by Ryan, Lexi
“That makes sense.” She shifts from one foot to the other. “I bet you’re an amazing dad.”
“I try. Most of it I’ve just had to figure out as I go.”
“As a girl who was raised by an amazing dad, I have to say it’s everything.” More tears spill down her cheeks, and I’m being torn apart.
I don’t know when I cupped her face in my hand, but I watch my thumb clear away a streak of tears. She came to me. “I’m glad you’re here.” My chest feels too tight. Fuck, I’ve missed her so much. “I’m so sorry about how I handled the pregnancy. I was trying to help Scarlett stay sober and generally freaking out about becoming a father. And—”
She presses a thumb to my lips. “Not tonight, okay? I don’t want to talk about that tonight.”
Right. She has enough to process.
I nod, but she doesn’t move her thumb. Instead, she presses down until the tip is in my mouth, almost between my teeth. I touch it with my tongue, and her eyes darken. I want more than this tiny taste, more than I can have. I don’t know how long we stand like that—her thumb between my teeth, her face in my hands, our bodies so close that I can smell her lemon-and-lavender soap.
I’m not sure I take a single breath until she steps back and my hands drop helplessly to my sides. She drags her bottom lip between her teeth and holds my gaze as she unbuttons her shirt and lets it drop from her shoulders, and my situation with the oxygen shortage doesn’t improve a bit.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of her smooth ivory skin, her breasts cupped in the simple white cotton of her bra. I follow her hands, watching as they unbutton her jeans and push them down her hips.
I’ve fucked up so many times where Shay is concerned, and tonight she came to me upset, grieving. Maybe the right thing to do is to tell her to keep her clothes on. Maybe letting her strip makes my sins cross over into unforgiveable. But I’m willing to accept every label, every hit to my character and blow to my ego if it means I get to touch her.
She steps out of her jeans, and I can’t take my eyes off her. I love that her bra is simple, nearly virginal, love that her panties aren’t a match but a bright pink. They’re cut to sit high on her hips and barely cover her ass. I love how easy it is—how uncalculated. She didn’t put on her sexiest panty set and come here to seduce me. She’s just wearing whatever she’s wearing. But who am I kidding? She could be wearing fucking pantaloons and a chastity belt under her clothes, and I’m sure I’d still be hard as a rock watching her strip for me.
I can’t help but notice the changes, though. I memorized her with eyes, hands, and mouth in Paris, and I know every inch of her. She’s lost weight. Too much. I want to ask if she’s okay, if she’s been sick—Carter hasn’t said anything, but damn, she’s so frail—but I don’t. She’s always been so self-conscious about her appearance, and I don’t want her thinking she’s not beautiful when she takes my breath at any size.
“Say something,” she whispers, and I realize I’ve just been staring, trying to catalogue every change while her hands shake at her sides.
“You’re beautiful.” Is there really anything else to say? But the more honest part of my brain whispers that there’s so much more. I want you. I need you. I’ve fucking missed you.
She looks down and swallows. “Better, huh?”
My stomach knots. I hate that she never saw herself the way I saw her. “You’ve always been beautiful. I’ve told you that before.”
Her lips part as she blows out a breath. “I’ll never look like your Scarlett Lashenta.”
The words are a kick in the nuts. They’re a reminder that my decisions shackled this girl—this woman—with insecurities. “I’m glad for that.” My wife’s name floats in the room, a reminder that I’m entangled in a different world than Shay, a more vicious one, a reminder that we can’t be seen together without that world taking a swing at her. “Shay . . .”
She gives a small, sad smile and turns her back to me, striding toward the bed.
I close my eyes and count my breaths. In. Out. In. Out. I know why she’s here now—I understand exactly what she wants from me. And I want it too—holy shit, do I want it. I want to give her what she came here for tonight, provide the comfort I know she needs. More than that, I want her. But my life is a fucking mess, and I can’t drag her into that. Scarlett may have moved out, but our lives are still entwined. I have to work out my shit so I can give Shay more than another night of pleasure.
