Hustle

by Ashley Claudy

  It's all so slow and overwhelming. His breaths rasp and muscles are taut as he rocks his hips into me over and over, straining with his control. His slow pace eases into something harder, faster—something I can't keep up with, and it’s only the edge of his power. His tight leash on his strength scares and thrills. I can only grip him and hang on, biting his shoulder, close to crying out from the intensity. And then he locks up, holding his hips deep in me as his muscles release and twitch under my palms. I can feel him shaking inside me.

  I lay still as he pulls out, but then a terrifying thought rips through me. “We didn't use protection.”

  He sits up and reaches into a drawer beside his bed, pulling out something, maybe a shirt. “Yeah I did.” He unrolls a condom from his still semi hard erection and then wraps it in a napkin before throwing it away in the bin beside his nightstand. I'm near tears with relief, over everything. “Here.” He lies on his stomach and brings the soft material between my legs, swiping up the stickiness I feel there.

  “I'll do that.” I take it from him, cheeks burning as I sit up. “I'm going to use your bathroom.” I stand from the bed, picking up my clothes from the floor, nerves consuming the pleasure I had felt.

  “Wait.” He stands up, completely nude, and I can't look, suddenly shy when I shouldn't be. “Don't get dressed, just put this on.” He grabs another shirt from his drawer and slides it over my head. “And come back quick.” He kisses my nose and then flops back on the bed, naked body stretched out.

  I thread my arms through his large shirt, it covers me to my knees, but I keep the underwear in my hand as I hurry to the bathroom. Locked inside, I stare at my reflection, questioning the morning. I didn't look different. I didn't really feel different. But everything in that room felt different. And not just because we had sex—he’s offering a relationship.

  I clean myself up. There’s some blood, not a lot, but I need a shower. It’ll have to wait till I get back to the dorms, though. I don't want him to kick me out; I need to leave before he does. I should have brought my clothes in the bathroom. I suck in a breath, calming my rising nerves, and go to face him.

  The sheets are off his bed, piled in the corner. He has the comforter spread out over his mattress, and he's on top, boxers on, hand extended to me. “Come here and lay with me a little longer.”

  I take the invite, a little longer, and scoot next to him on his bed. His hand glides up and down my arm in silence. But there are too many questions in the silence; it's too loud.

  “Don't you have practice or something?” I question, remembering how he left early the other week.

  “Later. Coach set it up for this afternoon this time.” He pulls me in even closer. “Too many people weren't performing at early weekend practices.” His hands are soft on me, but I can't relax and he notices. “Are you okay? Was that okay?”

  “You tell me. Was it okay?” I shake my head and hide my face in his chest, unable to fight all the insecurity rising to the surface. “No, never mind. I don't want to know.” He's had so many, and I know I wasn't exciting. And I only make it worse with these questions.

  “Brook, baby, that was amazing. It…It was your first time, and that's going to be a little awkward, and probably didn't feel that great. I tried to go slow, to not hurt you—”

  “It’s okay.” I want to reassure him.

  “—But I meant it when I said I'll be your best. It'll get better, and I'm looking forward to showing you new things. Knowing that I'm the only one that's been inside you, the only one to touch you like that, to feel you—”

  “Stop,” I plead as he kisses my neck in between declarations.

  He pulls away to look at me, worry creasing his brows. “What?”

  “I don't know. The way you're talking, it's…” Making me think you really only want my body and nothing else. But I don't voice my fear, that's the risk I’d taken. “You still want a relationship, right?”

  “I meant what I said this morning, this doesn't change that.” He pulls me into the crook of his arm, where my body fits and forms with his. “You don't like the way I talk about you?”

  I close my eyes, calming myself with the sound of his heart under my ear. “I actually do like the way you talk most of the time,” I admit with a small smile. “But not now, please. I want to feel that this maybe meant something to you, too.”

  “It did,” he reassures, kissing my hair. “This is new to me, too. How about no more talking, and I just hold you for a while?”

