep these?” he asked, holding two pictures of me and Zach. One was crumpled up.

  I thought about it before I answered, “Yeah.”

  His jaw clenched.

  “I want to keep them so I won't forget what it was like before you.”

  He waited, his expression unchanging.

  “I know there'll be a time when I take you for granted, when I think I'll be happier without you. I want a reminder that it's not true. I was never really happy before you.”

  His expression shifted to something close to understanding. He nodded, turning to go back into my office, though he didn't look happy.

  The mention of Zach reminded me of our potential assault charges. I did a search for Zach Stone fight, Zach Stone face, and finally just Zach Stone injury. There was no mention of anything.

  Yet.

  “What're you looking at?” David asked from the hall, making his way toward me with his sexy swagger.

  “I think you know,” I answered as I scrolled down.

  “Anything?” He paused at the end of the couch.

  “Nope. Not yet.” I looked up, really taking him in. He was still wearing the pants from the night before, and still shirtless.

  “Working out an angle,” he muttered, walking toward the kitchen. He returned, handing me a cup of coffee. “Anyway, you know Elaine will let us know before it goes public.”

  I really hoped that was true, but with social media, he could post something anytime he felt like it.

  Sipping my coffee, I got lost in thoughts of nothingness, almost like my brain was trying to shut out the stress.

  He nudged me gently. “We're okay.”

  Taking a deep breath, I rearranged my face into a relaxed expression. I really hoped he was right. Zach looked so bad. So disfigured. I couldn't imagine there not being repercussions.

  He pressed his lips to my temple, blatantly looking at my screen.

  “It loses its sweet factor when you're so obviously looking at the computer screen,” I deadpanned.

  He huffed out a laugh, his breath against my face.

  Then he rested his chin on my shoulder and continued reading whatever had caught his attention about Zach.

  “Is this better?” he teased.

  I tried to suppress my laughter but failed.

  “Okay.” He reached over, exiting the page. “No more Zach for today. Okay? I'm going to put away your clothes.”

  “Thanks, babe.” I watched him as he stood.

  I continued staring as he walked toward the hall, the muscles in his shoulders and back shifting and flexing. The thin fabric of his lounge pants hid nothing of those thick glutes clenching as he walked.

  I took a deep breath and refocused once he was out of view. Scooting into the far corner of the couch, I opened a new file and started writing.

  Three pages in, a black tank top landed on the couch next to me. Looking over at it, then up at David's face, his expression unreadable, I picked it up, not understanding what he wanted. It was my boxing tank or boxers tank.

  “How do you know Kyle?” His voice had a hard edge to it.

  “Who?” I asked, confused by his demeanor and the name.

  “You got his shirt.” He nodded toward my tank.

  “This?” I lifted the tank, looking at it a moment. “I got this like... three years ago.” I folded the tank over and tucked it between my thigh and the couch.

  “How do you know Kyle Dixon?” he demanded.

  “The boxer?” His eyebrow lifted. “I don't. I got this from a promoter.”

  His head tilted slightly, that eyebrow still lifted.

  I explained, “I was waiting for Tara to get out of an audition and this guy walked out of the building she was in, and he handed me a box of tanks and panties.”

  “And they just happened to be for Kyle Dixon?” Disbelief was clear in his voice.

  “No. They were all for different things. But the Dixon stuff was all American Apparel, so... I kept them and gave the rest to Tara.”

  He studied me.

  “So you've worn his name on your tits? On your pussy?” His voice was gruff.

  Oh, shit.

  “I guess so.”

  His jaw clenched, the muscles in his face and neck jumping. His eyes roamed my face down to my chest and back up.

  “If I ask him, is he going to know your name?”

  What? Oh no...

  “You know him?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded, his eyes hard. “He trains at our gym.”

  Fuck.

  “I've never met him, David. I don't even watch sports stuff. I've never been to a fight or match... or whatever.”

  He held up the thong with a cruel smirk on his face. Gripping the small triangle of fabric with both hands, he pulled, the ripping sound filling the room. I put down the computer and shifted closer to him.

  “David, stop it. I like the brand,” I tried to explain.

  “I can buy you as much of this brand as you want. I can buy you any brand you want.” His tone conveyed that my reasoning was bullshit as far as he was concerned.

  I really liked the design, two red metallic boxing gloves on either side of DIXON. The position of the design was flattering and it was comfy.

  He grabbed the tank, shredding the material easily. Then he reached behind him, pulling my other Dixon tank out. I tried not to react, not to show any response as its fate became the same as the other. I watched his veins bulge, his muscles flexing as he ruined my last favorite sleep tank.

  “You're not going to wear anyone's name on your body, but mine.”

  My pussy quivered at his dominance, his outright aggression.

  Fuck me. There's something really wrong with me.

  “Don't get too comfortable. If I find anything else like that, I'm gonna be right back here,” he warned in a soft growl.

  I could feel how wet I was. I tried to ignore it and focused on writing.

  *****

  I was still writing when my phone rang three hours later.

  “Hi, babe,” I answered, knowing it was David. He had gone over to my house to get more of my clothes.

  “He told the fucking truth. His version, anyway.”

  “What?” I felt my panic rising up.

  “Elaine texted me. He said he was talking to his ex and her new husband found them together. They got into a fight over her. He's leaving out the part about getting his ass completely beat for trying to rape you.”

  My stomach sank at his words; I hadn't allowed myself to actually think about it. “Did he say names?”

  “Not yet. He will. It'll be better for him like this,” he added bitterly. “More drama. More build up.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Why? This, I expected. I've been expecting to beat his ass since I found that photo of you two.”

  I sighed heavily. I didn't know what to say. Part of me thought Zach would be too vain to let anyone know how badly David had beaten him. Another part of me wanted to tell our side, press charges, and publicly humiliate him. But I didn't want our personal life being picked through—the press would with David's fame. I was also terrified of David getting in legal trouble becaus
e the beating he gave Zach was past anything that could be considered self-defense.

  “So... what do we do?”

  “Nothing,” he said casually and moved on as if it was nothing. “I couldn't get all your clothes. They wouldn't fit in the truck.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don't do that,” he demanded. “Don't fucking apologize to me. Unless you hurt me, don't fucking apologize for anything.”

  “Okay,” I responded quietly, feeling reprimanded.

  *****

  It was Wednesday morning when images of Zach's battered face were “leaked.” He didn't look nearly as bad as I'd expected. I had a feeling he'd done everything to make it look better, including packing it in ice for the past five days.

  Pussy.

  I had to talk David out of cutting his stitches off every day. His biggest complaint was that he had to use his left hand to fingerfuck me. The coordination wasn't quite the same, but still very effective.

  As I made my way through the great room, I heard,

  “Good mornin'.”

  Fuck me, his voice.

  It still affected me, wrapping around me like a dark promise.

  “David.” I sat at the kitchen island and waited until he looked up from cooking our breakfast before I continued. “Tomorrow is October first... and Halloween is my favorite holiday.” I waited for a response, reaction, anything.

  “Okay. You want to decorate the house?” His deep voice rumbled.

  “Yeah,” I responded a little too excited. He didn't even try to hide his amusement at my outburst.

  Five hours later, we were decorating the house—with the help of two professionals. After another three hours, we had successfully turned our pristine home into the creepiest-looking house I had ever seen.