The Trade

by Quinn, Meghan

  “It wasn’t great,” I say, holding back the tears.

  “What? Are you serious?” Monica’s voice falls. “Nothing happened?”

  “Oh no, something happened. Three orgasms happened.”

  She squeals in the phone and then remembers what I said. “Wait, so why wasn’t it great?”

  “Because . . .” My lip trembles, and I take a deep breath. “It was like he wanted to connect with me but never allowed himself to.” I explain everything that happened last night, the way he made me feel and then his quick retreat, and then I went into this morning’s activities, his need to move on, push me away, but then pull me back in. “I have no idea what’s going on with him. All I know is that he left me with a giant Cory hangover and I—” Tears stream down my face. “He left me an emotional mess.”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “Headed to my apartment, but I really don’t feel like company.”

  “Hell, neither do I. I look like a zombie bride right now. I’m asking because you need to go to his place.”

  “Uh, are you joking?”

  “No, you need to go to his place and confront him.”

  This makes me laugh. “Firstly, Monica, I have no idea where he lives. Secondly, I’m pretty sure I’m the last person he wants to see right now.”

  “Well, too bad for him. He owes you an explanation and guess what, you know people who know him, so send a quick text, find out, and drive there.”

  “I have my suitcase.”

  “That is the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.” It is.

  “Okay, I’m scared.”

  The pause on the phone hangs between us before Monica says, “Sweetie, being scared about new things is how the human body works, but just because you’re scared doesn’t mean it should stop you. Fear should be a propellant to move you forward, not hold you back.”

  I roll my teeth over my bottom lip while staring out the window. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate it when you’re wise?”

  “They’re rare moments.”

  “Rare.” I laugh. “But always show up at the worst times, like when I want to wallow.”

  “There is no need to wallow. This is a time to take charge. He clearly likes you, he’s holding back, and you need to figure out why.”

  “What if I don’t like the answer? Like I’m damaged goods or something.” Monica snorts into the phone causing the corner of my lips to turn down. “I’m serious, Monica.”

  Still laughing, she says, “You’re not damaged goods and Cory doesn’t seem like the kind of man to judge someone’s past. Text Dottie, get his address, and find out the real reason. What’s the worst he can do? Shut you out? Compared to the best thing that could happen? He sticks his tongue between your legs again. I would take those chances.”

  Feeling a little lighter, I say, “You’re so eloquent.”

  “Just for you, Nat. Now get off the phone with me and figure out what the hell is going on.”

  * * *

  I am never listening to Monica again. This was a terrible idea.

  I am wrecked from the flight back to Chicago, emotionally exhausted, and I look like I’m ready to move in with my giant suitcase next to me as I travel up the elevator to Cory’s floor.

  It didn’t take Dottie very long to track down his address or the number to get into his building. Why there is no bellman at the door, I have no idea, especially since this is a really nice part of town. But either way, I nervously pressed the up button, suitcase at my side, and started making my way to his floor.

  Now that I’m almost there, I want to throw up.

  You know when you start talking about something, you psych yourself up, self-talking your way into believing what you’re about to do is the best decision of your life, only to massively regret said decision when it’s standing in front of you?

  That’s where I’m at right now, wishing I could reverse the elevator.

  The carriage comes to a stop, dings, and the doors open. I stand there, unable to move my feet forward, scared to the bone. Why did I listen to my best friend?

  And then I remember what she said: fear should propel us forward, not hinder us. I have no idea if Cory is truly into me, if St. Croix was just this lust-filled place, or if there is something between us, but what I do know is that within the last twenty-four hours, I’ve felt more for him than I have the last year for my ex. That should be an indication that I need to move forward, even if it’s scary.

  Taking a deep breath, I throw my arm up against the closing elevator door, grab my suitcase handle, and make my way down the hallway to Cory’s apartment door.

  Be strong, be confident, and don’t let him shut you out.

  Shoulders pulled back, I raise my hand and knock on his door.

  As I’m waiting, it occurs to me that he might not be home, which would be extremely annoying since I built up all this energy to come here.

  Time ticks by, no answer.

  Crap. Is he really not here? Where did he go?

  I look to the side; there are only two apartments on this level and I’m standing at the correct one.

  I guess I’ll try knocking one more time, but louder.

  I form a fist and pound on the door. That ought to do it.

  And I wait.

  And wait.

  I tap my foot, look down at my suitcase, curse Monica some more in my head, and just as I start to turn around, the door opens and Cory is standing there in a towel . . .

  Wet . . .

  And out of breath.

  I’m at a severe disadvantage.

  Chapter Seventeen

  CORY

  First time in a week I haven’t jacked off in the shower. Wow, I should be awarded a medal or something.

  Absolutely pathetic.

  Everything about me is pathetic.

  The way I couldn’t help but grind my cock into Natalie this morning.

  The dismissiveness I treated her with right after.

  The silent treatment I gave her the entire flight home. How do you express in words that you’re completely enamored without coming across pathetic and needy? And frustrated.

  The “peace out” I threw over my shoulder the minute the plane touched the ground.

