by Max Monroe
I pulled her into my arms, and she wrapped her toned little legs around my waist as I pressed my mouth to hers. She tasted like sunshine and the beach and everything right, and I didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss by teasing my tongue past her lips and savoring a hundred more licks.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she whispered against my persistent mouth, and I squeezed her tighter to my chest.
“Thank you for letting me bring you here.”
I couldn’t remember a better day in all the years of my adult life, and I hoped as the day and night wore on, it would only get better.
Crackling and warm, the gas fireplace on my deck roared its invitation as I poured a glass of wine for Lana and another for myself and settled into the outdoor sofa.
I’d left Lana showering in the guest room with a pile of borrowed clothes from my closet for her to change into while hers were in the wash.
Since we hadn’t bothered to go back to Hoboken to get a change from her place and she’d only had one spare change of clothes in her trunk, mine would have to do, and I had to admit, I was looking forward to seeing them on her.
There was something sexy about a woman in my clothes—something totally backward and counterintuitive about the loose fit.
Maybe it was a primal sense of ownership, or maybe it was just the explicit reference to sex, but I loved it.
The sliding door opened, and Lana peeked out shyly until I waved her my way.
“Come and sit,” I invited, hopping up to hand over her glass of wine and allow her entry into the curved navy sofa. “I’ve got steaks on the grill and a casserole cooking inside.”
And no, I wasn’t a one-hit wonder when it came to meals, but I hadn’t actually eaten this one the night I’d last prepared it. Now that Lana was here, with me, I figured it was a night worthy of a redo.
My plain baby-blue T-shirt highlighted the crystal color of her eyes, and her dark hair shone against it even in the low light of dusk.
“Tonight is all about relaxing and enjoying yourself.”
She shook her head and looked around before settling into the couch and pulling a sweats-covered knee to her chest. “Dinner and fire and wine and the ocean?” She laughed. “This is the kind of thing a girl could really get used to.”
“Good,” I confirmed with a smile as I took a seat next to her. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
“Cam,” she murmured softly, and I held up my hands before the moment could dissolve. If the lessons of the past had taught me anything, Lana was a scared kitten, and the last thing I needed to do was make her feel cornered.
“Don’t worry. There’s no pressure. Let’s just enjoy ourselves—enjoy each other—and leave it at that.”
“Okay.” She nodded and then smiled. “Yeah. I can definitely do that.”
The relief in her eyes was evident, and it only made me feel more confident.
I was certain if I just let things progress organically, if I didn’t push or prod and let her set the pace of how fast or slow things moved between us, that she’d keep opening up, she’d keep letting me inside.
“Good,” I said. And I meant it.
She lifted her glass of wine to her lips, and I watched the way her eyes fell closed as she took a small sip.
This woman, her beauty, her spirit, she fucking wrecked me.
And I couldn’t muster a single ounce of regret for pursuing her.
I knew there was uncertainty beneath the surface.
I knew there were things we needed to discuss.
I knew, eventually, she had to open up to me completely if we had any true shot of becoming what I hoped we would.
But I’d wait for Lana to figure out the details for as long as she needed. I’d keep spending my time showing her how good it could be and soaking up the time she gave me.
And I’d keep doing it until she told me to stop.
I both loved and hated Thursdays.
They generally included an entire day off work, but between my responsibilities at the station and Trixie’s shifts at Skins, they also tended to revolve around running errands and catching up on all of the boring daily shit that being an adult entailed.
Laundry. Grocery store. Paying bills.
Oh yeah, Thursdays were fucking lovely.
Or basically, my equivalent of everyone else’s Mondays.
It was just a little after nine, and I’d managed to shower, force enough coffee down my throat to make me feel more human than zombie, and I was ready to head out of my apartment and do the damn thing. I almost couldn’t remember the days when I’d been an actual morning person. The night shift, it seemed, had ruined me for good.
Just before I grabbed my keys and purse, I picked up Trixie’s phone and sent Cam a quick message to see what he was up to.
Me: What are you doing?
It had been nearly two weeks since he’d taken me to his house on the New Jersey shore.
I hadn’t been to the beach since I was a kid, and up until I was around nine years old, it had been something my aunt and I had done together while my dad had been busy at the station.
I had a a lot memories tied up in the beach. Every single one of them good and revolving around Aunt Bethie. And now, Cam too.
Our day at the sea had been a great day, the best day. We’d frolicked in the sand and splashed in the water, and once the sun had set and night had made its debut, we’d sat on the deck and savored the warmth of a fire and each other’s company.
Since then, we’d kept up a steady flow of text conversations, phone calls, and a handful of secret meet-ups and sleepovers at his house.
Even though I couldn’t be completely honest with him about my job or that I had to keep some—okay, a lot—of the details about my personal life hidden for right now, when I was with Cam, I wasn’t Trixie. I was just me.
God, he made me feel good. He made me happy.
