Hayes raises his hand. “I’m in for that.”
“Of course, you are, old man. Don’t want your money taken.” Brandon, one of the newer rookies, he’s only two years into the league, smirks.
“Watch who you’re calling old, rookie. I could beat you any day, any time.” Hayes shoots him a glare.
In the end, we decide to head down to my basement, which is media room central. Hayes, Jimenez, and I settle on the huge sectional in front of the projector screen that’s currently got a sports documentary playing, while Clark and Max dick around on one of the many vintage arcade games I bought for down here.
Brandon is thoroughly distracted, scrolling through his phone, before he talks. “Man, dating apps here are not as exciting as in New York.”
Jimenez snorts. “Of course, they’re not, they’re are like fifty percent fewer people out here in Packton. Not to mention, half the girls got married like right out of college.”
“I need to get laid so bad,” Brandon whines, and I can’t hold back my eye roll.
“Rookies.” Hayes snorts.
“Tell me about it. Dude, you’ll be on road trips soon enough. Don’t worry, put up some big numbers for the team next season and you’ll have girls flying out to see you.” I pat him on the shoulder.
“But what am I supposed to do in the off-season?” He acts like Pennsylvania is barren of any attractive women.
“You could always date a teammate’s wife,” Max calls over his shoulder sarcastically.
My spine goes rigid, and my temper goes from zero to one hundred. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Max and Shane had been close when Hannah’s soon-to-be ex-husband had still been on the Pistons, before they let him go over the domestic violence charges. It doesn’t surprise me that he’d make a comment, but the idiot is in my house, eating my food, and hanging out with our friends. If he was going to back Shane in any way, he could get the fuck out right now. And even if he was trying to make a stupid joke about what I was doing with Hannah, I wasn’t going to stand for it.
Max turns around with a goofy smile on his face. “I’m just busting your balls, man. It was a joke. It’s just … a couple of us have heard you’re spending some time with Hannah.”
Hayes begins to rise from the couch, and I know he senses the tension in the room. I wave him off, though the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up.
“Well, maybe a couple of you need to mind your own fucking business. What I do in my personal life should stay out of your mouth, and what is going on with Hannah and Shane is their business as well. It’s not a secret I’m on her side, as you should be too. If you’re even communicating with that guy, who beat his wife to a bloody pulp, you’re on the wrong side of this.”
Max’s easy-going expression falters. “Look, Walker, I didn’t mean anything serious by it—”
“But it is serious,” Hayes jumps in. “You weren’t there, you don’t know how ugly that got. Just … don’t talk about it, okay? And if Walker is trying to help a woman and her daughters out, then you should respect that.”
The rest of the guys stay silent, and Max looks at the floor. “Understood. No disrespect, Walker.”
I nod, trying to settle my rattled nerves. “Thanks.”
The rest of the night is fine, Clark even convinces some of the guys to play some video games, but I can’t get Max’s comments out of my head. If someone this close to me could make speculations, what is everyone else saying? Am I making things more difficult for Hannah?
And Hayes’ comments at the beginning of the night haunt me, too. I see myself getting serious with Hannah, even this early. But I’ll surely be the type of partner who is gone so often, it will be like home is a hotel. She has children, a whole other life that she’d have to make me a part of.
Is she willing to do that? Am I willing to do be a part of that knowing I’ll only be giving them fifty percent of myself, if not less?
16
Hannah
Hair, all different shades from black to blond, float into my dustpan as I sweep the floors of Siesta.
I’m about four hours into my workday, and it’s been a busy one. Aside from cleaning and shampooing, I got to assist on a balayage service for one of the other hairdresser’s clients. It’s one of the first coloring techniques I’ve been able to practice since I got hired here, and it feels so good to be painting hair and trying to create a masterpiece that someone would wear through their daily life.
That’s what I see doing hair as; creating art on a canvas that another person trusts you with. Giving them something beautiful to make them feel confident and unique each time they look in the mirror.
But now I’m tidying before I can go on my lunch break, and it isn’t a second too soon. My stomach is grumbling, and I often look forward to chats with the women in the small break room or just having an hour to myself to scroll through my social media feeds. I rarely get alone time these days, really haven’t in the last few years, and it’s nice to not have anyone to answer to while I eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Hannah!” someone calls from up front.
I realize I’m being summoned to the reception desk, which I can’t see from the back of the salon. There is a shiplap wall separating the front waiting area from the back where the chairs line up before mirrors, so I don’t see him until I make my way around it.
A smile stretches my mouth the instant he comes into view. “What are you doing here?”
Walker presents me with one singular rose. “I’ve come to take the most beautiful woman I know to lunch.”
I think every woman in the waiting area or behind the front desk, me included, just about passes out from the swoon spell he just cast.
“Well, isn’t that sweet?” Ginny walks to the front, eyeing Walker approvingly. “Hey, you’re that baseball player.”
Leanette, one of the receptionists, leans her very ample bosom against the front counter. “Oh my gosh, you are! My mom just adores you, and I love to watch your games, too.”
Two more of the hairdressers, Bridget and Kaitlyn, come walking up, trying to join the conversation.
