by Kennedy Ryan
“This whole thing is incredibly presumptuous,” I say, irritation coloring my words. “Bringing me here without my permission. Ordering Vanilla Coke, which I’ve never had—”
“You’ll love it.”
“And buttered popcorn, which I don’t have enough points left for.”
“Points?” Dark blond brows pucker. “What do you mean points?”
Growing up overweight, struggling with it for so many years, I didn’t realize how much shame I held around food. In public, I’d imagine the chiding conversations thin people were having about what I’d ordered. I conjured up their secret dismay that I selected the burger when there was a perfectly good garden salad on the menu. I was self-conscious about my portions, always concerned I’d gotten so much people would say, “Ah, that’s why.” I didn’t want people to think about food and me in the same sentence because then they would “remember” I was overweight. To talk about dieting with someone draws attention to “my problem.” To talk about it with Jared, considering our unique, humiliating past, would have been nearly impossible.
But that was then. This is now. This is me now.
“Weight Watchers,” I say. “We assign points to food, and you’re allowed only so many points each day. I don’t think I have enough for buttered popcorn.”
“Oh. I get that.” His expression doesn’t change, but he drapes an arm along the back of my seat. “You look great, Banner.”
Before I can awkwardly thank him, he goes on.
“But you’ve always looked great to me,” he says, mesmerizing me with the forthright admiration in his eyes. “I can tell you’re happier now with how you look, so that’s important, but you’ve always been beautiful to me. I hope you know that.”
A lump forms in my throat, hot and huge. God, why does he have to be this way? How does he look at me with the same . . . intent now as he did that night? Like I’m the same person? When most guys didn’t even bother to look twice then, he looked at me like this. Like he’s looking at me tonight and doesn’t even notice that now I actually have a waistline. I’m on the verge of completely humiliating myself when Sally walks back up.
Jared takes the popcorn. “Thanks. What’s the movie, by the way?
“An Affair To Remember,” Sally says. “It’s Oldie But Goodie night. Not many folks here. Sorry. I have no idea what it’s about.”
I at least know the plot. Cary Grant. Deborah Kerr. Both in relationships with other people, but fall for each other. The universe hates me.
“I’ve never seen this,” Jared says. “Have you?”
“No.” I discipline my lips into a firm line. “But I’m not watching this movie and I’m not eating that popcorn or drinking Vanilla Coke. Take me home, Jared.”
He considers me in silence for a moment then plops the popcorn between us and sips his drink.
“No.”
Why does he challenge me and torture me at every turn?
“You could have any girl sitting here eating popcorn and drinking dessert soda with you while you watch this movie,” I say hotly. “Take me home and find one of them.”
“No.” His expression hardens into implacability. “Eat the popcorn, drink the coke or don’t. I don’t care. Just turn around and watch the damn movie.”
“Why?” I demand, my voice ascending in volume. “I don’t want to see this movie, and I could be home in an hour.”
“Exactly. I don’t want to take you home,” he says, matching my volume, the fierceness of my glare. “To be a damn genius, you are so obtuse. I don’t care if it’s Godzilla or Frankenstein or fucking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It doesn’t matter what’s on the screen, Banner. I just don’t want you to leave.”
Dread and delight wrangle inside me. He’s on the verge of saying things that could take me down a dark path, one I would never consider following. A path that breaks all my rules and violates all my codes. One that could break my best friend’s heart.
“But, Jared—”
“Eat your popcorn,” he says irritably. “The movie’s starting.”
I sit back and fold my arms, a physical barricade between my heart and the man eating popcorn beside me. Yes, I’ve had my reservations about the relationship with Zo, but I’m still with him. I can’t allow this thing seething between Jared and me, this thing that took up where it left off one cold December night a decade ago, to compromise my future.
My body has been reacting to Jared all day, like once I knew that night was as real to him as it was to me, all my defenses fell and I’m left with this dangerous vulnerability that could wreck my relationship, destroy my friendship. Hell, set back my career. If Zo, one of our biggest clients, walked away from Bagley because I cheated on him, Cal would have legitimate grounds to dismiss me, or at the very least hand the LA office over to someone else.
