Moonshot

by Alessandra Torre

  I gave him an obvious once-over, my eyes clinging to the curve of his biceps, the strength of his stance. “Think you can keep up?”

  His grin widened, and Colgate could sell a million tubes off those teeth. “Yeah, I think I’ll do just fine.”

  I tossed the ball toward his bucket and whistled for Titan.

  And just like that, we were another step deeper, another bit of my world crumbling off.

  I had become a runner. The annoying type who held their breath as they passed others, out of pure competitive spite. One of those who kept Nikes in the back of my SUV, just in case I got a free moment with a treadmill. I’d run over every inch of this complex, down empty hallways and through boardrooms. I’d explored the visitors’ locker rooms, our kitchens, and the press boxes. But I’d never gone through the gate where Chase stopped.

  “What are you doing?” I jogged in place, lungs starting to warm, our run only just begun.

  “Come on.” He nodded his head, holding open the gate. The gate that led off property. Into the Bronx.

  If we took it, we’d pass the Julie Gavin gate. Pictures from the police report flashed through my mind, a flipbook of dark blood, white skin, blonde hair matted, eyes open and unseeing. The killer had underlined the name on the back of the jersey, STERN punctuated with one long line of her blood. “I can’t go out there.” Titan growled beside me, my indignant tone putting him on alert.

  “Can’t?” His eyes narrowed. “Grant got you on a leash?”

  I stopped jogging, my feet unsteady when they stopped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He took a step out, his hand still holding the door, fingers barely gripping it as if he was about to let go. “Then come on.”

  “It’s not safe,” I protested.

  His face hardened. “I’ll kill someone before they touch you. And if I die trying, Killer there will finish them off.” He nodded to Titan.

  The Bronx, in itself, was probably fine. It certainly felt safe enough, during the day, in our chauffeured rides to and from the stadium. But at one and two in the morning, when I was driving out here, I locked my car doors. Didn’t make eye contact at red lights. On foot, on a non-game day … I shifted. Bounced once on my toes to keep my blood flow moving. Watched Chase’s eyes drop to the open neck of my pullover. I zipped it up higher, and his eyes rose to mine, his mouth curving a little. “Or are you scared of something else?” He turned, gripping the other gatepost, blocking the exit as he stared me down. “Worried you can’t control yourself without eyes on you?” He glanced up briefly, at the security cam in the corner, his meaning clear.

  I was too old to be goaded into submission. I should walk away, continue my run in my safe little stadium, the guards watching, my dog following, my virtue protected. Through that gate, there was nothing for me but danger.

  I turned away and reached for the phone on the wall. It rang to security and my conscience warred.

  “It’s Ty,” I said, watching Chase, his eyes wary. “I’m leaving for the night.”

  81

  He needed her out of there. Out of Grant’s world. Out of the cameras’ sight. Every minute together, in that stadium, felt tainted. That should have been their home. They met there—fell in love there. That was their place, until it wasn’t, until it became hers and Tobey’s. And now, he couldn’t breathe there. He could crush homers and have every person in it chant his name, but it was still ruined. He could bring them a trophy, and it would still belong to Tobey. Just like Ty.

  They jogged down, along the fence, away from the lights. She ran quickly, the dog between them, his ears forward, eyes watching. A nasty looking dog. Full German Shepherd, its lack of leash had been intimidating in the stadium. Here, in the open street, it was terrifying. She didn’t seem concerned, her occasional commands to the dog obeyed with perfect precision.

  They ran past closed restaurants and shops, the streets quiet, cars sparse. She was quiet, and he said nothing, falling a step behind, his eyes on the curve of her ass, the swing of her arms. Like everything else, her run was seamless. Effortless.

  “Stop looking at my butt.” She tossed the comment over her shoulder, no hitch in her breath, her voice as calm and controlled as if she was standing still. He quickened his steps, lumbering up the hill next to her, his hand reaching out, cupping her elbow, pulling on it.

  “Slow down.” He sighed. “Walk a minute.”

