Grasping Air (Flipped Book 2)

by Carrie Aarons

  My face twists upwards, and I’m momentarily stunned speechless. Now, I see Peyton in a leotard almost every day. Hell, I’ve seen her naked. What lies beneath is no mystery to me, and it is one hell of a body. But seeing Peyton in the strappy getup she’s got on, the sun glinting off of her tanned skin, her mass of black hair piled onto her head … I’m like a parched man in the desert, and she’s the only source of water. Her long, toned legs are bare and smooth, I know if I touch them they’ll feel like silk. The black bikini she has on wraps around her erotic hips and perfect breasts in scraps of material, barely covering the necessary parts.

  “You couldn’t put something a little more modest on?” My voice is a low growl. I want to cover her up and undress her at the same time. I’m not sure which first.

  Her face falls, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. “What, I don’t look good?”

  I still can’t peel my eyes off of her cleavage. “You look incredible. It’s these other guys who might not look so good after I bash their faces in for looking at you.”

  Peyton rolls her eyes and plops down next to me. “You and your jealous streak. Save it, muscles … I only wore this for you.”

  She grabs a beer and I still can’t stop clenching my teeth. My balls draw up tight, throbbing in the bathing suit I have on. She tosses her hair and I can smell the lavender shampoo she washed it with. My skin prickles with arousal, and I can’t wait any longer. I haven’t been with a woman in four years, haven’t felt the curves of her body, haven’t heard the soft moans they make. And this is the woman. Suddenly the need to stick my cock inside her is so singular, my senses can’t process anything else.

  Grabbing her hand, I pull us both up and start for the buses, which are a half-mile across the parking lot near the beach.

  “Jared, what the hell?!” Peyton slaps at my wrist with her free hand. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

  I don’t respond, so focused on getting to those buses before I just take her down in the concrete. I see them, the shining silver metal glinting in the sun. Still, it’s too far. I need her, now.

  A sign reading Dressing Tents stands out in my vision, and I head for them. Lined up in a row are a dozen white and yellow striped tents, meant for families coming to the beach to change in. Well, technically we’ll be undressing so we can make use of one.

  “Jared!” Peyton screeches in my ear as I near a tent, and then shove her inside.

  She begins to open her mouth as I Velcro the opening of the tent shut, and I cut her off. “For once in your life Peyton, shut the fuck up.”

  And I slam my mouth to hers. Her lips are salty from the waves, and the taste of our beers mingle as I force my tongue into her mouth. She meets me, tangling hers with my own and sending shockwaves of rock hard lust shooting down my spine. I take her hips in my hands, kneading the soft skin there so hard that I know it will leave bruises.

  Peyton isn’t letting me takeover, oh no. She’s fighting me kiss for kiss, breath for breath. She claws at my shoulders as she tries to climb my body, pushing her pelvis viciously into my dick. She’s mewling and pushing her lips so hard on mine that it’s a wonder we can both breathe.

  Our hands are everywhere, our tongues laving each other, our heads spinning. There is nothing gentle about this reunion of our bodies. It’s base and instinct, we need to be inside each other and get off before I can put my head on straight again.

  A child laughs and squeals outside, and I hear a mother scold him. Anyone could come in at anytime; the wind could blow this tent right over. That’s what makes everything so much more urgent, so much more forbidden. In the back of my mind I know we need to talk, to take things slow and do this the proper way. I should romance her and we should have everything out on the table before we get physical.

  But … we can’t. I can’t. Because I can’t see past the feverish need to drive into her right now. To hold myself still inside of her and look into her eyes, to pour my soul and everything I’ve been feeling into her. Physically pour it into her and out of myself.

  “Jared, what if …”

  “Fuck the what ifs.” It feels good to curse, like a weight is lifting of my shoulders slowly but surely.

  Only with her do I let myself unravel. Only with her does the rulebook fly out the window.

  “Mom, look at me!” A child screams outside again and Peyton pauses, her hands halfway down my bathing suit.

