by Marni Mann
This bruise will take days to go away, and I can’t wash the guilt from my body. The marking will be in Cannon’s face until it fades away—a constant reminder that I’m sleeping with another man—and that makes me no better than that image from the Polaroid.
After I throw shorts and a tank top on, I find Cannon on the beach—his favorite spot to think. Sitting in the sand at the end of the property, he’s staring at the waves, watching each crest build and then crash.
He might ask me to leave, but I sit down next to him anyway. And then I test how mad he is by reaching for his hand.
When he doesn’t pull away, I take it as a sign to continue. “I’m sorry, Cannon. So sorry.”
“For what?” he whispers. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
How can he say that? Nothing about swinging is right. It’s unnatural. It’s complicated and confusing.
“Maybe what we did last night wasn’t wrong, but a hickey is disrespectful to you. West shouldn’t have left a mark on my neck.”
“I’m sure you liked it,” he says. He’s not being spiteful, just honest.
And the truth is, I did like it. I love everything West does to me.
“I really am sorry.”
He glances at me for a second and then focuses on the water again. “I see the way you look at him. Even when we’re talking, I see it.”
I stare at West the second I see him. Our eyes collide, and I can’t look away, so there’s no use in denying what Cannon is saying. But I still feel so much guilt, and I panic.
“And I saw the way you were looking at Tilly in that picture. You’ve never fucked my ass, Cannon. Never. I didn’t even know you were into that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing? It’s just sex, Piper. For all I know, you’ve done the same with West.”
“I haven’t,” I whisper. “But I might.”
It’s a low blow, one I instantly regret. Especially when he lies back in the sand with his hands over his face. Growling into them, he just yells until he gets all of his frustration out. It only makes me feel worse about myself.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I’ve never done anything like that.”
He sits up and says, “Then, go call Tilly, and set something up. Cross something else off your bucket list.”
“Bucket list? You think that’s what I’m doing?”
“I don’t know what we’re doing anymore, Piper. My head’s so fucked up. When did we become these people?”
“I don’t know.”
But I do. At first, we were nothing more than two people who lacked passion and purpose. Two people stuck in a relationship full of gaps we didn’t know how to fill on our own. But it’s become so much more than that. Cannon said he was doing this for us, but I don’t believe him anymore. He’s doing this for him. Only I have no idea why.
“Do you want to stop? We can end things right now.” I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.
“You ask me that every day.”
“Because I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”
He stares off into the distance and offers nothing—the typical Cannon reaction these days when I pry for information.
“This arrangement makes you happy. I’m in as long as you’re happy.”
Happy. I hate that damn word. I’m tired of him acting like he’s fucking another woman only for my sake.
“And what does it make you?”
“Satisfied,” he says with a shrug, like he really doesn’t care if we figure our shit out or not. Maybe he could care less if he gets anything out of swinging.
But he is getting something; he’s getting more sex than he’s ever had. Adventurous sex from a woman who’s nothing like me yet exactly what he needs.
His answer bothers me, but it’s enough to keep me on this crazy merry-go-round. I just have a bad feeling that the first person who jumps is going to get hurt the worst.
West
The client Jesse is after me to talk to is Eddy Madden, a goalie for Philly, who spent fifteen years in the league before he shattered his Achilles and was forced to retire. He didn’t say all that in the message he left me last night. He just mentioned his first and last name, and I knew the rest. Philly is one of Boston’s biggest rivals, and I played against Eddy for years. I remember seeing the footage of him getting carried off the ice. It was something all the guys watched and hoped like hell it wouldn’t happen to us.
Five years later, it was my turn to get carried off.
Eddy called while I was at Piper’s, probably around the time when I first stuck my finger in her ass. Had I not been at her place, I would have answered the phone.
Seeing that it’s before seven and too early to call him now, I get dressed and go into the bathroom to wash up. Tilly’s still asleep when I come out. Her bare leg is hanging off the bed, hair fanning across the pillow, the profile of her tit showing me how hard her nipple is.
She sleeps as wild as she fucks.
I kiss her forehead and say, “Going for a run.”
“Mmm,” she groans as she rolls onto her stomach.
The sun is just starting to peek through the clouds as I take my first step onto the sand. Before I begin, I quickly raise my arms over my head and kick my heels toward my ass, stretching each of my limbs. My runs are different now than when I first moved to Florida. Weeks ago, I pounded the beach until my calves ached, and it hurt to breathe. Now, I’m here to see her.
Fucking Piper.
The more time I spend with her, the harder it is to get her out of my head.
It’s been a long time since I thought about a woman this much.
With Tilly, we went at it the night I met her. We tore off each other’s clothes in the elevator, and I was inside her pussy before we were even through the door of my condo. It was hot from the beginning. But she wasn’t on my mind as much; she was just there. Always there. And, when we were together, I was inside her. It continued that way until she got pregnant.
