by Tessa Layne
“Sure, with that twenty-grand of pocket change I have in the couch cushions,” she says sarcastically. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“At least take my car the next time you go. Please? We can’t afford to lose you.” I want to say a whole helluva lot more than that, but given our agreement, it wouldn’t be right. “Are you home now?”
“Yep. Sitting in front of the fire in my fuzzy pajamas drinking wine and eating ice-cream. How ‘bout you?”
“Wearing a hole in my hardwoods.”
“Why’s that?”
All the things I want to say, but can’t, because fuck-all, I want to be a gentleman. I shrug, even though she can’t see it. And then I think, fuck-it. Why not be brutally honest? She can take it. “Because I really want to see you again.”
“You’ll see me tomorrow,” she quips.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
My stomach knots. I should have kept my fucking mouth shut. But then she shocks the hell out of me.
“I want to see you again, too.” She says it so quietly, I think I’ve misheard her.
“But that’s not business as usual.”
“I know. But it seems… it seems I’m addicted to your orgasms,” she confesses in a rush.
I puff up like a silverback gorilla. I want to run around and thump my chest, roaring. I try and keep my voice steady, cool. “Is that so?”
“I have half a mind to drive to wherever you live, right now. In my pajamas. And I’m showing excellent restraint.”
“By drinking wine and eating ice-cream,” I supply.
“Exactly.”
“Do you want company?”
“Are you offering?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to play coy, say maybe. But something shakes loose inside me. “Yes. I am,” I answer boldly, heart speeding up. She could turn me down. She should turn me down, and remind me of our agreement. I should stay away.
“Bring your pajamas.”
“I don’t own pajamas.”
“Then you’ll have to eat ice-cream and drink wine in your boxer briefs. Are you up for that?”
“Game. On.”
She opens the door clad in fleece bottoms covered in snowflakes and a tank top. Before I’m halfway inside, she’s grabbed my shirt and pulled me in for a kiss. She tastes like chocolate and wine— a heady combination. I pick her up and pin her to the wall, hands skimming the flesh beneath her tank top. She yanks at the henley I’m wearing, and somehow I manage to pull it off with one hand.
“Condoms. Bedroom. Now,” she urges between kisses, wrapping her legs around my hips.
I’m ramped up and ready to go. “Which way?”
She flails a hand in the general direction of the living room, and by the time we collapse onto her bed, we’re naked as the day we were born. She tosses me a condom, leaning back on her elbows, watching avidly as I roll it over my straining erection. I loom over her, and run a hand up the inside of her thigh, brushing my fingers over her slick entrance. It blows my mind how ready she is. I slide into her and damn if it doesn’t feel like coming home. Something settles deep inside me. She must feel it too, because she lets out a deep sigh. But then she grabs my ass, digging her fingernails into my flesh. It sends a shot of lust pinballing through me. I rock into her, thrusting hard, then slowly pulling back. “More,” she says with a dark grin. “Yes.”
I’m only too happy to oblige, because the sensation is enough to bring me right to the brink. Beneath me, she’s panting, clawing, meeting me thrust for thrust, bearing down and encasing my cock in a vice-like grip. “I’m close, Mariah.”
“Me too,” she gasps. “Oh, me too.”
I feel the second she starts. Her legs go tight, and she moans long and low, her pussy rippling against my cock. I can’t hold back another second, and I let go with a loud grunt, emptying myself into her, pushing into her softness with everything I have. My vision spots and I collapse to my elbows. “Holy shit, Sparky.”
She giggles, eyes dancing. “Thank you for that.”
“So much for business as usual,” I say with a shake of my head.
Chapter Thirty-One
Business as usual, my ass. Business as usual becomes sneaking around like delinquent teenagers. And I fucking love every second of it. Except for the part where we’re keeping this from our teammates. Sparky’s just as hard on me in practice as she’s always been. And I’m impressed with her ability to compartmentalize. The first week in March, we put the shell in the water for the first time. It’s a cold, rainy morning, and we’re bundled up. But the regatta on the Thames where we’ll return to defend our title, is less than 4 weeks away, and although Danny has fully integrated into the team’s psyche, it’s going to take a few weeks of rowing with him to sync the rhythm in the boat.
