by Saxon James
It’s not what I expected, and a small laugh jumps from me as I wonder how much I told him. “I never eat when I’m nervous.”
He hums, narrowing his hazel eyes. “Interesting. And with that, I don’t feel like I know you any better at all.”
For some reason, that kind of bugs me. “What do you want to know?”
He opens his mouth to reply when there’s a noise on the other end. E quickly sits up, disappearing from view. There’s another guy’s voice, and I’m worried for a split second that maybe he lied about not being with someone, when that someone’s face fills the screen.
He looks smaller than E, with blue eyes, blond hair and a little turned up nose.
“Oh, Elliot, you didn’t lie! He’s a real hunk.”
I’m about to angle my face down more when the phone is quickly snatched back up and E’s gorgeous—flushed—face is back. “Sorry, sorry. Rainer often lets himself into my apartment and apparently doesn’t understand the words ‘get out.’”
I smile. “So, Elliot, huh?”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. You know my name now. Do I get yours?”
A first name isn’t a lot to go off, but Taryn isn’t the most common name, and I’m worried if I give him that much, he’ll make the connection. “Do you mind if I keep that to myself for a bit?”
Elliot’s eyes narrow. “Should I be asking you if you’re single?”
“I told you I was.”
“Yes, but that could easily be a sob story to draw me in.”
I scowl, even though he has every right to point that out. “I’m not like that.”
“Okay…” His eyebrows knit. “You’re very secretive, though.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He tilts his head but I don’t elaborate.
“Come on, honey!” Rainer urges from off screen.
“Are you going somewhere?” I ask.
“Yes, well some drunk guy cockblocked me last night, so now I’m desperate enough to try again tonight.”
I clench my jaw against that answer, wishing I was still in New Jersey so I could be the one he hooks up with. I’m kicking myself that I missed the chance.
“What was that?” he asks, the tension finally leaving his face.
“What?”
“That… snort.”
“There was no snort.”
“Totally was. Are you jealous?” His perfect lips stretch into a smile.
“Don’t be so damn ridiculous.”
He hums. “Okay… but so you know, if you were…” He leans in close, hazel eyes looking huge. “It would make me so fucking hard.”
I catch my breath at his words as I watch him look down, then back up again with a grin.
“Oops. Too late.”
The line disconnects, and I stare at my distorted reflection for a second before I let out a little laugh. Oh boy, Elliot is going to be trouble.
I flop back on my sofa, letting his face fill my mind. Damn… he’s so gorgeous I wish I’d made a move last night. My eyes drift closed as I picture pushing him back into a wall, his hot mouth on mine as I drive my fingers into his hair. My breathing picks up as I imagine him kneeling, undoing my fly, and slipping my cock between his perfect lips.
Sliding my hand under the waistband of my sweats, I grip my shaft, giving it a solid stroke, substituting my hand for his mouth. As I work faster, I see myself gripping his hair, pumping my hips until I’m hitting the back of his throat. Until he’s moaning around me, scrambling to undo his own pants so he can jerk himself off.
Oh damn… It’s so hot, my orgasm builds quickly, before crashing over me in waves.
I cry out, my whole body drawing tight, cum spurting over my hand, leaving a sticky mess inside my underwear. Collapsing back into the cushions, I try to catch my breath.
My brain is struggling to work out what happened, but what I do know is that image was fucking hot.
But then I remind myself of what Elliot’s plans are for the night, and I come crashing down from my high. I shouldn’t care. I know it shouldn’t matter how many guys he’s with because the likelihood of us seeing each other again is next to zero, but damn it if I don’t feel jealous anyway.
Chapter Four
From Thursday morning through Monday night, work takes over my life. I’m only supposed to work a standard eight-hour day but there’s no way I’d be able to keep my clients happy, balance the last week’s winnings, and prepare the odds for the coming week in that short amount of time. So I get to the office at seven, and I’m usually there until at least seven at night.
Most of the other people in the office have the same level of commitment. Gary, the owner, barely leaves his office except to follow up on us all, and Suzanne is our administrator, so she doesn’t have the same heavy workload as the rest of us. In all honesty, I like being busy. It fills the time I would otherwise spend moping around my apartment. I mean, what do people actually do outside of work? Meet for drinks? Surely that would get boring, night after night, week after week. Having someone to come home to would be great, I guess, but what happens when you reach the stage of takeout and TV every night. Where the hell do you go from there?
I laugh and shake my head. That’s not something I have to worry about for a long time. I’ve made good money in the two years I’ve been working at Lewers and Co., and I plan to make a fair bit more in the next five. That’s all I’m giving myself. By the time I hit thirty, I should have enough to be comfortable until I find a job I love.
Bookmaking isn’t exactly a steady industry.
It isn’t exactly a legal one either.
My cell buzzes with another text from T. We’ve been going back and forth over the past couple of days and even made some time for another video call last night. I like talking to him, and thank fuck I don’t have to play the part of shrink because I sure as hell don’t have a degree. Or enough common sense, for that matter. He’s usually winding down from his day when I get home from work, and I wish he didn’t live in fucking Philly because I would have liked to see him again.
