by Grey, S. R.
“Yes. I love you, Dylan Culderway.”
And with that, so many wounds on my soul are healed. Her words have stitched them up, a testament to the power of true love.
“God, I love you too,” I breathe out.
It’s true. I love her so much it hurts…but in the best kind of way.
“I want you,” she says, parting her legs. “Take me, Dylan, right now.”
There’s no reason not to slip into her, not anymore. We’ve had “the talk” more than once and we’re good in all ways. Shit, even our love for one another has been declared.
So I pierce her unsheathed. And fuck me all to hell. This is good, too good. I have to pull out some.
Chloe whimpers, “No. Give it all to me, Dylan. I need all of you.”
Fuck it. With one smooth, fluid thrust, I’m once again engulfed in her silky warmth. And guess what? I don’t come undone after all. I love her slowly and steadily, staving off the inevitable.
But the inevitable still does, of course, come…for both of us.
We’re not anywhere done, though. We can’t get enough of each other, not this night. So Chloe and I do it over and over again, till we pretty much can’t anymore.
“Gah, that was amazing,” she says as we lie in each other’s arms after round who-the-hell-knows.
I chuckle. “Shit, you’re going to be so sore tomorrow. At this rate, I will be too.”
“Good. I don’t know about you, but I want to be reminded of this all day tomorrow. In fact…” She raises a brow. “Do you want to go for one more round?”
“Hell, I’m game if you are.”
I feel like I’m in a bubble, a love bubble.
If only we could stay here forever.
Thumper
I open the X Your Ex program and find step number eight is “Open Your Heart.”
Talk about perfect timing!
I’m already there—I opened my heart to Dylan last night.
Seems I’m healing and moving forward, even without the prompts in the pamphlet.
Guess I’m stronger than I realized.
Still, it amazes me. For a girl who felt so closed off from love—and life, in some ways—I jumped back in and actually won.
In fact, I’m kicking ass. What I have with Dylan is pure and genuine. It makes me mad I ever wasted any time on Sten.
That was the past, though, when I was blind.
My eyes are open now.
I’m freaking awake, baby!
The next few days are amazing. Dylan has all home games so we immerse ourselves in playing house. My stalker, or whatever weirdo was spying on me, seems to have disappeared.
Who knows what brought about this welcome change?
Maybe the camera Dylan had installed is actually working and keeping the creep deterred. There’s been no recording of anyone out back, save for some very cute clips of our voyeur bunny friend.
Ever since Dylan and I reviewed that footage, amid a slew of chuckles from him and ooh-ing and aww-ing from me, we’ve been debating over whether our furry friend is a jackrabbit or a domestic bunny.
At an impasse, today I demand we watch the tape one more time.
“To settle this once and for all,” I say.
After another viewing of the rabbit hopping around and munching on carrots I now feed him on a regular basis, we still can’t agree.
“It’s domesticated, for sure,” I state. “Look at how he loves those carrots.”
“A wild rabbit would eat them too, Chloe. It’s food, right?”
“Yeah, but look at how plump this bunny is. I know the coloring is the same, but aren’t jackrabbits all sleek and fast?”
Dylan thinks it over. “Maybe, but how would a domestic rabbit end up here?”
“Very easily.” I wave my hand toward the empty unit next to mine. “Whoever lived next door probably abandoned the poor thing.”
“Nah, I think it’s a wild rabbit, babe.”
“Well, in any case, we should name him.”
“I thought he already had a name. You call him Voyeur Bunny all the time.”
“That’s not exactly accurate, though. He just hangs out back there and eats. I think he deserves a more appropriate name.”
“What are you thinking?” Dylan says. “I know you must have something in mind.”
I giggle, ’cause I sure do. “What about Thumper?”
Laughing, he says, “If that rabbit was peeking in at us this morning, that’s probably the name he has for me.”
“You have a point,” I say.
And he does. Dylan was very enthusiastic when we were sexing it up earlier.
“Maybe we better think of a different name for him.”
“I think so,” Dylan agrees.
We decide on “Jack,” since a certain someone is so damn sure our rabbit is a jackrabbit.
“It’s not the most imaginative name,” I lament, “but it’ll do.”
“Good, so that’s done.” Dylan stands. “Everyone has a name.”
Eyeing him mischievously, I look up at him and reply. “Yes, everyone does. But you’re no longer Dylan. From this day forward, I’m going to call you Thumper.”
“Not in public you aren’t!”
“Yes, I am,” I insist as I jump up and prepare to run. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Oh, yes there is.”
Dylan grabs me up in his arms and right there on the living room sofa, he lives up to his new nickname, “thumping” the hell out of me as he makes me promise to keep my pet name for him strictly between us.
I’m willing to agree to anything now, so I pant, “Yes, yes, of course, Thumper.”
That makes him give it to me even harder, which was really my goal.
Everything is so good and happy with us that I hate it when Dylan has to leave for back-to-back road games.
The good news is I’m no longer scared to be alone.
“I have Jack here with me,” I tell him on the day he has to fly out. “And we’re a duo no one dare cross.”
