For the Win

by Rochelle Allison

  I run my fingers down her throat, swallowing the lump in my own. “Should I get my gloves?”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “I’ll take it easy on you.”

  “Promise me you won’t.” I yank her close and kiss her, glad I don’t have to hold back anymore. It’s been torturous, having to wait on her.

  She’s breathing hard when she finally pulls back. “You going to that party later?”

  “What party?” Taking her hand, I lead her into the room I’ve been sharing with Rory, locking it out of habit. We strip out of our red, white and blue, letting it all fall into an indeterminate heap on the floor as we tumble into bed.

  At first it’s just making out, rolling around the messy, too-small bed, laughing when I almost topple out. She plays with my hair, putting it onto a goofy bun, and I play with her boobs, like we have nowhere to be.

  But then Melina climbs on to me in nothing but her little black panties, and the kissing starts to go somewhere. Flipping her over, I lay her flat, kissing my way up her smooth legs. I stop when I get to the small, round scar on her left knee. “I remember this. You fell, going for the ball…”

  “That rich kid shoved me, right into the dirt and—”

  “And Allie tried to beat his ass.” Eighth grade. The memory makes me smile, although we’d been anything but amused at the time. I kiss the scar and move north, dragging my stubble against her inner thighs.

  “Julian,” she breathes, trying to close her legs. “That tickles.”

  “Sorry,” I say, not sorry. Hooking my fingers into her underwear, I peel them off.

  “Camera,” she whispers, reaching for me, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to do.

  “Hold on.” I kneel between her legs, kissing every part of her until she’s on the knife’s edge, wet and ready. And then I kiss her again, making her come apart on my tongue.

  She cries out, chest rising and falling with the exertion of pleasure, and tugs me up by my hair. I kiss her, on her mouth this time, knowing she can taste herself as I push myself inside.

  This time we go slow, stopping and starting and going again. She rolls me on to my back and climbs astride, staring down at me as she rides. I cup her ass in my hands, grabbing her hips, tugging her down so that I can kiss her some more, not caring that my lip hurts like hell. I keep getting hit with the feeling that this was inevitable. That Melina and I make sense, that somehow I always knew it would be her. Even now, when I come, I get that feeling again, the one of completeness with her, and I think she feels it, too.

  Julian: I thought we were done with these.

  Reporter: Really? You thought winning a silver medal in the Olympics would make you less famous?

  Julian: I just thought maybe people would lose interest after they knew everything about me.

  Reporter: Tell me what the future holds for Julian Anderson.

  Julian: *Shrugs* Once the hoopla settles down I’ll get in my van and drive across the country. Maybe twice.

  Reporter: Your van.

  Julian: Yeah, Sally. I miss her so much.

  Reporter: And you’ll do this alone?

  Julian: I think I’ll have a passenger this time. If I can talk her into it.

  Reporter: I have a feeling you can talk just about anyone into just about anything.

  Epilogue

  The sun rises early, warming the roof of the van. The sound of pounding surf rolls through the open windows and salty air coats my tongue. Another day in paradise.

  I roll to my side and spread my hand over Melina’s curvy hip, wondering if I should wake her. Hmmm…maybe not. Instead I check my blood sugar and eat a quick snack before getting out my notebook.

  I thought I knew everything about this woman—we’ve known each other since we were kids—but in the past few months I’ve learned all the small things.

  She likes to sleep late. She’s an impressive cook over the camp stove. And even though she can be modest by day, she loves to skinny dip at dusk. Mostly I’ve learned that her love is not something to be toyed with. She loves hard, she loves fiercely, and for some insane reason she loves me.

  The property we’re on has a house, one that we use for showers and the refrigerator. Allie’s rented it for a month with that son-of-a-bitch Mendez, who, despite my arguments to the contrary, seems to be here for a while if not for good.

  She’s in the last month of physical therapy after her surgery. Playing professionally is out of the question, but she’s been invited on as an assistant coach for the National Team which suits her fine. Mendez leaves for Europe in two weeks, where he’ll play midfield for one of the smaller leagues.

