I spotted a few people I knew, waving at them, but I didn’t approach anyone familiar. Instead I went to the kitchen, snagged myself a drink that promised to be mostly wood-grain alcohol, and went on the hunt.
It didn’t take me long to find them. If there was one thing I’d learned about football players over the years, it was that they tended to hang out in groups of their own teammates, like nobody else was good enough for them. I knew the minute one of the Birch players had spotted me; his eyes raked over me from head to toe, and one side of his mouth curled up. I was sure he’d assumed that he’d found an easy target.
And he was right, though he had no way of knowing that I was the one running the show here.
I stood still, pretending to be interested in the music, as he made his way over to me. When I felt his hand on my back, I turned, feigning surprise.
“Do you know you’re the hottest girl at this entire party?”
As opening lines went, it wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t great, either. However, what it lacked in originality was made up for by the intensity and interest in this guy’s eyes. I lifted my face slowly, posturing so that my boobs were on full display, and I dazzled him with a smile.
“Hey, there. Aren’t you on the football team?”
He smirked, as I’d known he would. “Baby, I am the football team. I’m Tony.” He hooked his thumb back to where his friends were watching us. “Those dudes over there, they’re my backup, if you know what I mean.”
I wanted to roll my eyes. Back-up, huh? He’d assumed I knew nothing about the game. But that was okay, because for now, I didn’t care what he thought of me.
“I’m Gia. And I think you met my boyfriend last summer.” I tilted my head, holding his gaze. “He played for Carolina, and he was up here with me for a while. Matt Lampert’s his name.”
The guy’s eyebrows drew together. “You’re Lampert’s girlfriend? That asshole is a fucking prick. He picked a fight with some of our guys at a bar, and he nearly put one of my friends in the hospital. And I hear the fucker’s not even playing anymore. Got kicked off his own team.” His lip curled. “Why are you even here?”
I propped one hand on my hip. “I’m here because I’m in total agreement with you. He’s a jerk. And that douchebag is currently letting a bunch of skanks down at Carolina suck his dick. Let’s just say that I’m looking for a little revenge fun tonight, and I thought you boys might be the ones to help me out.” I took a step back, my heart pounding even as I did it. “I’m yours for the night. Do whatever you want . . . I’m up for it. Take me upstairs, and help me forget how much time I’ve wasted on the fucker.”
My new friend’s face registered surprise at first, and then undisguised interest. “Are you fucking serious here? Or is this some kind of sting? Are you undercover, or writing some shit about how the football players abuse women? Because we don’t. I’m not down for that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Check out Matt Lampert’s social media, and you’ll see me on there. Strip me naked and check for wires. I’m not shitting you.”
Tony still didn’t look convinced, so I began to step away. “Fine. I’m sure I can find someone else who wants to have fun with me tonight.”
“No, no, just wait a minute.” He grabbed my arm and began hauling me over to his friends.
“Hold on.” I lifted one finger and then opened my purse, searching until I found the small pink pill. I tossed it into my mouth and downed it with a gulp of the alcohol punch I still held.
Tony regarded me silently for a minute. “Are you sure you want to do this?” There was a thread of decency in his voice, a little bit of concern—just enough to make him sound more human.
I swallowed back my last bit of indecision. “I’m positive, but like I said, if you’re not looking for a good time with no strings attached, I know there are other guys who are. No skin off mine. I’m going to have hours of meaningless sex tonight with someone. Or someones. I just thought you’d want a chance to shove it in Matt’s face. But if that doesn’t matter to you—”
“I’m in. Lampert has it coming.” Tony grimaced. “You’re not going anywhere but with us. C’mon. Let me introduce you to the guys.”
I stumbled along next to him, already feeling the effects of the pill and booze. Life was beginning to take on a softer frame, and when I looked up at the ring of Birch football players now surrounding me, I giggled a little.