When I finally lock on to my resolve, I follow her into the room and find her crouched in front of the minibar, digging through it. The sight of Shay in her underwear, frowning at a bottle of tequila, makes me grin.
She holds it up. “Not much here, but do you mind?”
“Help yourself.”
She unscrews the lid and takes a sip, grimacing. “Shit.”
When she offers it to me, I shake my head. I don’t drink much during the season, but even if I did, I don’t trust myself to drink tonight. I already only have a tenuous hold on my self-control, and even a drop of alcohol might obliterate that.
She shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She takes another sip as she scans the room. “I really expected you to be in a fancy suite or something. This is . . . almost a normal-person hotel room.”
I chuckle and sink into a chair on the opposite side of the minibar, crossing my feet at the ankles as I sit back. “When I was a rookie, I had to have a roommate. I definitely prefer this.”
She lifts the mini bottle. “Here’s to being a big shot and having your own room.” She drains the rest of the tequila and wanders to the window, pulling the curtain aside to peer out at the view. I can’t stop looking at her—at her perfect nipples peaked against the thin white cotton of her bra, her bare legs, her toenails painted a dark purple. I wouldn’t have imagined she could be more beautiful. If she’d asked, I would’ve told her not to lose the weight, that she was perfect as she was. But now? She stands taller, her chin higher. She wanders around my room nearly nude with a self-confidence that was perhaps the only thing she was missing before. It’s the confidence that makes her shine, gives her thinner, stronger self an edge on the old Shay. I wonder if she knows that. Or if she thinks that when she walks through a room and men stare at her from every direction, it’s because her stomach’s flatter and her hips are narrower.
Slowly, she saunters toward me, her eyes locked with mine. Every step closer steals oxygen from my lungs. I can hardly catch my breath, and I know the only relief will be in touching her. She stops in front of me and swings a foot over my extended legs until she’s straddling my thighs. It would be so easy to bend and press my mouth against her stomach, cup my hand over those pink panties. I could grip her hips and hold her in place while I slide off the chair to the floor between her legs and bury my face in her pussy. I’m dying to taste her again. I want to fill my head with the sounds she makes and the smell of her. Fuck, I want to make her come and claim her as mine in the most primitive way.
“I keep waiting for you to kick me out,” she whispers. Swallowing, she props a knee on either side of my hips and lowers herself onto my lap. The little bottle of tequila is still in one hand, and she wraps the other behind my neck.
“You can stay as long as you want.” When she shifts her hips forward, she presses against the hard length of my cock through my jeans, and my breath rushes out of me.
“You’re killing my newfound ego. You know that, right?”
I arch a brow, curling my fingers into the arms of the chair. “How so?”
“I’m here thinking I’m all cute now, thinking that if I strip, you’ll want to touch me again. You don’t seem to mind that I’m almost naked, and yet . . .” She tosses the empty bottle onto the bed before cocking her head to the side and studying me. “I’m on your lap like this, and you’re not putting even a finger on me.” Something like regret flashes in her eyes. “Do you want me to leave?” The question is asked in a whisper so quiet it’s almost like she wants to hide from the possibility that
I might.
I release the arms of the chair and place my hands gently on her waist. “Not unless you want to.” She presses into my erection, and my eyes float closed. Fuck. “But Shay, we shouldn’t have sex tonight.”
She stills. “Shouldn’t? Or you don’t want to?”
I try to laugh, but it catches in my throat and comes out like a grunt. “Trust me, there’s not much I want more right now.” I tighten my grip on her waist. “But I’ve fucked up with you before, and I don’t want to do it again. Jesus, you haven’t even talked to me in years, and now you’re on my lap.”
She bites her lip. “I’ve always been an all-or-nothing girl. You know that.”
“I do.” I trace the soft lace waistband of her panties with my thumb, my brain warring with my baser instincts. “Let me get through this mess with Scarlett. Let me . . . fix my life. Then I can give you what you deserve.”
