Tight Game

by Skye Callahan

  Sure thing?

  Or no thing?

  Pierson follows her out onto the balcony, grabbing her ass, and feeling for the edge of her skirt in full view of everyone.

  Is she really that drunk?

  She's been off the market for more than five years since she settled down with Smug-Face.

  I never really cared to learn his name. I could also call him Butterfly-Killer. That seems like a much better name tonight.

  Jasmine leans toward my face, but I immediately stretch back to see around her.

  Maybe that wasn't such a good idea, but this niggling in the back of my head says I'm going to regret not being the good guy tonight far more than I’ll regret jading one more woman.

  Jasmine starts to argue when I stand, dumping her out of my lap, but I'm across the room before I hear her words. As soon as I slide the balcony door open, I'm welcomed by the sight of Londyn vomiting all over Pierson.

  I guess she didn't need my help getting rid of him.

  She stumbles back, covering her mouth and grabbing for the railing while Pierson runs off. Her head bobbles and I catch her before she topples over.

  "I thinked to... Fuck."

  I'm sure that's not what she intended to say, but it's damn hilarious. She’s a fucking irresistible drunk.

  "Where are your shoes?" I ask.

  She looks down, wiggles her bare toes and shrugs.

  "Feet hurt. Back hurt." She throws her head back. "But I can't feel my face."

  "Uh huh." There goes getting laid tonight.

  Although I could just put her to bed and come back to the party.

  Right.

  My night is over.

  I lift her up, hoping the sudden motion doesn't initiate another round of projectile vomit, but she sinks into my arms.

  Outside, I flag one of the waiting hired cars over. Nash wanted to ensure that no one would be driving away from the party drunk. We’re overly cautious before the start of what we’re hoping will be an amazing season to turn around a not-so-amazing recent record.

  Seems like Londyn needs a turnaround herself.

  With Londyn settled in the back seat, I straighten to close the door, but another arm grabs me from behind.

  "Jasmine," I begin to explain, just before her hand leaves a burning imprint on my left cheek.

  "My name is Tamara," she yells. Then splashes what's left of her drink in my face and stomps away.

  Well, shit. I wipe the alcohol out of my eyes, glance at her ass one last time before the door closes behind her, and then join Londyn in the back of the car.

  As soon as the car pulls away from the curb, she flops across the seat, her head landing in my lap.

  "Why are you wet?" she asks, her nose crinkling. "You smell like oranges. And alcohol."

  Then, she sits up and covers her mouth.

  All I need is to get puked on. That would make this an epically historic night.

  "1945 Jackson Ave," I tell the driver when we reach the exit to the parking lot. My house is much closer than the cabin—and that leaves a lot less time for anything to go wrong before we have a bathroom within crawling distance.

  But by the time we get to my house, she’s passed out anyway.

  Bristol’s going to kill me.

  But where was she when her friend needed her? Probably with her tongue down Nash’s throat again. Not a sight I want to be etched in my memory.

  Londyn rouses slightly when I lay her on the edge of the bed to pull back the covers. Noticing the gunk down the front of her dress, I pull her up, resting her against my chest to unzip the back of her dress. My fingers pause over the small scars around the base of her spine. Scars. They’re all part of who we are, what we do, what we’ve been through. But the most poignant of those scars we hide on the inside.

  She mutters something, but I can’t understand it through her slur.

  If only this were under better circumstances. Or she was anyone else.

  I pull down her dress, toss it over the footboard and just as quickly pull the covers up over her. Before my dick gets any ideas.

  Before I have the urge to look longer.

  We flirt. We tease.

  We push each other.

  And we walk away.

  That’s how it goes. Every time.

  She’s the girl I can’t touch. The girl who might bring me down if I ever dared.

  But there’s one final nail in that coffin. The gold band wrapped around her finger.

  I fuck. I play. I make up my own rules as I go, but the one I don’t bend, the one I don’t cross is cheating.