This calls for popcorn. I have a history of dealing with my emotions through food, but I can control it. I’m measuring it out and then stopping. I’ll eat a handful of this piping hot, buttery goodness. Just one taste.
Speaking of hands, mine brushes up against Jared’s in the tub of popcorn and a shiver skitters over my spine. I pull back, but he captures my fingers, not releasing me. I tug uselessly. He’s not simply holding my fingers hostage. He’s holding my whole life in his hands, and he doesn’t even know it. Or maybe he does but doesn’t care.
“Jared . . .” I’m breathless, helpless.
“Watch the movie, Banner,” he says, eyes fixed on Cary and Deborah. His right hand occupied with my left, he reaches into the tub with his left and keeps eating. I stare at the screen, eyes unseeing, ears unhearing. My full attention centers on the searing point of contact between our fingertips. Foolishly, I will myself to relax. I actually follow the storyline for the next few minutes, and I’m getting invested, wanting Cary and Deborah to figure it out, when Jared’s thumb ghosts over the thin skin of my wrist. It feels like he’s caressed the nerves beneath. It feels like he’s stroked my pulse because now my heart bangs like a mallet. My breath catches, hitches, stalls as he traces my palm. My mouth waters. Why is that even happening? Like my taste buds have been warned that soon I’ll taste him again. I give another halfhearted tug, but he doesn’t release my hand.
I don’t want him to.
“Fuck this,” he mutters, turning away from the movie. He cups my cheek and presses his forehead to mine, the smell of fresh popcorn wafting up between us. “I’m going to kiss you.”
“No,” I protest but don’t pull away. I’m paralyzed. I could physically move, but I’m held by the scent of him and the warmth of him and the promise of him. The taste of him so close.
“Yes, I am, Banner, because we both want it,” he says flatly. “And there’s no reason for us not to have it.”
“There is a reason. I have . . .” I pause and try to gather my scattered wits. “Jared, you know I have a boyfriend.”
“And if you haven’t figured it out by now, I don’t give a fuck.” He pushes his fingers into my hair, angles his mouth over mine, and licks my bottom lip once, sending a current of electricity over my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, like that will somehow block the sensations quaking through every cell of my body.
His tongue laps at the corners of my mouth. He groans and captures my bottom lip between his, sucking at me, alternating force and gentleness, leaving me unsure which I want more. I clench my right fist on my thigh, the only sign of resistance I can muster, but it’s not enough. Not when he pushes the popcorn away and grips my waist and brings me incrementally closer until we’re pressed together and our hearts bang on each other’s chests, one demanding entrance from the other.
“Your heart’s racing,” he says, an echo from years ago. He drags our linked hands to his chest. “So is mine.”
“Jared, we can’t.”
“I am.”
He tilts my chin just so, tugs my mouth open, and kisses me. With his dominant nature, I expect an invasion. Maybe I could have resisted that, could have prepared for tha
t, but his mouth tenderly begs, and our tongues desperately tangle. This propulsive force has me leaning into him, has my hand clawed in his hair. Has me fucking his mouth. And I can’t stop. I’d forgotten how he tastes, but this moment under a star-spangled sky, this moon hurls me into retrograde. Backward so many years to our first kiss when he exploded across my senses and detonated any coherent thought with one stroke of his tongue.
Air cools my leg when he lifts my skirt, his hand lighting up the sensitive skin of my inner thigh on the inevitable journey to my pussy. He barely brushes me through my panties, and my muscles clench, anticipating his touch. I can’t even manage to feel embarrassed that my panties are already soaked.
“I want to finger you,” he rasps over my lips. “Can I, Ban?”
Dios mío, ayúdame.
God, help me.
But there’s no help. No salvation. Only the sin of this moment, of my dreams. I want to wake up. When this happened in my dreams, I woke up and I was beside Zo. He was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware that I was wet-dreaming about a man from my past. A man from my present. But Zo’s not here, and I can’t remember why I should deny myself what I know Jared will give me. What I’ve been aching for ever since he re-entered my life. I nod my permission quickly before I change my mind, widening my thighs to make it easy for him. He slips his thumb beneath the wet silk and runs it over my clit.
