SOMETHING SO SERIES

by Madison, Natasha

  Once I know I’ve kissed her silly, I slowly peel my lips from hers, kissing the side of her mouth, to her chin, to her neck, up to nip at her ear. “Now that I’ve got you breathless, I want you to listen.” I run soft kisses on her chin. “You listening?” I ask her.

  She nods.

  “This, me, you. It’s happening. I’m going to kiss you,” I tell her, running my tongue out while I kiss her neck. “I’m going to come home and come to your bed. Or you can come to mine, but”—I kiss her lips again—“make no mistake about it. This thing is happening.” The blue in her eyes becomes clear again.

  “Matthew”—her hands rub my back—“we can’t do this.” Her voice is soft. “Can you imagine what they would say if they found out?”

  “So we keep it quiet till we decide to tell people. Tell me you get that this is happening.”

  “Matthew,” she groans out.

  “Babe.” I stop her. “I need a nap,” I tell her, rolling to my side and taking her with me.

  “Ma—”

  I put my hand to her lips. “Shh. Let’s rest. Yeah.” And I close my eyes, pretending I’m going to sleep, but knowing she’s glaring at me with death in her eyes. Opening one eye, I spot the look I thought she had on. Yup, dead.

  “You’re beautiful.” Is the last thing I say before I close my eyes again. We both fall into a nap.

  I’m about to put my suit jacket on when my phone rings beside the sink. I’m in my bathroom because all my stuff is here, but next time, I laugh to myself, thinking she’s going to throw my shit out. I’m pretty sure. When I see it’s my mom I answer right away.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say, packing up my stuff since we are going straight home from the game.

  “Hey, sweetheart, you did so good,” she tells me, and I can hear the smile on her face.

  “Yeah, I’m actually feeling really, really good.”

  “You played a really good game last night. You ready for tonight?”

  I throw my stuff in my bag, zipping it up. “Yeah, I had practice with the guys today. I like the team, like the dynamic. I’m just happy to have the chance.”

  “That sounds so promising.” I hear her voice go off.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t want to get involved and Cooper told me to mind my business, but your father called me.”

  I stop what I’m doing and look up at the ceiling, closing my eyes. I haven’t spoken to my father in five years. The minute Mom had Zoe and Zara, he upped himself and moved out of state. The daily phone calls went to weekly, to bi-weekly, to monthly, to just a fucking text on my birthday. I won’t even go into the shit he pulled before Mom and him got divorced. He was never really there anyway. Where all my friends would go to the rink with their dads, mine would be working. Traveling. I can count on my hand the amount of times he actually got off his ass and took me to practice.

  My mother, that was who raised me. That was who gave up everything for me and Allison. Till Cooper came, then he showed me what it was to actually have a family. To actually come home to a family who did things together and that didn’t just co-exist.

  “He said he texted you a couple of times,” she says softly.

  “A text, seriously?” I shake my head. “When I got sent down to the minors, he sent me a text with one word ‘nice,’” I tell her, something she didn’t know because I didn’t want to make her go and kick his ass.

  “I didn’t know,” she says quietly.

  “Because he’s a douchebag. When’s the last time he actually picked up the phone and called Allison?” I ask her, my voice getting louder. “When is the last time he actually took time out of his day for his children?” I slam my suitcase shut. “I can tell you, a long fucking time ago. I think I was maybe ten. He has no right to involve you in this shit. But you know what?” I laugh to myself. “That’s just the type of person he is. Notice I didn’t say man, Mom, because he isn’t.”

  “I promise to never bring it up.”

  I nod, knowing Cooper will be hearing about this. The minute my mother feels sad, or her mood changes, it’s like he knows. It’s like he senses it, which is how strong their bond is. I look up and I’m shocked that Karrie is standing there in the doorway. She stares at me with confusion in her eyes, sadness, and most of all worry. This woman who I met two days ago has embedded herself in me and I have no idea how I lived without her.

  “Mom, I got to go. The bus is leaving in ten minutes. Kiss the kids for me and smack Allison upside the head. Tell her I saw her stupid Instagram post and to delete it or else.” I hang up, knowing that my mother is laughing and calling Allison right away.

