Hustle

by Ashley Claudy

  “It was something else. I didn't want to cry, he was only trying to help hide my tears.”

  “Well, then I'm sorry.” The tips of his fingers trail down my arm.

  “You owe him that.”

  He looks away. “Do you think he'll press charges or anything?”

  I hadn't even thought of that. But of course Andrew would be trying to cover himself. Maybe that's why he was here. “You'll have to ask him.”

  “He didn't mention it?”

  I shake my head.

  “He can wait.” He puffs out air with a half smile. “I want to talk to you right now. Do you hate me?”

  I shake my head, sort of hating myself for not holding onto the anger. But I can't. Not when he's standing before me, a sexy mess of a man in an untidy suit and a boyish grin. Just as unexpected as ever. And he had thought he was protecting me, as misguided and rash as it was. I didn't hate him. I never did.

  “Good.” His dimples show as he dips his head closer with another release of air. “Good.” He reaches for both of my hands and holds them in a loose grip. “So you forgive me? Just that easy?”

  The air between us holds some sort of magic, some sort of current that I'm sucked into. It pulls me closer to him. “We all make mistakes.”

  “Yeah, you're a big fuck up,” he says with a grin. His hands tighten on mine, not letting me pull away. Then his lips silence my response.

  His lips are cool and his kiss has a hint of something sweet and sour. My hesitation evaporates when his tongue dips into my mouth, his arms hooking around my waist and pulling me close. His hand wanders up my body, fingers curling lightly around my neck and into my hair, angling my head to give him better access.

  He jerks back suddenly, “Did he kiss you like this?”

  I shake my head. Not sure of who or what, just that no ones ever kissed me like him.

  His smile is back against my lips, and we're moving as he places kisses on me. On my lips. On my chin. On my cheek. His arm stays around me as he walks me back into a wall. It's when I'm firmly between him and the bricks that my head starts to speak louder than my pulsing body.

  “Wait.” I press my palms to his tight stomach.

  He groans in my ear. “What are you scared of?”

  “That I'm not good,” I speak before I think about it.

  “Oh baby, don't worry about that. You will be good. We're going to be good together, I can tell. Feel what you do to me with just a kiss.” He slides his hand over mine, pressing it lower, but I gasp and pull it away. “Don't be scared.”

  “I want it to matter.” I need him understand so I keep speaking as he pulls away, that fire in him reducing to embers. “I don't want to be someone's number twenty-five. I want it to mean more than that. I want to mean more than that.”

  He's a statue in front of me, except for his eyes. His eyes roam all over my face. “How much more?”

  I deflate and move to slide out from between him and the wall, but his arm shoots out, blocking me.

  “No, I'm serious. How much more? Are you talking like you won't do anything till marriage?”

  I stare at him, but even in the shadow I can see he's curious, not judging. “No. But it'll mean something to me. It'll be a memory I keep, and I want it to mean something to the other person, too. It should be something they'll remember. I should be someone they remember.”

  “Not, what did you say? Number twenty-five? Is that what you think you'd be to me?”

  He can tease all he wants, but I'm serious.

  His smile drops to something thoughtful. My eyes follow those lips as they open and close in little gasps. Then I venture to look into his green eyes that are dangerous for my thoughts, that have the power to bring me to the edge of my convictions and test them. But I try and stand firm in that gaze now.

  He slides his hand behind my neck and steps as close as he can to me, forcing me to look up as he stares down. But even in this dominant stance, where I feel so small, I still hold the power. I can feel it in his hold, in the way he asks.

  “You, Brooklyn Shaw, will not be anyone I will soon forget. And when you give me your body, it will be one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given.”

  I can't swallow. I can't breathe. There's no room for any of that in the intensity of his words.

  And still he continues, “When you choose to let this happen. When you choose to give me the pleasure of being inside you, I can assure you, that will be burned into both of our memories.” The tip of his tongue sweeps across his lips, and his fingers stroke the back of my neck in a chilling trail of heat. “You're already burned into mine. And I've barely touched you.” His lips drop to my ear and his other hand coasts over my hip, down to the edge of my jean shorts. “I think about the way you felt that night on my couch all the damn time.”

