by Alix Nichols
God knows, I hope so, too.
We thank Yann for everything and leave the station.
“Hop in.” Eric points to his car. “I’ll drive you to Lucas’s.”
Does he suspect something?
He laughs. “I was going to wait until you or Lucas felt comfortable enough to tell me about your relationship, but the way things have accelerated…”
Oh.
He doesn’t suspect. He knows.
“For the record,” I say as we drive off. “We don’t have a relationship, strictly speaking.”
“Tomayto, tomahto,” he says.
I smile, but given Lucas’s track record, I’m not at all sure sleeping with him will lead to a relationship. I don’t know if he wants a relationship with me. Truth be told, I don’t even know which Lucas will open the door in a few minutes, the old one or the new.
Assuming he’s home and he opens the door.
Twenty minutes later, Eric wishes me good luck and drives away.
I buzz from downstairs.
Nothing happens.
So I wait until someone comes out and enter the building. I run to the second floor and ring the bell.
In vain.
I pull out my phone and call Lucas, almost certain he won’t pick up.
No answer.
He must’ve gone to his parents’ place, I tell myself.
Or maybe he just needed to be by himself, somewhere outside Paris, where he can breathe. Wherever he is, he clearly doesn’t want to see or talk to me.
I toy with my phone. On a crazy impulse, I type up an email and send it to Lucas.
I’m sorry I rained on your parade this morning, but I hope you’ll understand and forgive my interventionism.
On the other hand, how could you be so irresponsible, knowing you’re at a higher risk than the average person?
Anyway, here’s the thing.
I love you, Lucas.
But I’m prepared to walk away, just like I did last time, if you’re nowhere near my wavelength. Please, figure out what you want, and call me when you’re ready.
Isabelle
Lucas
We beat Serbia, a country so good at water polo, they consider anything short of gold a disgrace. Team France was on fire, and the guys played the best water polo of their lives.
Despite the Serbian hole defenders’ best efforts, Zach delivered an unrelenting barrage of shots. He even managed five long-range lobs from the corners and straight on. I almost cried every time the ball flew in a high arc above everyone’s hands and quietly landed inside the cage.
Those lobs were so beautiful they bordered on art.
But we were up against Europe’s best teams, which are also the world’s best.
Still, “La Marseillaise” was played, and my boys climbed on the podium, with bronze medals against their chests.
I’m back in Paris now and ready to call Isabelle.
She picks up and says she has made no plans for the evening. I go to her place. She doesn’t kiss me or even say hello after she opens the door.
Planting her hands on her hips, she glares at me. “A whole week without a word from you. Not. A single. Word.”
“You said to call you when I’m ready.”
“And you weren’t until today?”
I shake my head.
“Are you ready now?”
I nod.
The corners of her lips stretch downward. “Let me guess. You’ve plucked up the courage to say it’s not you, it’s me.”
“What? No!”
She looks surprised. “Then what?”
“I love you.”
She gasps.
“I love you,” I say again.
She searches my face. “Have you been recalling more things?”
“Yes.”
“Including things about me?”
“Yes.”
“And about your beautiful Angie?”
“She called me when I was in Cologne.”
“What did she say?”
“A lot,” I smirk. “A deluge of words, compared to our previous conversations.”
Isabelle frowns in confusion.
“She wanted to know if I held her responsible for covering for Clément.”
“Oh.”
“I got tired in the end and told her she was an ugly person.”
Isabelle’s brows go up. “Wow, what a downgrade! Ugly, huh? That would make even me prettier than Angie.”
“Izz, cut the crap, will you?” I touch her cheek. “Why does this self-confident, beautiful, smart woman turn into an insecure little girl the moment Angie’s name is mentioned?”
She scrunches her face. “Because last time you picked her over me?”
Touché.
“Well, this time around, I don’t feel anything for her, not even lust,” I say. “But I feel plenty for you. My body hungers for you, all the time. Actually, I meant to ask you to move in with me straightaway.”
“You’re nuts.”
“I’m just being practical.” I shrug. “I want you in my arms every night from this night on, so you may as well move in tomorrow.”
She puts her chin up. “I won’t.”
“This weekend?”
She shakes her head.
“Next week?”
“No.”
I frown in bewilderment. “But you love me.”
“I can love you from afar,” she says. “I’ve done that for nine years with great success. I’m a boss at loving you from afar.”
I smile, but my disappointment is so strong it seeps into my voice. “Will you ever move in with me?”
“I need to be sure who you are first,” she says.
“Lucas Delaunay at your service,” I say, bowing ceremoniously. “I’m surprised you don’t remember me. And here I thought I was the one with amnesia.”
She doesn’t laugh.
