by Saxon James
And after a month of sneaky visits, a lot of phone sex, and constant calls and messages, we’re doing okay.
Elliot collapses beside me after another intense fuck where he rode me like a fucking cowboy, and he immediately seeks out my embrace. For someone who initially seemed a little standoffish about cuddling, he’s definitely come around. And I’m all too happy to accommodate. I press a kiss to his sweaty hair and relax, loving the feel of his warm body tucked in against me, his long legs tangled between mine.
It hits me, not for the first time, how much I like this. I’m content with him here, and it bugs me that I can’t place whether that’s solely him or because I’m filling some lonely hole Liam left behind.
A niggling voice tells me it’s the former, but then… I have no idea what to do about that.
“I’m going to teach you how to cook that fish tonight,” he says sleepily.
“Sounds good.” There’s more I want to say. Lots more. Like the way I like the feel of his hair in my fingers. Or how his weight when he lies on me is the most comforting thing I’ve ever felt. Or how I want to kiss that mole above his lips over and over…
Or how I want to go away with him.
Not as a couple, obviously, but with the bye next week it’s as good of a time as any to head off for a few days and tune out the rest of the world. I’m almost anticipating the off-season when I can make more time to drive up and spend days at his place. Even though we text and talk over the phone all week, one night together isn’t enough.
“Come on.” I swat him on the ass. “Let’s get up and do it then.”
Elliot groans, then extracts himself from my arms. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t move all night.
The way Elliot shows me to cook fish seems too easy, then the salad and baked potatoes aren’t exactly a culinary masterpiece. The lemon cream sauce is a whole other story.
“You need to keep stirring.”
“I am stirring.”
“It’s burning.”
“Then stirring clearly isn’t helping.”
Restraint lines Elliot’s face as his hand closes over mine and he directs the wooden spoon deeper into the pan. “If you’re not getting the bottom, it’ll stick there.”
I’m tempted to make a quip about sticky bottoms but keep it to myself. “Got it.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand, just steps closer and leans his head against my shoulder as we stir. I wish my hand was free so I could hug him closer, but instead I press a kiss to the top of his head.
He smiles and steps back, leaving me with the sauce as he grabs his wine from the fridge. I’m really not that interested in wine, but thinking about asking Elliot if he’ll come away with me, I really could use it.
“Hey, I think this is ready.”
Elliot slides a glass onto the counter right next to me as he moves in close to check the sauce. “It is. Well done, Taryn. You don’t need me anymore.”
His words are light and joking, but I don’t like them. Because maybe I do need him. Before he can step away, I loop an arm around his waist and crush him against me. Elliot goes stiff for a moment, then reaches around to rest his hands on my lower back. I don’t say anything. It’s better that way. But the thought of not needing him anymore sits heavy on my chest because I want to need him. I like needing him.
If Elliot finds out how attached I’m becoming, he’ll take the nearest exit. My heart trips up a bit as Elliot presses a kiss to my chest then pulls back again, completely oblivious to my thought process. He plates up the food then directs me to cover the fish and potatoes in my sauce before we carry it all over to the couch.
I’ve got to hand it to him, it’s good. Everything Elliot’s shown me so far has been pretty easy and tasted amazing. I’m confident that if he ends up leaving, I’ll actually manage okay.
I’m halfway through dinner before I finally get the balls to voice my idea. “So… next weekend. Have plans?”
“Working. Nothing new there.”
“Any chance of getting out of it?”
Elliot looks up, clearly surprised I even bothered to ask. “Why? What are you thinking?”
My throat is so tight I can’t keep eating, so I set my plate aside and turn to him, resting my back against the armrest. “It’s my bye week. I have to help Mom with a few things around her house, but then I’m free for four whole days before training starts again. I figured… we both work so hard, maybe we should use the opportunity to take a time out.”
Elliot narrows his eyes. “We, huh?”
“Just an idea,” I hurry to point out, worried I’m pushing too hard.
He blinks at a spot over my shoulder for a second before a smile starts to curve his lips. “The good thing about my job is I can work from anywhere.”
My nose wrinkles. “Not sure I want to share you with your work.”
Something sparks in Elliot’s eyes, and he sets his plate beside mine before crawling across the couch. “You don’t want to share, period.”
“Can’t deny that,” I grunt, attention dropping to his round shoulders then down to his long, muscular back.
Elliot stops when he settles in front of me, kneeling between my thighs. “Where would we go?”
“Didn’t want to look at places until I knew whether you were in or not.”
“Why? Afraid of being organized?”
“Afraid of being disappointed.”
Our eyes meet for a second before he quickly looks away. I’m not sure if he missed the moment between us or if he’s just a major league professional at ignoring it, but Elliot’s sly smile quickly recovers. “City or solitude?”
“Solitude,” I reply.
“Maybe somewhere with cell service.”
“And a hot tub.”
“A mini bar and room service are a must.”
“Plus a king-size bed.” I pump my eyebrows at that one, and Elliot’s wariness completely disappears.
“How many times do you think you can come in four days?”
“Gotta be double digits.”