I didn’t know where we were headed or what the future held, but the way Cam had continued to be with me, the way he intuitively sensed when to ask questions and when to take it slow, I couldn’t deny that I liked him.
Maybe even more than like him…
And I trusted him.
So much so that it was growing harder and harder to keep my undercover detective life under wraps, but I stayed strong and reminded myself I wouldn’t be on this assignment forever. One day soon, I’d be free of the secrets and veiled truths, and I’d be able to open up and tell him everything.
But until that day came, I needed to tread carefully.
Luckily, Cam had more than proven he was a patient man.
My phone pinged with a message, and I smiled as I tapped open my inbox.
Magic Mike: Trying to get Lucky to take a piss before I head to the stadium for some training. What are you doing?
An adorable visual of his English bulldog popped into my mind. Despite his penchant for chewing on shoes and stealing food, I’d grown quite fond of that cute little meatball.
Me: Just getting ready to run some boring errands.
Magic Mike: And what are you doing tonight?
Me: None of your business. ;)
Magic Mike: You should come to my house.
Me: And do what, exactly?
Magic Mike: Enjoy my company.
Me: Meh.
Playful, teasing commentary had become a constant between us. And I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t love every second of it.
Magic Mike: Or you could just enjoy my pool… I mean, it is pretty fucking hot outside, and there’s nothing like a nice midnight swim to make you feel good…
Me: I feel like you’re just trying to find a way to get me naked again.
Magic Mike: Yes. But that’s only because I’m concerned with your overall health and safety. I mean, we’re in the middle of a heat wave. I feel like it would be in your best interest to spend your evening relaxing naked in my pool.
His message brought a soft, incredulous laugh from my lips.
Me: And
they say chivalry is dead…
Magic Mike: What can I say? I’m a gentleman.
Me: A gentleman who wants to get me naked.
Magic Mike: A gentleman who wants to make sure you don’t get sick from too much heat exposure.
Me: LOL. Wow. You might as well be Johnny from Dirty Dancing right now. I might fall over from all these swoony vibes you’re sending my way.
Magic Mike: Nobody puts my baby at risk for heatstroke.
Me: Jesus. Go be a football player and leave me alone.
Magic Mike: I would like to take this time to remind you that you’re the one who started this conversation, which only proves one thing…
I shouldn’t have taken the bait, but when it came to him, I never failed to fall into his charming trap.
Me: And what’s that?
Magic Mike: You miss me. You want to see me again. And yes, you will get naked in my pool tonight.
He was right. But that didn’t mean I needed to give in so easily…
Me: Wow. I’m thinking all of those things right now?
Magic Mike: Yep. So, I guess it’s settled. I’ll be home from the stadium by seven. Can’t wait to see you, Baby.
Me: Do I get any say in this?
Magic Mike: Besides, what you want for dinner? No, not really.
Me: Tacos.
Magic Mike: It’s a done deal.
Cam, probably even a naked Cam, his glorious pool, and tacos?
I guessed Thursdays weren’t so bad, after all.
As I passed the ice cream aisle on my way to the checkout lanes, I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing a few pints to bring over to Cam’s house for our lazy night by the pool.
He’d once mentioned he had a killer sweet tooth and his biggest weakness was cookie dough ice cream. And, as I tossed one last pint of that very flavor into my cart, I smiled over the idea of exploiting that weakness to my very sexy advantage.
Once I reached the checkout line, I scanned the options, trying to figure out which cashier was the quickest and which customers would keep shit moving.
It was always like playing Russian roulette, though.
You just never could predict when you accidentally stepped behind the lady with a binder full of coupons in her purse.
Or the man who loses his ever-loving shit because he thought pork loin was supposed to be on sale that day.
I spotted two possible choices: A middle-aged woman in bright yoga pants who, although she had a pretty large cart of items, appeared to have just finished a workout and most likely wanted to get home and shower. Or an elderly man with a cart that consisted of forty containers of yogurt and a gallon of milk.
Left or right. Red wire or blue wire, I chanted in my mind and prepared to detonate the metaphorical checkout-line bomb.
It didn’t take long before I crossed my fingers, offered up a prayer, and stood behind the lady in the neon pink yoga pants.
She offered a friendly smile over her shoulder as she put her last few items on the belt.
Okay…okay…so far so good…
Things moved steadily. Bread and milk and eggs were scanned and bagged at a proficient pace, and by the time cashier rang the last item across the scanner, I felt confident in my checkout lane choice.
But then, things took a turn.
“Do you have any coupons?” the cashier asked the dreaded grocery store question of my nightmares, and I held my breath in anticipation.
No coupons. No coupons. No coupons.
Yoga Pants’s eyes lit up like a crackling bonfire, and next thing I knew, she reached into her purse and pulled out a mammoth stack of coupons.
She dropped the coupons on the counter with a soft thud, and the air in my lungs released on a sigh.
Goddammit.
