“After you,” he says, stepping back and gesturing down the sidewalk.
I start out, and he joins me at my side, accidentally brushing his shoulder with mine. We leisurely make our way down the street, having to stop only a few times for major intersections, until we reach the long stretch of park space that abuts Lake Michigan. The late afternoon light reflects beautifully off the rough surface of undulating waves. The wind blows harder at the shore, but my cheeks welcome the chilly sting. We jog together in silence, our pace perfectly matched. Neither one of us is winded, so I increase my speed. Brent doesn’t miss a beat, and we stay together easily.
“Do you run every day?” he asks.
“No. About four times a week. Just school days. How about you?” I ask, observing the ease of his stride.
“About the same—the four days, not the school thing.”
We pass a woman running with her dog in the opposite direction. The trail veers inward, away from the lake, sheltering us somewhat from the wind.
“So, I meant to ask,” I begin. “How did you get into my building this morning? Did you secretly make a copy of my key while I was visiting you?”
“And if I did?”
“I might call you a stalker.”
“Stalker? Ha! No need to worry about that. I got in while someone was leaving the building. I was just about to buzz you when the door opened.”
“What were you going to do if I wasn’t there?”
“Find a place to wait.” His elbow touches mine. “Then, stalk you with texts and emails until you got back.”
We hit a nice pace at the halfway mark of our run. The time spent on this trek is going by quickly. It’s nice having a running partner. I haven’t had one in years.
“Would you mind if we did five miles instead of three?” I ask.
“We can do whatever you want.” He pulls on my long, chocolate ponytail. “I’m game for it all.”
Taking that as a yes, I push my legs harder.
We practically sprint the next mile, and I’m winded by the time we reach the turnaround point for the five-mile trek. Brent, on the other hand, is almost unfazed by the push, not that I should be surprised by the stamina of a professional athlete. His entire living is based on physical performance.
Slowing our pace, we take the next mile in silence. I listen to Brent’s breaths and the sound of our feet hitting the pavement simultaneously. Finding a comfortable rhythm, we quietly enjoy each other’s company for the rest of the route.
We reach the place where we started our run, and I slow us to a quick walk to cool down as we meander back in the direction of my apartment. Once we pass the first major intersection, Brent takes my clammy hand in his, and I welcome the normality of it all. In a blur, he swooped in, and it’s like those three weeks apart never existed.
“I have a question for you,” I say about a block from my place.
“Shoot.”
“How long do you think you’ll be here?”
“That’s up to you.” He slows down, adding pressure to my hand. “I have a few things I need to do during the off-season, and I have Christmas with my dad, but I don’t need to go back to L.A. until mid-January.” He stops walking, taking my other hand. “I’d like to be here though as much as possible, but that’s up to you.”
More than a month, almost two—that’s what he’s asking for and proposing. It’s not a weekend, not even a week or two. He’s asking for several weeks of us together. I don’t understand the question. He should know the answer.
“But I don’t want to get in the way of anything you have going on either,” he adds. “So, let me know what you think.”
“Until mid-January?”
“Yeah. Team training starts then. Preseason stuff. But I do have a few things to do in the interim.”
“What about your place?”
“Johan will check in on it. I sent him a message today.”
I slide my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his beating heart. “I have one more question.”
“What’s that?” he asks against the top of my head.
“Where will you be staying while you’re in town?”
Tilting my head, I peer into his confused face as he takes in my words. Smiling, I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.
“I can always get a hotel room, if that’s what you want,” he says, playing along.
“Hell no. You’d better be staying with me.”
“If you insist.”
FIFTEEN
Pulling back the shower curtain, I turn on the water and check the temperature of the spray. A few steps away, Brent is hanging his clothes, settling in for a long stay. It’s almost like he’s moving in, which makes me excited and nervous at the same time. We’ll be in each other’s space day in and day out. Who knows what that will be like?
“I’m jumping in the shower,” I say, joining him where he’s still putting away some of his clothes. I lift my shirt over my head and toss it into the corner laundry basket.
“I kind of gathered that.” He peers over my shoulder at the pile of clothes. “I found something I was missing today by the way.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“Do you have something you want to tell me?”
“What?” I shift my eyes back and forth in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No.” I laugh, nervous about his inquisition.
“Then, answer a question for me.” Fake seriousness washes over his features. “Are you or are you not a kleptomaniac?”
My eyes widen.
“Did you happen to take something from my closet?” He steps around me and pulls out his shirt, the same one I wore last night, from the heap of dirty clothes. “Maybe a shirt of mine?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Possibly,” I squeak.
He drops the item in question back from where he got it and then closes the space between us. “Thought so. I bet you look really sexy in it…and out of it.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I coyly ask, stepping away toward the bathroom.
Brent grabs me by the waist and circles me around, so we’re face-to-face. He steps in closer, and his hand traces my spine. “Do you need help washing your back?” he questions, smooth as silk.
