Determining Possession (Connecticut Kings Book 3)

by Christina C Jones

  I took her key to lock the door behind me. I was staying up at my Aunt’s tonight, and I doubted Wil would be in any shape to leave home before I came back through the next morning. Still, I sent a text to her phone to tell her I had her key, then climbed into my truck.

  Damn.

  I could still taste that kiss.

  Instead of lingering on it, I turned the truck on and cranked my music, trying to clear it from my mind. She was drunk, and emotional, and… horny, if I’d interpreted her mumbled words right. It was nothing to place stock in, especially knowing her mental state.

  But… still.

  I couldn’t shake it.

  Something about liquor not creating urges, only amplifying existing ones, kept coming to mind.

  Five

  Mmmmm.

  With my eyes still closed, I rolled over onto my stomach, putting myself in a position to reach the nightstand drawer. Tugging it open, I felt around until my hand connected with what I wanted. A little tingle of anticipation ran through me as I turned to my back again and opened my legs, positioning my current favorite sex partner in just the right spot. I bit my lip and sucked in a breath, then flipped the switch to turn it on.

  Nothing happened.

  My eyes popped open, as I flipped the switch off and on, off and on, willing my mechanical boyfriend not to let me down, not when I’d woken up so hot and bothered.

  “Ugh!”

  I snatched the bright pink vibrator from between my legs and under the covers and sent it flying across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thump and then dropped to the floor, where I almost hoped the impact would shake something back into place, giving enough juice for one last hurrah, but… nope.

  Nothing.

  “Stupid,” I muttered, honestly not completely clear on if I was talking to the vibrator or to myself as I looked down, realizing that I was still in last night’s dress. I must have gotten well acquainted with the open bar at Trent and Jade’s wedding if I’d crawled into bed without undressing or taking a shower.

  At least you took your shoes off.

  I groaned as I sat up, reeling against the little bit of dizziness that hit once I was upright. My purse was on the nightstand, so I made it the first place I looked for my phone. Sure enough, it was there, and almost dead, with several missed text and calls.

  The one that caught my attention was from Ramsey.

  “Took your key with me so I could lock your door. I’ll drop it off when I come back through in the morning – R. Bishop.”

  And then:

  “Decided not to ring the bell or call, in case you’re still sleeping last night off. Key is in an envelope that I put through your mail slot. Tried to get it as far away from the door as I could. – R. Bishop.”

  Sleeping last night off?

  Shit, did I embarrass myself at the wedding or something? I sat back against the headboard, trying to remember, but couldn’t call anything crazy to mind. I’d talked with Cole, Ramsey and I had danced, and then we left, and I fell asleep in the car.

  I shrugged.

  Maybe he just meant my weepiness, since I’d been an emotional mess for quite a bit of the night. But I was glad I’d gone. All that love in the air had definitely cured my concern of becoming cynical about love, generally speaking.

  At this point, I was just skeptical about it for myself.

  I went through my other calls and texts, then went to my social media accounts. I grinned when I saw the pictures I’d been tagged in throughout the night, glad that nobody – yet – had posted anything of me crying. But then I came across one that nearly made my heart stop just before I blushed, hard.

  Really, the picture was of Ramsey, but I was in it too. He looked so, so good in his beautifully cut gray suit, with those broad shoulders and his fresh haircut, and his beard glistening and all that. But I’d – obviously – already known that Ramsey looked good last night. What struck me was the look on his face.

  Eyes slightly narrowed, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, obviously enthralled by whatever had his attention.

  Me.

  We were holding hands in the picture – something I’d probably been the one to initiate, because I’d been doing it since we walked in, using him for strength. I’d stepped a little ahead of him, to speak to someone, but made sure to remain connected to him. I remembered the moment in vivid detail, squeezing his hand so he would know I was asking him to stay. Apparently, his gaze had wandered a bit before it landed on my ass, which he was looking at the same way I looked at a good piece of carrot cake.

  I didn’t recognize the name of the person who’d posted the picture, but it already had a ton of likes. The caption underneath was a single word.

  #mood.

  A fresh round of heat rushed to my face.

  “Thank you, dress,” I said out loud as I shook my head. I’d been a little bit nervous about it, but apparently it had been a good decision if it had Ramsey looking at me like that, when I’d always suspected he’d mentally put me in the “sister” category.

  Several of my thoughts about him yesterday had been far from “brotherly” though.

  In between my bouts of being the “sad chick” at the wedding had been moments like the one that woke me up. He was so damned handsome and smelled so damned good, and was so damned strong, putting those big hands at my waist to lead me around and…

  I pushed out a sigh.

  Girl, you need help.

  I climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom, stopping when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I frowned at the bonnet on my head and then pulled it off, surprised to see that aside from being a bit flat, my little updo was still in place.

  How the hell did I remember to put my bonnet on, but fell asleep in my dress?

  I pondered that as I sat down to pee, and pondered it more as I washed my hands, then reached for my toothbrush. While I was brushing, I took the pins down from my hair, and tried to remember putting on that damn bonnet. When that didn’t work, I tried to remember taking off my shoes…

  I didn’t take off my shoes.