If my checkout lane choice had been an actual bomb, this would’ve been the part where the whole flipping grocery store would have been reduced to fragmented steel and ash.
Coupon by fucking coupon, the cashier made slow headway through Yoga Pants’s discount stack, and if I could’ve found a makeshift sofa nearby, I would’ve plopped my ass down for a nap.
Time turned to molasses, and as I watched Old King Yogurt push his cart full of bagged groceries toward the exit door, I mentally cursed myself for my poor life choices.
Knowing I’d be here for a while, I moved my eyes to the magazine rack on my right and scanned through the various options of much-needed reading material to help pass the time.
Women’s Health? Unless, they’re going to tell me cupcakes cure cancer and one donut a day will keep the doctor away, no thanks.
Parenting Magazine? I don’t have any actual children to parent, so that’s out.
Casually, I looked through the options, and just before I’d given up altogether and switched my focus toward the candy rack, one particular headline on a gossip magazine forced my heart to damn near jump out of my throat.
Does Cam Mitchell Have a New Lady Love?
Before I could stop myself, I snagged the tabloid from its rack and flipped through the pages until I found the highlighted article inside.
Oh fuck.
There, blown up in the center of the page, was a grainy photo of Cam on his bike with a woman sitting behind him, her arms wrapped firmly around his waist.
But this wasn’t just any woman.
No, it was me.
Oh. My. God.
I knew the exact moment that photo had been taken.
It was the other night, when we’d decided to take a late-night ride through NYC after Cam had picked me up from the club. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. It’d been well after two in the morning, and honestly, I’d found it exhilarating to cruise through the city’s rarely empty streets with my arms wrapped around Cam’s big, muscular body.
Oh God, is it obvious I’m the woman on the back of his bike?
My lungs tightened, and I moved the magazine nearer to my eyes to inspect it as closely as physically possible.
Luckily, I’d had a full helmet on that night, and besides my long dark locks and the profile of my body, nothing else was visible.
Relief seeped into my pores, but that didn’t last long.
The article was worse. The tabloid called me “Cam’s Mystery Girl,” and they appeared more than determined to find out more details, specifically my name and my face.
This was bad.
No, this was more than bad. This was fucking awful.
One of the absolute worst-case scenarios.
So many things could go wrong if the media connected me to Cam Mitchell.
And fuck did it have the potential to induce one hell of a tragic domino effect.
This case, my career, my fellow officers, both Cam and I, everything and everyone around me would be put at risk.
Time felt nonexistent, and I had no idea how long it had taken the cashier to scan all of Yoga Pants’s coupons. Hell, I felt like I wasn’t even inside of my own body as she scanned my small cart of groceries.
My mind was a million miles away, but somehow, someway, I managed to go through the motions and get myself and my groceries into my car without appearing like a complete lunatic.
But once I was safely inside the driver’s seat and the door was shut, I broke down
Tears pricked my eyes, and my fingers clenched tightly around the steering wheel. The pressure at my temples doubled as even the weight of my hair pulled angrily down, and my heart pumped so hard it felt like it’d actually left my chest.
What in the hell am I going to do?
I finally understood what people meant when they described a moment that felt like their whole world had come crashing down around them. I could feel the heaviness of the rubble, sense the doom that comes with the realization that you might never actually make it out.
I rested my forehead on the steering wheel and watched as my tears dripped onto the leather grip.
I didn’t know what to do, where to go, who to talk to.
I didn’t know
anything but a clawing, cloying, suffocating pain in my chest and the slowly disappearing slivers of light as the precarious debris shifted around me.
Something had to give.
Deep down, I knew it was the thing I most frantically wanted to keep.
The parking lot was full of familiar cars, including Quinn Bailey’s truck, when I pulled into Mavericks Stadium.
He was obviously back from his honeymoon and back in the swing, and I could only imagine the shitshow the other guys were going to make of his reacclimatization.
We were all friends and teammates, and there wasn’t a much better recipe for a whole lot of shit-talking than pledging your life to one woman and then going on the trip that could somehow prove your decision worth it.
I realized that was a convoluted take on lifelong commitment, but we’re talking about football players here. It’s like giving a room full of overgrown, overmuscled children a lot of money and information and seeing what they do with it.
Spoiler alert: It won’t be mature.
The sun was strong, a light breeze keeping the heat down, and I wondered briefly if anyone would be up for doing a body-weight workout on the field rather than trapping ourselves inside the windowless weight room.
I was in too good a mood not to enjoy the beautiful cloudless day while I could.
Sean and Sam Sheffield were coming out of the locker room as I approached it, and I took my shot at changing up the routine. “Hey, guys.”
“Yo, Cam,” Sean greeted.
“You think everybody would be up for some field exercises today rather than the weight room?”
Sean smirked and shook his head. “You’re too late, bro. Quinn already brought it up. Apparently, he’s spent too many days in paradise to coop himself up now that he’s home.”