Hot & Heavy

by Tracy Wolff

  “Beach pizza wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” she tells me as she waits for me to close the door behind her.

  “Hey, everyone knows beach pizza is the very best kind.” I reach for her hand and the fact that she lets me take it sends a little thrill through me. Which is ridiculous, I know, considering all of the things we’ve done to and with each other from the very first night we met.

  But just because it’s ridiculous doesn’t make it any less true. Especially since Sage has been so reticent about letting me touch her in public (the bachelorette-party bar notwithstanding).

  I know it’s because she’s afraid that some overzealous fan will plaster pics of us all over social media, and to be honest, that’s a valid concern. Not for me, because I want the whole world to know we’re dating. I definitely want every man in the vicinity to know this strong, beautiful woman is mine.

  “Who is this everyone you speak of?” she asks as we stroll hand in hand through the wide-open gates to Mission Beach’s very own boardwalk amusement park.

  “Everyone!” I gesture to the throngs of people all around us. “This is the best place to get pizza in all of Mission Beach.”

  “And here I thought we were here for the roller coaster.”

  “Oh, we are,” I tell her with a grin. “And the Beach Blaster and the Octotron and the Tilt-a-Whirl.”

  She’s smiling now, that grin she gets when she thinks I’m being ridiculous—which never fails to make me want to kiss her. So I do, leaning forward and pressing my lips to hers in what I plan to be a quick, fun little peck.

  But Sage surprises me—she’s always surprising me—by wrapping her arms around my waist and holding tight as she opens her mouth to mine.

  Never one to turn down a chance to get my hands on this woman, I slide my hands up to cup her face even as I suck her lower lip between my teeth and nibble softly.

  Her mint-flavored breath comes out in a rush and suddenly her body is pressed against mine. And fuck, why did I think coming to Belmont Park was a good idea? We could be in my bed right now and I could be inside her instead of trying to fight down my arousal in the middle of a family-friendly theme park.

  I know I should pull away. The longer we stand here, the more attention we’re going to draw. The more attention we draw, the higher the chances of me being recognized, and that’s the last thing I want right now. Especially with as skittish as Sage is about anything resembling my status as a local celebrity.

  I don’t pull away, though. I can’t. Not now, when she’s pressed so sweetly—so hotly—against me.

  Not now, when she’s holding me so tightly.

  And definitely not now when it feels like she’s opening herself to me—opening herself up to me—for the very first time.

  So I stay where I am at the edge of the park, kissing her. Holding her. Letting her hold me for long seconds that turn into one minute, then two.

  Eventually someone walks by and whistles, and that’s what breaks the spell. Sage pulls back, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and eyes just a little glazed. It’s that more than anything else that has my arousal leaping into my throat. Those fucking eyes of hers are going to be the death of me.

  I’m about to suggest we head back to the car—back to my house—when Sage grins and starts tugging me toward the nearest concession stand. “If you expect me to get on any of these rides with you, you’d better be prepared to ply me with cotton candy.”

  “Cotton candy?” I ask, eyebrows raised. It’s the last thing I expected my practical, down-to-earth Sage to ask for.

  “Cotton candy,” she repeats. “It’s my favorite.”

  “All right, then. Cotton candy it is.” I reach for my wallet. “Which flavor do you like?”

  She shoots me a disdainful look. “All the flavors. Obviously.”

  “Obviously,” I repeat, more than a little bemused…and intrigued. Every day I find out something new about Sage, and everything I learn just makes me want to know more. About what she likes, about what she wants, about who she is. With most women, I don’t care about more than the surface details, but with Sage? I want nothing more than to learn every single thing there is to know about her.

  When we get to the front of the line, I order her all five flavors of cotton candy the booth has to offer—pink vanilla, blue raspberry, piña colada, bubble gum and lemon lime.

