by Kris Jayne
"Hi, Micky," Natalie said. "I like your boots, too."
"Hello, Natalie. I love your purple coat. Purple is my favorite color."
"It is? Mine too," Natalie replied, her excitement evident in her voice.
"Okay, well, my husband is going to meet us later. He's coming straight from work, so we can go ahead and go in. His ticket is at will call, right Nick?"
"Yes, and it's getting really cold out here. Why don't we head inside?"
The group traveled en masse up the many escalators and elevators to the top floor of luxury suites. Micky had taken clients to events on the suite level of the American Airlines Center before—the difference in the vibe between the lower level and the suites always shocked her.
As they got off the final elevator, the buzz and energy of the main concourse was absorbed by plush carpet in a well-trimmed, oddly quiet hallway. The suites were definitely more comfortable, but not nearly as lively and—in her opinion—fun as the other levels.
Once they arrived at their destination, however, she could totally see why this was the best option for the girls. They immediately strutted into the room and ran up through the suite's sitting area out to the balcony tiered with arena seats overlooking the court where the Dallas Mavericks and the Portland Trailblazers were warming up. They squealed and pointed for a minute or two. Then, they were right back inside, throwing themselves into the big comfy chairs to discuss what they wanted for dinner.
"Uncle Nick, what are we going to eat? I want tacos. Nat wants pizza," Alice announced "Can we get both? What do you want?"
"Micky and I ate already, but we might get something later. You can each get whatever you want," Nick replied.
"Why don't I take you guys to the food stand down the hall, and we'll get dinner," Amy suggested.
"But we want to talk with Uncle Nick," Alice said petulantly.
"You can take the girls to get their food. I can stay here with Amy unless you're afraid she's going to say something embarrassing about you," Micky joked.
"Good idea," Amy said. "You go. Get a burger and fries for me and for James. I'll start thinking of embarrassing stories."
"Very funny." Nick rolled his eyes and grabbed his nieces' hands. "Let's go little ladies."
Once Nick was gone, Amy turned to Micky.
"Nick said he met you at work."
"Sort of. We work in the same building, and he helped me with my car."
"My always gallant brother." Amy grinned. "That's right. He said you work in his building. What do you do?"
"I work at a software company in marketing. It's pretty fun most days, and a lot of long hours there lately."
"Nick told me you are going to Paris for work in a few weeks. That sounds exciting. Do you get to travel often?"
"I do, but not usually overseas. This is my first trip to Paris. All the planning is making me wish I had more than just a week there. I'm staying over for a few extra days, but it's not much," Micky explained.
"My husband and I went to Paris for our honeymoon. We loved it. I keep telling him we should go back."
"Yes, she does, and we will. I promise." A well-dressed, solidly built man with jet-black hair walked up behind Amy and put his arm around her waist. They exchanged a quick kiss.
"James, honey, this is Nick's friend, Micky."
"Hello, hello," James said, shaking Micky's hand. "You're going to France? We loved it. Highly recommended. Very romantic. Amy does keep trying to convince me we can go back now that the kids are older. That probably won't be as romantic as our first trip."
"We can take my mother to babysit," Amy suggested.
"Even less romantic," James teased, laughing. Amy elbowed him in the ribs.
"Funny. No. She can maybe babysit so we can have some alone time."
"That sounds better," James replied.
Micky laughed along with them as they playfully teased each other. Everyone kept pointing out how romantic Paris was, and she wished again she had someone to go with her like Taryn did.
An image of Nick and her strolling down a Parisian boulevard popped in Micky's head. She imagined him pulling her close in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower and kissing her neck. She would slip her fingers through his hair and press herself against his tall, muscular frame. She smiled at the thought—the way his body would feel, the way he would smell.
Micky snapped back to the scene in front of her. "I'm looking forward to my trip even if it's for work. I'll just have to make sure it's not the last time I go."
"How did you and Nick meet?" James asked.