“This is Gia.” Tony slung his arm around my shoulders. “You remember Matt Lampert, the guy from Carolina who mouthed off and messed up Clancy? This is his girlfriend. She’s pissed at him, and she wants to get back at him for being a cheating dick. And she’s asking for our help.” He let that sink in before adding, “Oh, and she wants to have a lot of sex tonight, to help her forget. Think we can help her out?”
The last thing I saw before everything went hazy was the wolfish smile on the biggest guy’s face and the way his eyes glittered with anticipation. After that, it was all a blur.
Now
If I’d thought having Tate Durham as a friend was a life-changing experience, having him as a boyfriend blew my mind.
It wasn’t exactly that anything had changed between us . . . and yet, everything had. Tate was still the same funny, kind and straight-forward guy I’d come to appreciate over the past months. He still treated me with the same gentle respect. He still teased me with odd endearments and loved to make me roll my eyes.
But he also held my hand whenever we walked together or rode in his car. And when we stood waiting in line or for an elevator or to be seated at a restaurant, his hand was on my back, rubbing gently—not in a perverted or possessive way, but as though he simply wanted to remind me that he was there.
And he kissed me. Oh, did that man kiss me, and my God, could that man kiss! It seemed that in making the first move, I’d ignited a spark that gave both of us an insatiable need for the other. When we were alone, it seemed that making out was all we did. Well, making out, talking and eating, because the making out didn’t replace our long and involved conversations. The only difference was that now we had those talks wrapped in each other’s arms, between the long and involved kisses that left us both on fire.
I was impressed, if slightly frustrated, that Tate didn’t try to push my boundaries. When we were kissing, he always ran his hands down my back or my side, or cupped my face in his palm, but he hadn’t yet touched my boobs. It was becoming a game in my mind: I wore lower-cut shirts when we were together, and while we were lying down, I positioned myself so that he couldn’t help but notice the swell of my breasts. If I was on top with my head on his chest, I intentionally rubbed my tits against his hard pecs, hoping to tempt him into slipping his hand over the aching tips. But he didn’t, and I knew it was because I’d said from the beginning that I needed to move slow.
But as it turned out, slow just might kill me.
Our weekends-only rule was off the table now, though, and I realized I didn’t mind that at all. Before, I’d convinced myself that making Tate my reward for slogging through the weekdays would allow me to control the situation and my feelings toward him. But now with his team activities and off-season training underway, he was in the city every day, and on most of those days, he ended up at my apartment.
He’d greet me at the door with a long and heated kiss, and then sometimes, he’d produce some delicious takeout that he’d picked up on the way to see me. Or he’d sweet-talk me into going out, either to one of our favorite restaurants or to a new place he’d just discovered through a teammate.
He never stayed too late, though, and even though I’d told him that it was fine with me, he never spent the night.
“I can’t promise I could behave myself in your bed all night, sweetcakes,” he told me. “When we’re ready to take that next step, I promise, I’ll stay with you. You won’t be able to kick me out. But until then, this way is safer.”
We’d continued our TV-binging on some weekends, but sometimes, we went over to spend th
e day with Pops. I loved sitting on the porch with him, drinking coffee and chatting while Tate did yard work. Tate claimed that me being there kept the older man from grumbling so much about what he couldn’t do, and as for me, I got to watch Tate walk around the yard in shorts, pushing the mower, lifting potted plants and digging dirt. Sometimes, on particularly warm afternoons, he even shed his T-shirt.
Those were good days, indeed.
Tate had made some not-so-subtle inquiries about meeting my mom and dad, but I wasn’t anywhere near ready for that yet.
“I just had my semi-annual visit with my father, so you’ll have to wait for the holidays before I’ll see him again . . . and that’s only if I can’t figure out a way to avoid it,” I informed Tate. “As for my mother, she comes as a package deal with my sisters these days, and I like you too much to expose you to them.”
“Uh huh.” Tate ran his fingers down my spine, making me shiver. We were in my bed again at the end of a Saturday spent partly with Pops and partly here, watching a new British detective show Tate had wanted to see. “But I’d still like to meet them, babe. They’re your family. How bad can they be?”