That was the moment we both paused and realized things between us were about to change.
She didn’t have a doctor; she didn’t even have health insurance. I had both, and with my connections, she could have the best prenatal care in the city. So, we went to the courthouse and got hitched. It wasn’t anything fancy, definitely not romantic, but I made up for it by giving her four carats and a two-week honeymoon in Hawaii.
Shit was good between us.
Her belly was getting bigger, her cheeks filled out, and her ass was nice and thick. Damn, she was so horny when she was knocked up.
But, shortly after we returned from Hawaii, she lost him.
Asher West.
He had a name and blue fucking walls in his nursery with a stuffed giraffe in the corner by his crib.
Her doctor said it wasn’t that uncommon to lose a baby in the second trimester. It wasn’t anything Tilly had done; it just happened. And, before we left the appointment, he said we could try again in a few months.
As soon as she could, Tilly had an IUD put in.
We weren’t going back to that place for a long time, and we both agreed on that.
We knew Asher wouldn’t have strengthened our relationship. I’m sure he would have only weakened it. Still, I wanted him. I wished he were on the beach with me right now, that I could wake up to his cries and take him to his first hockey game.
Now, a good amount of time has passed, and I’m no closer to wanting a kid. Especially given that I’m on the beach, looking for the woman I slept with last night. But, when I reach the spot where we usually pass each other, she isn’t there.
I stop and jog in place, looking in the distance to see if she’s heading this way. I don’t see her, so I check behind me in case I somehow missed her.
She isn’t there either.
I keep on going and slow again when I reach her place. Her patio door’s closed, but the lights are on in the kitchen, so I know someone’s awake. Even though I have my phone with m
e, I don’t shoot her a text. There’s too much of a risk of Cannon seeing it, and I don’t want that to happen.
So, I keep on running past her house and turn around just before I get to Tilly’s parents’ business. I still haven’t given her dad an answer on buying him out, and that isn’t a conversation I want to have this morning.
When I get back on my patio, I take a seat to catch my breath and stare at the phone in my hand. Eddy’s message said to call him anytime. It’s still pretty early, but I don’t want to put too much thought into it and worry about some of the shit he might bring up, and I certainly don’t want to forget.
I scroll until I find his number and press it.
“West,” he says as he answers, “I’m glad you called.”
I rest my elbows on my knees and stare at my feet. “Is this a good time?”
“It’s not even six in the morning, and I’m just pouring my first cup. But, yeah, this works for me.”
Damn it, I didn’t even consider the time difference in Denver where Jesse had told me Eddy now lived.
“Sorry, man, I forgot how early it is out there.”
“It sounds like you’ve been working out?”
I sit up and lean back into the chair, trying to stop myself from huffing into the phone. “I just got back from a run.”
“Let me guess. You’re beating the hell out of your body, doing three workout sessions a day? You’re trying to make sense of where you’re supposed to be, but you have no idea, and you don’t think you ever will?”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “How’d you know?”
He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he thinks what I said was funny; it’s more like he’s in agreement with me.
“That’s why we’re on the phone, brother. I know what that feels like all too well.”
“Tell me it gets better.”
“Much.” I hear him swallow his coffee. “You’re always going to miss the league, the guys, the camaraderie, the competition, and you’ll always want to return to the ice. Nothing will ever take its place or fill that void. But you will find a purpose again. Something else is out there for you, West. I promise, there’s life after hockey.”
Once he was forced to retire, Eddy took a few years off, and then he became a commentator for several of the networks. Now, he travels the country and talks shop with other athletes and analysts. He is as close to hockey as he can get without being on the ice. I’m sure he isn’t commentating for the money. He was one of the highest-paid goalies in the league. I assume he does it to be close to the sport he loves.
“So, you’re telling me to consider some of the jobs Jesse’s offered me?”
“Not yet. You need some time. I really don’t think rushing back out there will help you in any way. You’ve got to let your body heal first, let things settle in your mind. You need to spend some time with your family. Then, once you can differentiate your head from your ass, you can ease into the offers.”
I gaze out at the beach—waiting for the ocean to turn into a rink, for the sand to morph into seats, for the beachgoers to start chanting, Boston! Boston!
But there is no ice, no seats, no chanting.
I take a deep breath and say, “Fuck, man, it’s going to look so different than what I’m used to.”
“I’m not going to sugarcoat it; it’s going to look a hell of a lot different. But, when things become right again, you’ll know where you’re supposed to be and what you should be doing. You won’t have to weigh your options.”
I believe him.
It doesn’t feel that way right now. Shit, maybe it will take years before I feel like myself again. But there has to be life after hockey.
“I appreciate this, Eddy. I didn’t think talking about it would help, but it has.”
Jesus, Jesse was right when he said I needed this. My agent knows I’m not one to open up to a stranger, but Eddy doesn’t feel like one at all.
“You haven’t spoken to anyone about it, have you?”