“Yeah, sure, babe, whatever you say.”
Dylan goes on to tell me that all the “thumping” he’s been giving me must be messing with my head.
“Then mess away,” I say.
But Dylan’s all in serious-mode. “Babe, before I leave we really need to go over safety precautions.”
“Ugh, okay. Let me see… I need to diligently lock all the doors and windows and make sure the camera is always on.”
“That’s right.”
Dylan looks at me and frowns, and I say, “What now?”
“Are you sure you don’t want Graham to stay with you while I’m gone?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need my brother staying here. I told you I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, but promise once more that you’ll double-check everything we just went over.”
“I’ll do you one better,” I proclaim. “I promise to triple-check everything.”
“Perfect,” Dylan says, sounding relieved. “Now get over here and kiss me goodbye, woman.”
I gladly do and kiss him till I’m dizzy.
The next day, as I’m on my way out the door to meet up with Aubrey for dinner, I do as I promised Dylan—I triple-check all the locks and make sure the camera is on.
I drive to the bar and grill we decided on so that we can watch our guys take on the Dallas Stars. When we made the arrangements, Aubrey informed me she has a present for me.
“It’s something every player’s girlfriend or wife must have,” she said. “In fact, I’ve made it my personal mission to distribute these, uh, mystery items to all the ladies.”
Intrigued, I inquired, “What kind of mystery item are we talking about here?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, Chloe. And believe me when I say it’s definitely better when kept a surprise. Oh, that reminds me of the one rule you’ll need to know.”
This was getting more and more interesting by the minute.
&n
bsp; “What’s the rule?” I asked, playing along.
“You can’t open this gift till you’re alone with Dylan.”
“Okay. I can wait.”
“Trust me, you’ll thank me afterward,” she said, snickering.
I can’t imagine what this gift could be.
“If only I had one clue,” I murmur to myself when I arrive at the bar and grill and park.
When I get out, I see Aubrey is already here. She heads over to me, and sure enough, she does have a gift. It’s hard to miss, what with neon green wrapping so bright it’s glowing under the parking lot lights.
“Hmm, that sure is some megawatt-level gift wrap, Aubrey,” I remark. “Is it a clue as to what’s inside?”
I take the box, and she says, “Maybe, Chloe. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Aw, come on, you have to at least give me one clue. I’m dying here. And you know Dylan won’t be home till day after tomorrow.”
“I know,” she says smugly. “But like I said—it’ll be worth the wait.”
I decide to go ahead and trust her on this one.
Placing the gift in the backseat of my car, I say, “I better leave it out here. I’d hate to accidentally leave my mystery gift in the restaurant.”
Laughing, Aubrey says, “Jeez, no, that wouldn’t be good. Someone else would have all the fun then.”
Hmm, it’s something fun and I should only open it with Dylan…
The clues start to come together and I get a feeling this gift is something sex-related, though I can’t for the life of me figure out how the green paper relates.
“Shall we go in?” Aubrey asks.
“Absolutely, the game’s starting soon.”
After we’re seated at a high-top table on the bar side of the restaurant, the game does indeed begin. We have a terrific view of the many TVs up on the walls, so when Brent scores early on, Aubrey and I are able to watch the entire play unfold.
“That was amazing,” I say, in awe of Brent Oliver and his stellar offensive skills.
“That’s my man,” she states proudly.
The waiter comes over then, carrying two shots, which is odd since we didn’t order any drinks or shots.
“These are from the guy at the end of the bar,” he informs us, setting down the little glasses. “He said y’all seemed to be having so much fun that he wanted to buy you something to keep up the celebrating.”
“Keep up the celebrating?” I look over at the bar.
But it’s strange, as no one is seated where the waiter indicated.
“Who do you mean?” Aubrey asks. She’s looking in the same direction. “There’s no one sitting in that last bar stool.”
“Huh, that’s weird,” the waiter says. “The guy was just there.”
“Well, he’s not there now,” Aubrey replies.
“Do you even want these shots?” I ask her.
“Not really. This whole thing is kind of strange. Do you want them?”
“No.”
We send the shots back and tell the waiter to let us know if the guy who bought them returns. I, in particular, would love to get a look at him. I have a sick feeling this may not be as random as it appears.
Aubrey, watching me closely, asks, “What’s wrong, Chloe? You look really upset right now.”
“I kind of am,” I admit.
“Is it anything you want to talk about?”
“Actually, yes.”
I need to share this with someone other than Dylan and my brother, so I tell her about the weird shit that’s been going on—the slashed tire, the cigarette butts outside my bedroom window, and the weird scuffling noises.
Once I’m finished, she says, “Oh my God, that is both scary and bizarre.”
“I know, right? I thought it was all over, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Do you think the guy who sent us the shots was him?”
“Could’ve been,” I say.
Sighing, she replies, “It’s a shame he left. We could’ve nailed him.”
“Yeah, it is too bad, but I’m sure he planned it like this.”
“Do you have any idea who it could be?”
