by J. C. Grant
“I told you, that's not all I'm mad about. I took what I wanted from you. I got my orgasms, but I'm still pissed.”
After a moment, he continued, “And the thing with Dawn... it actually worked out really well. We'll have a better case against her now.”
It took a second for the full meaning of his words to sink in. I looked over at him. “Wait a second... So you knew she was there?”
“Yeah, we knew,” he said as if it was obvious, though he didn’t look at me, he was still fixated on the TV.
We.
“So you're keeping secrets from me? How long was she there? How long did you know?” I fired question after question.
“She'd been waiting for me... for two days.”
He was so casual, so matter-of-fact.
“Are you joking?” I asked incredulously. “So you didn't think I could handle it, or was it just information that you didn't feel like I needed to know?” When he still wouldn’t look at me, my words tumbled out in a rush, my voice growing louder. “Are we doing that? Keeping secrets from each other? Because I have a ton of things that I would love not telling you about!”
He looked over at me then, a placating expression on his face. “Okay, slow down. It's not like that. And I apologize. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to worry.”
“I am so sick of hearing that, I don’t want you to worry,” I mocked him.
His lips pursed, his expression somewhere between angry and calculating.
My phone buzzed then, interrupting our standoff. Reaching over, I grabbed my phone, still watching David out of the corner of my eye.
Elaine: Have you seen this?
7:05 AM
Clicking on the link she sent, I saw David's texts, the ones from the day of the Halloween party. All three pictures attached. I pushed away my panic and focused, taking in details. That's when I noticed the contact photo was the exact same one David had programmed in my phone. A selfie he'd taken while in bed with me.
It's from my phone.
“David,” I whispered through my growing panic.
If someone had David's texts, they had my responding texts, which were graphic. X-rated graphic.
“What's wrong?” he asked, his anger gone, replaced by concern and alarm, apparently sensing my mood shift.
I handed him my phone, speechless.
“What the fuck? This is from your phone.” He looked up at me. “Who sent this?”
“Elaine.”
He sighed, reaching for his own phone. “Someone got into Austin's phone.” He paused. “It's on that sports gossip site. Yeah, just meet me in the living room.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, still holding my phone.
“Hey, I need to text Elaine back,” I explained, holding my hand out.
“He just needs it for a minute,” he tossed over his shoulder as he exited the bedroom.
I grabbed my laptop, turning it on, and e-mailed Elaine, explaining to her that those texts were from my phone.
David walked back in just as I was putting the laptop away.
“Always so impatient,” he rumbled, a sexy smirk forming on his face as he made his way back over to me.
Despite everything that was going on, I couldn't help but stare at the deep V of muscle running down along his hips. It was completely exposed, his sweats barely hanging on his hips.
Fuck me, how am I supposed to stay mad?
“There's my girl,” he growled, climbing back in bed.
My eyes darted down, staring at the sheets, suddenly embarrassed by my blatant eye-fuck.
Handing my phone back to me, he ducked down, catching my gaze.
“Sweetheart, I'm sorry I hurt you yesterday. I didn't think it through. It was last minute, and I was freaking out about keeping you safe, keeping you away from her. And I didn't want it to affect you. I fucked up.” The sincerity in his voice was heartbreaking, melting me to him. “I won't do it again. No more secrets, I promise.”
“It really hurt. All day, it hurt,” I admitted quietly, struggling not to get emotional. And failing.
“Sweet girl,” he whispered huskily as he pulled me close, wrapping me in his arms.
Turning into him, I buried my face in his chest as my hands came up, hooking over his biceps, desperately clinging to him.
“I'm so fucking sorry.” He rocked me as my tears fell. “I thought about you all day. It never occurred to me you were as miserable as I was.”
“Don't do it again,” I whispered, not willing to let him hear my crying voice.
“I won't.” I couldn't be sure, but he sounded on the verge of tears too. I felt his lips press on the crown of my head as he breathed me in, nuzzling into my hair, holding there. “I love you.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest. The way he held me, the way he breathed me in, I'd never felt so cherished. So loved.
After a long moment, I whispered, “I'm sorry about the texts.”
“It's not your fault. I can't imagine anyone being able to get your phone. It's either on you or locked in the gym office or at home.”
That was true. No one had access to my phone, and very few people were as brazen as David, pickpocketing my phone out of my purse.
“What time is your appointment with Tracy?” His voice was a soft rumble, soothing me, allowing me to relax about our current dilemma of someone having access to my texts.
“Nine.”
He made a low grumbling sound.
“Don't you have practice today?” I asked, pulling back and looking at him.
His expression was soft, gentle. “I'll skip it.”
“David—” I argued.
“I'll skip it.” His tone was final.
****
I woke up in a strange bed surrounded by white. A huge white headboard, white bedside tables, a white duvet, and white Egyptian cotton sheets wrapped around me.
This was definitely not what I had requested. I'd requested a tufted bed in gray. Admittedly, the bed was cool and elegant, but not at all what I wanted.
We hadn't left LA until late last night. I must've fallen asleep on the plane and David hadn't bothered to wake me up, because it was my first time seeing the room.