  Fourth Quarter

  Declan

  As soon as the Luncheon is concluded, Londyn stands and bolts toward the front door.

  Has she changed her mind?

  Either way, I don’t feel like dealing with the crowd out front again, so I grab her arm and pull her my way.

  “What?”

  “Back door,” I whisper. We cut through the crowd and into a back hallway toward the restrooms, and then through a steel door to the stairwell, where a final door leads out to the parking lot. A few of the others have followed us including Bristol and Nash.

  Bristol takes Londyn by the elbow before I can whisk her away. “Much as I’d like to intervene on wherever you two are in such a hurry to be”—she exhales loudly—“you’re both responsible adults... For the most part, so be safe, don’t lose your phone again, and we’d better have some serious girl time before you think about leaving.”

  “Absolutely,” Londyn grins. “And you can tell me exactly what you were drinking at the party. It was delicious.”

  Bristol narrows her eyes like she’s trying to look intimidating, but the goofy grin spoils the effect. They’re all trying to play it down, but even I know what my little sister is hiding. And it’s not going to stay hidden for very long.

  “Enjoy the weekend, sis,” I kiss her cheek. “But don’t expect to hear from us for a while.”

  “Worried about disturbing the neighbors in town?” Londyn asks as we pull on the road leading to the cabin.

  “Maybe a bit,” I admit, although I’m sure all of my neighbors have heard their fair share.

  “At least I have clothes there, and I could use a good soak in that hot tub.”

  She’ll definitely need a soak when I’m done with her. She’s been playing coy since we got into the car and that’s driving me just about as mad as seeing her standing naked in my living room. Moreso.

  I squeeze her thigh, pulling it toward me. “And a drawer full of condoms.”

  She scoffs. “You were serious about that?”

  “I have stashes everywhere, can’t be too unprepared.”

  “Well, aren’t you a little boy scout,” she says with a thick layer of teasing condescension.

  I press the gas harder. I’m going to nail her before we even get to the front door.

  The tires bite at the gravel as I stop in front of the cabin, throw the SUV into park, rip off my seatbelt, and jump out. Londyn is just climbing out as I reach her side. I grab her hips, lifting her against me, and pinning her to the back door in a motion that rocks the SUV and closes her door.

  She squeezes my shoulders, then her hands move to my hair, fisting it and pulling my mouth closer. “Don’t crumble under the pressure now,” she whispers. “I believe you said you’d run to the end of the world, and we’re not quite there yet.”

  Tell that to my cock.

  Her lips are parted and waiting, but I pause there, holding on to the anticipation for one final breath. This is it. The game that stands to end all others.

  My mouth crashes against hers, and her tongue flicks against my upper lip, teasing me with her taste and a hint of the white wine she’d sipped during the luncheon. She tasted better than wine or Champaign, or the most expensive drinks I’d ever bought.

  Still tangled in each other, we stepped away from the SUV. London unbuttons my shirt while I lift up the hem of her top to trace the skin underneath. When
we reach the door and pause for me to unlock it, she lifts the blouse over her head, throwing it on the floor as soon we’re inside. My shirt joins it. Then her heels. Skirt. My pants. Underwear. All left through the living room like a trail in case we can’t find our way back out.

  I’m positive that won’t be a worry any time soon.

  Londyn’s pupils darken her eyes as I sit on the edge of the bed and pull her closer. Exploring her chest and stomach with my mouth until her fingers dig into my biceps. She pushes me back, but I don’t let her, starting my exploration all over again.

  “You’re. Driving. Me. Insane,” she growls.

  “Good.” I breathe the word against her nipple, and then take it into my mouth, rolling it with my tongue.

  “Declan,” she whispers on a sharp exhale.

  I moan in response, not wanting to give up my current acquisition. Needing more of her salty taste and soft skin, I lift her up and lay her on the bed next to me, her legs still dangling on the side. Then I kneel to the floor between her legs, parting her with my tongue and taking her clit between my lips.