  Just the idea of lemon-lime cotton candy has me shuddering a little—who knew I was a purist—but Sage happily devours it while we wait in line to buy the wristbands that will give us unlimited access to all the attractions.

  There’s a part of me that thought she was messing with me when she asked for all the cotton candy—this is the woman who eats homemade granola and berries for breakfast every morning and who considers a piece of chocolate cake a major splurge. But as I watch her make her way through four cotton candy packages in under ten minutes, it’s hard to think she’s anything but serious.

  She saves the traditional pink-vanilla cotton candy for last, and as we wait in line for the Giant Dipper Roller Coaster, she offers me a bite.

  “Seriously?” I ask. “You just went through four rolls of cotton candy on your own and now you want to give me a bite.”

  “I saw how you turned your nose up at the lemon-lime flavor. You’re a cotton candy snob.” She starts to pull the cotton candy back toward her, but I grab hold of her wrist long enough to pull a chunk off the white paper tube.

  “I’m a purist, not a snob.”

  She sniffs. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.” Still, she offers me more.

  We finish the last of the stuff as we get to the front of the line. As we climb into the first car of the roller coaster, Sage looks nervous for the first time.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, as I check to make sure the bar is tight against her lap.

  “Nothing.” But she’s not looking me in the eye.

  “Don’t you like roller coasters?” I demand, holding a hand up to attract the attendant’s attention. We’re locked in and if I need to get her out of here I’m going to need his help.

  Sage slaps my hand down. “I’m fine.”

  “Really?” She’s pale and a little shaky. “Because you don’t look fine.”

  “It’s a sugar rush. All that cotton candy just hit me.”

  I might be tempted to believe her—God knows, if I ate that much sugar in one sitting I’d barely be bouncing off the freaking walls—but there’s something in her eyes that tells me she’s lying to me.

  I think about backing off—she obviously doesn’t want to talk about whatever it is—but I’m sick of backing off. Sick of her refusing to tell me what she’s thinking, especially when it’s about something as stupid as this damn roller coaster.

  Raising my hand again, I call out to the attendant. Omar, I think his name badge said.

  “What are you doing?” Sage hisses. “Stop it!”

  “If you want me to stop, you need to tell me what’s wrong. Otherwise we’re getting off this coaster. Now.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Bullshit.” I catch Omar’s eye, and he nods to let me know he sees me from where he’s making sure two preteens are tightly fastened. “Are you afraid of roller coasters?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I mean, I don’t know! I’ve never been on one!” Now she looks as mad as she does embarrassed.

  “Never?” I ask, totally incredulous.

  “Never.” She crosses her arms over her chest, looks away.

  “Not even at Disneyland or the state fair, when you were a kid?”

  “Never,” she repeats.

  “Wow. Do you—”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? We can—”

  Omar chooses that moment to interrupt.
“Is there a problem, sir?” His eyes are wide and his voice is squeaking a little, which can mean only one thing. He recognizes me.

  Sage realizes it, too, and she glares at me. Mouths, Don’t you dare.

  And I get it. I do. The last thing she wants to be known as is Shawn Wilson’s plus one, who punked out on the roller coaster at Belmont Park. But the last thing I want to be known as is the guy who terrorized his woman on their first real date.

  Which leaves us at an impasse, at least until she smiles at Omar and says, “We’re good, thanks. Shawn here is a little afraid of roller coasters but I think I’ve got him calmed down.”

  Omar’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as they bounce between the two of us. I know the look—it’s the one I’ve been wearing pretty much since I first set eyes on Sage in that damn bar. It’s also the look of a rabid social media commenter, one who will be posting on Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter and everywhere else imaginable about what a pussy I am the second this train leaves the station.

  The only question is, am I man enough to take the blame for this little debacle if it means saving Sage a little embarrassment. And the answer to that question is abso-fucking-lutely.

  “She’s right,” I tell him with a sheepish grin. “Roller coasters scare the hell out of me. Can you get us out of here?”