My expression grows serious, too. “I’m the sum of everything I’ve done before and after the coma, aren’t I? The first thirty years of my life, my actions made me a jerk. The last six years, I was a goody-two-shoes. And now that my memories are coming back, I’m all of it. The bad and the good.”
“The bad… it’s too bad for me.”
“Is there something you aren’t telling me? Something I did or said that’s worse than sleeping with you and then informing you I had a girlfriend.”
She chews on her lip, her eyes riveted to mine.
“If you’re trying to go easy on me,” I say, “please don’t. Bring it on. I can handle it.”
“OK,” she says suddenly. “You did say something, after you told me about Angie.”
I wait for her to continue.
“You said I was plain.” She looks away. “You said it was a pity fuck.”
My insides lurch.
I did expect to hear something unpleasant—but not this. This is… this makes me…
“A piece of shit,” I say. “I was a piece of shit.”
We keep silent for a long moment.
“Give me another chance,” I beg, “I’ll move heaven and earth to make you forgive me.”
She says nothing.
I draw in a breath and utter the most honest words I remember myself saying. “I love you more than you know, but I can’t promise which side of me will win in the end, the good or the bad.”
“I understand,” she says.
“What I can promise is which side I’ll be supporting. For my parents’ sake, for my club’s sake and, most of all, for you.”
She gives me a sad smile.
I open the door, step out onto the landing, and turn back to her. “I want to be worthy of you, Izz. More than anything, I aspire to be the man you’ll want to move in with and love up close.”
Epilogue
Isabelle
True to my word, I didn’t move in with Lucas.
For a whole month.
He kept remembering new things, and telling me about them. I kept looking out for signs of badness
, which never came.
We talked a lot.
We kissed a lot, too.
Then I moved in some of my things, for practical reasons, what with me needing him in my arms too much. A few weeks later, I moved in the rest, seeing as I needed him in my arms every night.
Tonight is no exception.
He flips me onto my stomach and spreads my legs. I smile as he kisses and rubs me, his thick erection prodding against my leg.
In six months, one gets used to being loved and desired. To the passion of the man I considered unattainable. To his insatiable appetite for me, to the warmth of his body, to the sight of him straining to hold off his release until I’ve had mine…
I love watching Lucas when we make love.
But I love this position, too, where I can’t see him. He enters me, and I almost come straight away, so heightened are all my senses. I can hear his labored breathing and our flesh slapping. His cock is deliciously hard and thick inside me. The feel of his chest against my back, the weight of him… And the smell! Lucas smells like the god of sex.
I dig my hands and knees into the mattress and push back, urging him to give me more.
He begins to thrust harder and harder, until I come.
Slipping his hands under me to cup my breasts, he thrusts a few more times and groans his orgasm.
“I have something important to tell you,” I say a few moments later when we cuddle.
“Me, too.”
I smile. “OK, you go first.”
“No, you go first.”
We fall silent before we speak at once.
“I’m resigning from my job,” I say.
“Marry me,” he says.
We pause again, processing.
“Why are you resigning?” he asks. “Are you uncomfortable being my club’s publicist?”
“A little, but it’s not—”
“Do you feel you see too much of me?” he butts in. “Am I crowding you?”
I shake my head and reach for my tote bag next to the bed. “I’ll continue counseling and helping you, but behind the scenes. I’ll no longer work for you.”
“Did you get a better offer?” He stares at the large envelope in my hands. “Is that your new contract?”
“That’s not how I envisioned it, but I guess you could call it that.” I smile and show him an ultrasound image.
He stares at it, dumbfounded, and looks back at me. “Twins.”
His expression is priceless.
I nod, chuckling.
“Twins,” he says again. “You thought… you feared you couldn’t—”
“Turns out I could.” I shrug. “Perhaps I just didn’t get enough sex before moving in with you.”
“How come I didn’t notice anything?” He touches my flat tummy.
“Yeah, well, it’s not unusual not to show in the first trimester.”
“How far along are you?”
“Three months,” I say. “I’d had no idea until two days ago when I realized I hadn’t had my period since early October.”
He frowns, not convinced.
“It’s been such a busy time, what with the Youth Aquatics Games, the new season, and signing with Cleona Bank… Besides, I didn’t have any nausea.”
“So you did a pregnancy test and booked an appointment with a doctor.” He points at the image. “And you kept it from me.”
“I did two tests. The first one was positive and the second, negative.” I touch his hand. “I wanted to be sure before I broke the news to you.”
He pulls me to his chest. “Izz, you should’ve told me! I would’ve liked to accompany you to your first checkup.”
“I promise I’ll take you along for the second,” I murmur against the hollow if his neck.
He lifts my head up, looking concerned. “It’s OK for us to have sex, right?”
“Oh yes.”
“As often as before?”
I nod.
“Am I allowed to… go as deep as before?”
