by S. R. Grey
Graham is quiet, though I still can feel his breaths.
When he touches my clit with the tip of his tongue, I just about lose it.
“Oh, Graham, that feels so…”
“Good?” Another touch, followed by a full-on lick, then, “Tell me you want more.”
“I want more.”
Graham devours me then, his hands lifting me to his mouth, his lips and tongue playing and plying until I come undone.
“Yes, sweetheart, let go.”
I do.
And then I beg for more, for all of him.
“Hurry, hurry,” I say as he undresses.
By the time he’s naked and rolling a condom down his long length, I’m shimmying out of my dress, wanting to be as bare as he.
“Take me. Please, Graham. I need you so much.”
I fall back and he crawls on top of me. One quick adjustment and our bodies are joined.
Once we’re moving, everything else in the world is shut out.
There’s just Graham and me, and our love.
And for that brief slice of time, the world is perfect once more.
Perfect Never Lasts
After I have Eden in many different ways and positions, she tells me that, for now, the world is perfect again.
It is too.
Well, it is until just before midnight. That’s when I remind her, “We better get dressed and head back downstairs. Jock is probably waiting for us.”
Burying her face in my shoulder, she murmurs, “Maybe he fell asleep and I can stay till morning.”
“Hmm, knowing Jock, I doubt that. Plus, we have to have you back.”
Sighing, she concedes, “Yeah, you’re right.”
With heavy hearts, we dress and go downstairs.
Jock is in the foyer, peering at his watch. “Good, you’re here. I thought I was going to have to go upstairs and round you two up.”
“Nope,” I say. “And it looks like there’s even time to spare.”
“Just barely,” Jock replies. “I have to have Eden back to her apartment before the next shift takes over, remember?”
“Ugh, I can’t believe the team is watching us so closely,” Eden interjects. “It seems a bit much.”
“They’re just protecting their investment,” Jock replies. “At least, that’s how they see it.”
“The way they see it totally sucks,” Eden states.
I pull her in close to me and kiss the top of her head. “It’s okay, babe. It won’t be for that much longer. Another month or so and I can start to renegotiate all the terms of my contract.”
Jock concurs and adds, “Stay focused on that goal, Graham. We’ll have the Comets at our mercy by December if you keep playing like you’ve been.”
I nod. “Sounds easy enough; I can do that.”
Ah, but nothing’s ever easy, is it?
Sure enough, as we step outside, a bright flash of light blinds us.
I yell, “What the fuck?”
It’s a goddamn paparazzi photographer, one who’s clearly trespassing.
Jock grinds out, “What the hell!”
And Eden screams.
She’s startled and scared, and that’s what really pisses me off.
I chase the motherfucker down the driveway, but the prick has a good head start. Not to mention the fear of me catching him.
He fucking should be scared.
Dude reaches his car, just outside the gate he scales, and takes off before I can nab him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I hiss as I try to catch my breath.
It’s the right sentiment too, seeing as now we are so, so fucked.
I should’ve known perfect never lasts.
Fallout
The team finds out Graham and I were together…at his house…late at night.
Yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.
Not happy at all, the Comets pay off the photographer by buying all the damning pics. Jock is chastised, and Graham and I are warned that if anything like that ever happens again, even once, legal action will be brought against us.
And it won’t be pretty.
They also threaten to take my money.
They don’t, but I know I can’t push them.
There’s no more getting around it—Graham and I must truly stay apart.
There’ll be no more sneaking around. No more fun plans. No more making light of this.
It’s simply too dangerous.
Clearly opportunistic “eyes” are everywhere, ready and willing to out us to make a buck.
With all this in mind, Graham and I make the hard decision to not even text or talk.
In our final phone conversation, he tells me, “We’ll just figure it all out once the season is over.”
I have no choice but to agree.
“Okay, but know I’ll miss you.” I start choking up.
Graham’s not doing much better.
In a ragged voice, he proclaims, “I’ll miss you too, Eden. This is going to blow.”
I can’t stay on the phone: I’ll lose it completely if I do, and I want to be strong for him.
So I wrap up with, “I love you.”
“I love you too, babe.”
We disconnect then, and I sit on my ratty sofa in my cramped apartment, bawling my eyes out.
I do the same thing the next day, and the one after that.
My plan is to stay inside indefinitely, marinating in sadness, but then Brad from the diner calls.
“Hey, you want to pick up a shift tonight?” he asks.
I took a couple of weeks off after the phony breakup, for appearances sake. But it’s the perfect timing for a return. I checked online a few minutes ago and what I found has me upset all over again.
Wiping my eyes, I say, “Yes, I think it’s time to get back to my old life, the one I had before Graham.”
Brad murmurs, “I’m sorry, Eden,” and I know he’s seen the same article I just did.
“I take it you heard the team news today?” I say.
The Comets wasted no time in damage repair, I guess just in case their buyout of the photographer didn’t work. In the local newspaper, both in print and online, there’s a huge article about Graham and how he is now Columbus’s number one eligible bachelor.