  I snuggle into his side, agreeing with my silence. After a moment, his warmth pulls me under, and I fall back to sleep.

  The TV's on when I wake up, a flat screen against the wall opposite his bed. But he's still got me in his arms and smiles at me as I look to him.

  “What time is it?” I stretch as best as I can, still in his hold.

  “Almost noon.” His gaze is so soft as it flicks over my body.

  The shirt I'm wearing is bunched to the top of my legs, and I pull it down to cover my underwear.

  “Too late for that.” He pats my butt with a grin. “You hungry?”

  I'm not sure if he's making a dirty joke or not, and it must show on my face because he laughs.

  “TJ's picking up pizza on his way home. He should be here soon.”

  “Oh.” I sit up. I need to get dressed. I need to shower. “I should probably go.”

  He wraps his arms around my waist from behind and places a kiss on my neck. “If you want, I can take you home.”

  “Okay.” I turn in his arms, my gaze swiping across him, but it catches on his shoulder. I don't know how I hadn't seen it before. Three red slashes against the dark ink of his upper right arm. The centerline deeper and longer than the outside two, all three parallel. Scratches. My hand goes to them, and I twist out of his hold. “What happened?”

  He pulls away and covers them with his hand, eyes dropping. “Something stupid.”

  His response sets off alarms, and I stand up. “Someone scratched you?”

  He nods, still sitting on the bed, cautious eyes on me. But I'm not letting him out.

  “Who?”

  “Tatum,” he sighs and drops his hand. Those angry marks burn in my mind.

  “When? Why?” I need more than a one word response. The ground under me cracks, and Kyle's warning is back in my head, he likes their fights.

  His jaw flexes in a slow clench, and his voice comes out cold, “Last night. She misunderstood.”

  “What does that mean?” I cross my arms, protecting myself.

  “I've been telling her the past couple of weeks that things are different. But last night she thought I'd changed my mind. But she thought wrong, and when she realized the truth, she broke down.” He stands up and steps towards me. “I don't know what you'll hear about last night, you probably already have messages on your phone, but I only talked with her. That's it. I left with her to keep others from seeing her like that, but that's all. I came to you last night because I knew then I had to tell you. I didn't want you to get the wrong idea.”

  I didn't even know where my phone was to check it. I left it last night, he knew that. And I'd left without telling anyone, too. I shake away those thoughts to focus on him. “Wrong idea about what? You and her? What is it between you two?”

  “She's—her family's—they're always going to be a part of my life. I owe them a lot, but I don't owe them my future. I know that now. She's having a hard time accepting it, but she's going to. I just need you to trust me on this.” He grabs my hand in his. “Can you do that?”

  I watch his thumb moving over the back of my hand and nod. “But, can you tell me more? Help me understand?”

  “It's a long story and you said you needed to go home.” He grips my hand when I try to pull it away. “Do you want to hear it now or later?”

  “Now.” I'm sure of that. Everything else can wait.

  19: Don’t Worry

  His thumb drags circles over the back of my hand. Tension makes the caress r
ough and fills the silence. His head is bowed, and I stand before him on restless legs, staring at his dark wavy strands.

  My skin’s beginning to burn under the path of his thumb, and I reach a tentative hand out, fingers easing through his curls in an attempt to soothe whatever’s going on inside.

  He captures my wrist and rises to his feet. “I need a drink first. You want something?”

  “Sure. Water would be good.” I step away to let him pass by, and I flinch when the door slams shut behind him, a sure sign I'm not meant to follow.

  I scoop up my clothes and get dressed, nerves not letting me stay still, doubt taunting me. But I try not to question the morning. I’d done what I wanted. I slept with him, and now he was opening up—something else I’d wanted. But I can’t shake my uncertainty in it all. In him.

  One thing this morning accomplished is that he felt more real. No longer some illusion, some unattainable dream. And while the thought of him still excites me, some of the mystery’s gone. But I like that; it makes me want more.