“Aren’t you slick?”
“I can be. It’d be my pleasure to help you get those hard-to-reach places.”
“I’m sure it would be.”
“You have no idea.”
I raise my brows.
“So? Are you going to let me help you?” He unleashes one of those seductive dimples. “I’ll let you wash me, too.”
“I’m not sure who that would benefit more—you or me.”
“Maybe we should find out?”
Licking my lips, I lift my arms toward the ceiling in reply. Brent’s fingertips find the snug hem of my sports bra, and he proceeds to pull it over my head. I remove the elastic band from my long brown hair, allowing it to fall down the length of my back. Brent shrugs out of his own shirt and pushes his shorts and underwear to the ground, leaving him completely naked. He then slips his hands into my form-fitting pants along my hips and slides the material down my legs to the floor.
Wrapping his arms around me, Brent carries me into the shower. Our mouths connect. Our bodies mold into one—his skin, my flesh, us. He sets me down, my feet landing on the porcelain tub, and the warm water hits my back.
“You know you’re in trouble, right?” he utters in a low tone against my lips.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I plan to make up for the last few years while I’m here…and there’s a lot to make up for.”
Under the warm water, his lips precisely line the space under my jaw, careful to catch every single cell. I grip his shoulders as his fingers flirt along the curves of my wet body, lightly tracing its form. He reaches behind me, his mouth nipping at my ear, and grabs the loofah and body wash from the rack hanging from the sh
owerhead. Creating a sliver of distance between our naked forms, he squirts a small amount of the soap into the sponge and then slowly lathers my arms, breasts, and stomach. Taking his time, he gives respect to every inch, painting the foam over my skin.
The methodical consideration makes my heart warm. There’s something so loving and everyday about his care for me. His gestures are reminders of everything that’s been missing in my life—not just for the last few weeks, but what I said good-bye to, what we gave up on all those years ago. We were so stupid. I was so stupid.
“I really missed you,” I whisper over the sound of the falling water.
“I missed you, too,” he says, focused on the task of washing my hips. “Turn around.”
Without any hesitation, I reverse my stance and face the tiled wall as Brent proceeds to run his hands and bubbled sponge over my backside, back, and shoulders. When he’s finished, he kisses down the curve of my neck and over to the length of my shoulder.
Turning to face him, I return the favor of washing his body, sponging his shoulders, arms, and covering his pecs, abs, length, and well-muscled legs with soapy bubbles. He turns around without me even requesting, like he knows what I need and want, and I wash his backside and back. When I’m finished, I hang the loofah and circle my arms around Brent, resting my head on his spine.
“Thank you,” he says, turning within my embrace.
“For what?”
“For coming back to me.” He rests his forehead on mine. “For giving us a chance and letting me find you.”
“You don’t need to thank me for that.” I graze his hand. “It’s what I want.”
Brent leans in, his warm breath tickling my ear in the moist air.
“I need to tell you something,” he softly says. “It’s something you need to hear, and I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I was waiting for this moment.”
“What is it?”
“I love you.” He searches my face, letting the words linger in the air. “I never stopped, and I have a feeling I’m going to love you forever, and…I want you to know it. I want you to hear me say it because I don’t want you to ever question or doubt it. Some things just are true, and the way I feel about you is one of those. It’s never going away—ever. Even though I thought it once did, it didn’t. I actually hoped it had, but I was fooling myself. I love you, Ruby.”
The sincerity plastered across his face is undeniable. His palpable love grows, expanding in the air of the small tiled room.
“I love you, too,” I say, the words crossing my lips without any thought at all. It’s not needed.
Brent is right. Some things are true, no matter what, and the way I feel about him is one of those. My love for him never went away. It was resting, waiting.
“Say it again,” he breathes.
“I love you, too, Brent. Really, I do.”
Cupping my face in his hands, Brent presses his lips to mine, sealing our words in this moment. Entwining my fingers into his hair, I press myself into him.
Love is radiating from us both.
Love is a rare thing, and true deep-seated love is the rarest of them all. Ours is even more rare than that. It was tormented, smothered, and left for dead, but it still survived despite a cold winter, blooming and growing under the right conditions. They might not be ideal, but I think we’re both ready to make it work. We know what we are without each other, and it seems that we’re willing to fight for us after learning from the mistakes and missteps of our past.
Brent releases my mouth, resting his head to mine. “I love hearing you say it.”
“Me, too.”
He continues to kiss me under the falling water. The warmth of it combined with us creates an infernal heat. The caress of our lips is slow and caring as we savor the remnants of our proclamation to one another.
I gasp as our tongues massage together, deeply. Our mouths move faster, and the passion surges. Palming his backside, I draw him closer, his hard-on pressing on my abdomen. Brent advances toward me until I’m flush with the cool tiles covered in droplets of water. His hands find mine and lift them above my head, threading our fingers together, as he continues to assail my mouth with his. Instinctually, my hips tilt upward—seeking him, wanting him, ready for him—while our slippery bodies slide in unison.