Turning over, my eyes settled on the opposite wall that held three open doorways. The one in the middle was a half-empty closet. Half-empty was generous; there were only a handful of hanging items and two pieces of luggage sitting in the floor of the closet.
Hopping out of bed, I slipped out into the unfamiliar hallway, that’s when I finally noticed what I was wearing: one of David's oversized T-shirts, my bra, and nothing else.
True to his word, he skipped his training yesterday, opting to pack my bags before heading to the gym with me. After the gym, we'd spent the day shopping together, hitting up Rodeo Drive, walking in plain view of the paparazzi, making sure they had plenty of PDA to witness. Elaine had decided it would be best to not respond to the rumors David was cheating—the texts and videos—and let our actions speak for us. I still wasn't sure where we’d landed on admitting those texts were to me.
When I entered the open living room, I found Chance asleep on the oversized white sectional couch.
That made me mad. There was a reason I requested gray furniture from Restoration Hardware. I wanted David to feel comfortable, have some of the warmth and familiarity from home.
Every room in this house was bright white and with the almost black hardwood floor, the house felt cold.
This was exactly what I didn't want for David. He told me his condo was black and white. He said he picked it based on pictures, and after living in it for a couple months, he realized he hated it.
Looking at the house, I felt like a failure—I took on the job of hiring the decorators.
Walking over to Chance, I rubbed his head. His heavy eyelids barely opened.
“Good morning,” David purred behind me, startlingly me.
Turning around, I found him standing at the kitchen island, cooking, watching me.
My gaze trailed down from his chiseled face to his strong neck, his traps, the thick swells of his shoulders, and down his defined eight pack.
“You're so getting fucked before we leave,” he growled.
Sauntering over to him, I asked coyly, “So, out of everything you packed for me, this was all you could find?” I tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, holding it out like a dress.
“I didn't even open your bag,” he rumbled with a sexy smirk.
Taking a closer look at the shirt, I realized he hadn't. It was the shirt he wore the day before.
“I like you smelling like me.”
There was something different about him, his voice, his attitude. He was happier, sexier? I wasn't sure what it was, but I liked it.
“Where we going?” I asked, sitting across from him.
“Coming to training with me today,” he informed me as he plated up our breakfast.
“And that’s when?”
“Hour and a half, plenty of time.”
He didn’t know me at all if he thought that was enough time for me to eat, have sex and shower. But I was going to leave that argument until after I’d had my orgasms.
“I’m sorry about the furniture, I asked for—” I tried to explain about the miscommunication.
“I take it all back,” he cut me off, his tone soft and sincere. His dark eyes pulling me in. “If I’m with you, I love it.” His voice dropped an octave when he added, “Especially, if I’m in you.”
I shivered and my core tightened.
An hour and a half definitely wouldn’t be long enough.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I'd imagined there would be a lot of fans around, but this... these women were right on him. Only thing separating them from him were a few feet and a chain-length fence.
Fergus helped me maneuver through the crowd to the front. Poor Fergus, he'd been nothing more than a glorified chauffeur all morning. When I didn't meet David's deadline, we went back and forth, David demanding I go with him anyway.
Finally, Fergus offered to drop off David and come back for me. Reluctantly, David agreed.
I wasn't sure why looking good for him was so important to me. It was an archaic notion, the little lady wanting to look good for her husband to impress his colleagues. But that's what I'd done, made sure my hair and makeup were natural but perfect.
Most of my impulses since being with David were new and confusing; this was no different.
From the options David had packed for me, I settled on black, ripped skinny jeans, black tank, and converse.
Standing at the fence, I took him in.
I'd never liked a man in uniform of any kind, but the way David filled out that Dodgers uniform... Damn.
From the hat down to his cleats, it was all working for me.
David mumbled a few words to one of his teammates. Then I heard a lewd remark another one of his teammates made in reference to me.
“Fucking watch it,” David growled low.
I could hear them clearly, and if I could, all the groupies could too.
That's when I heard, “You're that cheating bitch.”
Until that moment, I'd completely forgotten about Zach and all his bullshit.
“Back up.” Fergus moved, getting between me and the two girls who were now focused on me.
“Oh, you have a bodyguard? Your skank ass better,” another girl said, pointing around Fergus to me. “He's leaving your ass. You here to beg forgiveness?”
Being confronted by his fans was refreshing, only because I found I didn't care as much as I thought I would. It was hard to care about something that was so far from the truth. Though, I was curious if they were referring to the texts or the video, but I didn't ask.
“Austin,” David called as he quickly came over. When he reached the fence, he barked at the girls, “Back off.”
It was only a moment before they both deflated, processing his words, or the meaning behind them.
He looked at Fergus then, “What the fuck is she doing over here?”
“She wanted to see you.”
His expression softened and he looked at me then. It was the look, the one that tore right through me and stripped me bare, that put all my insecurities on display for him.
“Sweet girl.” His voice was part pleading, part confusion. “You want to see me, come see me. Don't stand out there.”
“I—” I started, but I didn't know what to say.