  My body had been giving in, sighing at his light touches, but his last words have me taking it all back. “I almost believed it.”

  “I'm telling the truth.” He pulls away, wavering between an array of emotions. They dance like a storm across his face. “Believe me.”

  “I don't think you even know what that means. I know I don't.” I grab his hands and pull them off of me. “We need to talk.”

  He drops his hands to his side and stands up tall. The little space between us turns into an un-crossable canyon.

  “What now? What do we need to talk about now?” The lines of his face darken with the shadows of the night.

  “I…” My blood continues to pulse from his earlier touch and unbearably hot words, and my body aches and rebels at my own interruption. “I'm not really sure, but I want this. I want you.”

  “I already knew that.” His smile distracts and saddens me.

  I shake my head and continue before he can reach for me again, “I want this to be more though. What happens after? What happens…” I close my eyes, trying to pluck a clear thought from my mind. “How long will you want me after you get what you want? I'm not expecting forever, but what should I expect? What is this? I—”

  “The future?” His sigh is loud, nearly a groan. “You want me to promise the future?”

  I sag against the wall at my back without saying anything. My heart is screaming though since it's clear this isn't something he's willing to do.

  He flicks his gaze up and down me, wrestling with his reaction. I can see it in him, the anger, the frustration. But he's keeping an icy grip on it. His arm stretches high above my head to the wall behind me, and he leans in, not touching, but skimming as he stares me down. “Why? Can't you enjoy this moment, what we have now, Brook? No promises. No expectations. Let it just be.”

  My insides shrivel and I shrink away, sliding out from between him and the wall. “Then don't expect anything from me.”

  “Don't walk away,” he yells after me, and his footsteps quicken as he jogs to stop me at my front door. “Listen to me.”

  I drop the door, letting it close without retreating to the safety of my building.

  “You brought it up. I'm giving an honest answer. But give me a chance to explain before you run off.” He's talking with his hands, and then he grips his hair. “God damn.”

  “Okay,” I answer softly. He's right, but more than that, the frustrated anger radiating from him gives his disheveled suit even more appeal. I want to straighten his buttons and tuck in his shirt, or completely undo it. Neither is acceptable, so I stay still.

  “Okay? That's it? Just like that.”

  “You're right. It wasn't fair of me to run away simply because I didn't like what you said. I'll listen.” I cross my arms fighting against the hollow pain in my chest.

  “Well okay.” His lips slide up, unsure and slow. “What am I suppose to be saying?”

  I shake my head. “Maybe you already said it all. You don't have any plans for us.”

  “Us?” He closes his eyes on his pained look, and I feel like a fool. A young, naïve, fool. “Come here.”

  He walks down the path to the bench that's
off to the side of our building, and I follow with dread growing in my heart. The look he gives me when I sit is heavy. “I don't plan for anything, except football. That's where my focus is. It's the only thing that matters.”

  Maybe I flinch, I don't even know. But he stops talking and tilts his head, appraising me with eyes I could fall into, deep and warm and soft.

  “It's the truth.” He scoots closer towards me on the bench and glides his fingers light down my arm, voice fading, “Football is my future. Everything else is a distraction. And you are one hell of a distraction.” He grips me so I can't pull away. “Because I'm here now, when I'm supposed to be with my team at some fucking party. But I couldn't get my mind right to play tomorrow with the way things ended last night. As for the future? I want to see you wearing my jersey on the sidelines at the game tomorrow. Can that be enough?”

  “Maybe.” My head shakes in circles and heart hammers in my chest. “If it's only me. While you're with me, I need that at least.”

  “Done.” His hands slide to the nape of my neck as he leans in close.

  “What about Tatum?” I blurt it out.

  He drops me, turning cold. “Don't worry about her.”

