Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2)

by Christine Manzari

  His eyes flashed with excitement. “Works for me.”

  As soon as the boxers were tossed to the floor, I bent my head, licking along the length of him.

  Trace groaned. “If this is what happens when we fight and you lose, I’m going to prove you wrong more often.”

  “Don’t get used to this,” I warned. “I’m rarely wrong.” My fingers slid along the hard, wet skin, gripping him before I wrapped my lips around him and took him all the way inside my mouth.

  His hands were in my hair and his hips bucked up, following the rhythm of my mouth and fingers. “Too late, Cricket,” he growled.

  I withdrew a bit, my hand pumping, my fingers slick and firm around him as my tongue swirled around the tip. When I took him in my mouth again, I went slow and deep until he hit the back of my throat. I lifted my eyes to look at him and when he met my gaze, his expression was open and vulnerable.

  “Too late,” he groaned again. “This was worth fighting for.”

  — TRACE —

  21. THE CHASE

  November 5, 2016

  TRACE STONE ON A TRAIL NEAR YOU by GossipGrind.com

  When we last reported on Trace Stone, there was speculation that he was training in his home state of Maryland. His agent, Jesse Dunne, has just confirmed that his client will be in New York this weekend doing some endorsement deals and interviews. If you’re in Manhattan in the next few days, keep your eyes open and you just might see our favorite snowboarder. And if you do happen to catch sight of him, take a picture of the elusive king of the slopes. We’ve heard he’s healed and ready for the season, but we’ll believe that when we see it.

  =========================

  Jesse could forget about a Christmas bonus this year. He was supposed to have my back. He was supposed to keep me out of embarrassing situations. Situations such as dressing up in a skin-tight lycra suit with a big Q on my chest. I was currently standing on a fake skyscraper with a cape whipping around my ankles in a fan-created windstorm, downing Quench like it was the spinach to my Popeye.

  Had Jesse, my asshole agent, told me the theme for this ad campaign, I would have told him where he could shove the check from Quench.

  Fuck. No I wouldn’t have. There were too many fucking zeros on that check. Enough that I willingly put on the neon yellow Lycra suit that currently had a death grip on my balls.

  “One more time, Stone,” the director said. “And add a little more pizzazz this time.”

  Pizzazz? Who said shit like that?

  The production assistant, who snapped her gum loudly while eyeing my lycra bulge, stepped forward with the clapboard. The director rattled off a bunch of commands, she stepped out of the way, and then it was my turn to speak.

  Channeling my inner Batman, I took a drink, crushed the bottle in my hand, and spoke my line. “Quench. For the hero in you.”

  I felt like an ass just saying it. Never mind the fact that I was dressed like a bargain store Superman and crushing a bottle like a brainless brute. Huck was never going to let me live this commercial down. I didn’t even want to think about the shit I’d have to put up with on the mountain. This commercial was a gold mine of insults that would fuel my competition for a good long while.

  That take must have been good enough, because I was given the go ahead to head back to my dressing room. I was almost suffocating in the suit and couldn’t wait to peel it off. This outfit only made me more grateful that snowboarding didn’t require uncomfortable clothes to compete in. Superheroes definitely got a raw deal in the uniform department.

  I was barely off the stage before I had the suit unzipped and rolled down to my waist so I could finally take a deep breath again.

  “Hey,” little miss production assistant said, stepping in front of me. “Can I get a picture with you?”

  Even though all I wanted to do was get out of the ridiculous outfit the rest of the way, the sight of her phone reminded me of the power of social media, my image, and how easily rumors spread. All it would take was one dickish comment or rejection from me for the incident to go viral and for me to become some embarrassing headline somewhere. All of my hard work to keep a low profile could come crumbling down around me. “Sure.”

  She grinned and snuggled in close to my side, posing as she lifted her phone and took a picture. She snapped her gum loudly once more, and I turned to tell her goodbye. She caught me by surprise as she leaned in and snagged another photo as her lips made contact with mine.