  “No!” Sage says, hand resting on my stomach as if to hold me in place. “You’ve got this, right?”

  I lift a brow at her. “Do I?”

  “You do.”

  “Okay, then.” I look back at Omar, who can’t seem to decide whether he wants to act cool or take a pic and beg for an autograph. “Looks like I’ve got this after all. Thanks for the help, though.”

  “Are you sure?” Omar snaps into theme-park-hero role in zero seconds flat. “Because I can unlock the bars and get you out, Mr. Wilson. It’s no trouble at all. I just need to go over to the control panel. It’ll take two seconds.”

  I glance at Sage, who shakes her head subtly, before turning back to the kid.

  “No need for that, Omar.” I make sure to use the kid’s name—it’s a little enough thing to do—and sure enough his chest puffs out, and he starts grinning like crazy. “My girlfriend’s got me all straightened out.”

  Omar’s eyes whip back to Sage, who is suddenly looking at me, all wide eyes and open mouth. Girlfriend? she mouths at me.

  I just incline my head.

  “Okay, then, Mr. Wilson. I’ll put the coaster on a lower speed, just for you.”

  I start to tell him he doesn’t have to do that, but I think twice about it when I realize Sage’s hand is still shaking. “Thanks, man. I do appreciate it.”

  As soon as he walks away, Sage turns to me. “Girlfriend?” she asks, voice all high and squeaky—and not in a good way.

  “Girlfriend,” I tell her firmly. “I don’t puss out in public for just anyone, you know.”

  The roller coaster starts up before she can say anything else, and then she’s gripping my hand so tightly that I’m afraid she’s going to break a finger or three. And while I’m not looking forward to explaining those injuries to Coach right before training camp, there’s no way I’m letting go of her hand. This is the first chink I’ve ever seen in Sage’s armor, the first time she’s ever let herself be vulnerable with me. No way am I screwing it up now.

  The coaster starts slowly, chugging its way up the huge hill, and if possible, Sage’s grip gets even tighter. “You okay?” I ask when she’s on the verge of cutting off circulation.

  She just nods, wide-eyed.

  Finally we get to the top. We hang there for one second, two, and then the train takes off.

  Sage screams through two and a half minutes of high-speed twists and turns, so loudly that at one point I stop worrying about my fingers and start worrying about my hearing.

  She doesn’t stop screaming until we pull into the station, and as I help her out of the train I can’t help wondering if I’m about to get my ass handed to me.

  She doesn’t say anything as we walk down the gangplank that serves as the ride’s exit, but as soon as we hit the main area of the park, she turns on me. I brace myself for the worst, but she’s got a huge grin on her face as she throws her arms around my neck.

  “Thank you!” she says, peppering my face with kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you?”

  “For what?” I asked. I’m mystified at her effusiveness, but that doesn’t keep me from wrapping my arms around her and holding her as tightly as I can.

  “That was amazing.” She pulls back and looks into my eyes. “You’re amazing.”

  “It was just a roller-coaster ride.” To my everlasting shock, I feel heat rising in my own cheeks.

  “It was one hell of a roller-coaster ride,” she says. “And you’re one hell of a guy.”

  Then she kisses me, really kisses me.

  “Want to go again?” she asks when she finally pulls back, breathless and beaming.

  I can’t help thinking that finally—finally—I’m getting a glimpse of the real Sage Kauffman.

  And she’s absolutely beautiful.

  Chapter 20

  Sage

  Turns out, being out on the boat with Emerson and her crew isn’t so bad.

  The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the water is as close to glassy as it gets off of Point Loma. All in all, there are a lot worse ways to spend a Sunday than cruising the waters off of San Diego on a sailboat with my best friend, my boyfriend—boyfriend!—and their friends and/or significant others.