“Can you count that high, Taryn?”
“For you, I’d be willing to try.”
“Aww, so romantic.” Elliot leans closer and rubs his nose against my chest. I smile, just a bit, and when he collapses against me, I wrap my arms around him without even thinking. “Grab your phone. Let’s find a place.”
In the end, I grab my laptop, set it on the arm of the couch, and navigate one handed while Elliot nestles against my side. I’m pretty good about hiding how my hand shakes as I type or how I keep breathing him in. Truthfully, I can recognize I’m in way over my head. Because this, sitting here with him and planning a weekend getaway, seems suspiciously like something boyfriends would do.
My arm tightens around him as I let myself feel the moment, and I feel only slightly guilty that I’m in a whole other place than he is. But maybe… maybe if I show him how good having a boyfriend is, he’ll want it too.
Or maybe he’ll remind me what this really is and kick me to the curb.
We decide wherever we choose needs to be low-key and within driving distance. It needs to be somewhere we can go out and do things together without me worrying about a random journalist or fan taking pictures of us holding hands.
Chatham seems like a solid choice. It’s a sleepy town in Massachusetts off Cape Cod, and while there’s not a whole lot to do there, it should be perfect for a little down time. We debate between hiring a private house or staying at Chatham Bars Inn, and in the end, we decide to book one of the hotel’s private cottages. If Elliot books us in, no one will need to know I’m there.
And I refuse to let him pay. Elliot isn’t happy, I can tell that much, but it’s nonnegotiable to me. I’ve got a lot of savings set aside given I’d been expecting to do the wedding and kids thing one day, and this little trip… this will be my chance to show Elliot what he’s been missing out on.
If it goes well, I might be ab
le to convince him we should have more.
I hate that I can’t stop thinking that way, but as Elliot takes over the computer, searching what we can do while we’re there, I spend the whole time watching him. Watching the way his face lights up when he finds something interesting. Watching the way his lips form words as he reads and the way his forehead wrinkles up as he squints at the screen, trying to see clearer. I’d offer to get his glasses but I don’t want to move. He’s adorable. Everything about him draws me in, right down to the way our breathing has synchronized.
I was an idiot to ever think this thing between us could be casual.
Now I hope I’m not an idiot for thinking it could be more.
Chapter Twenty
The room is booked, there’s no way out now. Not that I want there to be. Or do I? Shit, I can’t make up my mind. All I know is that going away with Taryn to a place that is so obviously and specifically meant for couples has twisted both my head and stomach so much I don’t know how I’ve avoided the emergency room.
But fuck, watching Taryn relax as we planned a few days together is possibly my favorite memory of him. He’s incredibly high-strung for a football player. Aren’t they all supposed to be dumb jocks? And yeah, clearly my experience with them is minimal, but Taryn’s always thinking. I’m too afraid to ask about what, but whenever I look into his eyes, I can tell. He’s assessing, questioning, doubting, and I’m pretty sure it’s all about us. When we sat there and planned, though, all that thinking went away as he hugged me to him like he couldn’t bear to let me go.
My smile comes before I can stop it, so I save the spreadsheet I’m working on and make a split-second decision to call him. The phone barely rings before he picks it up.
“Give me a second.”
The sound of talking in the background dims as Taryn clearly moves away.
“Hey, this is a surprise.” His warm voice wraps around me.
“I was thinking about tomorrow. Think it’ll be warm enough for swimming?”
He chuckles. “You’re calling me about swimming?”
“Yeah. I’m wondering what to pack.”
“And you’re debating over a pair of swim trunks that take up next to no room?”
I frown, not sure about the teasing tone in his voice. “I just wanted your thoughts.”
“Uh huh. Why are you really calling?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you probably should have come up with a better excuse than swimming. You’re going to make me think you’re missing me.”
“Ha,” I say with a scoff and nowhere near as much conviction as I’d like. I push up from my desk chair and walk over to look out my window at the gray brick office building next door. “Miss your dick, maybe.”
He doesn’t answer right away, but when he finally does, he sounds almost disappointed. “Well, my dick and I are out with Zane. Was there anything specifically you needed?”
You. I press my lips together, unwilling to give that response. “Just wanted to say hey.”
There’s a pause again, and I can picture him thinking. Finally, he sighs. “Hey, gorgeous.”
The warmth in his tone brings back some of my uncertainty over exactly what I’m doing here. As I run my thumb over the side of my notepad, I consider whether I should blow this trip off. But I’d never be able to bring myself to do it, because even though I don’t want to admit it, not even to myself, I’m looking forward to spending actual time with him.
“Sure you don’t want to cancel?” I ask, giving him an out.
“Fuck no.”
“What if I wanted to cancel?”
“Then I’d kick your ass.” There’s no hesitation in his response which makes me feel instantly better.
I grin. “I’d rather you did something else with my ass.”
“Then I suggest you behave yourself.” His growl has want pooling in my dick.
“Please. Like you could get through the next four days without fucking me.”
“I can barely get through today. You sure you don’t want me to drive up there tonight?”