  I wanted to shove her away. Instead, I firmly put my hands on her shoulders to put space between us. “Uh…I’m gonna need you to delete that second picture.”

  “Oh.” Gum snap. “I’m sorry.” The girl gave me big puppy dog eyes, but I wasn’t falling for it. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

  Maybe a year ago, it wouldn’t have been. But that was before Harlow.

  “Yeah, well, I need to be careful of my image.”

  Her forehead crinkled in confusion. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like you’re dating anyone, right?”

  Harlow’s name was on the tip of my tongue before I reminded myself that she definitely wouldn’t want her name mentioned here. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell her sisters about me, no way she’d want me to out her in public. “Just delete it, please.”

  Little miss production assistant’s lip curled in annoyance, but she said, “Yeah, sure.” She lifted the phone up and tapped her thumbs a few times before flashing me the screen with the first picture of us. She tilted her head in acknowledgment and walked away, gum snapping in her wake.

  I ran my hand back over my hair and headed for the dressing room. I was already pissed off and grouchy. This would be the first night in weeks that I’d spent apart from Harlow. Maybe it should have felt like a breath of fresh air to have time to myself, but it just felt like something was missing. It was the same feeling I’d had back at the Blockhouse, the same feeling that sent me clear across the country to find the girl who’d run out of my hotel room with my ring on her finger. That same feeling that brought me to her apartment every night so we could study.

  Sometimes it felt like Harlow was always running away.

  I grinned.

  But then again, maybe I was always meant to chase her.

  ***

  When I started competing in snowboard cross, I got in a terrible wreck during one of my races. One of the other boarders lost his balance off a vicious jump and crashed into me mid-air. Usually, I was like a cat and could land on my feet, but that day my head was the first thing that made contact with the ground. The helmet saved me from instantly becoming a vegetable, but the concussion I got as a result of the wreck was severe enough to keep me on the sidelines for a few weeks. Watching everyone compete week after week made me restless. The danger of my sport never scared me, being useless did. No matter how many times I wiped out, I was always eager to get back on the snow.

  I’d had so many concussions, sprains, and broken bones over the years that each one was almost like a badge of honor. On more than one occasion, my mom had begged me to choose something other than snowboarding as a career. Anything else. She had an entire army of arguments: Hadn’t I earned enough money? Didn’t I have enough medals? Wasn’t my health more important?

  Her questions were endless, but the answer was always the same. No. It wasn’t enough. The challenge of my sport was what made me feel alive. As long as I could keep competing, keep winning, what I’d already accomplished would never be enough. I’d always want more. The danger didn’t matter. In fact, I thrived on it.

  But even after suffering an injury that could have ended my career, I’d never been afraid of my sport. I might have feared my inability to compete at the same level I had before, but I was never afraid of the competition itself. Not like I was fearing the man in front of me now. Strange how cheating death didn’t scare me, but answering interview questions did.

  Bryce Rollins had been friendly when we first met, but he couldn’t hide the calcul
ating gleam in his eyes, the hunger that most reporters had for uncovering the truth. Harlow was different. She was a journalist, but her articles never focused on digging up secrets and truths just so she had the satisfaction of revealing them in her stories. She observed and gathered and formed an opinion, and then presented that opinion with wit. Journalism might be a career where facts and unbiased reporting was valued, but what I loved most about Harlow’s articles was her unique insight. I hoped that whatever position she nailed down when she got out of college, she never lost that quality. If she was just another dog digging for dirt on people, I didn’t think I could handle it.

  “How’s the knee been feeling lately?” Bryce asked. His hair was styled perfectly, as slick as the expression on his face. He was wearing a suit and wire-rimmed glasses that were supposed to make him look professional and trustworthy, but his expression lacked any genuineness. His mouth was turned up in the kind of smile that hid his teeth. Fake concern, that’s all it was. He didn’t want to hear that my knee was doing great. What fun would that be to report?