A stiff wind blows out of the north, and Fitz wants us rowing right into it. Confusion reigns. Sparky’s calling strokes from the stern, while Fitz travels along in a boat shouting instructions through a megaphone. It’s annoying as fuck, and one of the worst practices we’ve had in ages. Everyone’s grumpy and soaked when we pull out. My hands ache with fresh blisters, and every muscle in my body’s on fire.
“That was the sorriest bit of rowing I’ve seen from you lot in ages,” shouts Fitz. “And you.” He turns to Sparky. “What kind of training operation have you been running?”
“Same as usual, sir,” answers Sparky with a determined expression.
“They’re flabby and slow. We’ve got four weeks to look like a team, not a bunch of hacks. And if you can’t get them rowing together, then maybe we need to shake up the boat.”
“Now hold on a sec,” I start, but Fitz cuts me off with a wave of his hand.
“You guys had a stellar season last year. But if you can’t sustain it in the off-season, then you’re not the team I thought you were.” He stalks off grumbling.
I’ve always known Fitz had a temper, but I’ve rarely seen it. I want to punch him for humiliating Sparky that way. I glance her direction. Her face is stony, jaw set, pulse throbbing at her temple. “Fuck that asshole,” she says once Fitz is out of earshot. “I have not poured my blood sweat and tears into you to have Fitz break up this boat. What the fuck happened out there?” She eyes each of us.
Danny raises his hand. “I’m still slow. My stroke was choppy. Especially at the catch.”
“How are you going to fix it?”
“I think I’ve gotta dig with my legs more.”
“Then do that. Anyone else?” She stares us down.
Mac raises his hand. “I was thinking more about Danny’s stroke then my own.”
“Stop that,” she says with a tight smile. “What’s the best way to get in sync?”
“Match your stroke the to the guy in front of you,” volunteers Owen.
“Can you all spare another hour? I’d like to get back out there and run slow drills. We need to bring Danny up to speed. There’s a new vibe in the boat, and we just need to settle in.”
I’ve never been more proud of her. “I can stay.” Which means most the team will stay since they work with me.
“Me too,” says Danny.
“Alright, let’s put her back in the water.”
For the next hour, Sparky takes us through beginning drills. Stuff that high school boats practice, but it works. At the end of the hour, we’re at least rowing in unison. We still have a long way to go before the boat swings, but I’m confident she’ll get us there. I hang around after the guys depart, under the guise of helping put stuff away. “You okay?” I ask, grabbing a rag and helping Sparky dry the shell. “You know Fitz is an asshole.”
She nods.
“I thought you were great out there today. And by the end we didn’t suck.”
She huffs out a breath through her nose and nods again.
“Sparks?”
“I’m fine,” she says thickly.
She’s not. I drop the rag and close the distance between us, pulling
her tight against my chest. “I’d have punched him if he kept going,” I promise.
Her shoulders shake. “No you wouldn’t. You’d ruin the boat if you lost control like that.”
“But he’d deserve it.”
“Yeah. But still, it’s not worth it. It was just a tough day today.”
She stays snug in my arms for who knows how long. Long enough that I start thinking dangerous thoughts. “I want to tell the team.”
She stiffens. “I think that’s a terrible idea.”
“I don’t think they’ll mind. In fact, I’m pretty sure Stockton already suspects.”
“Oh no, are you serious?” She steps out of my embrace, and I feel the loss of her.
I nod. “He’s too discreet to say anything, but I have a hunch.”
“We need to stop, then,” she says firmly.
“Do you want to?”
She stares up at me, jaw still set firmly. “No. I don’t. But this boat means everything to me.”
My gut clenches. “What about me? What do I mean to you?” I shouldn’t ask that. I don’t have the right. We’re just having fun. So much fun I’ve started to fall for her.