  Hunter’s at the wheel since we’re not currently under sail, with his nephew on his lap to help him steer. Emerson’s hanging with Hunter’s niece at the back of the boat, laughing as Lucy ties hot pink ribbons onto the ends of the dreads worn by Shawn’s friend, Tanner. Tanner’s being a good sport about the whole thing, teasing Lucy and laughing with Emerson as the little girl painstakingly ties each bow.

  It’s totally not what I’d expect from one of the most fearsome tackles in the league, but then, none of these guys is exactly what they appear. Especially not Shawn, who is currently drinking a beer and telling really bad knock-knock jokes to Brent and Hunter.

  I should probably join him, but to be honest I’m enjoying just kind of sitting here, watching him interact with the people I’m pretty sure he considers his family. They might not be related, but blood is only one kind of family. And, in my experience, it’s not even the most important one.

  I love how relaxed Shawn is here, with these people. Love that the nervous energy that seems to permeate everything he does is somehow quieter here, around these people he obviously cares about.

  I’m not close enough to catch the whole punch line of the joke he just told—something about tickles and octopi, but from the way Brent laughs and laughs, it must be a good one. Hunter just shakes his head, but he’s grinning as widely as his nephew, and Shawn seems to be having the time of his life.

  The fact that he looks so good doing it is just a really big bonus, in my opinion. And he does look good, all tanned and shirtless and ripped. His dark hair is windswept and his damp, low-slung board shorts are doing a hell of a job of showing off his ass. His really magnificent ass.

  Of course, he chooses right now to look up and catch me ogling that magnificent ass. My cheeks start to burn and I look away, determined not to meet his eyes. But it’s too late. I may not be looking at him, but I can totally feel him sauntering toward me, beer in hand and eyes laser-focused on me.

  My nipples turn hard under the scrutiny, and I reach for my cover-up, pulling it hastily over my head. I may not be able to control the way my body reacts to this man, but I don’t have to advertise it to the whole boat, either.

  I’ve barely gotten the cover-up over my hips when Shawn puts his hands on my shoulders and starts to rub. I try to stay strong, but I can’t help it. The se
cond his big, calloused hands begin to massage me, I’m putty in his hands.

  “You doing okay?” he whispers, breath hot against my ear.

  Shivers work their way down my spine as I nod.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Beer, wine, water?”

  “I’m good.” I hold up the still-cold bottle of water I’ve been nursing for the last half an hour.

  “Baby, from where I’m standing, you’re so much more than good.”

  The words—and the low, playful way he says them—startle a laugh out of me. “Seriously?” I ask, turning back around to face him. “You think that ridiculous old pickup line is going to get to me?”

  He just grins. “You’re my girlfriend. I don’t need pickup lines—ridiculous or otherwise—to get to you.”

  Deliberately ignoring the thrill the word sends shooting through my stomach, I raise a brow at him. “You sure do like using that word a lot.”

  “What word?” He leans forward and presses kisses to my cheek, my jaw, my neck. “The G-word? Is that the word you’re talking about?”

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  “I do like saying that word.” He kisses his way over the hollow of my throat and across my collarbone. “Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girl—”

  I stop him by putting a hand on his forehead and pushing him gently away. “Okay already. I get it. I’m your—”

  “Girlfriend,” he says again, his grin wicked and delighted and oh so hot.

  “Yes. That.” He leans in for a kiss, and I raise my lips to his. But it’s obvious Shawn wants to linger, and I’m not about to let that happen on a boat filled with people—especially when two of those people are children.

  I pull away the second he slides his tongue along the seam of my lips. He starts to protest, but I shoot a warning look over my shoulder at Lucy and he lets it go.

  He doesn’t let me go, though. Instead, he sits down on one of the bench seats and pulls me into his lap, cuddling me into his chest as we ride through the waves.

  I don’t know how long we stay like that, pressed together, looking out at the ocean. Long enough for us to lose sight of Point Loma completely. Long enough for the sun to turn bright and hot. More than long enough for me to acknowledge that I’m in real trouble here.