  “Fantastic. It feels a hundred percent during training now.” I grinned back, but my smile was authentic. I wasn’t going to give this guy anything more than I wanted him to know.

  He crossed one leg over the other at the knee, placing his useless pad of paper on his lap. “Speaking of training, we’ve heard a lot of speculation that you gave up your usual training spot at the Blockhouse out West and that you’re working out here on the East Coast. Is there any truth to that?”

  “I love the Blockhouse, but because of the accident last winter, I had to switch up my normal routine. I needed a change of scenery,” I said, evading the question.

  He nodded as if that was the answer he was expecting. “With your family still living in Maryland, it makes sense that you’d come back home while you recuperate. Your fans are used to you being accessible, but since this summer, you’ve been pretty hard to track down.” He chuckled. “The name Trace Stone has become almost synonymous with Yeti sightings.”

  I shrugged. “Just call me Bigfoot then.”

  He blinked a few times, and I saw a flash of annoyance cross his face that he tried hard to hide. “Your fans are hungry to know more about what you’ve been up to. Can you give us any hints as to what’s been going on or where you might be heading next?” His slick grin became almost serpent-like as he attempted to play the buddy card. As if we were two friends having a private conversation.

  No way was I telling him any details close to the truth. The last thing I needed was a crowd showing up to my workouts and getting in the way. That’s what I’d always loved about the Blockhouse, I could have it all to myself.

  “Nothing exciting, Bryce. Just building my strength and endurance back up. My fans haven’t missed much. As for where I’m heading next, my agent, Jesse, is locking down some opportunities where I might be able to get back on the snow soon. That’s the important thing.”

  Bryce’s eyebrows lifted. “Snow at this time of the year? That certainly narrows the possibilities down of where the next Trace Stone sighting might be.”

  I forced a laugh. “Well, seeing as how nothing has been determined, I don’t even know myself.”

  Bryce nodded again and gave a fake chuckle of his own. “Understood. Your agent has mentioned on many occasions that it’s important that you stay focused as you recover. Any worries about the upcoming competitive season?”

  “Not at all, Bryce. I’m looking forward to it. I’ve felt confident these last few months and I can’t wait to get back out on the slopes. I feel like the accident was a blessing in disguise.”

  In all honesty, it was a blessing. I would never have met Harlow if life hadn’t thrown me in her path. If I hadn’t been stressing over the news articles about my comeback, I might never have walked out of that club on her birthday. I wouldn’t have seen her at the fountain.

  But Bryce didn’t need to know all that.

  “This setback gave me time to reflect on things, and I’ve got new perspective now,” I continued. “I think I’m in a better place than I was before.” I relaxed back into the seat, glad that the conversation was taking a turn toward something I was comfortable discussing. My abilities. My competition.

  Bryce’s calculating expression was back, and he tilted his head as he considered what I’d said. “I’m sure your fans will be glad to hear that. Does this new perspective have anything to do with what happened in Vegas when you were there for ShredCon?”

  I crossed my arms and scowled at him. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”

  Bryce’s smile slithered across his mouth. There was no other way to describe it. “As I heard it, you were seen coming out of a 24-hour wedding chapel with a pretty lady in tow. Is there any truth to that? Could your new perspective and recent absence from the public eye be attributed to a happy marriage?”

  I chewed on the inside of my lip and shook my head. “No truth to that at all.” I wasn’t exactly lying. I wouldn’t call what Harlow and I had marriage, even though technically we were married. I chuckled and gave Bryce a knowing grin. “I’m not ready to be tied down just yet.” Best to just play it off as rumor and pretend like it was nothing.

  Bryce’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his helmet-shaped hairstyle. “Really?” He lifted something out of his lap which I’d brushed off earlier as a pad of paper. When he held it up, I could see it was a blown up picture of Harlow and me in profile. Even though it was blurry and we were nearly unrecognizable, I could tell it was the day we’d gone on the Smithsonian scavenger hunt. “You were recently seen in the company of a lovely young lady while in DC a few weeks ago,” Bryce said. He glanced down at the photo before looking back up at me. “You two look quite happy together. Surely romance is part of the reason why you haven’t been seen partying as much as you used to?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, unsure of how I wanted to combat his accusations, but positive that what we were doing was verbal battle. He was clearly on the attack and I wasn’t one to go on the defense. I was aggressive and fearless on the slopes, and I wasn’t going to let this little weasel try to bully me into giving him fodder for his article.