  “I forgot.” She slowed, looking over with a smile. “You’re an old man.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He pulled his hat lower and made eye contact with a bum, the man looking away as they passed. “I’m ancient, and you’re a freak of nature. Happy?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled, her steps slowing until they hit a speed he could handle without audibly wheezing. Maybe he needed to skip the weights a little. Get in more cardio.

  “You do Ironmans in your spare time?” He wanted to grab her arm again. Then her waist. Pin her up against the next building and reclaim that mouth. Before, years ago, he could be around her without touching her. When had he lost that ability? Now, every minute with her was a battle of self-control, a fight to regain all of the years that they missed.

  “Ha.” She looked down, resting her hands on her hips, and he watched the heave of her chest as she let out a long breath.

  He couldn’t stop himself; he reached out, his hand settling on her back. “Let’s stop, right there.” He nodded ahead, at a food truck idling on the side street. “My treat.”

  82

  The beer was cold for the crisp night, but when paired with the hot Cuban sandwich, absolutely heavenly. We sat on a curb, hunched over our food, our shoulders often brushing. “He’s a beautiful animal.” Chase nodded to Titan.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, finishing my mouthful of food. “What ended up happening with Casper?”

  He paused for a moment before looking over. “Surprised you remember him.”

  “Did he move with you?”

  He looked back down at his beer. “I wasn’t in New York long enough to bring him. I tried in Baltimore, but…” He lifted his shoulders, glancing over at me with a wry smile. “He wasn’t happy. And I felt guilty being on the road so much. Some girl once told me it was cruel … that kind of stuck with me.”

  “Sounds like a smart girl,” I shot back.

  “In some ways she was.” His smile lost its strength. “In other ways…” He tilted back his beer, watching me.

  “I wasn’t the only one who made dumb decisions back then, Chase,” I said quietly. “You left. And you never came back, you never called.” Thoughts I had said so many times in my head, a mantra that I had used, time and time again, to try and stop loving him.

  “I was mad. And then, when I calmed down, your number was disconnected. And then … not even a month later, you were with him.” His voice had hardened, raw emotion, anger, still there and I pushed back, just as upset. “You didn’t even give me time to sort out anything. To wrap my head around everything. I didn’t know how to handle how I felt for you. And I didn’t know how to handle it when I was traded. What was I supposed to do?”

  “You could have flown here. Called my dad. It wasn’t like you didn’t have the resources—and I didn’t have that. I didn’t even have my own money to come and visit you—” My words broke off and I stared at the sandwich, numbly wrapping the paper around it, my appetite gone, four years of emotions welling to the surface. “You could have come.” I whispered. Rescued me.

  “You were engaged. Then married. So fast.” He reached over, pulling at my hand, his thumb running over the place where my diamond normally sat. “Why?” he asked.

  I swallowed, feeling the familiar push of tears, the thickening of my throat that occurred whenever I thought of the baby. “I was pregnant,” I said simply, lifting my eyes to his, steeled for the reaction.

  He froze, the only movement in his face the twitch of his eyes. They searched mine, reading everything in the moment before tea
rs blurred my vision. I didn’t move, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t give him any more information. His arm moved, his beer set down, and then he was brushing my hair carefully back, his warm hands cupping my face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “It’s okay.” I blinked, and a tear escaped, his eyes following it down my cheek. I watched him swallow, the part of his lips, a breath of hesitation before he spoke.

  “Ty.”

  It was only one word, but a gruff plea that said everything. I lifted my gaze from his lips to his eyes and saw the hurt in them, the miss, the need. Need that I couldn’t step away from. Need that I felt in every part of my body. “Take me somewhere, Chase.”

  He pulled me to my feet and nodded at the hotel, one block down, the sign glowing in the night. “There.”

  83

  I expected him to move fast.

  I expected our touches to be frantic.

  I thought it would be a fuck, hard and dirty, like an affair was supposed to be.

  It was none of those things, yet it was everything.