Instantly, I felt stupid. It was glaringly obvious I didn't know his world. At all. This was a huge part of his life, and I wasn't part of it.
“Take her inside,” he directed Fergus, not looking at me again.
As Fergus led me back through the crowd, I could hear David talking to fans as they asked for autographs. Thankfully, my sunglasses hid my tear rimmed eyes as Fergus led me into the stadium and down to the front row, just left of home plate.
“Where's David?” I asked, searching the field as we took our seats.
“Dugout, probably.”
At Fergus' tone, I flushed, realizing how desperate I sounded.
“I'm going to get a water, want anything?” I tried in vain to salvage my dignity.
“I'll come with you.”
We'd made it no further than a few steps when I heard, “Austin!”
When I turned, I found David at the bottom of the railing. He crooked his finger in a “come here” motion. As I obeyed, his eyes narrowed, a slight smirk forming on his face. In an instant, all my trepidation and insecurities about attending dissolved.
“Goddamn, you look sexy.” He motioned over his shoulder. “You got all those assholes talking.”
I smiled. “Glad you think so.”
“You could wear a trash bag and be the hottest person here,” he muttered gruffly.
Huffing a small laugh, I smiled. Whether he believed it or not, it was sweet of him to say.
“Hey, seriously. You don't have to try. I'm always proud of you, always proud to be with you.”
Stunned, I just looked at him.
That's what it was.
That need to look good for him. I hadn't understood what that feeling was. I wanted him to be proud of me. Really wanted him to be proud of me.
Taking off his hat, he turned it around, snugging it down on his head, allowing me a clear view of his too handsome face. Holding his hands out to me, he gave me a devilish smirk.
When I made no moves toward him, his eyebrow lifted and he leaned in, gripping me under my arms.
“Lift your knees.”
The next thing I knew, I was off my feet, my arms and legs wrapped around him. His hands gripped my ass, holding me up so I was looking down at him.
Damn, he's gorgeous.
“Mrs. Taylor, let me see it,” he demanded huskily.
When I showed him the tattoo, he leaned in, kissing it, like always.
“I'm so fucking happy you're here.” His lips brushed mine before claiming them in a lush kiss.
It was a wet, hot, soft sliding of lips.
Squirming in his arms, I pressed closer. He helped, squeezing my ass, pressing my sex against his abs.
“Fuck, I knew an hour wasn't enough,” he breathed between kisses. “Sweetheart, I gotta put you down. I'm gettin’ hard.”
Smiling against his mouth, I laughed as he lifted me back over the little wall.
“Don't wander off too far.” He gave me another kiss before turning to Fergus. “Bring her to the locker room when we're done.”
He winked at me as he backed away. When he turned, Taylor 23 drew my eyes and something burst in my chest, overflowing.
“I'm proud of you, baby!” I called out to his retreating form. I had a moment of panic, afraid my sudden outburst was inappropriate.
But then he turned, and a beautiful smile spread across his chiseled face. “I love the fuck outta you,” he swore loudly.
I watched as he turned around, walking back over to his teammates. His uniform did little to hide the sculpted body und
erneath.
That ass.
Practice was low key. I walked around with Fergus, checking the different levels and stores, until I heard what sounded like a gunshot.
When I looked to Fergus, he explained, “It's David.”
Immediately, I headed down to see.
He was right; it was David. Just then, the pitcher through another ball. I watched David, his stance was casual, relaxed. And his swing matched. A loud crack echoed through the stadium and I jumped, startled. My heart pounded as the ball flew high.
“Is that...?”
“Home run. He does it nearly every time—when he’s doesn’t break the ball or bat.” Fergus' voice was matter-of-fact.
Damn.
I didn't know shit about baseball, but I was pretty sure that was a good thing.
As directed, Fergus took me down to the locker room when training was over.
Kind of.
He led me down a long hall and through a door, where David was lying prone on a massage table, a well-built older man massaging his shoulder.
The smell was overwhelming, a mixture of male sweat and cleaner. Loud male voices echoed from a hallway at the end of the room. The room was huge, containing three full-sized massage tables with double the space in between.
My gaze finally settled on David's feet, traveling up his nude form.
“Sweet girl,” David rumbled, pulling my attention away from his muscled ass and to his face.
“Come ‘ere. This is Harold. Harold this is my wife.”
“Hi,” I greeted shyly as I approached David, unsure if I should sit, stand, or just stay out of the way.
David solved my dilemma, gripping my wrist, tugging me forward.
“Congratulations, and don't worry, he doesn't just refer to you as his wife, Austin.”
“Thank you.” I smiled, embarrassed.
The guy probably had to ask David what my name was. Then I felt all warm and squishy inside, thinking of David talking about me to other people.
David tugged again.
This time I didn't resist, leaning down and kissing him. He let go of my wrist and caught me behind the neck, holding me to him. When his tongue slipped into my mouth, I relaxed, giving in. He really kissed me then, his tongue stroking mine in aggressive, hungry licks. My clit throbbed so violently I was afraid the other men would see it through my jeans.