  But those marks, maybe this morning had been the illusion. I’d let myself forget the truth about him.

  I run my fingers through my hair, forcing out knots, stopping myself from thinking any further. And then I leave the room and walk to the kitchen with my heart in my throat.

  He's got his hands braced against the countertop. His long defined muscles and hauntingly beautiful tattoo on his back are on full display, until he turns towards me.

  The look on his face makes me pause, but then the lines ease, and his jaw unclenches.

  He nods to the stove with a hint of a smile pulling at his lip. “Waiting on the water to boil.” The faint steaming hiss of bubbling water rises from the silver kettle, but he removes it from the stove before it whistles. “Do you want some tea?”

  “Tea?” I’m not sure why this surprises me so much. “What type of tea?”

  “I don't know, black.” The box he lifts up looks tiny in his grip, and he shrugs as he hands it to me. “Here, I don't pay attention.”

  “Sure, I'll have a cup.” I take the Lipton box from him and remove two tea bags. “I'm not picky, just curious about what tea you like.”

  My amazed smile only grows larger when he takes out two mugs and pours the boiling water into them, and then he reaches for the bags in my hand.

  “My grandmom always bought this type. So I do to.” He dips the tea bags into each mug. “Do you want sugar?”

  “Please.” I step beside him and take the cup he offers.

  He pulls out a bag of sugar from the cabinet above us and two spoons from the drawer in front of him.

  We make our tea in silence, but I sip my hot drink to cover my giggle when he scoops spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his steaming mug. He shoots me a knowing grin and scoops one last heaping spoonful into it.

  “It's good this way,” he says before taking a sip.

  Maybe it's his smile, or maybe it's the soft look in his eyes, or maybe it's just how simple the whole thing is, but somehow he puts me at ease.

  I feel lighter as I sit at the kitchen table that's actually a card table with folding chairs. The mug heats my hands and warms my body, driving away the chill. But as he sits, my eyes settle back on his shoulder, back to those marks.

  “Do you know who Tony Valdez is?” He questions with a bemused curiosity scrunching his nose.

  “Maybe.” I hate being put on the spot. His name sounds familiar though. “He played football, right?”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “He was one of the best in the NFL. And the best player Eastern's ever had.”

  “I knew I knew that name.” I smile, proud that I was right.

  “That's Tatum's Uncle.”

  I nod, unable to read the quiet way he's watching me.

  “All of her family is like that, good at what they do. They—well, let's just say the Valdez name is a big one where I'm from. They're connected to everything.” He finishes his tea in two gulps, and I wince, feeling the heat of my own burn my throat. “We didn't officially meet until my freshmen year of high school, but I knew her before from around. Never thought she knew me, but she told me later she did. She'd seen me at the football camps I was in.”

  Knots form in my gut, slowly twisting and pulling as his voice became softer, his gaze more distant. The fondness is clear in his words.

  He shakes away whatever memory has him smiling and continues, “It was her uncle's camps. He didn't really run them, but he'd always show up at least once, usually at the end of them. I only got to go because my Grandmom cleaned their offices. She cleaned their homes too sometimes, when they needed extra help or some shit, I don't even know.” He looks directly at me then. “Point is, we were connected, crossing paths before we ever really met.

  “These camps, they brought people from all over the state. As you got older, you could only go if you were invited. I was always invited, even though I didn't play for my school at the time. I didn't question it then.” He waves it away with a shake of his head and scoots his chair forward. “Anyways, after one of these camps, one of the older boys invited us all back to his place for a party. I didn't really like him, but I liked the group, and he was a wealthy little shit so there was plenty to drink and,” he hesitates, that careful look back in his eyes, “party favors. Stuff I could never afford, but these rich kids, well they party differently. So I'm loaded at this party, when in walks Tatum, screaming at the asshole throwing the party. I guess they were dating. Some of the others, they're laughing at the two of them fighting. I don't even remember what they were yelling about, but then that boy hits her and everybody just stands there. So I stepped in and laid him out. They all want to do something then, like I'm the bad guy.” He touches above his eye, where a faint scar cuts across his dark brows. “Somehow, we both made it out of there with only some scrapes. But that was the start.”