  “Is she a girlfriend?” he asked. “Has the ultimate lady’s man, Trace Stone, finally been taken off the market?”

  A flash of panic rushed into my chest, and I gave Bryce a cocky smile to hide the fact that all I could think about was how Harlow would react if her secret was out. If people not only knew we were dating, but that we’d gotten married when we were virtual strangers. It had taken her so long to trust me, to let me in, and I wasn’t willing to risk that just to feed this guy’s curiosity. Or anyone else’s for that matter. I had no problem with telling anyone and everyone that I was taken, that I belonged to Harlow. But if her freak out a few days ago over my invitation to come to New York was any indication, she wasn’t ready to reveal the truth just yet.

  “Don’t ruin my reputation, Bryce.” I sat up and held my hands to the side. “No girlfriend. I’m still a free man. I’m not off the market yet.”

  The only word that could describe Bryce’s expression was devious. “I’m sure many female fans will be relieved to hear that Trace Stone is still available.”

  I couldn’t give a shit about that. The only female I was worried about was the one who didn’t want to admit we were together. Was I just a glutton for punishment? Or was it the chase for something unattainable, the challenge, that I loved so much? If Harlow finally admitted that she wanted me as much as I knew she did, would I still feel as strongly for her?

  Yes. Of course, I would.

  Absolutely.

  Right?

  — HARLOW —

  22. IT’S NOT A PARTY WITHOUT BUZZ

  November 6, 2016

  IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES, IT WAS THE WORST OF TIMES, IT WAS A WEEKEND WITH WILLOW By Harlow Ransom

  Sisters can either be your best friend, or your worst enemy. They know everything about you. And even t
he things you think you’re keeping secret, they know those things too.

  “Even though we’ve lived apart for most of the last thirteen years, it’s almost like my sisters can read my mind. The worst, though, is Marlow. Once she discovers something embarrassing about me, which honestly isn’t too hard to do, she chews on it like a tiger with a fresh kill. I can’t let them know about Trace. I can’t let them find out what happened in Vegas.”

  This reporter pointed out to Harlow that things between her and Trace had gotten pretty serious and that it’d be hard to keep the relationship under wraps much longer. Especially when she’d be spending an entire weekend with a very perceptive sister. When asked what she would do if either of her sisters discovered her relationship with Trace, Harlow said, “I’d lie. I can lie. I can. Remember Willow’s dress? I’ve held onto that lie for sixteen years. I can keep a little thing like a fling with a boy quiet. Easy peasy.”

  The fact that Harlow even uses the term easy peasy is proof that she’s no match for her sisters and their need for gossip.

  Good luck this weekend, Harlow, you’re going to need it.

  =========================

  I wouldn’t consider myself a bartender by any stretch of the imagination, but apparently, I make a mean appletini. Willow was currently passed out on my couch…which I took as proof of my legendary martini-making skills.

  After we’d gotten back from the bar a few hours ago, she begged to watch Magic Mike XXL. Three appletinis later, she was draped across the cushions in an unplanned slumber, her ridiculously expensive name-brand outfit at complete odds with the faded and worn sofa beneath her.

  She was always bitching about how gross my hand-me-down couch was. Which only made me more eager to leave her ass right where it was. She needed a little dose of normalcy. Since our mom skipped out on us, and Willow was sent to live with Walter the Wall Street tycoon, she’d forgotten her humble roots. She’d traded in her scuffed up Keds and Faded Glory backpack for brand new Louboutin’s and Prada handbags. She’d forgotten that at one time, she wasn’t too good to sleep on old second-hand furniture.