"My battery died in the parking garage at work, and Nick helped me out so I wouldn't have to wait for the auto club. We've stayed in touch. It was nice of him to invite me to the game."
Micky felt awkward since she and Nick did barely know each other. There wasn't much else to say about their relationship. She wasn't even sure it was a relationship at this point. The feelings she had for him were springing up faster than she knew how to manage.
"It's good that he's getting out again after the whole Vivienne fiasco," James commented. Amy gave her husband another elbow. The word "fiasco" piqued her interest, but she didn't want to press. The person to ask was Nick, but no way she wanted to exchange war stories.
She hadn't broached the subject of his previous relationship and whatever story there was there—mostly because she didn't want to have to exchange stories. How could she tell him she had been having an affair with a married man? Even with the extenuating circumstances, Micky couldn't squelch her embarrassment.
"The game will be starting in a minute. We should get drinks. Aren't there usually beers in the mini fridge? Do you want a beer?" Amy asked, stepping out of James' embrace and crossing the suite to the small refrigerator tucked under a counter with a basket of chips and packages of cookies. "Oh, there's a bottle of red wine in here, too."
"Wine sounds good," Micky agreed. She could easily accept the change of topic.
James opened the bottle of wine and began pouring glasses for all of them just as Nick and the girls returned with trays of food, a vodka martini for Micky, and a whisky for Nick.
"I take it my sister has regaled you with all of the sad tales of my childhood," Nick said, walking to Micky's side and casually wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Every point of contact—his arm and each one of his fingers—unfurled a wave of heat in her body. Her reaction to his presence never stopped surprising her. She reached up and stroked his hand on her shoulder.
"Nope. Not one embarrassing story. You're going to have to regale me yourself."
"Hmmm. I'll have to think of something. I've always been such the embodiment of cool," Nick said. His sister giggled.
"Please, remember that time in junior high with that girl. What was her name?"
Nick removed his arm from Micky and took a playful swipe at his sister. "Do not tell that story. Leave me with some dignity."
At tip off, Micky and Nick took their drinks and grabbed seats in the front row of the luxury box. James quickly ate his burger so he wouldn't miss any action while his wife supervised the kids, who finished their meals and ran to sit in their box seats.
Micky did her best to follow the back and forth action and keep up with the little understanding she had of the rules. Occasionally, Nick had to explain something to her—like why at the end of the first half the Trailblazers were allowed to shoot free throws for every foul instead just for fouls committed when the players were shooting.
"I've never heard of that. The last time I played basketball was maybe fifth grade," Micky explained.
"I played in high school."
"He sometimes comes over and shoots with me. I play club basketball and will play for a regular team when I get to middle school," Alice said. "He's really good."
"I'm sure he is. It helps when you're tall," Micky said with a wink.
"Did you play any sports?" Alice asked Micky.
"No. I was never the most coordinated person. I was in orchestra for
a bit. I used to play the viola."
"What's a viola?" Natalie asked.
"It's like a violin, but a little bigger," Micky described. "I started with the violin, but then moved to the viola."
"Why?" Nick interjected.
"I liked the deeper sound. Plus, there were so many violinists. Everyone was playing the violin. I thought it would be a little different."
"An orchestra rebel," Nick said, putting his arm around Micky and squeezing.
"I like music better than sports. I'm gonna choose a new instrument. I take piano lessons, but I might pick the flute," Natalie piped in.
"Flutes are beautiful. That might be a good choice," Micky agreed. Natalie nodded, pleased with the affirmation.
Micky turned to Nick. "You didn't want to play in college?"
"I wasn't really good enough to play at a division one school, and I think I knew my future wasn't backing down Dirk Nowitzki in the paint."
"What else do you play?" Micky asked.
"Not much anymore. I golf."
"My dad used to try to teach me to golf. He loved it. I was hopeless. Pete plays, though."