  And ignoring Milly’s texts since I didn’t say goodbye.

  What’s going on?

  Is everything okay with you and Natalie?

  You look distraught? Should I come over so we can talk?

  Ignore, ignore, ignore.

  I’m a shitty brother, an even worse friend, and whatever I had with Natalie, I fucked up monumentally.

  The only thing I have going for me right now is the lasagna I popped in the oven—thanks to my housekeeper—before I jumped in the shower. Lucky. Me. The coolest of the cool. Idiot.

  Knock, knock.

  Was that someone at the door? Christ, is it Milly? I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. Her approach is to confront me, an easier method since I moved back to Chicago.

  I rinse off quickly just as there’s another pound to the door.

  Definitely Milly.

  I turn off the shower, try to dry myself as quickly as possible, wrap the towel around my waist, and head out to the entryway, almost biffing it across the hardwood floor when my wet foot slips. I grab the wall, steadying myself, and then make it to the hallway where I tear open the door.

  Natalie.

  I was not expecting that. Her. I also wasn’t expecting my heart to trip in my chest from the mere sight of her. We’ve been separated for an hour? And here I am, feeling like a lovesick fool with her at my door.

  Gripping the side of the door, I say, “Natalie, what are you doing here?”

  She stares down at her suitcase and then looks at me, eyes wide when she sees I do the same thing. In a voice so fast, she says, “I came straight from the airport. I’m not moving in or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. No St. Croix shared hotel room part two. Just couldn’t leave it in the town car.” She taps the
suitcase handle. “Love rolling this guy around Chicago. A real joy.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Why are you here?”

  I see her falter for a second, before she straightens up and says, “Don’t be rude. Invite me in.”

  When she says shit like that . . .

  I step aside and let her in, offering to roll her suitcase for her, but she swats my hand away and sets it against the wall just inside my apartment.

  When I shut the door, I ask, “Can I throw some pants on real quick?”

  She glances at my towel and then back up at my face where she gives me a curt nod. “I’ll just hang out in your living room.”

  I watch her for a second cautiously as she floats over to the couch and takes a seat, crossing her leg and sitting poised.

  Hell, I think I’m about to get it.

  I make quick work of getting rid of my towel and putting on a pair of slate-gray sweatpants. I don’t bother with a shirt, because I don’t want to leave Natalie waiting too long. Did she really just come straight from the airport?

  Pushing my hair to the side, trying to comb it with my hand, I make my way to the living room where Natalie is . . . unmoved. Before I take a seat I ask, “Would you like something to drink?” She shakes her head, so I sit opposite her on my couch. I turn my body to face her, propping one leg up on the couch.

  And I wait.

  When she sees that I’m not going to talk, she rolls her eyes and huffs. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Umm . . .

  “Talking about what?”

  “You, you’re being weird. You’re being really weird. We had this wonderful time all week, and I thought we were building something. When I thought I was about to combust from the sexual tension between us, you gave in and touched me, fucked me, made me feel so incredible that I can’t even begin to describe the emotions I felt.” I swallow hard, nervous of where this is going. “And then, you act like I don’t even exist.” She swats at my leg. “What’s with that, Cory? Don’t you care about me?”

  “I do,” I answer quietly.

  “Oh-kay,” she drags out. She tilts her head and asks, “Do you understand what it means to care for someone?”

  Sighing, I lean back on the couch and press my hand to my forehead. “Are you here to yell at me?”

  Her eyes turn to fire, and I immediately regret my words.

  “I’m here because you hurt me, Cory,” she answers honestly. “I’m here because I thought there was something special between us. Was it just me? Was I the only one feeling it?”

  Her eyes water, her voice shakes, and I hate that she’s not only emotionally wrecked over this entire situation, but that my behavior has brought her to tears. I thought I was a better man that this.

  Looking at my bent leg, I shake my head. “No, you were not the only one feeling something.”

  “Then explain to me what’s going on in your head.” She scoots closer and takes my hand in hers. Her soft, warm skin breaks through to me, reminding me why I so desperately want to have this woman. “Is it because I’m damaged goods?”

  “What?” My eyes shoot up. “No, fuck, Natalie . . . that’s not it at all.”

  “Then what is it?” She tugs on my hand. “Please let me inside your head, tell me why it looks like you’re trying to solve the hardest math problem known to man when you look at me. Why won’t you—?”

  “You want a fling,” I say, my voice coming out harsh. I shake my head. “And that’s not something I can give you.” I glance up, see her eyes wide as she takes in my words. “You’re fresh out of a marriage from a guy you’ve known almost your whole life. You’re in your twenties, you want to live, experience things. I get that, but I’m nine years older than you.” I pause and catch my breath, shocked that I’m letting this all out. “Nine years, Natalie. I’m in a different place than you. And I don’t want to be a fling.” I look her right in the eyes and say, “I like you too goddamn much to be your rebound.”

  Realization of what I’m saying crashes over her face as I feel the edge of my control start to slip. I didn’t want to have this conversation with her. I wanted to be able to distance myself after the trip, bury myself in training, maybe only run into her occasionally where the pain wouldn’t be as much.