“I really like you, Harrison. You know that.”
“But?” My stomach drops. I don’t want there to be a ‘but’. I want her devotion.
She sucks in a breath like she’s going to say something, then thinks better of it. “I really like you. Can we leave it at that?”
“Have dinner with me tonight,” I press. “Let me take you out on a proper date. Bring you flowers. You can wear that dress you wore at New Year’s.”
“What if we’re seen?”
“So what if we are? There’s no rule saying we can’t date.” She still looks unsure. “I’m tired of hiding, Mariah. And quite frankly, you deserve better. We deserve better.” Her eyes widen at my use of her given name. But I’m tired of fucking around. “I want everyone to know I care about you.”
“What about the consequences? What about the fallout if this runs its course?”
“Damn the consequences. We’re adults. If it runs its course, it runs its course and we part as friends.”
“Would we?”
“Why not?” I narrow my eyes. “I’m not an asshole. I’d never dream of cheating on you. We both love the boat. We both respect each other, I don’t see that changing.”
“You don’t have a crystal ball.”
“Neither do you.” I cross my arms, determined not to give an inch. “Give us a chance, Mariah.” This is as close as I’ve ever come to begging.
She worries at her lower lip, teeth clamping down on it. My heart pounds so hard, I swear I can hear it. I’m not used to being held at arm’s length. Until Mariah, I’ve always been the pursued. Now the tables are turned and it’s deeply unsettling. “A compromise?” She asks after an ice-age has passed.
“Anything.”
“I’ll go to dinner with you. We can hold hands, kiss in public, whatever you like. But I don’t want to tell the team.”
I scowl. “Why not?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because I’m the only woman, for starters. I have no desire to be slut-shamed because I’m dating someone in the boat.”
“I swear to god, I will beat—”
“That’s just it, though. Don’t you see? I don’t want to have to rely on you, or anyone else, to defend my honor. And inevitably, it will come to that.”
I hate to admit it, but I see her point. “Fair enough. So do we have a deal?”
The corners of her mouth curl up, and relief washes over me.
“For now,” she says.
Chapter Thirty-Two
From the texts of Mariah Sanchez and her sister
Mariah: I’m out. We’re out.
Cecilia: it’s about damn time.
Mariah: thanks for that.
Cecilia: Well, it’s true. I don’t like that you two have been sneaking around like you’re some big naughty secret. It’s not healthy.
Mariah: Well, if you must know, he was the one insisting we come out.
Cecilia: I like him more and more.
Cecilia: … have you told him?
Mariah: told him what?
Cecilia: That you’re being recruited?
Mariah: No.
Cecilia: Don’t you think he deserves to know?
Mariah: When it’s a real thing and not a fantasy.
Cecilia: Do you honestly believe you’re not going to get a spot?
Mariah: bird in the hand, sis. bird in the hand.
Cecilia: What else haven’t you told him?
Mariah: nothing.
Cecilia: Sis…
Mariah: grimace emoji
Cecilia: You need to tell him you’re being recruited.
Mariah: Not until I’ve secured a spot. It’s too up in the air. And I don’t want to rock the boat.
Cecilia: Ha. Ha.
Mariah: I mean it. I think I’m in love with him. And I can’t be if I’m going away.
Cecilia: Maybe you should try talking to him?
Mariah: as soon as I know something. I promise.
Cecilia: facepalm emoji, facepalm emoji, This is going to bite you in the ass. You know that don’t you?
Chapter Thirty-Three
From the perspective of Steele’s dick
So what if I’m pussy whipped? Mariah Sanchez has pretty much ruined me for anyone else, and you know what? I’m damn okay with that.
* * *
end. of. story.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“You look ravishing,” I say, heat spreading across my chest as Sparky opens the door. She’s wearing that dress again. The one that takes me right back to New Year’s Eve.
“Are you sure? I feel like I’ve worn this a lot lately,” she says, accepting my kiss.