Do I? Taryn’s supposed to pick me up at noon tomorrow. Would a few extra hours really hurt anything? Would another night with him in my bed really cross too many lines? My stomach gives an odd flutter as I imagine his large body stretched out across my mattress. At least at his place, I can keep the memories there. As it is, I already replay our first night together far too often. I’m seriously losing the battle to get my feelings to fuck off.
“That’s okay,” I finally hear myself saying. “I really should see Rainer before we go. I’ve been neglecting him lately.”
“And I guess you don’t want me meeting your friends.” I can tell by his tone he’s not happy with my response.
“Really? You want to out yourself to another person, Taryn? I love Rainer, but when he’s drinking, he tends to let anything slip.”
“He doesn’t have to know we’re together.”
The word echoes in my chest. Together? “Hooking up, you mean?”
“Yeah. That. Don’t you have friends?”
“No. I don’t.” Things get awkward and I can’t help but curse myself. This is why long-term hookups never work. Feelings are messy, and when you start fucking someone regularly, those assholes always show up.
“Except Rainer, you mean.” His voice is low, trying to cover his suspicion.
It should be an easy question to answer, but… “Well, now we are.” The words make me feel sick.
“You used to hook up?” I hate the way he sounds completely surprised, like he wasn’t expecting my answer at all.
“Only a few times. When we were lonely, mostly. But long before you, we agreed not to do it anymore.”
“It’s fine, forget I asked,” he says.
Like I’m going to be able to. That question, this trip, they’re bound to muddy the waters. “No, it’s okay. Really.” I don’t elaborate or offer another response.
“I gotta get back.”
“Okay, then.” I’m about to hang up when Taryn speaks again.
“Elliot?”
“Still here.”
The hesitation is back, and I can almost hear him thinking through whatever he’s about to say.
“You don’t need an excuse.”
“What?” I frown, confused.
“You can call me to say hey whenever you want.” He sighs. “I wanted to make that clear.”
He hangs up, but his words play over and over in my head. Warmth heats my cheeks as I stare at my phone’s blank screen, hearing the emotion in his voice with every pass of the memory. I feel all jittery inside, yet lighter somehow. And as I swallow back the thick lump forming in my throat, I will myself to ignore it.
The loud ringtone of my work cell startles me, and I quickly hurry to answer, glad for the distraction.
“This is Elliot.”
“It’s Darcy. What do you have for Thursday night’s Hawks game?”
Darcy—though I’m pretty sure that’s not his real name—is always straight to the point. He’s one of my very, very lucrative clients, and whenever he calls, I’m almost guaranteed to take his bet. Ten thousand at a time is close to tipping my betting lines, but I’ll take it anyway.
“Decent odds. You looking at spread or money line?”
“Spread.”
“Spread is eight and a half to the Hawks. If you want money line, it’ll cost three hundred and fifty to make a hundred on the Hawks. Or a hundred to win two seventy on the Cubs.”
“Your line is higher than the Mills’. Even the lines coming out of Vegas are tighter than that.”
I shrug a shoulder. “I’m confident. Hawks have beaten the Cubs on their home ground during the last four times they’ve played together. Plus they have Mason, and the Cubs QB is out injured this week.”
Darcy turns over what I’ve said. The Hawks are the obvious pick, and eight and a ha
lf points is a tame margin to bet on. It’ll be easy money, guaranteed to give my commission a decent bump this week whether he wins or loses.
“I’ll go with thirty large on the Cubs.”
I suck in a breath and immediately start choking. Of course. Scrambling to grab my coffee, I throw back the rest of the cold dregs and get myself back under control. “Darcy, that’s…” Crazy? Idiotic? A complete waste of money? Fucking pick one, Elliot. “Probably not the best place for your money.”
“Are you taking my bet or not?”
“Thirty thousand?”
“Correct.”
Tucking my phone between my ear and shoulder, I quickly pull up my spreadsheet, fingers flying as I plug in the math. Thirty thousand will completely throw me out. If he wins, we’re both getting a massive payday, but would I even have the money to cover it?
“Well, you know the drill, Darcy. I’m going to have to punch some numbers first. It’s a high risk, though. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“And I want to be clear I’m not advising this. A smaller bet? Sure, take the chance. But it’s very likely you’re going to lose that thirty K.”
“Take my bet, Elliot.”
Damn, do I want to. There’s literally nothing about the Cubs this week that makes me think they’re going to win. They haven’t beaten the Hawks at home in years, their QB is out, and they’ve only won half their games this season whereas the Hawks have only lost one. But still… even knowing all that, I hesitate.
If he loses, that’s a huge cash injection for Lewers and Co. An easy payday for me, on top of my other commissions. If he wins, I’ll make over double that, but I’m going to be clearing out close to everything I’ve brought in this week which means I won’t have money to pay out the others.
That said, when have I been wrong on a sure thing before?
A quick count of the bets I’ve brought in shows I’m short. It’ll also mean using what I’ve banked for Gary this month.
“Elliot?”
My heart has sped up to a painful level and sweat is starting to pool under my arms. Fuck. What the hell do I do?