Releasing one hand, Brent trails his digits down the front of my body. He plunges his fingers between my legs and into me. His thumb skillfully circles one of the most sensitive parts of my body, causing my breath to catch. Endless slow moans erupt from the center of my voice over and over while the water showers us in a steady lullaby.
“You like that?” Brent purrs against my mouth. “When I touch you like this?” He circles his thumb faster to accentuate his point.
“Yes,” I stutter as he continues to torment me with his touch. “I love it.”
“Tell me again,” he demands.
“I fucking love it.”
He kisses me harder, more forceful, in a similar rhythm to his hand. Letting go of our joined grip above my head, he kneads my breast, consuming more of me. I hang on to his shoulders for dear life as the euphoric sensation builds with every movement across the raw nerves on my body. Brent pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I clamp down hard and let go, releasing guttural moans across his lips. Pulsing around his fingers, I lose my ability to hold my own weight.
My breaths slow, and I open my eyes. I find his dilated, full of lust and hungry in so many ways.
“I want inside you,” he says in a measured tone, his control on edge.
I can’t form words.
I nod.
He shuts off the water and lifts me by my thighs. My legs hook around his waist. Dripping wet, Brent carries me out of the shower. The cool air of the rest of the apartment hits my back when he opens the door before taking us to the bed.
Pulling back the comforter, he lays me on the mattress and then shifts the covers back over my body. He walks his determined naked form into the closet and returns with a condom in hand. Quickly, he puts it on and slides under the sheet. He comes to hover over me where I am still in a relaxed and pleasurable state.
No words are said as Brent hastily thrusts himself deep inside me, filling me in a singular motion, as he rocks my body up the bed. My head meets the headboard as a result of the aggressive movement. Reaching upward, I push myself down and away from the wooden bedframe, forcing myself further over him. His length hits the right place inside me, an amazing spot, causing time to stand still. The lingering pleasure from our moment in the shower picks back up. His wet, lean body is all over and in me, pushing and touching me in ways I haven’t been in years. Brent hooks his arms under my knees, pulling them up near my chest. I hold my position with my hands above, steadying my body, as he powers into me deeply with an animalistic need. Our thundering moans rise in volume with every drive of him into me.
“You’re fucking amazing.” He kisses me. “I could never get enough of you.”
“Me”—I pant—“either.”
He thrusts harder.
Again.
Again.
“Oh God…” More. I need more. “Brent…” I moan.
He gives me more—harder.
“Like that.” I arch my back and completely let go, giving him everything I am.
I’m unable to hold anything back because every time he touches me, inside and out, he claims another piece of me, even pieces I never knew existed.
Maybe they only exist…because of him.
He slams into me over and over. “Oh fuck!” he growls next to my ear. He pushes into me a final time, breathing heavily and holding me tight.
Brent lifts his head and rests it on mine. Droplets of water drip from his beautiful ebony hair across my cheek. His arms release my legs and slide under my torso. I hug him close, waiting for him to move.
His lips come to mine, soft and caring. It’s sweet in comparison to the way he just took me with such feral ferocity. Brent sweeps a few st
rands of hair away from my forehead, and I cup his stubbled face in my hands.
“Hi.” I smile.
“Hi.” He smiles, too.
“I love you, Brent.”
“I love you, too.” He kisses me again. “And I think I’m falling further in love with you.”
SIXTEEN
After we went out for dinner, deciding that eating out might be a little easier than having a meal in my small apartment with no chairs, we returned to my place for the rest of the evening.
Brent lies on the bed, playing with the ends of my hair, while I read through my textbook in preparation for an exam in the morning. It’s somewhat difficult to concentrate with him right next to me, and I find myself rereading the same sentence a few times before moving onto the next. He’s quiet and respectful, but I’m not used to having company like this.
There’s a comfort and familiarity of him being here, but there’s a newness as well. At times, I feel like we’re in high school again, discovering each other. Other moments, it feels like he’s been around for years. In a way, both are true.
Reaching the end of the chapter, I decide to take a break and shut my book. I roll on my side to face Brent, who has been patiently scrolling though his phone to occupy his time.
“What are you doing?” I set my book on the floor before laying a hand across his thigh.
“Looking up training facilities”—he puts his phone aside and rests his hand on mine—“to use while I’m here.”
“I thought it was the off-season?”
“It is, but I still need to keep up with a few things on a daily basis.” He smirks. “Don’t want to lose my edge. I found a place not too far from here that’s indoor, which should work given the weather. I’ll probably go down and check it out tomorrow while you’re at class.”
“It’s a lot of work, isn’t it?”
“Soccer?” His forefinger follows the path of the lifeline on my palm. “I guess so. I don’t know. I’ve been doing it for so long now. I don’t know any different. It’s just part of the job, I guess.”
“You love it though?” I question, scooting closer, laying my head on his chest.
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