“Hell, yes. I don’t understand why you women can’t wear the same dress more than once. Besides,” I say, dropping my hand to the small of her back as I escort her down the hall to the rickety elevator in her building. “This dress always makes me think of our first time together.” My hand drops lower, once we’re ensconced in the tiny space. “And taking it off.”
“Perv,” she says with a little giggle, firmly placing my hand on her hip.
“Guilty,” I admit, dropping a kiss at the hollow of her neck. The elevator jerks to a stop, and I wrestle with the gate. It takes a full minute before we’re able to exit. “Have you ever thought of moving out?”
“No way. It’s one of the most affordable condos in the city. I don’t want to move out to the ‘burbs. Too white bread.”
“You could move in with me,” I offer. “Working elevator, convenient location.”
She stops in the middle of the sidewalk, brows knit together. “That’s why I should move in with you? Because it’s convenient?”
I can instantly see I’ve bungled my ask. The question is, how do I un-mess it up? “You wouldn’t have to work your second job,” I say. “You could start back to school if you wanted.”
“So I should move in with you so you could take care of me?” Her expressions darkens. “I appreciate the offer, but not only can I take care of myself, but it’s plenty convenient to stay where I am, thank you.” She turns and marches down the sidewalk to the car. I swear I can see steam coming out of her ears. “I’m not a charity case.”
My own hackles rise. “I never said you were.”
“Not all of us were born with a silver spoon, and every advantage. There’s no shame in hustling.”
“Of course there’s not. Shit, I’ve hustled with the best of them.”
“But you haven’t had to hustle to survive,” she points out.
“True, but the work ethic is the same. You do a good job of hiding it, but I see how tired you are. I see how hard you work, the exhaustion around your eyes when you work a double. And dammit, Mariah, I’m in love with you. Why wouldn’t I want to help make your life a little easier? There’s no shame in that either— wanting you to not have
to struggle so hard. Wanting to help you achieve your dreams.”
I didn’t plan for this conversation at all. And that’s my problem— I should have. I should have wined and dined her, seduced her, and then asked her to move in. It’s come out all wrong, and now we’re nearly yelling on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building, late for a fundraiser. I rake a hand through my hair. “Look, Sparky— Mariah. I meant what I said. I’m crazy about you. I love you. I want to be with you. And dammit, I want to give you an easier life. Let me take care of you.”
Her face turns bright pink. “I don’t need to be rescued,” she says, staring at the cement.
I close the distance between us and drop my hands to her shoulders. “Look at me Mariah.” At first, she stubbornly keeps her eyes averted. I soften my voice. “Please? Please look at me?”
My heart melts when I see the tortured look in her eyes. “I don’t want to rescue you, Mariah. I don’t have some kind of a savior complex I need to satisfy. I want you to move in because I love you. I want to be with you, spend more time with you, not less. And yes, if that means you don’t have to work so hard, that’s great too.”
“But my family—” she starts, then hesitates.
“What about them? Do you think they won’t approve?”
“Oh I know they won’t approve. But they didn’t approve of my useless major in college either. Or the fact that I’ve pursued rowing and not teaching.”
“But this is different,” I acknowledge. “Don’t you want your family’s approval?”
“About the person I love, too?” she offers quietly. “Yes.”
My insides grow warm at her admission. I’d hoped. I’d even resigned myself to not having those feelings returned. But now that she’s said it, I want to shout it from the rooftops. I kiss her forehead. “We can talk about this more later, but the offer stands.”
She nods, and lets me help her into the car. It’s a quick drive over to the fundraiser taking place in the ballroom at the top of the President. The owners of the local sports clubs get together every year to raise money for community sports leagues across the metro. I’m representing the rowing club tonight. Stockton will be here representing the Kansas City Kings. It’s a pretty informal event. We all show up with our checkbooks and our dates. A couple of the kids’ coaches give speeches. We drink cocktails, we go home. The closer we get to the hotel, the more agitated Sparky becomes.