  My cock can feel the heat from her fingertips, so close yet so far. I cant my hips, spurring her on. My hands skate up her ribcage as I capture her mouth once more, tumbling over flesh and curves until I reach the bottom of her bikini top.

  “Come on, do it …” She pants into my mouth.

  My mind hurdles into the past like a botched routine on slow-motion replay …

  “Come on, just fuck me …” Peyton giggles and slides farther down the bed toward the apex of my thighs where my meaty length hangs.

  “Did you not just hear me?” I nibble her neck.

  She shimmies into my body and her smooth skin rubs all over mine as she lies beneath me in my hotel bed.

  “I just told you I love you, Peyton Adams.” I look down at her, love and hope emanating from every crevice of my being.

  She’s the one, the only woman I’ve ever loved. And the only one I’ve ever said those words to. Before ten seconds ago, I’d never felt strongly enough about anyone to confess my emotions. But in one week, Peyton has made me feel and fall more than anyone I’ve ever encountered. She means more than the gold medal stuffed in the bottom of my sock drawer across the room.

  “I heard you Jared, don’t be stupid. Now put your cock inside me.” She smiles, but I notice the expression doesn’t reach her eyes.

  My skin prickles with annoyance and something else. Anxiety? No, fear. Fear that I’ve just thrown up my guts on this woman and she takes me for a naïve fool.

  “So what, you don’t love me?” I back off her, scooting down the bed and ceasing contact between our bodies.

  “Oh my God, can you stop being such a girl? We’ve been together for like, a week!” She slams her hands down on the bed.

  She has a point, we’ve only been together for a week. But … sometimes a week is all it takes. I’m not an indecisive person, never have been. When I know, I know. When I want something, I go get it. I’m ready to lock it up, turn in my single card, attach the ball and chain. This week might have been a whirlwind, but I’m one hundred and fifty percent sure that the love I feel for Peyton Adams is genuine and real.

  “A girl? Are you kidding me? I’m admitting to you that I’ve fallen in love with you and you’re going to sit there and make fun of me? You can’t say it back, can you?”

  She finally snaps, throwing me a look that could murder. “NO! I can’t!”

  My heart lurches in my chest and suddenly it feels like I can’t breathe. I’ve experienced this feeling four times before. Three times when I tried a new release move on high bar that I kept falling on. I’d end up on the mat, face down in the chalk, my windpipe lodged in my mouth and puffing like a fish out of water.

  The other was when Peyton left me in a London hotel room right after she told me she’d never love me the way I loved her.

  I drop my hands, backing up until I hit the canvas wall of the changing tent.

  “Jared?” Peyton looks at me, confusion in a cloud over her face.

  My hands go up, almost shielding my body. “No. I can’t.”

  And then I run.

  20

  Peyton

  Yep. I’m one of those girls who says she’s going to take things slow and then let’s a guy drag her into a semi-public place to have sex.

  Well, almost have sex. Before he freaks out and leaves you aroused and unsatisfied in a changing tent on the beach.

  I’m such a goddamn hypocrite. I said Jared and I needed to talk our shit out before getting in each other’s pants, but then I drop said pants at the first crook of his finger.

  And now things are
even more awkward and up in the air than before. If someone wanted to keep a state of the union on Jared and myself, that would be great. At least that person could give us a clue on how we could get on track.

  The rest of our Miami stay was filled with tension and unspoken words. As was Tuscaloosa and Nashville. We’ve been cordial, we’ve performed well … but something is looming over us like an anvil about to crush us. I have no idea why he freaked out in that tent on the beach. One second he was ready to plunge into me and fuck us to kingdom come. Then the next, he was seeing ghosts and fleeing.

  This is what we get for not hashing out our problems. It was never going to work this way, and yet we pushed the envelope all the same. This is how our relationship worked. Bicker, fuck, don’t discuss things, repeat. But no more. If we were going to try, really try, to do it once and for all, we needed all cards on the table.