  Ramsey took off my shoes, when he helped me inside, which is why he had my key.

  Duh, Wil.

  I shook my head as my brain finally started filling in the fuzzy memories. Ramsey helping me from the car, helping pick out the key to get inside. Ramsey sitting on the bed with me, unbuckling my shoe, handling me with care, like always. He’d taken off his jacket and tie in the car, so sitting on my bed, he’d looked so casual – so damned comfortable.

  I blinked, and then, I remembered climbing into his lap, and trying to put my tongue down his throat.

  I damn near choked on my toothbrush as the kiss flooded my mind in blurry detail. His lips had been so, so good, and even in getting my drunk, horny behind off of him, he’d been tender with me.

  Why couldn’t I have ended up engaged to a man like that?

  I spat the minty foam residue out of my mouth, then rinsed before I went back to my phone to read the two messages from him again. Nothing in either text hinted that anything untoward had happened though, so…

  Maybe I’d imagined it?

  I had woken up feeling lusty, so it easily could have been part of a fantasy from a dream. Was probably part of a fantasy from a dream. It had to be. Probably.

  Please?

  I put the phone down and headed for the shower. It was already past noon, and I still needed to eat, look through a fresh batch of apartments, and drive into the city to be at the studio for another filmed live-tweeting of the game tonight.

  Which meant I would be seeing Ramsey.

  The very last thing I needed was awkwardness in any of my relationships with the people who were serving as my rocks right now. I couldn’t be having dirty dreams and stuff about Ramsey – not only did we work together, he was my friend. Like… a real friend.

  I couldn’t ruin that.

  I couldn’t explain the butterflies I felt when I knocked on the door to Ramsey’s dr
essing room. Even though I heard him say, “come in”, I hesitated a few seconds before I touched the knob.

  Stop being a weirdo.

  After a deep breath, I opened the door, only to have my breath snatched right back out of my chest. Ramsey’s shirt was in his hand – not on his body – and though I’d seen him shirtless plenty of times before, my mental state wasn’t right for it today.

  “Hey…,” I said, averting my eyes as he pulled the From the Sidelines tee shirt on. “I got my key back, thank you. And thank you for getting me in safely too. I appreciate it.”

  He nodded, then dropped down onto his couch. “Not a problem at all, Champ.”

  His dressing room was much quieter than mine tended to be. He didn’t use a stylist for the show, choosing to dress himself instead, and he hated when they came after him with the stage makeup. I usually had a wardrobe stylist, makeup, and hair, all crowding me. For tonight’s show, everything was understated – I was wearing a From the Sidelines tee as well – so there had been a lot less chaos, which was why I had time to stop by and talk to him privately before we went on set.

  “Hey, so… you mentioned me “sleeping off last night,” I started, nervously twisting my fingers together, even though I was trying to sound nonchalant. “I wasn’t like… too sad, was I? Was I embarrassing?”

  He scoffed. “Nah, nothing like that. That’s not what I was talking about though.”

  My eyes went wide, and I turned away from him, playing with the assorted cuff links on the vanity so he couldn’t see my face. “Oh? Cause… I can’t really recall doing anything too crazy… is that not the case?”

  “Nah,” he laughed. “You just… got a little silly. Same as any time I’ve seen you tipsy. No big deal.”

  I tried not to let out too big of a sigh of relief before I turned around to find him wearing a big, mischievous smile as he stood and approached me.

  “Unless you want to talk about the fact that you kissed me. I mean… I guess that could be considered a little crazy.”

  “Oh my God! So I did kiss you?! Oh my God,” I squealed, covering my face with my hands. Ramsey – asshole – was cracking up laughing as he pulled me into a hug, rocking me back and forth.

  “Gotta say Champ, you surprised the hell out of me,” he chuckled as he pulled back. “I most definitely was not expecting that.”

  “I’m so sorry. I was drinking to try to relax, and I think I had too much, and I—”

  “Wil!” He grabbed my arms, looking me right in the face, with that same impish shine in his eyes. “Nobody is looking for you to apologize. Damn, you’re reacting like this to the kiss, I probably shouldn’t even tell you how you tried to get my pants off.”

  I gasped. “No!”

  He nodded, still grinning. “Yes. You were pretty determined too, but I guess your coordination was off a little bit.”

  “Oh Goddd,” I whined, turning away from him as I clamped my hand to my forehead.

  “You know what really surprised me though?” he continued, and my eyes snapped in his direction as I turned around. “I don’t think I realized you were that flexible, could do a split like that.”

  I frowned. “A split? What are you talking about?”

  “When I pulled you off my lap, you kinda laid back, and well…opened wide.”

  “Oh my God!” I shrieked, backing away. “I… Ramsey, stop playing, I didn’t… did I really…?”

  “Show me the money shot? Yeah, you did.”

  “I think I’m gonna pass out,” I said, and Ramsey immediately wrapped me in his arms again, but his ass was still laughing.

  “Chill, I’m just messing with you,” he said, and a tiny little bead of hope blossomed.

  “Messing with me?” I asked. “So… I didn’t really do that?”