Micky hated golf as a kid. Whenever she stayed with her dad over the summers, he would spend at least half his visitation days dragging them to the country club to play. Pete was older, and he enjoyed it. She tried to play, but could never get the hang of the sport. Once she became known as "Micky, the Divot Queen," she gave up altogether and would just sit in the golf cart, steaming in the summer heat and reading. After they got in their eighteen holes, they would finally head inside, and her dad would buy them hamburgers and ice cream.
One particularly active summer on the links, Micky gained ten pounds in two months. She finally told her father she wasn't going to the country club anymore when she was fourteen, and so she would stay home and read.
She didn't see much of her dad that summer, but at least it was spent in the air conditioning. Instead of a golf widow, Micky was a golf orphan—which she would tell her father. He would laugh and say she was so clever, but he kept playing.
"Maybe Uncle Nick can teach you golf. He's really good at helping me with my free throws," Alice said. Micky smiled. His nieces were sweet, and smart, and clearly adoring of their uncle.
"Maybe. And maybe I can teach him the viola."
"Like a trade. That'd be cool," Alice declared.
"If you stick around, maybe you can get engaged and get married, and we can be your flower girls like we were supposed to with Aunt Vivienne," Natalie said with hope in her eyes. "I have a dress picked out and everything."
Alice gave Natalie one of those pokes their mother was giving their father. "Natalie! Vivienne was never our aunt," Alice said and then turned to Micky. "She was never our aunt. And we never got dresses."
"Oh. Well, sometimes people break up." Micky couldn't think of what else to say. She'd moved past being concerned about Nick's ex, but getting confirmation from his family took away any remnants of doubt.
Amy turned her head toward their side of the luxury box upon Alice's outburst. "What are you talking about over there?" A simultaneous assertion of "nothing" from her kids was unconvincing, and Amy got up and suggested she take the girls to the bathroom.
At this point, the game was down to the last two minutes, which, of course, took fifteen minutes to play. Still, rather than getting into the details, she fell back into small talk about the game with Nick. Amy and her daughters got back from the restroom right after the final buzzer finalized the Mavericks win. They chatted for a few minutes and then Nick and Micky said goodbye to the various members of the Carrera family, who were off to get the kids to bed.
Micky walked out into the ice-glazed night with Nick and headed toward his car a few blocks away. "Your nieces are taking your broken engagement pretty hard."
"They were excited to get dressed up and be princesses for the day. They'll have their chance," he said.
"Well, I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"I'm not. Of course, I'd want a relationship to work, but that relationship was doomed from the beginning. Both of us were lying to ourselves, I think."
"I ended something kind of recently myself," Micky said, keeping the details vague.
"Are you okay with that?" Nick asked.
"Absolutely. You know, just like yours, my relationship with Eric was a plain old mistake. It feels good to be free to find something new." They stopped, now beside Nick's car, and Nick started it with his remote.
"I'm liking this something new," Nick said, turning to face Micky. He reached for her, and she stepped into his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Even though it was freezing cold outside, Nick's entire body was heated. He touched her cheek as his mouth descended upon hers. Her full lips were soft and sweet as he gently probed with his tongue.
She pulled back a bit, frustrating Nick for a split second. Then she nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth. His groin tightened, and his kiss grew deeper and more insistent. Nick pressed Micky against the car with his hips and pulled her head closer with both hands tangled in her hair.
"There's a hotel right across the street, you know!" Then, they heard giggling in the lot a row or two away. Nick broke the kiss and pulled back. Their fervent breaths continued to merge in the cold air.
"We have to stop making out in parking lots," Micky noted.
"Funny, I don't have a problem making out with you in parking lots. Not. At. All," Nick said, punctuating his words with pecks on Micky's lips.
"Now that we're not locking lips, it's getting cold." Micky leaned into him.
"Let's get you home."
Nick walked Micky around to the passenger side and opened her door. Everything in the car was already toasty warm. He backed slowly out of the parking space and eased out of the icy lot. The sleet starting to fall again.