I fish out my phone and check the screen. He’s sent me something totally random—he seems to a few times a day—as though he puts the first thought he has into words. I’m not sure what to make of it, but at least he’s not cagey and calculating like a few of my past hookups.
T: Just saw two people on a tandem bike. Reckon it’d be twice or half as hard to ride?
Me: I’d say twice as hard.
T: Well, you’re the numbers guy. Decisive. I like it.
I almost slip up and say “I like you” but that’s about the dumbest thing I could possibly think of. Sure, he’s fun to talk to, and I spend most nights thinking of him while I jerk off, but I have no clue who he is. No name, no details, and I doubt I’d recognize him without that damn hat on.
He’s still T, who has a killer jaw, silky dark skin, a smart mouth, and works with some kind of sport.
I snort at that. Like how my work is something to do with numbers.
The secrecy is odd. I’m not sure whether to hate it or love it. For right now, it’s a turn on. It’s fun and new, but I can see it getting old fast. I don’t want a boyfriend, and unless he comes back to New Jersey soon—preferably not still hung up on his ex—he won’t be a one-night stand either. So why am I continuing this thing?
I don’t write back. There’s no point other than to ease his fragile ego back into dating land, and I’ve got way too much shit on my plate to deal with some closeted Adonis.
The more he tells me about his ex, the more I sympathize with his ex. A six-year secret relationship? What the hell is wrong with this guy?
I snort and turn back to my laptop, flipping my phone face down to be safe.
During NFL season, I spend the first half of my week checking team lineups and team matchups and balancing the odds on certain players getting benched or injured. There are odds on who will score first, what the winning marg
in will be, and people have already started betting on who will make the Super Bowl and who will be MVP. It’s exhausting trying to stay on top of it all.
So no, I’m definitely not looking for a boyfriend.
Seven o’clock hits, and I couldn’t stay later if I tried. There’s a game on later, but I’m done taking bets for tonight. I tuck my glasses into their case, stow away my laptop, and start the walk home. The sun is already dipping low on the horizon and most of the buildings around block out the light and cast dark shadows over the sidewalks. This is my favorite time of year. The evening air is cool but not cold, and I swear the scent of pumpkin spice lattes is everywhere—which I oddly hate to drink but love to smell.
I haven’t checked my cell in a few hours, and I know by this point, I’m being stubborn. If T has messaged me, he’s hardly waiting around for me to write back when he’s well aware I was at work.
Still, when I pull out my phone and only find a text from Rainer and a few social media notifications, I can’t stop the way my shoulders droop. I adjust my messenger bag, not sure what to do now. This is perfect, really. No text means nothing to write back to.
I shake my head and read the one from Rainer asking me to head out tonight since I ditched him on Monday. I decline, using the excuse of being tired. I am tired, but really, I’m not feeling it, and that’s not an excuse Rainer would accept.
Instead, I pick up some takeout noodles and head back to my apartment. It never feels like home when I walk in. My apartment is tiny, the cheapest I could find in a neighborhood that wouldn’t terrify me, and while it’s clean and I have decent furniture, I’ve never bothered to settle in. It’s not part of my five-year plan. As soon as I have enough money, I’m going to move somewhere slower, smaller, and get a job I can be proud of.
Fuck knows what it will be.
I shower, pour a glass of wine, and collapse on the sofa with my dinner. It’s barely warm by the time I dig in, but I don’t have the energy to care. Working long hours leaves very little time to indulge in anything.
And it’s that thought, more than the nagging urge, that has me pulling out my phone and tapping on T’s number. I lean back, gazing out at the view of the city, listening to the ringtone sound over and over.
It goes to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. Leave a message.”
I hang up and toss my phone on the table my feet are propped on. It shouldn’t be a huge surprise he didn’t answer since he said he was going out with some work friends.
Almost as soon as that thought enters my mind, my phone lights up with a text.
T: Out for work drinks. Call you later?
My stubborn side makes me refrain from replying. If I agree that he can call me later, it’s like I’m admitting to sitting around here waiting on him, like I don’t have anything better to do. I’m not that type. I’m about to open the message from Rainer and change my answer, when my cell lights up in my hand.
“I thought you were out,” I say as soon as I answer.
T’s warm laugh comes down the line. “I am. They’ve moved on to girl talk, though, so I stepped away.”
“What was it you said to me that first night? ‘Go get some pussy’?”
I can almost hear him cringe over the line. “Did I really say that?”
“You really did. I had to go home and bleach my ears.”
“Yikes, sorry.”
“You can make it up to me when I see you next.” I’m only teasing—kind of—but my words are met with silence.
“I do want that,” he says in a low voice. “I just…”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t leave me hanging.”
He huffs a breath. “Sorry, I don’t know how to say it.”
“Are you back with your ex?”
“God no. Nothing like that.”
The slight tension that settled over me eases. “Then why don’t you start by using words, and we’ll go from there?”