“Jesus.” I jerk, and his mouth is at my shoulder, his tongue soothing the burning, naked skin. With his free hand, he tugs one string of my halter until they both flop down over my breasts. His eyes never leaving mine, he strokes my clit again and slowly slides his middle finger inside. The erotic contact between our eyes is as potent as that one finger finding passage inside of me, over and over. With every unblinking stroke, I’m closer to giving Jared the surrender I promised Zo only he would have.
“Jared, we have to . . .”
Stop.
The word won’t leave my mouth. It’s trapped behind my teeth. Anything that would stop this, would stem this, even my fear of getting caught, being seen, freezes and everything else runs hot. Goes green. Begs him to floor it. With the strings untied, he nudges my dress down with his lips, and cool air kisses my nipples. He stares at them, swallowing so hard I see his throat move in the dimmest moonlight.
“God, Banner,” he says hoarsely, lifting his eyes to penetrate mine. “How could you not see how beautiful you are?”
His words undo what’s left of my resistance, and I pull him down to my breast, needing to give myself to this man who has always seen me. He opens his mouth completely over my nipple, pulling on me in a steady rhythm. Biting my breast, rubbing my clit, pumping his middle fuck-you finger into the hungry hole between my legs. My hips roll into him, seeking him, urging him to do his worst. He shifts to my other breast and adds another finger.
“Come on my hand,” he says, his voice confident and pleading. “Show me how you look when you come. I’ve never seen it.”
In the dark. We made love in the dark before, and we’re in the dark now, but there’s just enough light for me to see his beautiful face and just enough light for him to see mine.
So I show him.
“Ah,” I cry out, heedless of the few cars parked around us while my body dissolves for him. I bite my bottom lip and frantically ride his hand, pleasure spilling from my body onto his fingers.
“Say my name,” he demands. “Who’s doing this for you, Banner?”
“It’s you.” Helpless tears slip over my cheeks, tears of passion and regret and shame and joy. “God, Jared, I know it’s you.”
17
Jared
Banner is avoiding me again. Sending my calls to voice mail, ignoring my emails, not replying to text messages. Saturday night should have been a step forward, but we backslid like a wayward believer, and I don’t know how to move us in the right direction.
Right direction may not be accurate. There is nothing right about systematically plotting to take another man’s woman. I won’t call it the right direction. It’s my direction, and I know it’s ultimately where Banner belongs. And after what happened at the drive-in, I have no doubt it’s where she wants to be.
Here’s the thing about falling for a good girl: they have all these rules. And qualms. And the worst? Guilt. She has all this integrity that gets in the way of what she wants, which is me. But I won’t allow it to get in the way of what I want, which is her. So we’re at an impasse where she avoids me, slinks back into her comfort zone with Alonzo.
Fuck that shit. If she thinks I’m letting this go, letting her go again, she’s delusional. I know. I’m the one who sounds crazy, but that is not the case. What’s crazy is denying yourself something this special. I’m living proof that ruthless people who don’t give a fuck want special things, too. And I’m taking mine.
As soon as I get her to talk to me.
I’ve been camped out here at the Seven Grand for an hour, nursing this same Jameson and Coke. I don’t do this. I don’t sit around thinking about women. I don’t let them disrupt my rhythm. They are generally the solution to a problem, which is that I like to fuck. And when I don’t fuck, I get agitated and lose focus, which ultimately costs me money. This is a problem since the only girl I want to sleep with won’t return my calls. Won’t leave her damn boyfriend. Won’t yield. And I’ve determined that sleeping with Banner isn’t enough. Leaving Zo isn’t enough. I want her to yield. I want her as preoccupied with me as I am with her. As fixated on me as I am on her. Anything less than her feeling as obsessed as I do just doesn’t seem fair.
I check my phone one more time in case she deigned to actually respond. Nothing from her, but a text message from Tanya asking me to call. She runs a strip club I take prospects to all the time. I ran into her at Titanium. I had no idea she taught Quinn’s pole dancing classes at the gym. She keeps her eyes peeled for ballers and gives me tips on where they are, what they like, shit they do that might come in handy. When her recon pans out, I grease her palm.