  He shook his head. “No, you definitely did it, I’m just saying… I’m teasing you. I hope you don’t think I’m really bothered about it.”

  I punched his arm, then pulled back. “Of course you aren’t! You got kissed, and got the view from the box – literally.”

  Ramsey cracked up at that, and even though I was embarrassed as hell, I couldn’t help laughing too.

  “I didn’t look, I promise,” he said, as if that was supposed to make me feel better. “I closed your legs and put you under your covers, and then I left.”

  “After you put my bonnet on,” I reminded him, and he shrugged.

  “Yeah, that too.”

  “Which was really sweet. Thank you.”

  He shook his head. “Like I said… not a problem.”

  For some reason, my mind went back to that picture, of him looking at me like something he wanted to devour – a clear difference from right now, with his barely veiled amusement of my tipsy antics the night before. Antics that probably killed any possible desire for me.

  What? Why the hell should that matter?

  “Did you have one of these in your dressing room too?” he asked, stepping away to pick up a packet of papers from the vanity. The front was stamped with the WAWG logo.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “Hadn’t really looked at it yet, since I figure it’s just their soft open, to start the conversation. They probably saw your viral video, and are trying to lock you down before it goes further.”

  He shook his head. “Too late for that. What I’m thinking is that they caught wind of my conversation yesterday with Eli Richardson.”

  “Conversation with Eli Richardson?!” My eyes bugged wide as I stepped up to him.

  “Yes, drunky,” he teased. “I told you last night… the Kings want me to come in for a workout.”

  I frowned for a second, trying to remember, grasping a fuzzy thread in mind that led me back to it. “Oh, shit! Yes, you did!” I threw my arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug. “Congratulations, again.”

  “Nothing to congratulate yet. The workout isn’t even scheduled.”

  “But it will be, and you’ll crush it – isn’t that how you got that name? Anybody between you and your destination on the field is gonna feel like they got hit by a sledgehammer. That’s how you have to look at this workout – as something to take the hammer to.”

  His mouth spread into a grin. “Here you go with the Ms. Motivational thing again.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Absolutely not. Trust me – I consider having you in my corner a privilege.”

  “As you should,” I said, picking up the contract he’d put down on the vanity. “As a matter of fact, I believe in your ass so much that…” I grabbed the stack of papers in the middle and twisted, then laughed. “I’m just playing, I’m not about to rip this.”

  Ramsey’s eyebrow went up, and then he took the papers from my hand, copying my actions. Only… he actually ripped them, right down the middle, then held up the two halves.

  “No guts, no glory, right?”

  I grinned, big. “No guts, no glory. This means you’re going for it? Like, full on?”

  “Full on. I mean, if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t, but at least I kept my word.”

  “Absolutely. And it’s not like the network is going to tell you no. They love your ass.”

  He chuckled. “Nah, you’re the eye candy around here.”

  “They don’t care about that, at all,” I laughed. “I mean, you see what they did to me starting out.”

  He shook his head. “Nah, Champ. Say it right. What you mean is, do I remember how you treated me like the enemy for the first few months we worked together? And the answer is hell yes. I swear, I don’t think you liked me until you met my mama.”

  “Who, by the way, was on my side,” I giggled. He wasn’t lying on me though. From the time he first sat down beside me at that desk, I’d hated his ass.

  From the Sidelines was my show – meaning, mine alone – originally. I’d hustled my ass off getting a meeting with somebody who could make a decision, making a point of not involving my parents. I couldn’t change my last name obviously, couldn
’t do much to hide my legacy, but I certainly didn’t use it as a selling point. I sold me. My idea, for my show, sports from my perspective as not only a woman, but a professional athlete with accolades, and a well-earned journalism degree.

  I was nervous, yes, but I went in with my head held high to give my pitch and hopefully stake my claim. And… I got it. They let me shoot a pilot, and offered me a contract, but when I got to set for the first official filming… there was Ramsey Bishop. Well-dressed and charming and a superstar in his own right. I understood his appeal, understood what they felt he would bring to the show.

  The show they’d promised as mine.

  I was slow to warm up to him. Very slow. On air, I was the picture of professionalism, and would play along with his jokes, keep the right vibe going, all of that, but once we were off those cameras… it was all I could do to just pretend he didn’t even exist.

  I wasn’t really mad at him though. It wasn’t his fault, but in a situation where I felt powerless, taking it out on him was the only control I had. I’d signed a contract to do something I hated now, knowing the truth behind it.

  They hadn’t hired me for any of the reasons I thought I could make From the Sidelines successful. They’d hired me for exactly what I didn’t want to be hired for.

  The Cunningham name.

  I got it, really.

  My parents were black royalty – professional athletes in a time where racism was much more prevalent than now. The eighties were the height of their professional careers, but they still, separately, made time for civil rights activism during a time where past gains were being undone. They were vocal about homelessness, AIDS education and prevention, and it certainly didn’t hurt that they were just attractive people.

  Once they got together?

  Whew.

  It was like they had all of Black America collectively on their side. The wedding was televised, and people still talked about it now, since it was basically a gathering of everybody who was anybody in Black sports or entertainment at that time.