  “Ty.” He breathed my name like it was life, shutting the hotel room door and flipping the switch; everything suddenly bathed in warm light. A small room. Wooden desk. Vintage chair. White bedspread. Big pillows. Glass wall. City lights. Chase had bribed the desk clerk to allow Titan’s presence and I put him in the bathroom, firmly shutting the door. Chase stepped forward, and I stepped back, my shoulders hitting the door, my eyes closing when his head lowered to mine, the first kiss soft and hesitant, the second deeper, stronger. His fingertips brushed along my side, underneath my layers, and I lifted my hands, our kiss breaking as he rolled my shirt and pullover off. They hit the floor, our mouths met again, and there was the first brush of his bare hands on my skin.

  Sweeping over my stomach, upward.

  Soft in his cup of my breasts, his gentle lift, squeeze.

  He pulled back from my mouth, his eyes falling to his hands, the skim of fingers across delicate skin, around and across my nipples. They stood at attention, and I gasped at the feather-soft contact.

  His eyes darted to me at the sound, his fingers repeating the motion, whisper-light over them. “Harder?” he asked.

  “No. Just like that.”

  “Close your eyes. Relax.”

  I did, leaning against the door, his fingers continuing their tease across my skin. “I’ve thought about these breasts for four years,” he said gruffly. “What they looked like. Felt like.” There was the drag of his cheek across the top of them, his hands cupping them against his face, and I gasped, my hands finding the top of his head and gripping his hair. The hot dart of a tongue, flicking across my nipple, a moment of suction, then a kiss, my body leaving the door as I twisted against him. “They are perfect, Ty. Even more perfect than they were before.” His hands squeezed, almost too hard, and I inhaled sharply, my eyes opening, the room blurry, then focusing.

  His head lifted, my hands fell from his hair, and he pulled me to the bed. “On your back,” he choked out, yanking at his clothes, his long-sleeved shirt pulled over his head, his workout pants jerked down, underwear following suit, and I slid to the edge of the bed, my hands reaching for his waist, my eyes on his cock.

  I reached out, but he stepped away, frowning, his hand going to it, wrapping around it. “No, Ty.”

  “I want it,” I begged. “I want to touch it.”

  “Not to be un-gentlemanlike, but I haven’t gone to bed in four years without jacking off to the thought of you. And it wasn’t you on your knees. I have to touch you, baby. I have to fucking drink you in. And there isn’t a thing that you can say to change that fact.”

  I pulled my eyes from his hand, from his cock, and looked into his face. Saw pain there, his voice almost shaking on his last words, the need in his eyes so strong it screamed.

  “On your back,” he repeated. “Pants off.”

  I held his gaze, my sneakers kicked aside, my leggings peeled off. I left on the underwear, a white thong, and he let out a soft sigh, standing alongside the bed, my body stretched out beside him, his hand sliding down, from sternum to tummy, sliding over the white cotton, his eyes closing briefly. “If you only knew, Ty.”

  I didn’t ask. I didn’t speak. I didn’t think, had he said something else at that moment in time, that I could have handled it. He pulled the panties slowly, carefully, over my hips and off, his fingers lingering on their path, his eyes on his work, face unreadable. When he pulled the thong off my legs, he tossed it aside, looking up to my face.

  “Sit up.”

  I did, propping up my body with my hands, my feet digging into the coverlet, knees raised. He knelt on the bed before me, the mattress sinking under his weight, his hands reaching for me, pulling me, until the backs of my thighs were against his, and we were face to face, my legs wrapping around his waist, my pussy against his cock. His eyes closed briefly, and he winced. “God, you have no idea how much you tempt me.”

  “It’s not temptation if you can have it.” I wrapped my arm around his neck, one of his hands tightening on my ass, bringing me closer, the other knotted in my hair, his mouth coming down for a kiss.

  “But I don’t have you, Ty. And once we do this…” His words fell into a groan, my free hand wrapping around his cock.

  “Once we do this … what?”

  “I can’t walk away.”