She threads her fingers through my hair and tugs lightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you after Paris.” She looks away. “I am sorry about that.”
“Hey.” I take her chin in my hand and turn her face back to mine. “I’m the one who’s sorry. You don’t owe me an apology.”
She reaches for the hem of my shirt and tugs until it’s off. She traces invisible paths down my chest with her fingertips, circling the cluster of bruises over my ribs. “What’s this from?”
“Nasty hit.”
“Don’t you wear pads?”
I laugh. “Yeah, but even pads can’t save you when a two-hundred-sixty-pound lineman pummels you.”
She scoots off my lap and bends, placing the smallest, gentlest kiss to the nasty purple-and-red skin. Pleasure bolts down my spine like her mouth’s on my cock and not my ribcage.
When she looks up at me, her eyes are full of lust and desperation. And maybe grief. “I’m so scared and lonely,” she whispers. “All I want is to lie with you and lose myself for a few hours. The rest can come later.”
I slide a hand into her hair and lead her mouth to mine. My muscles tense then relax at the contact. She tastes like tequila and smells like lemon and lavender, and I’ve missed her so much. “You’re an all-or-nothing girl, and you deserve the all.”
She draws in a breath right against my mouth. “I don’t want another night of nothing.”
I wrap my arms around her, stand, and carry her to the bed. I don’t know when I’ll be able to give her everything she deserves, but tonight, I can give her this.
Easton
I spent the beginning of the week unpacking and trying to make the house feel a little more like home, but on Wednesday, I had to drive to Grand Rapids to go to a few meetings. I’m not officially starting until this summer, but I’m being kept in the loop regarding recruitment, and I like to be at all the coaching and athlete meetings.
I head into the house from the garage and drop my keys in the mudroom. I follow the smell of homemade spaghetti sauce and find Tori in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. Abi’s nowhere to be seen.
“How was my girl’s day?”
“It was okay. She’s upstairs now,” Tori says. “I think she might be a little homesick tonight.”
“Hence the sauce?” I motion to the makings of my daughter’s favorite meal.
She shrugs. “Maybe it will help.”
This was bound to happen sooner or later, but my chest aches nevertheless. Even though I know it’ll be for the best in the long run, I hate that this transition is going to be tough for Abi on any level. “Thanks, Tori.”
I head to the twisting stairwell at the front of the house. When I was a kid, I used to drive by the big houses that line Jackson Harbor’s Lakeshore Drive and dream of what it must be like to own a place like this, to have a big enough family to fill it. One out of two isn’t bad, and even if it’s only me and Abi forever, I can be okay with that.
I find my daughter in her room, sprawled on her bed looking at pictures of her friends on her iPad. “Hey, squirt. How’s it going?”
Frowning at me, she sits up and curls against the headboard. “I don’t have any friends here.”
“Not yet.” I try to keep my voice upbeat, but the tears in her eyes slay me. “But you will with time.”
“How do you know? What if I never make any friends? What if no one here likes me?”
“You met Lilly a couple of days ago, and she likes you.”
She shrugs. “I guess.”
I look at my watch. It’s a school night, but it’s only five. “Maybe Lilly could come over for dinner, then you two could play a little after. Would you like me to ask?”
She nods eagerly, so I give her my best reassuring smile and pull out my phone to text Ethan. He replies quickly.
Ethan: Shay is taking Lilly to gymnastics at 6. You should take Abi. All the kids get a trial class before you have to sign a contract.
I turn the phone so my daughter can read it, and she smiles for the first time since I walked into her room. “Can we please?”
Spend our night with Shay? Twist my arm.
The girls giggle excitedly as they put their flip-flops back on after practice.
“What did you think, Abi?” I ask my daughter. “Did you like it?”
“I loved it!” She’s practically vibrating with excitement as she grabs Lilly’s hand. “I want to be in Lilly’s class, though.”
“I’ll talk to the girls at the desk and see what I can do.”