  I’ve barely written three words when I hear, “God, do you have to be so loud?” in a voice rough with sleep.

  “Apparently,” I reply. Okay, maybe I’m being intentionally loud. I glance over, taking in the strip of skin beneath the frayed hem of my faded red and black sweatshirt. The 15 is barely visible at this point. Melina wears it on purpose in the stuffy van, knowing I’ll peel it off her before she starts to sweat.

  “What are you working on?” she asks, stretching her arms and legs as far as they will go. My eyes stay glued to that strip of golden brown skin. I touch her flat stomach, imagining it swollen and filled with my babies. “Jules.” She flicks my ear, bringing me back to reality.

  “I have a deadline for Haley and Veronica.” Yes, the actor and the reporter. The reason Haley wanted my number that night was to talk to me about a project promoting sports and wellness for youth with diabetes. After Brazil I realized how many young players connected with my story—even the dumbass parts from college. Haley had a great idea and connections, but I lured Veronica in to help. There’s no one better in the business.

  “When is it due?” Mel props up on her elbow. The sheet slides from her hips, revealing the colorful rings of her little Olympic tattoo. Mine is identical, only it’s on my shoulder. I trace her circles with my finger.

  “Uh, I’ve got some time.”

  “Do you? Edgar needs us at the fields at nine. Camp starts today, you know. You’ve got a lot of irons in the fire.”

  A year ago I would have laughed at such a concept. Now? It’s June, and Edgar and the Ocean Beach Rec Center talked us into doing a soccer camp for the kids between Melina’s endorsement obligations and the US National Qualifiers later in the summer. Mel convinced Allie to participate and Allie talked Mendez into a demonstration and the whole thing kicks off today.

  “Speaking of fires…” I toss my notebook over my shoulder and inch closer. “There’s one that needs stoking right now.” She makes a face but I know she wants to laugh. Crawling up her body, I wedge my knee between her thighs and kiss her until she’s wriggling beneath me, pulling my shorts off with her feet.

  I pull that sweatshirt up, kissing her perfect tits. She giggles and sighs, trying to urge me up, but I’m southbound, kissing her in places that make her tremble and say my name. It’s our morning routine, right before eggs and coffee and our morning jog. We do what we do best-the only thing we know how to do—hard and for keeps. We play for the win.

  For more exciting Olympic themed novels check out Summer Attractions by Beth Bolden and Going for the Gold by L.V. Lewis.

  Acknowledgements

  Rochelle: I'd like to thank everyone who has encouraged me to write, most especially: Mom, Mr. Horn (11th grade English), Kelley, Caleigh and Amanda, Anna, Michelle, Nic, the I.S.O.Gs, Grisell, Christina, Amber, and really, everyone in the fandom. You know who you are and I adore you. Also, my two boys, who inspire me, and my husband, Andre, for always, always believing in my words and my ability to make a living from them. Make sure you subscribe to Rochelle’s Mailing List.

  Angel: For The Win has been in my mind for years as I watched a brother/sister pair walk up and down the sidewalk to the soccer fields near my home every day. They would walk to the fields and I would go for a run and I would think about them, my own love for the sport and how to weave this into an inter
esting story. So for those two, who have no idea they inspired me, I say thanks. I also want to thank my friends Beth and Alicia who live with family members who have Type 1 diabetes. I mined them for as much information as possible. I hope I got it right. I’m sure people will let me know if I didn’t. As I researched the idea of a young man with Type 1 playing high level athletics I came across so many inspiring stories. These kids/young adults are unstoppable. (Added—right before we published I found a fantastic beta for the Type 1 stuff. Thankfully I got most of it right! The things I didn’t we were able to alter. So thanks so much, Jess, for your help!)

  Thanks to Ro for agreeing to do this with me, Vanessa for reading it over, as always, TM Franklin for the amazing cover and a HUGE thanks to all the beta readers out there that didn’t hold back and hopefully made this a better story. Make sure you subscribe to Angel’s Mailing List.