  “Is everything okay?” she asks from the side of the door. She is standing there with her tight blue jeans, a beige jacket, some scarf thing around her neck, and brown high heel boots. I toss my phone on the bed, looking back at her.

  “It’s”—I look back at my bag then up at her again—“it’s nothing.” I shake my head. “Come give me a kiss.”

  She stands there, her stance going from worried about me to pissed while she crosses her arms across her chest, cocking her hip out. “No.” She shakes her head.

  “Babe.” I start to walk to her when she holds out her hand.

  “Don’t come near me, Matthew Grant.” She steps back. “You come all in my face”—she waves her hands in the air—“and I forget things, like how I don’t like you.” She closes the door to her side of the room.

  I knock on the door, whispering, “Karrie, I need a kiss good luck.”

  “No,” she says from her side of the door.

  “Please,” I say smiling, hoping it’s winning her over.

  The doorknob turns, opening the door. “No kissing,” she says through the small crack.

  I wait for the door to open more.

  “I have lipstick, and I’ve just applied it. And I don’t want—”

  And that’s all I let her say before pushing the door open and grabbing her face.

  “I don’t care.” My lips land on hers. My tongue invades hers as her hands go to my hips. My tongue twirls with hers, her strawberry lip gloss now transferred to mine. My hands never leave her cheeks.

  I let go of the kiss, leaning back while her eyes slowly blink open. “See, wasn’t that easy?” I say while her nails dig into my hips, making me laugh.

  She lets go, letting my hands fall to my sides. Going to her bag, she opens it up, grabbing what looks like wet ones.

  “Here”—she hands me one—“clean your face so you don’t have any glitter or shine.”

  I take it from her, wiping my face. “Do I have any more?” I ask her.

  She walks up to me, taking the rag from me and cleaning me again.

  “I still don’t like you,” she says, while I try not to smile. “Just so you know.” She finishes and turns around, throwing the towelette into the garbage. “Now let’s go so we don’t miss the bus.” She zips everything up, walking to the door. “Don’t follow me.” She points to the door. “Go out there so people don’t suspect anything.”

  “No one is going to suspect anything,” I tell her, going to my room, grabbing my stuff, and walking out of my room. I meet five of my teammates when I walk out. I say hello to everyone, my eyes landing on Karrie, who is standing there with an ‘I told you so’ look.

  I can’t really say anything to her because for once she’s right. Okay, maybe more than once, but I won’t ever tell her that.

  Chapter Ten

  Karrie

  I glare at him, knowing that he knows I’m right but won’t say anything. The smirk says it all. I avoid standing next to him. I even avoid sitting with him on the bus, instead going to sit next to Robert, who is already on the bus. Just when I think he is going to go sit in the back, he sits in the same aisle on the other side. He puts his ear buds in and watches something on his phone and by the time I look around we are headed home, back on the plane after winning in Philly three to one. He didn’t score this time, but he did have two as
sists. His third line is on fire. The reporters are all waiting for them to interview them after the game. Matthew stays out of most of them, choosing to let his other teammates get the spotlight.

  I’m standing by the bus thinking this when a reporter comes on with the highlights of the game. While they talk about the new addition, they also point out some of the key top line players that are slacking. There’s also a close shot of Max yelling something at the ref. I can’t make out what he says, but I’m sure it isn’t words of love. There’s another shot of him telling Matthew to fuck off clear as day. Matthew just looks at him, shaking his head. Mr. Cool. That is what the reporters are dubbing him. I smile to myself while the door to the bus opens. I get on, sitting in the front again, grabbing a magazine, this time to read while I wait for the team to get on. Slowly they trickle in. When I feel someone sit next to me, I look up expecting it to be Matthew, but the snide smile of Max makes my insides flop down.

  “What? Expecting Mr. Perfect?” he says a bit loud so everyone can hear.

  “I’m not expecting anyone actually and if I was expecting Mr. Perfect, he’s definitely not the one sitting next to me,” I tell him, flipping pages on the magazine, not even reading anymore.