"Wasn't it sixty degrees yesterday?" Nick asked.
"I think it's supposed to be sixty degrees again on Monday. That's Texas for you. I'll just be glad to get home."
Nick drove at a crawling pace. Even going slowly, his car lost traction a few times, but he managed to steer the car back into his lane. By the time he got back to Micky's house—thankfully without incident—it was close to twelve thirty.
"That was an adventure," he pronounced.
"Listen," Micky said. "It's only going to get worse. With it still icing and the drunks on the road, do you want to just stay here? I'd feel terrible sending you back out in this mess."
"Thanks, that's probably a good idea."
Nick knew it was the sensible thing to do even if his reasons had nothing to do with good sense. He shouldn't sleep with her. Nick repeated the fact in his head because as he followed her up her front steps and stood before the red door of her small one-story Tudor, all he could think of was peeling off her clothes.
First, she'd shed her heavy coat, and then he would draw her close to him and pull loose the tie of blue sweater like opening a present. He wondered what color her bra would be. He would run his hands over whatever lacy contraption she'd chosen and feel her nipples harden through the fabric.
The blaze of Micky flicking on the hall light flipped another switch in his brain. He had to settle himself down. She wasn't inviting him in for sex.
They crossed the threshold into her house, and Ophelia bounded up to Micky. A winding line of muddy paw prints trailed behind the dog and all around the hardwood of the living room floor.
"That's the one downside of the dog door. If the weather gets nasty, she's in and out with her muddy feet. Look who's creating a mess for me to clean up," Micky said with a sigh as she bent over to scratch the dog right behind her absurdly floppy ears. "Do I deal with the muddy floor now or go straight to bed?"
Nick knew how he'd vote. She stood up straight and pulled off her coat.
"I can hang your coat up," she said. With her own thrown over one arm, she reached toward him with the other. Nick handed her his coat, and when she grabbed it, he pulled—
not letting go, but pulling her toward him. "So, we're playing tug of war?" Her voice was breathy.
Nick silently took both coats and tossed them onto a side chair. Stepping closer, he kissed her and then slipped his fingers into the tied loops of her top. When the sweater gaped open, he allowed his hands to roam her back, sliding them up around the cups of her bra.
Micky melted into him. He trailed a string of kisses down the side of her neck. With each press of his lips, Nick felt a frisson of arousal pass from her trembling body to his. His mouth slowed at the base of her neck as he ran the tip of his tongue along her collarbone. Micky moaned and pulled back for a brief second.
"You okay?" Nick asked.
"Perfect," Micky answered. "Except we're both wearing way too many clothes."
He slid her sweater off her shoulders, leaving her top half bare except for the lavender lace of her bra. As if on cue, she reached behind her to unhook it. He lowered his head and planted a new row of kisses atop the roundness of her cleavage, nipping her with his teeth. Before she could exhale, he was smoothing his hands up her arms to slide the straps from her shoulders.
In the next second, he brought her left nipple into his mouth. Micky arched her back and ran her fingers through his dark, silky hair. Nick bit the swollen pink flesh slightly, and she fell against him.
"Bedroom now," he ordered in a hoarse whisper. Micky turned, and they walked down the hall to her bedroom with his arms around her, his heated breath on her neck, his hands grazing her breasts.
Once through the door, Nick spun her around and backed her to the bed, where she sat. He stood over her and removed his shirt. She reached up and undid his belt and then the clasp of his pants. Breathless, she tugged his jeans and his boxer briefs down his hips and the length of his iron thighs.
Nick's erect cock sprang free in front of her. She squeezed as her hand flowed from his abdomen to the head of his penis and back again. Then, Micky reached her free hand between his legs. He inhaled sharply as the softness of her palm balanced the weight of his sack. He reveled in the sensation before she slipped the tip of his prick between her moistened lips. She rolled her tongue around it and suckled, as he tangled his hands in her hair. He moaned and yanked her head back.