“You’re a funny fucker, aren’t you?”
“And you’re a bit of a potty mouth. What am I going to do about that?”
“I’m sure you can think of a few ways to shut me up.”
His deep, rumbly voice makes my cock twitch to life. “Do go on.”
“No way.” His light laughter is back and I can only imagine how adorably flustered he probably looks. “I’m in the middle of a bar.”
“Your point?”
“You know I… I can’t.”
I hum. Yeah, I do know, which is why this whole flirting thing is a bad idea. But T is a voice on the other end of the phone, so what the hell does it matter? “I wonder if I could shut you up with my mouth…” I tease.
“I mean, you could try. Can’t make any promises, though.”
“No?”
“No. It would have to be something really persuasive to shut me up.”
“I could gag you, I guess…”
“Hmm… getting closer.”
“Something about my cock…”
He bursts out laughing, a great dirty bark of a thing, and it brings a smile to my face. “I think we have a winner.”
“Next time you’re in Jersey, maybe.”
He falls quiet again and it doesn’t escape my notice that it’s the second time it’s happened right after I mentioned meeting up.
“Or not,” I say. “That’s fine too.”
“Look, I’m definitely interested, but… I need to think about some things first.”
“That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”
“I’m sorry, Elliot. I swear it’s nothing you’ve done.”
“It’s not you, it’s me.” I roll my eyes.
“No, seriously.”
“Yep, right.”
He growls at my response. “Look, I have to fly out for Chicago tomorrow, and I’ll be pretty busy the next few days. Can I call when I get back? I… I like talking to you.”
That placates me. “I like talking to you too.”
“Good.” I hear the grin in his voice. “So what are you doing on this awesome Thursday night?”
The last thing I want to do is tell him I’m sitting here feeling sorry for myself over takeout. “Nothing tonight. Rainer wants to go to a club tomorrow night, though.”
“Sounds… fun.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
He’s quiet for a moment before he finally talks again. “Once I get back Monday, I have a few days off. Maybe we could… maybe… catch up or something?”
Or something? I try to hide how appealing that sounds. “Yeah. I usually take Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, so we’ll see what we can organize.”
“Awesome.” He sounds relieved. “I work Wednesday, but Tuesday might fit.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
There’s some commotion in the background and a loud shout. “I better go,” T says.
“Okay, but I figure I should let you know I’m not a dating guy. If we meet up, it’s for one thing.”
T chuckles. “What, you don’t do friends?”
“I have one. Don’t have much time in my life for another.”
“That’s sort of sad.”
“Nah, it just works for me. But anyway, think about it. I’m happy to meet up, but if we do, I fully expect that meeting to be conducted naked.”
T goes quiet again while he processes what I’m saying. “I want to say yes…”
“But the ex-boyfriend thing, I know. If you’re not over him, it’s fine, and we can still talk like we have been. But if we meet up in person, I’m just trying to be upfront about what I want.”
“Noted.” The smile is back in his voice. “I haven’t really done this. It’ll take some getting used to.”
“Aww, my sweet summer child. I’ll go easy on you.”
“You better not.” The growl is back in his voice, and I have to press down on my dick to stop it from perking up at the tone.
“Hmm… in tha
t case. With any luck, T, in five days, I’ll be choking on your cock.”
And I swear to god it sounds like he spits out his drink a second before the line goes dead.
Chapter Five
Thursday night is boring as hell, and I end up going home early, not able to let go of the image Elliot put in my head. On Friday, I spend the flight to Chicago and the afternoon training session so distracted that my coach yells at me to snap out of it. I contemplate flipping him the finger, and when I manage to resist, I’m a little proud of my maturity.
The more time that ticks by, the more torn I feel. Every time I picture his pretty lips, a surge of blazing hot lust passes over me, and I have to grit my teeth at the thought of passing that up, but in order for anything to happen between Elliot and me, I would have to reveal to him who I am. And to do that, I’d have to trust him a whole hell of a lot.
Zane and I share a hotel room the night before the game and decide to get to sleep early. As one of our defensive linemen, his build is ridiculous, and I swear he takes up most of the queen bed by himself. But Zane can be an oddly contemplative guy, and as we lie there in the dark, he starts his usual play of the random things going through his head.
“You reckon God’s a football fan?” he asks.
I shrug even though he can’t see me. I’ll never admit to anyone, but these moments are some of my favorites. “I think he’s probably more into drama. Otherwise why would he have made humans so damn dramatic?”
Zane laughs, rough and raspy. “Good point, man. Who do you suppose would win between Captain America and Batman?”
“Well, apparently Batman beat Superman, so…”
Zane snorts. “I know. That’s some bullshit.”
“Agreed.”
We’re quiet again, and it’s a nice, peaceful quiet until Zane speaks again. “How many worlds and universes like ours are out there? I mean, we can’t be the only ones in a never-ending universe, right?”
“I’d like to think there are a heap. With creatures who are all so totally different, and those differences are celebrated, rather than criticized.” I’m saying more than I normally would, but that kind of world is something I ache for.