  “That was funny,” he says, picking a piece of lint off his jacket. “So what did you think of the game?” he asks me, and I’m not sure where he is going with this. I also don’t want to be a bitch either.

  “It was good, a great win, especially since their goalie was on a five-game winning streak.” I repeat the statement that I just heard watching the highlights.

  “Yeah, it was good to fuck with them.” He smirks when he sees Matthew get on the bus with Phil following him. He takes in the sight of Max next to me and I see a vein in his neck tic. He takes the seat behind me while Phil sits next to him.

  The conversation with Max ends the minute I feel two eyes staring through the seat. When we get off the bus at the plane I slow my steps, pretending to be searching for something in my purse, till Max walks ahead of me, walking up the stairs.

  “Let’s go.” I hear growled beside me and feel his hand at the base of my back. I’m about to argue with him, but I feel the anger radiating off him.

  “I didn’t.” I don’t even finish saying anything before he turns almost black eyes on me.

  “Not now.” Is all he says while I climb the stairs to the plane.

  I’m almost tempted to go and sit somewhere else, but something tells me this would not bode well for me, so I sit in the first available row. He puts his bag up in the overhead compartment and sits next to me. I look around before I say something, but there are just too many people here, so instead I grab my earphones and put them in, leaning my head against the side of the plane, closing my eyes.

  By the time we are dragging our bags into the house, it is way past three a.m. I’m dead on my feet. “I’m so tired,” I say, dumping my bags at the door and kicking off my shoes. I don’t get past the doorway before I’m turned around and I’m in Matthew’s arms. His whole body engulfs me. His smell invades me.

  “Don’t do that again,” he hisses out before he kisses me. Actually that’s not a strong enough word. He claims me, he swallows me, he invades me. And I let him. He grabs my waist, picking me up. My legs wrap around his waist while he carries me upstairs to my room. Our lips never leave the other. One of my hands is in his hair, the other around his neck, trying to get closer to him. His tongue plays me like a fiddle. He lets go of my lips to drag his tongue down my neck where he sucks a touch, making my core shiver to his touch.

  “Mine.” Is all he says when his legs hit my bed, and my legs come off of him, my knees going into the bed in front of him. My face meets his chest.

  I look up at him. His hands push the hair behind my ear, the touch soft and lingering. His thumb then traces my cheekbone.

  “Beauty,” he says while his thumb rubs my bottom lip, which still tingles from his kiss. “Get ready for bed,” he says, walking away from me and leaving the room.

  I get up, following him to see him walk up the stairs. Well, I guess that answers that question. I close the door softly, going into my bathroom to change and wash the makeup off. I feel like a vampire these days, sleeping most of the day and up at insane times of the night.

  I close the light while I rub cream on my hands, walking to bed. I stop in my tracks. There he sits. His back to the headboard, sheets at his waist.

  “What are you—” I say, walking to him in my long shirt nightgown.

  “Do you have a side you sleep on?” he asks while I stand here staring at his chest. His chest of perfection, I might add. His chest that I would like to sleep on. His chest I would like to put my hands on while I ride him, hard. His chest that I would bite if he were on top of me. “Babe?” he asks me with a twinkle in his eye, like he knows I was thinking about him.

  I almost want to squeeze my knees together, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I pull the covers up, seeing that he’s in his boxers, and his cock is ready for that riding I want to do.

  “See something you like?” he asks, throwing the covers off of him so I can see him. I curse the gods for making black boxers.

  I shrug my shoulders. “Nope,” I huff, pulling the covers on top of me to my neck, fluffing the pillow, “nothing at all.” I close my eyes, trying to find slumber. Instead, I feel a hard body against my back—not just the body but a hard dick. A dick I would like to be very familiar with.

  “You can pretend all you want, babe, but I bet if I slid my hand down into your shorts I’d find your pussy wet for me.”

  Assface, that’s what he is. Two can play this game. “You probably would. I’ve just finished masturbating before coming to bed.” I smile while I feel his body go tense.