I glance over my shoulder. There still aren’t any lights on. “Not really.”
“I get it. Completely.”
I move to the end of the deck, leaning my arms on the wooden banister. “Would you be up for having another chat? Maybe in a few weeks?”
“Even better, why don’t we plan on doing this once a week? If for no other reason than I can bitch to you about the standings and how Boston is kicking Philly’s ass.”
I still haven’t checked the standings or watched a single game or scanned the injury reports. Whenever my old teammates check in, I cut them off before they can talk shop.
But I miss it.
Goddamn it, I miss it.
The knot in the pit of my stomach clenches at the thought of my boys beating Philly.
“I like that idea,” I answer.
“Same time next week?”
“Yeah, man, that works. I’ll give you a call.”
“I look forward to it,” he says.
And we both hang up.
Piper
Cannon’s right; the hickey West left on my neck wasn’t entirely my fault but it’s still a mark on my body that he has to look at. For that, I am sorry, and I want to make it up to him.
After I make dinner reservations, I hop in the shower and set out a dress I was looking for an excuse to wear.
I take my time with putting a layer of foundation over the bruise on my neck and then blend it with some powder. It’s as close to gone as I can get it when I hear Cannon’s car pulling into the garage.
Wearing only a black bra, matching panties, and stockings, I’m standing just inside the front door when Cannon comes home. His face is buried in the stack of mail in his hand, and at first, he doesn’t see me.
But, when he raises his head, he does a double take. “Shit, Pipes. Are we swinging again tonight?”
I shake my head, hating that he assumes the only person I’d dress up for is West. That I wouldn’t want to wear something special for him and go out. That’s why I take the mail from his hands and toss it on the table, not caring where it lands. And then I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his lips, so he knows whom I want tonight.
“This is all for you.”
“For me?” he questions. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “Can’t I do something special for my husband? I made us reservations at Simmer.”
“The new place? How’d you get in there?”
“I know a girl who knows a girl.”
Cannon squeezes my ass in the palm of his hand and finally stops asking questions long enough to kiss me back. “Am I going to get to take these off you later?”
He’s talking about the stockings. They’ve always been his favorite.
“You’d better,” I tell him. “I don’t want you to hold back, Cannon. After we get home, I want you to do whatever you want with me.”
Running his thumb across my cheek, he says, “Is this because of the picture?”
I blink, but I don’t look away. He needs to see that, while the picture bothered me, I’m not mad at him for taking it. What he does with Tilly during their time together is between them. And, in turn, I’m hoping me getting past the photograph will help him do the same with the hickey.
“No. Not really. I just want to be who you need me to be.”
“You are, Piper. What I do with her has nothing to do with you. It’s different.”
“Different in a good way or bad way?”
“Neither. It’s not wrong to want to take my time with my wife,” he says.
And therein lies part of the problem. Why can’t he be that dirty with me, too? Why does he turn into someone else when he’s with Tilly and then morph back into his sweet, sensitive persona when we’re in bed?
Maybe, tonight, I can bring that side out of him, force him to toss me around and pull my hair.
“But if you need more, if you want more, take it. Take whatever you need from me, okay?”
He looks i
nto my eyes, and I see the hesitation, but he nods and licks his lips, and then he kisses me again. This time, it’s deeper, and I feel him harden against my stomach.
“Are you going to make me wait until after dinner?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper.
I want him so hard that he forgets about being gentle and fucks me with as much force as he fucked Tilly.
“Go put your dress on then before I can’t stop.”
My clit pulses, and I can’t decide who’ll be more ready for dessert after we finish dinner—him or me. All I know is, I want to make him happy. Destroying us was never part of the plan.
Once I’m dressed, he helps me in the car, and we drive across town to Simmer. The restaurant’s only been open a couple of days, and getting reservations isn’t easy, especially if you’re not a celebrity or some kind of star. And that’s exactly what I feel like tonight—red-carpet worthy.
Cannon appreciates my ass as he pulls out my chair and whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to touch you.”
And then he sits down across from me, smirking at the blush splayed across my cheeks. Whatever we’re doing, it’s working.
“You look beautiful. Do you know what you want to drink? Wine maybe?”
“Thank you,” I tell him as I smile behind my menu.
This is what I wanted from swinging—to be able to try new things and awaken a new side to our relationship. So that when we’re alone, we think about what we have and how we can make it even better.
“I’ll have a glass of pinot.”
“How about I get a bottle?” he says. “We aren’t in a hurry, are we?”
I bite my lip because I know what he’s hinting at. The sooner we get home, the sooner he can peel this dress off my body. I clench my thighs together in anticipation, and Cannon shifts his foot underneath the table, brushing against my heel.
“It’s no rush,” I tell him. Even though I’m ready to come in this chair.
Cannon orders steak for the both of us, and once the waitress is gone, he reaches across the table for my hand. “I’m glad you set this up tonight.”