I laughed. “That’s a loaded question, bud. Pretty damn bad. And it’s not that I don’t want them to know about you. It’s just that . . .” I hesitated. “I want to keep you to myself. If they know we’re together, they’ll start pushing, and they’ll ask all kinds of questions, and I’m not ready for that yet. I like how things are now.”
“So do I,” he agreed. “But we can’t be a secret forever. Not if we’re serious.”
I was quiet for a minute. I didn’t have any doubt that Tate was serious about me. He didn’t say it in so many words, but things he said about the future or references he made to us as a unit made it clear that he wasn’t just messing around here. I was pretty sure I felt the same, but I was still a little scared.
“I’ll set something up with my mother soon.” I rolled over so that I lay on top of Tate, my boobs practically in his face. He kept his eyes on mine. Damn him for the gentleman he was. “But right now, I’d really rather not talk about her. Or my sisters. Or my dad.”
“Hmmm?” He laid one large hand alongside my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “Really? But hey, before you distract me with those lips—” He crunched up, kissing me lightly. “Tell me what kind of questions your mom would ask, and why you don’t want to answer them.”
I narrowed my eyes, pursing my lips. “Okay . . . well, they’d want to know how long we’ve known each other and how we met.”
“We’ve known each other since freshman year of college, even if you didn’t remember meeting me.” Tate pinched the end of my nose. “So that seems easy enough.”
“I do remember meeting you. I actually remembered it right away.” I shifted a little, and if in the process, my nipples brushed over Tate’s chest, what was a girl to do? “But I don’t want to tell them how we met again, in the grocery store, with me on the floor crying.”
“You don’t have to tell them everything. Just say we ran into each other while shopping and renewed our acquaintance.” He lifted one huge shoulder.
“Okay.” I squirmed a little, hoping to distract him. “But then they’ll want to know how serious we are and if we have plans for the future. All that kind of stuff.”
“Then I guess it depends on which one of us answers.” He traced the line of my cheekbone. “If it’s me, I’d say we’re very serious, and yes, we have plans for future. But we’re taking our time and enjoying each other for now.”
He took my breath away, and I wasn’t sure he even realized it. “I like the enjoying each other part. That sounds promising. Not sure I want to explain it to my mother, though.”
“Probably not in vivid detail,” Tate agreed. “So what if I asked you a question? Would you answer me?”
I pressed my lips together. “Maybe. Depends on the question.”
He smiled, his dimple deepening. “Are you happy? With us? With me? Am I pushing you too much? Am I moving too fast?”
These were easy ones. I grinned back at him. “Yes, and yes, and yes and no and no. I’m happy with us. With you. And you’re not pushing me or moving too fast.”
Tate turned, rolling us both over so that I lay beneath him. “Those are good answers. I like them.” He bent his head to kiss me, but I maneuvered away.
“Don’t I get to ask a question?”
A small line appeared between his eyebrows. “Okay. Go ahead.”
I took a deep breath. “Are you ever going to touch my boobs?”
The expression of surprise on his face nearly undid me. “Uhhh—what?”
I took his hand in both of mine, holding it suspended above me. “My boobs. I’m told I’ve got good ones, and in my experience, men like a nice pair of tits. Now don’t get me wrong—I love your kisses, and I’d kiss you for the rest of our lives if that was all we could do, but I really think your hands on my boobs would only enhance our kissing experience.” I brought his fingers to my mouth and kissed the tip of one. “I mean, if you’re interested.”
Tate looked a little like a fish out of water. “I thought you wanted to move slow. That’s the only reason . . . holy God, babe. I’ve been dying to touch you, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He finally looked down at the part of my anatomy in question, and his eyes took on a certain reverence. “Believe me, it’s not for lack of wanting or appreciating.”
“I’ve been doing everything but painting them red to let you know it was okay.” Watching him closely, I slowly lowered his hand so that his palm was on my left breast. “Save me the paint job, Tate. Cop a feel. You have my permission. Hell, you have my encouragement.”