  “Oh… My….” She fists my hair, holding me between her legs. Enveloping me in her scent as I lick, nip, and tease until her toes dig into the floor and she grabs at the mattress. When the curl of her taught body and the high moans and coos of her heavy breathing tell me she’s right at the edge, I stop.

  “Fuck,” she grunts.

  But I’m not yet done. I climb onto the bed, pulling her up with me until we lie in the center, and her legs are wrapped around my hips. Every time she moves, it amplifies the throbbing in my cock until I feel like a high school kid again. I press my lips to her neck and inhale. For what I’d considered would be my ruinous end, every sensation, delicate motion, and rushed breath seems to bring a promise of something more.

  I trace her collarbone with kisses, prolonging the moment until she rocks against me, slipping her hand between us, and taking charge of my erection. She presses the head of my cock to her entrance, lifting her hips a few inches.

  I pull her hand away, pinning them above her and balancing there, so close to claiming every single inch of her. She pouts for a second, but it’s erased when I slam into her and her eyes flutter shut.

  There’s nothing beyond this. Nothing sweeter than her moans. Nothing hotter than the feeling of being inside her and freeing every sensation of pleasure. She wriggles beneath me as I readjust, pushing deeper inside of her and grabbing the headboard. I slam harder with each thrust, driving my cock deeper and deeper. She grabs at my shoulders, then my back, lifting her hips up to meet mine and pulling me closer with her ankles.

  Then, her back arches, her head rolls back, and she screams, shuddering around me and unlocking the burning tingle that shot from the base of my spine to the tip of my cock.

  Londyn

  It takes me a long time to float back down to earth, but when I finally do, Declan is still holding me in his arms. I’m surrounded by his smell, his touch, with his arms, leg, and sheets all wrapped around me in some kind of mess I can’t imagine climbing out of.

  I don’t want to leave it. The serenity I’ve searched so long to find had been waiting right here all along, teasing me, flirting with me.

  But as the room darkens as the sun moves over the high tree-line to the west, the line that insists on haunting me catches my eye again. This time, I don’t stiffen, I don’t move, I just take a deep breath.

  There’s no turning back now.

  “Stop staring at it,” Declan whispers, placing his hand over mine.

  “What about your rule?” I ask.

  “You’re the rule breaker, Londyn. You just shattered them all.” He tenderly kisses my neck. “But I don’t need a fucking ring, a piece of paper, or any legal document to prove what I know or how I feel. Neither would he if he really loved you, or you if you really loved him.”

  “I did once. At least I thought so, but I also never thought he’d cheat on me.”

  “That broken rule is on him, then.” Declan squeezes my hand, then kisses the tan line where the ring used to be.

  “Now I just have to go back and sort out this whole mess he started.” I imagine stepping off that plane back in Chicago, and the very though has my blood running cold. But where did I really expect this to go? I know Declan. I know his pattern, too.

  “Or not,” he says.

  I wrestle with the sheet to turn around and see his face, but he’s perfectly serious this time. And instead of explaining, his presses against my lower back until I lose the focus to argue.

  He pulls on my hip and adjusts so he’s propped up on one elbow. “Roll to your stomach.”

  I do as he says, and inch by inch, he chases away the pain and tension once again.

  “Why go back to Chicago when you have all of this right here?” he asks.

  “Hugh’s going to drag me to court, and if he finds out about any of this, I’m sure he’ll be fighting fire with fire.”

  “Isn’t that why you pay a lawyer? You don’t have to be there every day.”

  He’s right but….

  “So what?” I roll up to face him. “You want me to stay here and what?”

  “This.” His finger traces my jawline, pulling me forward until our lips meet again. Nothing will ever replace the memory of his taste or the pleasure of his touch. But I can think of numerous things that will ruin just how I remember it.

  “Until you get bored? I know your game, and I’m fine—”

  “No, Londyn.” He rolls me over, crawling on top of me again until I’m pinned between his hands and knees, staring up into his eyes. “I told you I’d run to the end of the world, and that’s where I caught you. There is nothing after this. No one but you. It’s your play, but whether you stay or go, know this, I always knew my part in the game would end with you.”