  “I see her all the time.”

  “So? It has nothing to do with us.”

  “She told me she's your future. And you left with her at the bar yesterday.” I wish I could put more confidence in my voice, like this was something okay to ask, but it comes out weak and unsure.

  “What?” He swipes his hand over his face and sits back, taking up nearly half the seat. “You want me to put her down to make you feel better? Want me to tell you she doesn't mean anything?”

  “No, I want the truth.”

  “What's between her and me isn't your business.”

  “So there is something there? “

  “Jesus—”

  “I'm not getting into a relationship with someone who's already in one,” I raise my voice, not nearly as loud as his, but enough to grab his attention.

  “Is that what this is?” He questions me, anger morphing into a bewildered amusement.

  I shrug, confused and on the verge of whiplash as I stare off into the shadows of the trees, the main road is small in the distance. My emotions crash around me.

  “Do you really need to know?” There's a warning in his tone.

  “Yeah, I do.” I grip the edge of the wood under me as I look over my shoulder at him, hating that I can't let this go. That I can't just enjoy what he's willing to give. “I don't need to know everything, but I need to know what she is to you.”

  He stretches his neck from side to side. “She's been in my life for a long time. She was there before anyone expected me to do anything with football, and there's something to be said for that,” he speaks carefully. His eyes study me in the dark, but I can't meet them. “She told you she was my future?”

  I nod, not wanting to hear anymore but unable to leave when I asked him to share.

  “She probably is,” he says it like a shrug, like it didn't just crush me. “I don't have to question why she's around me. I can't say that about anyone else.”

  I don't speak for fear of the strain in my throat revealing itself. As it is, I can't keep my sadness from burning behind my eyelids. It's ridiculous, I know. He's just proved I never had a claim on him, but it feels like it was ripped away.

  “Brook—”

  “Don't.” I jump up before he can touch me. “You don't need to explain anymore.”

  “You're upset?” He stands up, too.

  “No, it's fine.” I smile, and he blurs as hot tears bubble to the surface of my vision. “She's… talented and beautiful and you two are actually probably perfect for each other. You shouldn't be here—”

  “That's—do you not see yourself?” His hands are on me, holding my shoulders, face filling my vision. “I can't not be here with you. I was with her at that party, but I left to come here. I can't explain this. You drive me crazy, but you center me. Fuck, I know how what I said sounded, and you're still standing here, letting me talk. I'm probably just fucking this up more but…” His hands move up and down my arms. “I don't plan for that future with her, for any future. I can't give you any promises. All I know is I've never met anyone like you, you're my calm, and I can't get enough.”

  I don't know how long we stare at each other, his words swirling around me, pulling me in. It's enough. I don't fully understand, but it's enough. Because he's my chaos, everything unexpected, and I'm addicted to it.

  I move into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and hiding my face in his chest. His wild scent is covered with some expensive cologne, but as his arms wrap around me, holding me in a strong embrace, I relax to the sound of his deep breaths and quick pulse.

  “I'm no good at this relationship shit. I don't do them.” He presses his lips against the top of my head as he talks, “But you got me doing a bunch of things I've never done, and it's only been, what? A couple of weeks?”

  “Four weeks tomorrow.” I know exactly, and I'm a little embarrassed to have admitted it so quick.

  “That long?” His smile stretches, and his hands move up and down my back, my sides, in lingering strokes. “When do I get you doing new things?” His laugh is breathy and husky as his chest bounces against mine.

  I look up to him and glimpse his dimples before he crashes his lips over mine. My body fizzes under his touch, the slip of his hands into my hair, the tug of him pulling my head back as he explores my mouth with his tongue. His other hand glides down to my thighs, everything moving quick and slow and firm and soft. A tug of war between feeling and thoughts.

  Then he lifts me to him, and thoughts disappear as the feel of his firm body between my legs consumes. He takes over everything and the pleasure from the release of control floods me.