I shake my head no. “I originally thought it could be my ex, but Sten doesn’t smoke…and he lives in Phoenix. That’d be one heck of a drive to make repeatedly just to harass someone.”
Aubrey looks unsure. “I don’t know, Chloe. The cigarette butts could’ve been to throw you off. And I hate to say it, but I’ve heard of cases where angry exes have traveled farther than that to do bad things. You really should think about hiring someone to look into exactly what your ex has been up to down in Phoenix.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I concede.
The rest of the evening is okay, but a pall has been cast over it. Even when the Wolves beat the Stars, I can’t muster much enthusiasm. There are too many things on my mind.
Things like, what if Sten is my stalker?
And if it’s not him, is it the guy who bought us shots, then disappeared?
Is he my stalker?
If so, that would mean my stalker knows everything I’m doing, every move I’m making.
And I’m all alone till Dylan gets back.
Shit.
No News is Not Necessarily Good News
After the Dallas game, and once I’m back in my hotel room, I hear from the private investigator I hired.
He informs me that Sten is no longer in Phoenix. Fuck.
But he’s also not in Las Vegas. Hmmm…
“What about somewhere else in the state of Nevada?” I query.
“There’s no record of him there, either.”
“That’s good, yeah?”
“Maybe…”
Then it hits me.
“Shit. You just said there’s no record of Sten being in Nevada. But that doesn’t mean he’s not there. He could be staying in motels and paying cash, or using an alias.”
“Those are all possibilities,” the investigator confirms.
Christ.
“This is so not good.” I scrub my hand down my face. “That prick could be secretly holed up anywhere in the state, including Las Vegas.”
“Yes,” the PI says, and my heart sinks. “The fact remains that we have no idea where your girlfriend’s ex-husband is at the moment. But don’t worry, I’ll find him.”
That gives me no solace.
And I won’t be home for two more days.
What I need is for Graham to stay with Chloe until I return.
I call him once I’m done with the PI and fill him in on what’s been going on.
When I’m finished with all my updates, I say, “You know this Sten dude, Graham. Do you think it could be him? Could he be the one stalking Chloe?”
“It’s a real possibility,” Graham, to my dismay, replies.
“Shit,” I groan.
“Don’t worry. I’m heading over to her place right now. I don’t care that it’s almost midnight. Between the two of us, we can keep her covered twenty-four seven.”
“Yeah, except when she’s at the coffee shop. If we could just get Chloe to take some time off from work, I’d feel a lot better. That’s the only place where we can’t be with her.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Graham says. “But if I know my sister, and I do, she can be really stubborn over certain things.”
“No kidding.”
Graham and I wrap up, and I feel relieved that Chloe won’t be alone tonight or tomorrow.
But that feeling doesn’t last long.
Chloe calls not five minutes later—my phone is blowing up tonight—and informs me there’s been a weird incident.
“What kind of weird incident?” I carefully inquire as I recall that her plans were to go out to eat with Aubrey. “Did something bad happen at dinner?”
“Kind of,” she replies softly. “Or…I should say maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Damn it.”
I’m trying to hold it together for her sake, but truth is I
want nothing more than to go right the fuck home now.
But I can’t; I have another game tomorrow night in St. Louis.
All I can do is sit by helplessly, listening as Chloe tells me all about her “weird incident.”
Some dude bought her and Aubrey shots. That wouldn’t be concerning under normal circumstances—after all, they’re two pretty girls that were out by themselves—but in this case, it wasn’t a couple of guys hoping to talk to them. It was one guy, who left before they could see his face.
“I don’t like this one bit,” I state.
“I don’t, either,” Chloe replies.
Blowing out a breath, I ask, “Do you think it could be your ex? I know you said no, but something sure seems shady about this whole ordeal.”
“I don’t know if it’s him,” she replies, “maybe.”
Shit, before it was a definite no, but now it’s a maybe.
“This is so not good, Chloe.”
“I know, Dylan. And I’ve been thinking… Do you think we should hire someone to find out what Sten’s been up to lately?”
“Uh…”
“What is it?” she asks.
“I may have already taken a step in that direction.”
“You hired a PI?”
“I did, and he’s a good one. I hope you’re not pissed that I did it without running it by you first.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not mad at all. If anything, I’m disappointed in myself that I didn’t take the initiative and do it when this all started. Anyway,” she sighs. “Have you heard back from this investigator?”
“I did, actually. He called earlier.”
Her tone is tentative as she asks, “What did he say?”
“He said that, for now, there’s no evidence Sten is in Las Vegas.”
I hear her sigh, surely in relief.
I hate that I’m about to ruin it for her when I add, “There’s also no evidence that he’s not there, Chloe. The problem is that he’s definitely not in Phoenix.”
“Crap.”
“That was my reaction too.”
“Dylan,” Chloe begins, sounding chagrined, “I feel so bad for dragging you into my mess of a life.”
“Hey, hey, don’t say that. No one has dragged me anywhere. Good or bad, we’re in this together.”
Softly, she murmurs, “You’re too good to be true, you sweet man.”