I smirk at Walker, because it’s no surprise he walks into a business full of women and becomes the center of attention. But where Shane would soak this up and make some lewd comments, maybe hit on my coworker’s right in front of me, Walker is all gentleman.
“Why, thank you, I appreciate that you all follow the games. This is a real nice place you have here,” he says to no one in particular.
“Well, I’d hope so. You come in soon for a haircut, our girl Hannah will give you a real good shampoo.” Ginny waggles her eyebrows.
Oh God, she is trying to get me laid, or something like it.
“Okay, then, should we head out? Is it okay if I go on lunch?” I ask Ginny, trying to steer Walker away from the buffet of women trying to offer themselves up as his meal.
“You have fun.” She winks, definitely not in any sort of subtle way.
I’m chuckling as we leave the salon, walking toward his pickup. “Could you have caused more of a stir in there?”
“Your coworkers really know how to boost a man’s ego.”
“As if you need an ego boost,” I tease, in a way that I never would with another man.
But something about Walker puts me so at ease that I can be myself. The person I was before all the years of abuse.
“That’s right, I don’t, because you agreed to have lunch with me. All the boost I need.” He winks just like Ginny did, and I laugh.
“So, where are we going to eat?” I ask as I get in and buckle my seatbelt.
“Well, I did tell you I could cook, right? I thought a little lunch at my place would break up your day nicely.”
Not only has he thought of me enough to come pick me up and feed me, but he cooked it as well. “You’re suspiciously perfect, you know that? A man who cooks and takes me on daytime dates? I’m trying to find a flaw.”
> Walker chuckles, and I can’t help but swoon over how his bicep flexes when he grips the steering wheel. “Oh, believe me, I have them. Except when it comes to you, I try really hard to smooth out all my wrinkles. After all, I’m just trying to impress the prettiest woman I’ve ever met.”
And now I’m blushing. “Like I said, too perfect.”
He turns the radio up as he laughs and starts singing along to a Brett Young song.
“But then I saw your face, now you got me tryna catch your eye, catch your name,” he croons, in a voice that isn’t particularly bad.
I’ve heard this song in passing, not being so much of a country fan, but the lyrics get me as we continue to drive. It’s about how a man wasn’t looking for anything at all, was just trying to have a fun night out with his buddies. Then, wham, a girl walks in and he goes weak at the knees, basically.
It’s kind of how I feel about the man in the driver’s seat; I wasn’t looking for anything romantic in the least. I would have been fine shriveling up and dying an old shrew after everything I’ve been through. But Walker’s persistence, his charm, this innate sense of safeness I have when I’m around him … it’s slowly but surely winning me over.
The drive from the salon to Walker’s house is about ten minutes, and when we pull up his half mile long driveway, I take a second to just marvel. Of course, I used to live a neighborhood over from him, and I’ve been here before. One Halloween, Walker had a party for the team and anyone the players wanted to invite. He’s also hosted summer barbecues that we stopped by for a short period, back before Shane liked to attend events solo.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” His hand makes a sweeping motion as he parks in the driveway and begins to get out of the vehicle.
“I’m not sure I’d call this humble.” I chuckle, as we meet at the front of his truck.
“Hmm.” He pretends to be thinking as he wraps his arms around my waist. “I guess you’re right.”
And then he dips his head, giving me a kiss that seems to stretch on for eons. When he breaks away, I’m practically a puddle at his feet.
“What was that?”
“Figured I couldn’t give you a proper hello in the salon, and I’ve missed you.” He shrugs, but his smile is pure deviant.
And now all I can think about is how much I’ve missed him. I wanted him the other night, oh how badly I’d wanted him. When he ended our date with a searing, soul-melting kiss for the ages, I wanted him to push it further. And then he gave me that line about not wanting to push, wanting to respect everything I have going on, and I was like a teenage girl floating to her bedroom after her crush asked her to prom.
But I wanted him to push me, to put his hands in places that now feel needy and achy.
“What did you make for lunch?” I gulp, trying to steady my already shot nerves.
I follow him in after he unlocks the front door. “I made us some Italian chicken paninis with this press I’ve gotten pretty good at using. Do you like roasted red peppers? I wasn’t sure if I should put them on …”
He’s so cute trying to guess what I might like. “I am not picky, I’ll eat whatever. Especially if someone else is making it. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me instead of the other way around.”
“Well, get used to it. I want to do things for you.” Walker’s blue orbs are so earnest, it makes the organ in my chest do a little happy dance.
We pause in his kitchen, with its butcher block counters and dark green cabinets, and I think it dawns on both of us that we’re finally alone, with nothing to get back to or anyone to report to for at least a little while. And that ignites something, because before I realize what either of us are doing, we’re locked in each other’s arms.
Walker’s hands are in my hair, mine are pulling at the hem of his long sleeve. Our kisses are rushed and passionate, and the sounds coming from my throat are animalistic.
He walks me backward, hoisting me up onto his kitchen island, and then moves to position himself between my legs. The moment I feel his hardness through his jeans, his erection jutting to nudge my most sensitive parts, I break off in an aroused, surprised gasp.