It brought everything back home—how we can’t be together, how they’ll probably fix him up with a ton of girls now, how this is the biggest mess.
I choke out a sob, and Brad says, “Eden, I know it’s not much, but please know we’re still here for you at the diner.”
I feel bad that I can’t be honest with him, but how would that work?
I’d have to explain that my fake relationship with Graham became real, and how our real breakup is actually a fake. But that it feels real every time it hits me that I can’t just pick up the phone and text or call my man. Nor can I see him.
So is he really even my man anymore?
I just don’t know.
All I do know is that my head is spinning. And I can’t share that with Brad. The team would have my ass, and I’m already in enough trouble with them.
“Ugh.” I run my fingers through my in-need-of-a-wash hair. “Yes, definitely put me down for that shift tonight.”
“Great. Can you come in at five?”
“Yes.”
I spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready to once again face the world. I shower and dress in my teal waitress uniform, and then I’m off.
At the diner, everyone is super nice. No one brings up Graham, but there’s pity in their eyes when they look at me. To them, I’m the girl who had a chance to break out of a miserable life and blew it.
I didn’t, though, I long to scream. Graham and I will be back together once the season ends.
Since I can’t exactly share that, I put on a happy face. I’m super cheerful with everyone, and truth is, I do feel better as the night wears on.
I start joking with Brad and the other waitresses, and soon it’s like o
ld times.
But then I’m in the back with Noreen, picking up orders that just came up, when she suddenly gasps.
“Oh hell, Eden,” she hisses. “Don’t turn around.”
My back is to the dining room, so I heed her warning.
But I do ask, “Why not?”
Frowning, she says, “Are you still pretending to be a smoker? Do you have any cigarettes on you?”
I shake my head, confused. “No. Why?”
“It’s just now might be a good time to ask for a break and go out back. I’ll take those orders out for you.”
“Okay,” I laugh, “now I have to turn around.”
I do, and instantly wish I hadn’t.
But I can’t unsee what’s right there in my face—Graham is here with another woman.
And it’s not Bunny.
It’s an even prettier woman, one who kind of looks like…me.
“What the fuck!”
“Now stay calm, Eden,” Noreen warns.
“Like I have a choice,” I grind out.
Even though I know this has to be a team-sanctioned fake date, it bugs me that this new girl looks so similar to me.
And why would Graham bring her to the diner?
I realize then that the team probably told him where to go. Coming to the diner is their attempt to shove it in my face, to make it clear that they’re in charge.
Bastards!
Noreen grabs my arm. “Yikes, they just sat down in your section. Don’t worry, though, I’ll cover for you.”
No, no, no. The fucking team will not win.
I ask Noreen, “Can you still take my orders to my other tables?”
“Yes, sure. Eden. But what are you up to?”
Grabbing the coffeepot, I explain, “I’m going to wait on Graham and his date.”
Noreen looks unconvinced that this is a good idea and says worriedly, “Are you sure you want to do that, Eden?”
As I stomp off, I throw out over my shoulder, “Absolutely.”
Diner Disaster
Oh, great.
It’s bad enough the team organized a date for me tonight and added the stipulation that I bring her to the diner, but of course, Eden just has to be working.
Even worse, she’s our waitress.
Annnd here she comes, a woman clearly on a mission—a mission, from the look on her face, to chop off my nads.
Help.
When she reaches our table and my eyes meet hers, I try to convey that this isn’t my idea.
“Sorry,” I mouth for good measure.
My “date,” Brooke, catches that and grins evilly at Eden. She’s been kind of a bitch all evening, so I’m not surprised.
Mock sweetly, she says, “Are you going to pour us some coffee, miss? Or do you plan on standing there like a stupid fool?”
Eden glares at Brooke.
It’s kind of bizarre that the two of them look so similar, something I’m sure the team searched far and wide for when finding me a date. The resemblance is uncanny, though Eden is definitely the prettier of the two.
“Hello, miss?” Brooke drones on. “Did you hear what I just said? Any freaking day now.” Huffing, she rattles her cup against the saucer.
I resist the urge to slam my own cup down, anything to make her stop harassing Eden. That wouldn’t be good, though. It’d cause a scene, and the team would probably just make me go out with her again.
I’m hoping for a one and done.
Eden’s more than capable of defending herself, anyway. As evidenced when she fake-smiles right back at Brooke and replies, “Sure. Here you go.”
She tips the pot and pours my coffee first. Then, while pouring coffee for Brooke, she does so sloppily so some of it splashes out onto the table.
“Oops,” Eden says.
Brooke jumps back away from the edge of the table and cries out, “Hey, that’s hot, you know. Are you trying to burn me?”
I take a sip and the coffee seems lukewarm at best, which is why I’m sure Eden let it go everywhere. She’d never actually hurt anyone.
But she’s not above making her point.
“Aw, I’m sorry,” Eden replies tauntingly. “Let me cool that down for you.”