  Third Quarter

  Londyn

  My brain has been replaced with concrete.

  I’m certain of it.

  Defective, cracked concrete, but just as heavy. Maybe it’s some kind of lead-based concrete, heavier than normal, and poisoning my body as well.

  I finally dare to open my eyes.

  Where the fuck am I?

  I clutch the sheets to my chest. My dress is draped over the footboard, so I slink down and grab it, but with one smell, I opt not to slip it on again. Not unless I don’t have any other options. Then, I notice a bottle of water on the nightstand with two white pills and a note in Declan’s handwriting.

  Aspirin. There’s more water in the fridge if you wake up while I’m out for a run.

  ~D

  Declan brought me home. Got me nearly naked. I peek under the sheets again.

  Were we both so drunk that we…?

  Not in a million years.

  I break the seal on the bottle and chase the two pills down with a long drink. Maybe I should have been counting my drinks last night. Not that I would have stopped if I had a number.

  Wrapping the sheet around myself like a toga, I open the top drawer of the dresser—hoping not to find anything embarrassing like a cache of condoms or some shit. Luckily, I find his T-shirts instead and quickly pull one over my head. It covers the important bits, but that’s about it. Better than a puke-stained dress any day.

  I wonder who I puked on.

  I’ve never been black-out drunk.

  Damn.

  My head pounds with every movement or breath, and I think if I touch my hair, it might all fall out. Or scream.

  Stretching the shirt down as far as it’ll go, I peek out of the room.

  “Hey,” Declan calls from the kitchen.

  Spotted already.

  I tug at the shirt again. “I—“ I also have no words. I’m supposed to be on the other side of this encounter. On the fully-clothed side.

  “Want some breakfast?” he asks.

  Nothing makes him uncomfortable. Nothing.

  “Sure,” I say, creeping toward the bar that separates the kitchen from the dini
ng room. AT least it shields my bottom half from his sights.

  Declan sets a glass of orange juice in front of me, and a few minutes later, presents me with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.

  I don’t feel like eating, but I force the food down, both to keep the encounter from getting any more awkward and in hopes that it might bury the hangover.

  Declan just stands and watches every bite. “I assume you’re still joining us at the luncheon?” he asks.

  That had been the plan. I drop my fork and glance around the room, all I’d seen was my dress. “My phone?”

  Declan’s eyes widen. “Possibly with your shoes”—he puts up his hands—“which is nowhere around here.”

  “Perfect.” I slump forward until my back reminds me how horrible that idea was. “Have any clothes that will fit me?”

  “Probably not.” He scoffs and takes my empty plate.

  “Did we….” I lose the words and my gumption.

  “Have sex?” he finishes. “Passed out isn’t my flavor, but believe me, you would, without a doubt, know if we’d had sex.”

  Unable to handle his intense gaze for another second, I drop my head back, and he walks away. I don’t know if I’m thankful or not.

  That cocky smirk almost makes regret that missed opportunity, but I stare down at the gold band on my finger. I’ve known Declan long enough to know that’s against his rules. He may have a new woman every time he blinks, but cheating crosses some fine line that he set his mind to years ago.

  I take off my ring and spin it on the granite countertop. Maybe flings are all there is. No forevers. Just a bunch of chance encounters. Like the white tan line across my ring finger, everything in life fades. Tarnishes. Rusts.

  While I’m lost in thought, Declan moves around behind me. And then I feel a thumb press into my back. Right into the muscles in my lower back that ache constantly. It feels so good, I moan and release my neck, dropping my head forward. “Mmmh, how’d you know?”

  “I’ve had a lot of experience with pain. You know there’s a specialist down here. One of the best—“

  “One of the best….” I laugh. “They’re always one of the best until they’re telling you how lucky you are to walk, and that you shouldn’t ask for much more.”