My lips quirk. “Uh-huh.”
“I don’t want to hurt the babies.”
“You won’t.”
The line between his eyebrows disappears, and he takes my mouth in a long, thorough kiss.
“Would you like to get married before or after the babies are born?” he asks when we break the kiss.
Clearly, the possibility of me saying no hasn’t occurred to him.
Oh, who am I kidding?
There is no possibility—not even the slightest chance, not in this universe or in any of the infinite parallel universes around us—that I’ll say no to his proposal.
“Definitely before.” I nuzzle up against his chest. “While we have time and energy for such frivolous pursuits.”
<< <> >>
PLAYING DIRTY
Playing to Win, Book 3
Book Description
What happens when revenge collides with love?
In his pimply teens, Julien was led on, played and publicly humiliated by Noemi.
But time has been kind to him.
Now a heartthrob and formidable water polo defender, Julien has no trouble with the ladies.
That means, he can finally get back at Noemi.
Only... he hadn't expected her to have grown from a shallow girl to a caring woman.
A woman with feelings.
Nor had he anticipated the bitter aftertaste of his revenge, or how empty his bed — and his life — would be without her.
Might she still have his heart?
While Julien ponders the question, Noemi sets out on her own quest for payback...
Part I
“The past is never dead. It isn’t even past.”
William Faulkner
Julien
I drop down on one knee. “Will you marry me?”
Noemi’s eyes widen as she stares at the little black case with a big shiny rock I’m holding up. I wait, trying to focus on the warm breeze against my face and the soothing murmur of the water around us.
Inhale. Exhale.
This will be over soon.
Noemi blinks and shifts her gaze from the ring to my face. But she doesn’t utter a word.
What if she says no?
What if she hasn’t fallen in love with me as I was hoping she would? What if she’s just been leading me on for the past three months, playing one of those cruel games she excels at?
Calm down, man. Breathe. Remember who you are now.
She’ll say yes.
I’m no longer that pathetic pimple-faced nerd in an oversized T-shirt who deserved to be taught a lesson. We’re no longer in high school. I’m a medal-winning athlete on the national water polo team. I’m hard-bodied, impeccably dressed, and self-confident. Women beg me for a date and send me naked pics and sex tapes. Men glare at me in envy.
She’ll say yes.
She’s just too dumbfounded to speak.
Our fellow passengers have formed a small crowd around us—some with looks of concern, others grin optimistically, and some women dab their eyes.
The guy from the cabin next door has my phone and snaps pictures, which—if everything goes to plan—will be shared to Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and whatever other social media accounts Noemi and I have. They’d be the kind of pics that crash the Internet. The sun setting over the dark expanse of the water, the deck railing of a magnificent cruise ship, and a stunning woman in a shimmery cocktail dress saying yes to her tall, handsome boyfriend…
That is, provided Noemi says yes.
If she says no, I’m in for another public humiliation despite my looks, medals, and self-confidence.
As the seconds tick by, said self-confidence shrinks at an alarming rate, to put it mildly.
This was a mistake.
I shouldn’t have listened to Roland. I should’ve proposed in private. Or not proposed at all.
“Oh my God, Julien, I didn’t… I didn’t expect this at all!” Noemi finally says.
I do my best to keep my cool
. “So, what’s your answer?”
“Are you sure about this?” she whispers, her eyes darting to the onlookers. “We’ve been dating for only three months.”
“But we’ve known each other for eight years. That counts for something.”
She nods.
I force a smile, bracing myself for something like “I can’t marry you because deep inside you’re still as pathetic as you were in high school.”
“Yes,” she murmurs.
It’s my turn to blink.
She grins. “You look surprised.”
“Can you say it again?”
“Yes,” she says louder. “I’ll marry you.”
My shoulders sag with relief.
Noemi’s beautiful face expands into a big, toothy smile. I would’ve bet anything it was genuine if I didn’t know better.
People around us clap and cheer.
“Dude, this is the part where you put the ring on her finger,” someone in the crowd prompts.
My hand shakes as I slip the diamond ring on Noemi’s delicate finger. The rock cost me a small fortune, but I didn’t hesitate for a second when I purchased it. Just like I didn’t hesitate when I booked us in the most expensive cabin on this luxurious cruise ship. Knowing what I know about my sweetheart, the slightest suspicion on her part that I’m still a loser would’ve sent my three months of hard work out the window.
Forget three months—try eight years.
I wasn’t taking any chances.
Noemi lifts her hand to her face and gazes at the ring. “It’s gorgeous.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I stand up. “You make me very happy.”
Her eyes water. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been.”
“Kiss her, genius!” my self-appointed prompter says, chuckling.
The crowd begins to chant, “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her!”
I pull Noemi close and brush my lips against hers. There’s no need to go full French in front of an audience.