  That’s why I’m armed with a bottle of Jack Daniels and two shot glasses as I make my way to Jared’s condo. We’re going to talk, deep and dark and emotional. We’re going to get it all out; every shitty, hurtful thing we’ve ever done to one and other.

  And then we’re going to see if we can move past it.

  Dallas is the perfect place to do this. The only place really. He’s been in such a good mood since we arrived in his surrogate hometown that I think I even heard him whistling before. And Jared Hargrove is not the whistling type.

  I pound my fist on the front door of the address I plied Gail for. I’d told her I needed to go over a new routine I was thinking about premiering on the next leg of the tour, and that I needed Jared’s help. She’d given it right up when she thought it meant we were getting along.

  Looking up, I wait to see if a light goes on inside the red brick and ivy covered building. Jared’s place is beautiful; a quaint looking brownstone that leads one to believe it is modest and charming. Even though I know it probably cost somewhere around half a million dollars and has every luxury one could ever need inside. Duke let it slip that Jared was staying here instead of the hotel while we were performing for a week in Dallas.

  A light flicks on in the interior hallway, and I see a large figure moving toward the glass front door. With a flick and pop, the door slowly swings open to reveal Jared.

  He towers over me, invading the doorway with his brawn. It’s true what they say about gymnasts; they have the best bodies and they definitely know how to use them. Jared’s brown hair is longer now than when the tour started a month and a half ago, the sides buzzed short and the top hanging down onto his forehead in a James Dean kind of way. I want to run my fingers through it and watch his jaw tick as he tries to contain himself.

  Instead, I hold up the bottle of Jack. “A peace offering?”

  He smiles, the gesture not lighting up his face. Jared smiles are a rare occurrence, he only really lets them loose when he thinks no one is looking. Only lets his guard down completely when he is in the best, most relaxed of moods. But when he does, my lord. It’s like the warmest part of the sun shining down on your soul.

  “How did you know I was here?” He’s still in the doorway, and I can feel the anxiety radiating off of him.

  “Duke let me in on your secret. Now are you going to invite me in?” My heart thumps inside my chest at the awkward moment. And the fear that he’ll turn me away.

  “Sure, come on in.” He waves his hand and steps aside, and I cross the threshold.

  As suspected, Jared’s townhouse is anything but rustic and old country. Gleaming marble and modern fixtures catch my eye, and the color combinations of neutral white; gray and beige are soothing. Someone really came in here and did the place nice, because I know it wasn’t Jared. The place screams bachelor, because a lot of the furniture and decor is masculine. The first floor, from what I can see, is an open floor plan dominated by a giant gray velvet sectional. It looks like you could curl up and take some fantastic naps there.

  The clink of glasses catches my attention, and I make my way over to the large white and black kitchen island where Jared is setting out highball glasses.

  “Thanks for coming over,” He sounds unsure of that statement.

  “Well, technically, I just invited myself over, so thanks for having me.” I shuffle my feet and set the bottle down on the counter.

  It’s awkward, and quiet. And words are about to erupt out of my throat.

  “Jared, the reason I came over …”

  “Listen, about the other day …”

  Our sentences collide and I look away bashfully.

  “Let me start. The reason I came is because we need to talk. What happened the other day … when you kissed me … it was wonderful. But too rushed. We’ve both said things that the other can’t unforget. And thinking about it … that’s what stopped you, right?”

  Jared pours us both two fingers of whiskey, and he takes a drink before setting it down and looking me in the eyes. I sit, unable to stop the nervous shaking of my legs while those deep brown irises pin me to the spot. I run my fingers across the white marble countertops and trace the streaks of gray in them, afraid to look up and face him.

  “I was remembering the day you wouldn’t say you loved me.” His voice is quiet but I can hear the angry aftertaste.

  My heart sinks, my stomach becoming a ball of knots. That awful day. The most awful of my life.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing that pops into my brain. “I’m so sorry.”

  He downs the rest of his glass and turns away from me, resting one hip on the counter. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this talk.”