“What’s up, Tan?” I ask, using my handsfree and knocking back the last of my drink, giving the table a good slam with the glass.
“I wondered if you got my message,” Tanya says. “Took you long enough to call.”
“What’s up?” I repeat. No time for bullshit. Get to the point. My patience is ice-thin tonight.
“I got something.”
It’s the first time in days my heart rate has increased.
“Whatta you got?” I signal for the bar tender to bring my tab.
“That guy who’s leaving Dallas. What’s his name, Lim or Lyn or—”
“Link,” I cut in, dropping some cash and standing. “Link Pullen. He recently became an unrestricted free agent. Biggest name available in free agency season.”
Also on the outs with his current agent. Opportunity, meet need. Supply, say hello to demand.
“He’s here,” she whispers. “Everybody’s here tonight. Biggest party of the summer.”
“Where is here?”
“I’ll text the address.”
“Will I have trouble getting in?” I know so many players, that’s rarely an issue, but some parties are more exclusive than others.
“You’ll be fine,” Tanya replies. “Some of your guys are here, too.”
Not surprising.
“Headed over now.”
I’m nearly at the door when someone calls my name. I turn, irritated to find Cal Bagley wearing his permanent cocksure grin and a pathetic suit. He should know better. I mean, the guy’s making millions. You can’t buy one decent suit? And what’s he even doing on my coast? He’s supposed to be in New York.
“Cal, good to see you.” Lie. “How are you?” Don’t care.
“I’m good,” he replies, shooting me a speculative glance. “I’ll be even better if you keep your hands to yourself.”
“Excuse me? No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Banner Morales,” he says, his lips tightening.
> Visions of Banner’s bare breasts in the moonlight and me finger-fucking her in the front seat run through my mind.
“Uh, maybe you could be more specific, Cal.”
“I know you’re working together on the charity golf tournament. I had some friends at Kip’s party Saturday. Said the two of you looked like a team. You can’t have her. She’s the best I’ve ever had.”
Funny. She’s the best I’ve ever had, too.
Ohhh. He means in business.
Cal is Pride, like Kip and Bent, for that matter. Some well-meaning “brother” probably gave him a full report when they saw me with Banner.
“Your prize mare is safe for now,” I tell him, forcing a grin. “But it’s true we’d take better care of her at Elevation.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Cal says harshly, all signs of the phony smile disappearing. “If there’s one thing Banner is, it’s loyal. We gave her a job straight out of college.”
“First of all, Banner is many things, not one, and don’t make it sound like you did her any favors. I heard Alonzo only signed because of Banner, and you know damn well half your clients would leave if she did.”
“So you admit it? You are trying to entice her to leave?”
I’m trying to fuck her. To have her. To keep her, but none of that is any of his concern. He’s playing checkers at a chess match. Clueless about what the game actually is.
“Go have a drink, Cal.” I pat his shoulder. “It’ll do wonders.”
I relish the undisguised look of frustration on his face the entire drive to the party.
Could I take Banner from not just Zo but from Cal, too? What a coup that would be. August and Iris would be ecstatic. No question all her clients would jump Cal’s ship and follow her to Elevation. What I want is Banner, in my bed and wherever that leads us, but stealing Banner from that asshole would be an amazing bonus.
When I pull up to the ultra-modern Hollywood Hills home, cars spill from the drive and overflow the curbs. Loud music blares through the walls and permeates the air. Once I’m inside, topless girls walk around unselfconsciously. An open-door ménage à trois is going on up in one of the bedrooms. Last season’s defensive player of the year has his dick in some girl’s mouth. She has some guy’s dick in her ass. I can’t tell what’s going on with door number three, but their sexual game of twister is so commonplace at parties like this, no one even gapes and they don’t bother to close the door. If Link is in a situation like that, it would be rude to interrupt, and I wouldn’t want to join in. I’d show myself out and corner him some other time. It’s testament to how focused I am on Banner that I’m not even tempted by the abundance of naked flesh being flashed around the large house.