The sound that came from his throat could only be called a growl. His fingers curled around my boob, and he lowered his mouth to mine, kissing me with a new abandon that sent shocks of pure heat to my core. I arched my back, urging him to take more of me. I felt an abandon within me that I hadn’t felt in . . . a very, very long time.
It was that new reckless headiness that let me slide my own hand underneath Tate’s shirt, reveling in the feel of his chest, so rock hard and smooth to my touch. I found the flat disc of his nipple and circled my finger around it, a thrill of power filling me when he hissed in a breath.
“God, Gia, you have no idea . . . how long I’ve wanted to touch you.” He was half-talking, half-kissing me, and I laughed out of the sheer joy of it.
“Take off your shirt. I need to get to more of you.” I shoved the material up, and Tate shifted to sit up a little bit more, crossing his arms over his middle and grasping the hem of the tee. He paused, his eyes molten.
“You take off yours, too. Fair play, right?”
“Oh, absolutely.” I sat up and stripped off my top without hesitating. “I’m all for keeping things even.”
Tate raised his arms and tossed the shirt onto the floor, and then for a long moment, he simply sat there, drinking me in while I did the same. I already knew he had a beautiful body; I could feel the hard planes through his clothes, and I’d seen him working without his shirt, but being here in my apartment, alone with him, close enough to reach out and touch . . . this was different. Now he belonged to me.
I sat still, aware that Tate was still staring at me. I rose up on my knees and reached behind me to unhook my bra, letting it fall down my arms before I shook it off. Tate’s mouth dropped open.
“Gia, you are . . . perfection.” He reached out one hand, tracing the slope of my breast. “I can’t believe that I’m sitting here with you like this. I’m almost afraid to move. What if this isn’t real?”
“If you don’t move, I’m going to feel pretty silly, kneeling in front of you.” I caught his hand in mine and pressed it against my boob again, my nipple drilling into his palm. “Please, Tate. Touch me. Let me touch you.”
“Babe, you can do whatever you want. Touch me . . . wherever you want.” He stretched his arms and pulled me up against him, skin to skin for t
he first time. Looking down into my eyes, he brushed his fingers through my hair. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes.” I managed a smile, even though I was trembling with need. “I’m sure. I mean . . . I’m sure about this step. I’m not ready for sex yet. There’re things we need to talk about before we take that step. But I want to be with you as close as we can be. I want to make you feel good.” I ground myself against him. “And I sure as hell want you to make me feel good.”
“Tell me what to do.” He ran his lips down the side of my neck. “Tell me what you like.”
I hummed a little in anticipation. “You touching me, doing what you want to me—that’s what I like.”
“I can’t stop touching you. Maybe I’ll never be able to stop.” He palmed my breasts. “Look at you. You’re perfect.” His thumbs rubbed back and forth over the pink tips, and I moaned.
“That feels so good.” I guided his head lower. “Kiss me here. Suck them—and I like it hard there.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t ever want to hurt you.” Tate was mumbling as he licked at my nipple.
“You won’t. I’m not breakable, Tate. I promise. If you treat me like I’m made of glass, I’m not going to feel like you’re really here with me. I can’t feel like you don’t trust me to be strong.”
“Gia, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” As if giving me proof, he scraped his teeth over my nipple, and it felt damn good.
“Just like that.” I held his arms, his biceps too big for me to wrap my fingers around. Tate lowered me slowly to the mattress and arranged his body alongside mine and resumed his ministrations. I watched, entranced by the erotic sight of Tate discovering how to pleasure me. His face was full of rapt attention, and his hands moved over me with a gentleness that belied their size.
“Is this good?” he murmured, one hand flattening against my stomach.
“So good.” I managed to wriggle my hand between us, feathering my fingers over Tate’s flat stomach until I reached the button of his jeans. His breath hitched a little when I slid lower still, under the jeans and into his boxers, not stopping until the tips of my fingers reached the hard length of his erection.
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