  But she’s persistent.

  Still holding my hand, she scoots even closer and reaches out to touch my cheek. Even though I tell myself not to, I melt into her touch, reveling in it one more time.

  “You’re not a man you have a fling with. I learned that pretty quickly,” she says softly. “You’re the man you hold on to, cherish, thank whoever is listening that they’re a part of your life. You’re special, Cory.” Her thumb drags over my bottom lip. “And that scares me, because I wasn’t expecting to meet a man like you, a man who is relationship material.”

  I nod and then slip her touch from my face. Looking at her hand, I say, “I like you, Natalie, I really do, but I also know when the timing isn’t right, and right now it’s not. You want what I can’t give you and you can’t give me what I want.”

  “And what exactly do you want?”

  I lift off the couch and say, “Doesn’t matter.” My heart ratchets in my chest as I feel every last inch of this painful conversation. What I wouldn’t give to take her back to my bedroom, spread her legs, and fuck her with my tongue again, taste her sweetness, and then spread it all over my dick, only to fuck her again. But with nothing between us, nothing holding me back. I want to get lost in her tight pussy, in her soft skin, in her infectious smile. I want to be able to wake up next to her, kiss down her neck until she’s awake, ready to take me all over again. I want to take her out on dates, take her to all the goddamn events I attend, then hold her hand when I’m tired and exhausted and ready for the season to be over. I want her comfort, her laugh, her entire body saved for me and only me.

  Walking to the window that overlooks Lake Michigan, I pull on the strands of my hair, trying to figure out a kind way to ask her to leave—something not insulting but will get her to leave me alone to my own draining thoughts.

  I wrack my brain for something, anything, just as Natalie’s warm hands presses against my bare back. I stiffen to her touch. When did she get up? Her other hand runs up my stomach, and I stifle a groan from the way her palm feels sliding up my abs to my chest until she gently turns me around to face her. Both hands on my chest now, she blinks up at me, her eyes so impossibly huge in this moment that I can’t look away, even if my heart is begging me to.

  In the softest voice, with her fingers caressing my skin, she asks again, “What do you want, Cory?”

  I try to look away, but she forces me back to her with the touch of her fingers to my cheek.

  I roll my teeth over my bottom lip, feeling my will slip. I’m trying to shield her so she’s not exposed to my crazy, inconvenient feelings. But maybe the only way to get her to leave is to scare her into it. She’s not ready for what I want.

  Taking a deep breath, I say, “I want you. All of you.”

  “Okay.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t get it, Natalie. I want it all. I want your lips, your attention, your body. I want it all for me. I want to be able to fuck you whenever I goddamn want.” Growing stronger in my words, I take her cheek in my hand and say, “We would date, exclusively. We would get to know each other on a deeper level.” Clearing my throat, I add, “You would be mine, no one else’s. What I want is simple. I want you to be my girlfriend, not a fling, not a one-night stand, not a guy you occasionally come to for sex, because even though my body is telling me it can give you that, my heart is not that strong.” I rub my thumb over her cheek. “I didn’t think I wanted a relationship, especially not during the season, not until after I retired, but then I met you and something inside me changed. Something inside me started to yearn for what my sister has, for what my friends and my parents have. Someone to be by my side during the toughest parts of my life.” Her eyes search mine and I feel like I’m sayi
ng way too fucking much but at this point, I can’t stop myself. “This past season was the hardest one of my career. The blow of being traded to a team who hates me really fucked my mental game. Going into this season, I need to be mentally there and starting a relationship is a bad idea, but also . . . if I did start one, I know with you . . . it would be easy.” Surprising myself, I repeat, “It would be so easy with you.”

  I take a deep breath and step away, turning my back toward her.

  “It’s not what you need right now. What you’re looking for, and I know that. That’s what I’ve tried to hide but last night, fuck, my will snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed one moment to feel you against me, to see what it would be like if I did give in and have you for a second. Fuck, it made me want so much more. So I bolted. It’s why I’m trying to keep my distance now.”

  When I finish, I wait for her to say something, but when she doesn’t, I realize, maybe I did speak my mind too much. But it’s better she hears it now rather than later. This is what I want.

  “I get where your head is at,” I say, continuing because the silence is killing me, but I keep my back turned toward her. I can’t sacrifice the pain in my chest to grow even more if I look her in the face. “You’re twenty-six, fresh from what you presumed would be a life-long relationship, and you want to explore what else is out there. I don’t blame you, but I also want to be honest. I meant what I said, I don’t want to be your rebound. That’s important to me.”

  More silence.

  Did she leave and I not know about it?

  Nervous, I look over my shoulder to see her standing a few feet away, a contemplative look on her face, hands twined together, eyes drawn down. What’s going through her mind? Is she trying to figure out an easy way to back away? Hell, I laid it all out there, I’d be shocked if she didn’t have one foot out the door, waiting to make a quick exit.

  So I make it easy on her and say, “It’s okay, Natalie.” She glances up at me and I nod toward the door. “Don’t feel like you need to stay here. We’re cool, okay?”