“It’s the intro-level class,” Shay says. “Since she’s just getting started, this would be a good spot for her, and we could carpool.”
“Carpool?”
“Well, I don’t take Lilly every week, but she likes me to watch her, so I do a lot of the time. When I’m the one driving, I wouldn’t mind swinging by to get Abi.”
I arch a brow. “You think I’m going to miss out on spending an hour every week with my new friend?” I shake my head. “No, we’re friends now, and I’m going to enjoy this hour.”
Shay’s cheeks turn pink.
“Is Abi’s dad your boyfriend, Aunt Shay?” Lilly asks.
Abi spins around and stares at me. “Is she?” She doesn’t sound upset about the possibility, which is a relief, to be honest.
“Not yet,” I say, winking at Shay. Her cheeks bloom to a darker shade of pink. “Right now we’re just friends, but you never know what surprises life has in store.”
Shay licks her lips. “We’re good friends. We don’t need to be more.” I think it’s even obvious to the eight- and nine-year-old girls watching us that Shay is trying to convince herself.
“Would you be okay with me inviting Lilly out for ice cream?” I ask.
Shay nods. “I think that would be fine.”
“What do you think, girls? Ice cream?”
The girls’ cheers fill the corridor, and half a dozen parents turn disapproving frowns toward us. I pull my keys from my pocket. “Come on. We’ll all ride together, and I’ll bring Lilly and Shay back to get their car after. It’s my treat.”
The girls both want banana splits, which Shay and I agree is way too much ice cream and sugar. The girls argue that’s unfair, since it’s “practically half fruit.” We compromise when they agree that they can share one.
I get a hot fudge sundae, and Shay has a small cone of vanilla ice cream. I know she didn’t choose it to sexually frustrate me, so I try not to stare, but I can’t deny that seeing her tongue and mouth at work puts serious ideas in my head. I’m hopeless.
The ice cream place has a tiny playground in the back, and after the girls finish maybe half their banana split, they’re begging to play. It’s warm enough today that they don’t want to wear their jackets and cool enough that Shay and I insist they do. We watch them play and talk.
Lilly asks Abi about school, and Abi tells her she’s going to go to a Jackson Harbor school next fall. Lilly tells her all about her teacher and the kids in her class and begs her to go to her school. I watch them, hoping that Abi has a friend in Lilly who she can count on,
the way I always did in Carter.
“When will she see her mom?” Shay asks quietly beside me. “Or does Scarlett not . . .?”
“Oh, no, Scarlett’s involved. She’ll see her.” I scrape a bit of ice cream off the side of the dish. “That’s actually why I was in Chicago before. I was trying to help her find a place so she can split her time between L.A. and there. That way, when Abi wants to visit her mom for a weekend, she doesn’t have to take a four-hour flight. And anyway, it’ll be good for Scarlett to get away from that scene.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I know you’re an awesome dad and you’d give Abi everything she needs, but it’s good that her mom still wants a relationship with her.”
“They have a great relationship, actually. Scarlett spoils her a little, but she loves her madly.” I study Shay’s dark eyes and feel a pang of regret that I didn’t try to keep up with her while I was in L.A. Once I had to let her go the second time, I just didn’t trust myself, but regardless of what else happens between us, I do want us to be friends, and she doesn’t know anything about my daughter’s mother. “Scarlett’s not a bad person, Shay. She’s just . . . She was brought up in L.A., in the middle of all the money and fame. Her parents weren’t like ours. They had totally screwed-up priorities and don’t understand what life is like for normal people. Scarlett really has matured since becoming a mother.”
“I thought she was nice when I met her.”
I frown. “You met her? This last time she was in Jackson Harbor?”
“No, I met her after Dad’s funeral. She . . .” Shay cocks her head to the side. “You didn’t know she came to talk to me?”
Well, fuck. “No. I didn’t.” The words come out with a bite Shay doesn’t deserve.
Shay shakes her head. “It wasn’t a big deal. She just wanted me to understand why you were staying married.”