  “You were a freshmen?” I want to make sure I get the timeline right; it seems young to go to a party like that.

  “It was the end of the summer before ninth grade, Tatum was going into tenth.” His eyes spark as he smirks. “I was always big for my age. We went to different schools, but we kept crossing paths. She needed me. That ex kept bothering her, and he had it out for me. But there was more to it, I liked her. I always had.” He cuts his eyes to me, checking in, and those knots in my stomach pull a little tighter. “So we started dating, and I got to officially meet her family, most of them anyways. She's got a big family.”

  He trails off as a car door slams.

  “That's TJ.” He leans back in his seat, absently scratching his bare chest. “He said he was bringing pizza. You hungry?”

  “No.” I want to be selfish and pull him away, demand him not to eat till he tells me the rest.

  The kitchen door opens and snaps shut behind TJ. He's got two large pizza boxes in his hands, sunglasses covering his eyes, and his hair is pulled back in a low, messy bun.

  “She's here?” He slides the boxes onto the counter, and his smile spreads as he looks to us. “Damn, Rose just called asking if you were. I told her no.” He slides his phone out of his pocket. “I'll text her back now. Something about your mom freaking out.”

  “Oh, I've got to go.” My stomach drops and I stand up, looking to Drew. “I forgot about calling my mom. She's probably worried.”

  “She's at your dorm.” TJ laughs, and I snap my head to him.

  “What? My mom's there, right now?”

  “That's what Rose said.” He holds up his phone. “What should she tell her?”

  “Tell her, I'll be there soon. Can you take me home now?” I look back at Drew. He’s still sitting.

  TJ laughs. “You want me to call a cab?”

  “No, I'll take her.” He rises to his feet and nods to me. “Let me get dressed.”

  TJ quiets down, staring after him as he walks out of the room, but his message is hidden under his dark sunglasses.

  I pick up the tea mugs and bring them to the sink.
r />   “How long have you been here?” TJ asks from beside me.

  I shrug, unsure if I'm the joke causing him to laugh.

  “What do you think your mom wants?” He pulls out a piece of pizza and sits on the counter.

  “I don't know.” It has me worried that she’s here.

  “Here,” he pulls a hair tie off his wrist covered in leather bracelets, “you've got some serious bed head.”

  “Thanks.” I accept the tie and pull my hair back in a messy bun like his.

  Drew walks to the front door dressed in a white tee and dark jeans.

  “Will you be back before practice?” TJ questions him.

  “Maybe. Don't eat all the pizza,” he orders, holding the door open for me.

  I slide into the passenger side of his truck, my thoughts elsewhere.

  He pauses with his hands on the ignition. “Did you have plans with her today?”

  “Not really, but we usually text in the mornings. Maybe she's just worried.” I can't convince myself, though. It's only mid day, an unanswered text shouldn't make her drive here yet.

  I can see in his eyes, he's not buying my excuse either, but he nods and starts the truck, pulling out of the driveway.

  “Well, I…” He lets out a long stream of air. “Fuck, I wanted to explain last night before anyone else does.”

  “Go ahead then.” My head is pounding already.

  “I was talking about you, not her.” He's frustrated already, voice rising. “I shouldn't even have gone. I should have stayed at Theta.”

  “What happened?” The drive to the dorms is short with very little time for explanations, and he's not making any sense.

  “I went to the party at Tate's sorority. All the Sig brothers were there, too, and she was hanging on that guy you know from your daycare thing.”

  “Scott,” I supply the name.

  “Yeah, Scott,” he agrees. “But there was this other guy, a younger brother. He was wasted and said something to me, but I didn't pay attention until Scott stepped in. That's when I realized he had been talking about you.”