  “You didn’t?” he asks.

  “You’ll never know either. Goodnight.” I turn back around and close my eyes, his groan making me smile to myself right before I fall asleep.

  The next day we wake up to the sound of his alarm at nine. “Turn it off,” I mumble while I turn to face him, coming face to face with his chest that I spent the night dreaming about.

  He turns the alarm off or presses snooze, I’m not sure because he turns back to face me, pulling me close to him. I snuggle into him, falling asleep again, only to be woken up to his alarm, again.

  “Get out.” I push him back. One eye opens, watching him get out of bed. He’s in the same state as he was last night. Alert and saluting. “Go rub one off before practice or you’ll be really uptight.”

  “You thinking about my cock?” He smiles, cupping himself.

  “Not as much as my pink vibrator in the bathroom. Hey”—I lean up on my elbow—“can you close the door on the way out? You know, just in case.” I smile at him.

  “I’m going to find that plastic dick and I’m going to melt it,” he says, walking to the bathroom.

  “How do you know it’s plastic? It could be glass. Or it could be a replica of my ex’s.” I want to continue, but I think his head is going to explode. He turns, storming out of the room, slamming the door. Leaving me to giggle to myself. I pick up my phone, texting Vivienne.

  Coffee?

  Bien sur. Meet you there, same place, oui?

  We always meet at the French coffee shop by my house. It’s almost like home according to Vivienne.

  À bientôt. I reply I will see you later in French. I get up, going to the bathroom and then downstairs where I find Matthew sitting in the kitchen eating what looks like cereal and fruit with yogurt. He’s already dressed in his workout clothes. I walk over to the coffee pot and pour myself a cup, adding milk to it.

  He lifts his gaze from his bowl with a scowl on his face.

  “What’s up, buttercup? Did you not drain the snake?” I smile in my cup while he glares at me. “Are you one of those that can’t”—I make a fist in front of me, thrusting—“you know, finish things?” I laugh at him. “It’s okay if that’s what you suffer from.”


  He drops his spoon into the bowl and gets up, carrying the bowl with him. He places it in the sink softly then turns around, coming straight to me. “It’s a good thing I have to leave and Phil is picking me up, because I’d show you exactly how I finish.” He leans in, whispering, “All fucking day and night I’d show you till you beg me to stop.”

  I stand here mouth open. I got served.

  “Bye, babe.” He kisses my lips before walking out to Phil, who has just honked.

  “Assface, jerkoff.” I slam my cup down on the counter, and then wipe down the mess I made. “It’s all his fault. Comes into my life”—I rinse his plate—“bossing me around”—I swing the dishwasher open, yanking the drawer out, placing the cups from breakfast in there—“sleeping in my bed.” I slam the door back closed. “Who does he think he is?” I put away the box of cereal he left out. “I’ll tell you who he thinks he is, the boss of me.” I slam the cupboard closed. “He isn’t the boss of me.” I storm upstairs, fixing the bed. “Doesn’t even make the bed.” I throw the pillows to the end of the bed and then continue fixing it. I pick up his pillow, bringing it to my nose, smelling him. “Ugh and he smells good. Piss off,” I tell the pillow, throwing it on the bed. Then like a lightbulb in my head I run to my closet, taking my pink rabbit vibrator out. “I’ll show you fucking all day and night.” I put the vibrator under the covers on his side. “Take that,” I tell the covers.

  After I finish, I walk up to my office where I open my computer. I go through the emails that the PR girl has sent me about the travel schedule. There’s a ten-day road trip in three weeks. Then we get five days off. I check the calendar and see if maybe I could get away. I pull up some vacation to Cabo, some to California. I mess around on Facebook. I’m shocked to have a friend request from his sister Allison. I ignore it for a second, wanting to talk to Matthew about this. Noticing the time, I’ve spent four hours doing nothing on the computer. I have to meet Vivienne in less than twenty minutes. I put on a coat of mascara, throw on some yoga pants with a tight camisole, a jacket, and scarf. I make it to the store in record time.