Before Brooke even realizes what’s happening, Eden picks up the little metal creamer pitcher that’s on the table and tips it so quickly that cream goes everywhere—in Brooke’s coffee cup, on the saucer, on Brooke’s hand.
“You are such a bitch!” Brooke shrieks.
I don’t like that. “Hey now, hold up.”
Brooke turns her ire onto me. “No. You hold up, mister. Why’d you even bring me to this place? This chick is your ex-girlfriend, right? I’ve seen pictures of her with you.”
“Yes, that’s true. And trust me, this wasn’t my idea,” I mutter dejectedly.
I glance up at Eden, standing there with her arms crossed, enjoying the show. I try again to say I’m sorry with my eyes.
She mutters, “S’okay, Graham.”
She then apologizes to Brooke. “Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Eden sighs and starts mopping up the mess with a dishrag. “Do you still want to order something?”
“I think not,” Brooke snorts. “Like I’d trust you to handle my food? You’d probably spit in it.”
“I would not!” Eden exclaims.
“She wouldn’t do that,” I confirm.
Brooke stares at me, confused. “Why are you defending her? I thought you two broke up.”
“Uh…” I almost fuck up and blurt out the truth—that it’s the team, and only the team, keeping us apart.
Eden thankfully saves me.
“We are broken up,” she tells Brooke. “I guess that’s why I’m a little…not myself.”
“Pfft,” Brooke scoffs, “whatever. I still think I’d just like to leave, Graham.”
Brooke doesn’t wait for my response. She’s up and tying the knot on her raincoat within seconds.
“I guess we’re leaving,” I say apologetically to Eden. “Here.” I pull out my wallet and toss a fifty onto the table. “Let me pay for the coffee.”
Eden shakes her head. “No, it’s on the house.”
“Then at least take it as a tip.”
Our gazes meet, and oh hell do I miss this woman. I wish I could leave Brooke and run off with Eden. I’d take her back to the house and make love to her all night.
I miss her body.
I miss her in my life.
I fucking miss her.
“It’s not for much longer,” she murmurs to me.
“What did you say?” Brooke distractedly asks.
“I said have a nice rest of your night,” Eden replies, rolling her eyes.
That makes me smile, even if it is bittersweet.
There’s no way I’ll have a nice rest of my night, not without her.
In fact, I have the feeling nothing will be nice, or right, until Eden and I are back together.
It Sinks In
Graham coming into the diner with another woman sucked.
What’s worse, though, is Graham not coming into the diner at all.
After the incident with Brooke, he doesn’t come back, with dates or without.
Maybe good ole Brooke reported back to the Comets that her “date” was more worried about my feelings than hers. If so, they probably decided it’s best to keep us away from each other.
As the next few weeks go by, it sinks in that Graham is out of my life for good this time.
Well, at least until after the playoffs, which the damn team makes it into, of course.
I watched the deciding game at my apartment, on the huge ultra hi-def TV I finally broke down and bought.
Hey, if I can’t see Graham in person, watching him on a giant screen in crystal clarity is the next best thing.
It was a good game, even though I kept vacillating between rooting for the Comets to win and maybe hoping a little bit that they’d lose. I mean, if the Comets hadn’t made it into th
e playoffs, Graham and I would be free to see each other again.
But they won the game, so the playoffs are a lock.
More time has been added to our sentence.
That’s what this feels like—a prison sentence.
And why are we being punished?
For falling in love?
That’s just wrong.
Oh well, it is what it is.
I just keep counting down the days to the playoffs, waiting for them to start…and for them to end.
First, though, there’s one more regular season game, and it’s the day after Christmas.
Ah, the holidays.
Another thing I’m torn up over.
I’m sad that I won’t get to spend Christmas and New Year’s with Graham, but I’m happy that Paul’s coming home.
One thing for sure—my brother’s bound to love the new TV. He can finally play video games on something where he doesn’t have to squint to see what he’s doing.
Continuing with my upgrade-our-electronics trend, the week before Christmas, on the day Paul’s due home, I buy him a brand-new Xbox.
That evening I wrap the new gift.
And then, because it’s snowing like hell outside, I snuggle down deep into a big fluffy blanket, waiting for my brother to walk through the door.
I offered to pick him up at school, but he has a new best friend, Tanner. The kid’s sixteen and drives, so Paul insisted on riding down with him.
Yeesh, they grow up so fast.
Soon Paul will be sixteen and driving too.
I sigh, though this time it’s contentedly. There’s comfort in knowing I’ll have the money to buy my brother something reliable and safe to tool around in. I know he was planning on taking over my beater, but I think we’ll keep with this upgrade trend and leave the old Saturn garaged up for nostalgic purposes.
Paul will love that. It means he’ll get to pick out a new car.
I’m really proud of my brother and his progress. He’s becoming more responsible every day. And he’s so damn conscientious, always thinking of others.
Like when I double-checked to make sure he didn’t need for me to pick him up at school, he said, “No, I can definitely ride down with Tanner. He has a big four-wheel drive so we’ll be safe. He’s also a good driver. But, above all that, it’s better for you.”