  He rolls his hips under mine, and the bench hits my knees as he sits us down so I’m straddling him. He slides his hand up the back of my shirt, fingers catching under the strap of my bra. I can barely focus as his other hand grips my thigh, kneading the flesh and his long fingers inch higher to the edge of my shorts.

  The feel of him under my hands, his strong back muscles, it's not enough. I press my entire body to his, absorbing him completely, his movements, heat, rhythm.

  “Slow down baby. I've got you.” He presses me to him, stilling my movements. “Ah, fuck, let me touch you.” His kisses trail down my neck, his large hand sliding into the leg of my shorts, skimming my underwear. “Just this tonight. I promise I won't push you any further.”

  I gasp as his finger dips under the edge of elastic, trailing into the slickness between my legs, playing as he finds his way.

  “Is this okay?” He rasps, barely sounding like him. His plump lips move to my shoulder, teeth almost latching on as my body pulls tight. An intense shock shooting from my core as his fingers circle me.

  I bury my head in his chest, riding the sparks he causes, squeaking with my breaths.

  “Brook?” His fingers slip away.

  My hand shoots to his wrist, my hips moving to get him to that spot again. “No. Don't. Stop.”

  “That was three negatives.” His breathy chuckle pours over me. “Tell me, do you want this?”

  “Yes.” I'm near tears with the need of him to return.

  His lips are at my ear. “Say it.”

  “Touch me.”

  He sucks my earlobe between his lips as his finger slides back to the trail between my legs, slipping inside me this time. “And this?”

  “Yes.”

  His other hand splays on my back, his thumb reaching around my ribs to the edge of my breast. “Move on me. Ride my finger.”

  I can’t look at him, his words an embarrassing turn on, but I listen, moving slow at first but increasing my rhythm as the pressure increases. Tight, filling, throbbing. I rock and cover my moans with the skin of his neck, a heated need taking over my movements, chasing something I can only feel. My hands run along the edge of his pants,
and the lines of his abs are tight under my touch. Then he’s pressing, flicking, and an electric switch burst through me, exploding in my veins. I struggle to do anything, my body out of my control as pleasure rolls through it, vibrating all my muscles. He pulls me tight, and I grip around him, throbbing until I return back to myself.

  I pant into his shoulder as his fingers slip from me. His hands pull at the edge of my shirt and then wrap around me, holding me in place.

  “Damn that was hot, baby.”

  I’m not ready to leave this moment and face him, to face the reality of what we just did, even though he sounds pleased and sexy as hell. But he holds me away from him, and I slink off his lap onto the bench, staring at the ground.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod, still in a haze of pleasure, but shame is shadowing it, and fear is building behind it. I look around, but the night is empty. I hope.

  “I've stayed too long already. I have to get back.”

  I whip my head to him then.

  His smile stretches far enough to show his dimples. “I'll see you tomorrow. Be at the game. Sit front row in the student section.” He stands up, tucking his shirt into his pants as he continues to watch me. “Say something.”

  I stand up. “I'll be there.”

  “Good.” His hand goes to my neck, gripping under my hair. “We'll meet up after.” He presses a kiss, snatching the little breath I regained, then takes a few steps back, still watching me. “One hell of a distraction,” he speaks it aloud, more to the night than to me.

  And then he turns and walks away.

  13: What Was That?

  Rose twists the top on her energy drink as our door opens.

  “One second.” Jess speed walks through our room, directly to the bathroom and closes herself in without a word.

  I look to Rose, but she shrugs and downs the tiny bottle, licking her lips as she finishes and jumps right back into conversation, “I don't know why Tatum is even a consideration. You don't owe her any loyalty; you weren't friends with her first. He's right, as long as he's not sleeping with her, she's not you concern. Besides, they're drama, and they only call so they can find out where TJ and his friends are.” She sits on the bed next to me and bumps my shoulder with hers. “Forget them, we can go back to just us. And you can go back to the girl who walked into this dorm ready for an adventure. Well, wild walks in and you're tiptoeing. Come on, rally.”