  I didn’t want to have this talk. I wanted to forget life, forget obligations, forget everything but the two of us. I squeezed his hard length, looking down, at the look of us, everything on him hard against my soft, my hair wet with arousal against the ridges and lines of his shaft. I pulled back, away from him, and pushed his cock down, my name hissing from his lips in warning, everything going away the moment it was there, thick and perfect, my legs greedy in their pull closer, his hands tightening on my skin, hips thrusting. And then he pushed in. Deeper, deeper. My hands scrambled against his skin, clawing at it, my world bursting into light as he groaned my name and pushed the final inches home.

  I gasped, he stilled, and there was a moment of pure fullness, his lips against mine, one sweet kiss that promised me everything, including heartbreak.

  Then his hand tightened on my hair, he pulled from our kiss, lowering his head beside mine, his breath hot on my shoulder, fingertips biting into my ass, and he started to move.

  I didn’t know what I was thinking, my vision of Chase as a lover. I had thought it would be crude. Quick and dirty, like our meeting in the bathroom. I had thought he would be selfish. Demanding. I had been, in a thousand orgasmic ways, wrong.

  I was wrong when he started, like that, our souls face-to-face, impossible to escape.

  I was wrong when we moved, on our sides, my back to his front, his whisper on my neck, kisses brushing my shoulder, his hands everywhere, thrusts never stopping, not until the moment that my orgasm came, long and brutal, my body seizing around his cock.

  I was wrong when he came, inside of me, my hands gripping the edge of the desk, him standing before me, gasping into our kiss, his hands in my hair, his final push so deep and solid that I bucked against it.

  I was wrong when he carried me to the bed, and cleaned me up, his mouth following the washcloth, his tongue gentle, then stronger, knowing everything, leaving nothing, my final orgasm one that broke the record books, his name screamed loud enough that Brooklyn must have heard.

  I was wrong when he crawled under the sheets behind me and wrapped his arms around me.

  I was wrong when he told me he loved me, and I repeated it back.

  “The detectives hadn’t even considered an affair. That just wasn’t the direction they were looking. Tobey and Ty Grant had always been baseball’s golden couple, and the Yankee fans loved them. It was because of how iconic they were, of how much so many people believed in them—it was like if they didn’t succeed as a couple, then there was no hope for the rest of us. And that ideal, that hero worship of their relationship was, quite literally, t
heir kiss of death.”

  Dan Velacruz, New York Times

  84

  "Stay.”

  “I can’t stay.” I sat up, sliding off the bed and eyeing my panties, damp and alone, on the floor. “I have to get back.” Before he wakes up. I didn’t want to turn and see the clock, was terrified of what it might say. It felt like we’d been in this room for decades. First the sex, then the spooning, then the conversation. Words about nothing, each of us trying to stretch out the time, a hopeless feat.

  “What are you going to tell him?”

  I gathered my clothes and sat at the desk, working on my panties, then my leggings. “I don’t know.”

  He got off the bed, boxer briefs on, and walked over, picking up my shirt and helping me with it, the built-in sports bra a tight fit, his hands taking liberties in their pull of spandex over breasts. I smirked at him despite myself, taking the pullover from his hands and handling it myself.

  He didn’t smile back. He looked worried. “Maybe I should come with you.”

  “No.” I grabbed my Nikes and sat down in the chair. I didn’t know what he thought. That I was going to walk into my house, wake up my husband, and ask for a divorce? I couldn’t do that to Tobey. I needed to think, to plan, to figure out—

  “This isn’t a fling, Ty.” His words were hard, and I looked up at him, momentarily pausing my shoe-tying. “You aren’t going to go back to him and occasionally fuck me when you are bored.”

  I finished the knot and stood. “Don’t talk to me like that.” I glared at him. “Do you think that’s what I’m like? Seriously?”

  “No.” He shook his head with a scowl. “I don’t. But I’ve lost you to him before. And I can’t—”

  “I understand.”

  “You don’t understand. I’ve been alone for four years, haven’t touched another woman, and you’ve been with him every … fucking … night.” He gritted out the words and I searched his face, trying to understand the frustration I saw in it.