“Oh God, Walker … we can’t,” I say between pants, but his hands don’t leave my hips. “I haven’t … it’s been a long time. And there is so much baggage. I haven’t shaved my legs.”
The last thought pops into my head before I can cover my mouth to keep it from coming out. But it’s true. I’m not sure if it’s been a week or maybe two since I took a razor to my stubble.
Walker chuckles beside my ear. “Hannah, I would sleep with you if you were hairy as a baboon, and enjoy every single second of it. Hell, the thought of discovering a landing strip when I get these panties off you is making me so hard, I think I’m leaking cum.”
My entire body flushes with hardcore lust at his hilarious but dirty words. But I move my face, nudging the side of his, so that he has to look at me.
“I haven’t been with anyone in a positive way in quite some time. We just started seeing each other. We haven’t even talked about what this is, or how it would possibly ever work. Sex … complicates things. And I’m not one to take it lightly.”
His baby blues flash with concern. “Did he hurt you, during … ?”
I know he can’t force himself to finish that sentence. I gulp, looking away.
“No, not hurt, exactly. But my needs haven’t been seen to in a very long time.”
Shane was selfish, in every sense of the word. Our sex life, just like everything else in our marriage, became about his gratification. He took no time to see to my needs, I often didn’t orgasm, there were no sweet nothings whispered, no magic or even lusty romps because we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. The sex became another way he used his power over me, taking what he wanted from my body and giving nothing in return.
“Let me cherish you, pleasure you. I don’t want to push you, Hannah, but good lord, you deserve to be worshipped. The places I want to put my mouth on your body, the ways in which I want to make you squirm and moan … I’m not sure I can even describe how badly I want to watch you come.”
I mean, how am I even going to argue with that? I want that so badly, to the point that I just shamelessly thrust my hips against him, until he moves to start removing my pants, right there on his kitchen counter.
17
Walker
Our clothes seem to have disappeared somewhere, thrown onto the tile of my kitchen floor.
When I decided to surprise Hannah and bring her over for lunch, I didn’t assume this was going to happen. Did I want to get her alone without anyone else within earshot? Yes. Did I envision a steamy make-out session? Yeah, definitely. Have I jacked off this entire week thinking about how much I regret walking away when I dropped her off after our first date? More times than I count.
But to see Hannah, with all of her wild black curls spread across my kitchen island? No, I definitely didn’t anticipate this. Dreamed about it, yes, but this is more than I could ever imagine.
Her sea glass eyes are fixated on me, both swamped with lust but also skittish. She’s like an animal that might bolt at any sign of sudden movement, and it guts me that she hasn’t been cherished or taken care of in a long time. Her body is laid before me like an offering, one I want to feast upon. All olive, unblemished skin, petite curves, and small, rounded chocolate brown nipples. Hannah is my greatest fantasy, with her girl next door innocence and womanly maturity mixing in a heady combination.
I can’t even look at her pussy without growling, and I want to bend down and stick my tongue between her thighs. But I know I have to go slow, I have to worship her. And as she’s laid back against the marble, that’s all I want to do.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I whisper, and lean over to cover one breast with my mouth.
Hannah shudders, writhing under me, as I swirl and suck her nipple between my teeth. The tip of my cock juts against the cabinets below, and I ache to be i
nside her. But I’m planning to give her multiple orgasms, to make up for the ones she wasn’t getting. Fury and frustration mix in my veins for a moment, because how could someone ever disrespect an angel like her?
My fingers run down her torso, and I feel the muscles beneath them quiver. “Oh God …”
I smile against her skin, switching nipples, before my mouth plants open-mouthed kisses where my fingers just were. And then I move south, so turned-on that I think I might come just from tasting her.
Using my arms to grab underneath her perky ass cheeks, I spread her, and hear the desperate moan she lets out. Hannah might be a reserved woman, but it seems I’ve loosened up some buttons. Maybe she just hasn’t been touched properly in forever, and it’s causing her to lose any hesitation she might have put up before. I’m running with it, because if she’s going to let me make her come on my tongue, I’m too selfish to slow down.
I taste her, running my tongue up her dripping wet slit, and she nearly shoots off the counter. Holding her in place with one arm wrangled around her waist, I push one finger inside her tight, wet heat as I use my mouth and teeth to work her swollen bundle of nerves.
“Walker!” she cries out in no time.
I don’t say anything, just continue my diligent worship of her pussy. I flex my own hips, all but dry-humping the cabinets below my kitchen island. I’d wrap my fist around myself if I wasn’t holding her in place and didn’t have two fingers now pumping inside her.
There is no warning before Hannah comes on my fingers and mouth, she simply lets out the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard and then begins to shiver like her body temperature just went arctic. And Christ, I want to hear that sound for the rest of my life. I want to make her do that over and over again.
I pick her up, knowing that I don’t want our first time to be on this kitchen counter. If I don’t move us now, I’ll end up mounting her right here, and I want this to mean something more. I want her on my mattress, between the sheets, where we have all the space to explore. Hannah’s legs wrap around me, and my cock rubs against the wetness coating her after her orgasm.
Stealing Home (Callahan Family Book 2) Page 10