  “I know I’m not ready, but it doesn’t matter. This talk has been coming for four years now. So do your worst, and I’ll do mine.”

  I don’t expect him to do what he does next.

  The sound of glass splintering and cracking fills the air as pieces of Jared’s tumbler fly across the room. His fist beats down on the broken bits, which slice the side of his hand and blood springs to the surface.

  And then he roars. “YOU COULDN’T SAY IT BACK!”

  I’ve known this was coming for a while, that this was the root of his problem with me. But it doesn’t make me any less mad. My temper goes from zero to one hundred.

  “It was a week, Jared! A fucking week!” I thunder, jumping off the stool on the other side of the counter and charging toward him. I slap his chest. “I was giving you all of me and you wanted more! I don’t fall in love in a week! I don’t trust in a week.”

  He growls, a low snarling sound. “Don’t give me that bullshit! YOU WERE SCARED! It didn’t mean you didn’t love me, didn’t mean you didn’t trust me. You were a coward, a stubborn little girl who refused to let someone care about her!”

  It’s my turn to send my glass spiraling, the whiskey staining the white island. “And you were delusional! Caught up in the grandeur of the Games and London. We aren’t star-crossed lovers or two people living in a snow globe wonderland!”

  “Except we are! Look at us right now! We can’t avoid each other, we don’t even want to. I’m in your face screaming and still I want to rip your clothes off with my teeth!” Jared huffs a breath, his face getting redder by the minute.

  “Right, because I’m a whore? What was it you called me back then? ‘A slut with no attachments.’”

  The dagger in my heart twists as I puncture all of the wounds I’ve tried to close.

  “You know I didn’t mean that. I said it in a moment of passion.” Jared’s face is painted thick with grief.

  I have to turn away as tears burn in my sockets. I thought he’d been joking all of those years ago in that hotel room when he’d told me he loved him. Of course I’d loved him too, it wasn’t just a whirlwind or a fluke. We had both found in each other the person we were meant to be with. The one fate and the gods had made for us. But it was too soon, I was too young. I wasn’t ready to be tied down, to be controlled in the way I know Jared needs to exert sometimes. And he was right, I was scared out of my ever loving mind.


  But what he did, it’s almost unforgivable. The way he ripped into me, I don’t even want to remember it now. He’d called me a slut, a whore. Jared had gone off on me as I sat, rooted to the bed and stunned. He’d accused me of leading him on, said he didn’t care if I ended up getting … assaulted by someone in my escapades.

  That’s when I’d had enough. I ran, and I didn’t look back. I left London and didn’t call him, not for a long time. My heart was in tatters, my pride completely ripped from my body.

  “You … you were cruel. I didn’t do what you wanted, wasn’t ready and so you … the names you called me. Jesus.” The tears on my cheeks won’t stop, they just keep spilling out.

  He tries to put a hand on my shoulder to turn me, but I shrug it off. “Peyton, I’m sorry. I’m so god damn sorry. Those words, they still feel like burns on my heart. I can’t believe I ever said them to you. There is no excuse, no matter how mad I was. If I could do it all over, I would. In a heartbeat. I never … hurting you, losing you has been the worst mistake of my life.”

  Jared reaches out and wipes a tear from my cheek.

  “I’ve been so angry, and so guilty. I never know which way is up with you, Peyton. I loved you, shit, I still love you. And yet, I hate you. Well … not hate. Mildly dislike.”

  I choke on a laugh because he is trying to be funny, which so isn’t Jared, but also because he said shit. And at the same time my insides turn into goo … because he just said he loves me.

  “That hurt. A lot. But I get that I hurt you, too. What you were asking of me … you never realized where I came from. I never knew love like that. Normal, good love. I’d never had it. I was petrified of receiving it, didn’t even know what to do with it. And for me to say that to you, even if I did feel it … I was nineteen, Jared. I was so young, so feisty and ready to grab with greedy hands anything life threw at me. It was all too much.”

  I hear one of us gulp before I press on. “Why did you need that? Why then?”