Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1)

by Skylar Hunter

  Vega rolls her eyes. “No.”

  Emerson nods, still smiling. “I went to school in Jersey, and I always enjoyed hopping the train to New York. It’s a great city. Lots to see and do. Speaking of things to do,” she purrs, bringing her mouth to my ear again, “I’m getting pretty hungry. And not just for dinner.”

  When she sucks my earlobe, my dick jumps and swells against the front of my sweatpants. Vega notices my instant boner and audibly gasps. In my defense, I did tell her what Emerson does to me, and it’s always better to show than tell.

  “Are you ready to go?” Emerson whispers in my ear.

  “More than ready.” I wrap my arm around her waist and look at Vega. “Take care of yourself.”

  She flinches at the unmistakable finality in my voice. “Reyes—”

  “Goodbye, Vega.” I give her a cool nod and steer my wife past her without a backward glance.

  Emerson is silent as we ride upstairs in the team’s private elevator. Wives and children aren’t allowed on the players’ floor, but I’m not worried about my teammates ratting me out. I know they won’t.

  I unlock the door to my room and motion Emerson inside. When she crosses to the bed and sits down, I have a nasty flashback to our fight in Spain.

  I walk over and drop to a crouch in front of her, balancing on my haunches as I study her face. “What’s on your mind? Talk to me.”

  She purses her lips for a moment. “I’m just thinking.”

  “I know you are. I can see the wheels spinning.” I really don’t want to argue about Vega. She’s a complete nonfactor, not worth wasting my breath on.

  Emerson looks down, her dusky lashes shielding her eyes as she slips off her ballet flats. “She DM’d me on Twitter.”

  My entire body goes rigid. “What?”

  “She messaged me.”

  “When?”

  “The day you and Greer went to Barcelona to audition deejays for the wedding.”

  “Fuck, Em,” I growl. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to dwell on it,” she says with a shrug that’s anything but nonchalant. “She’d already caused one ugly argument between us. I didn’t want her renting any more space in my head.”

  I frown. “What did her message say?”

  “She told me she saw you at the club where you guys used to hang out. She congratulated me on our engagement, but she predicted that we’re not going to last very long so I should enjoy you while I can.”

  Anger washes over me in a white-hot wave. That spiteful little bitch!

  I take Emerson’s hands between mine. “I’m sorry she said that to you. She was just trying to get under your skin.”

  “I know. That’s why I didn’t respond.”

  Relieved, I bring her hands to my mouth and press my lips to her knuckles, watching her face. “Thank you for not taking the bait.”

  “It wasn’t easy, believe me.” She gives me a searching look. “Just out of curiosity, how did she know you were at the club that day?”

  I scowl. “She got a call from one of her friends who works there. Greer and I were in the middle of auditions when she showed up. We asked her to leave, but she refused. When I told her I was getting married, she flipped the fuck out and started crying and screaming. She made such a scene she had to be escorted out by security.”

  “Holy crap,” Emerson mutters. “I guess I should be thankful she didn’t crash our wedding.”

  Not for lack of trying, I think darkly. Emerson doesn’t know that I hired security to keep uninvited guests—specifically Vega—out of our wedding. I’ll never tell her that Vega showed up at the church and was summarily turned away.

  She pulls her hands from mine and starts toying with the string on my hoodie. “I’m not upset about Vega showing up here. I told you before that she’s in love with you, so it’s not surprising that she jumped at the chance to see you again. She probably thought the fates were aligned when she realized the two of you would be in New York at the same time,” Emerson says with a wry smile. “Anyway, I’m not worried about her anymore. But there is something I’ve wondered about.”

  I’m almost afraid to ask. “What?”

  She hesitates. “You’ve won two Super Bowls. Vega was at the first one. Why not this year?”

  I chuckle dryly. “Àvia asked her not to come.”

  “She did?” Emerson looks surprised. “Why?”

  “Let’s just say she’s not crazy about her.” I settle my hands on Emerson’s thighs, massaging her through the soft denim of her jeans and watching her eyelashes flutter. “For the record, I didn’t invite Vega to the Super Bowl. She invited herself.”

  “Really? You didn’t fly her out?”

  I shake my head. “In the two weeks leading up to the game, she was all over social media bragging about how she was going to the Super Bowl to watch me play. But she wasn’t coming for moral support. She’s an Instagram star and a clout chaser. So all she cared about was attending parties with me so she could post selfies and rack up likes and followers. I knew all that, but I didn’t really give a shit. I had a boatload of family and friends coming for the right reasons. Vega was just another face in the crowd.”

  Emerson looks marginally relieved. “So she didn’t celebrate with you after the game?”

  “She was at the team party, but so were a ton of other people. To tell you the truth, that whole night is a blur. I did so much drinking and dancing and fucking—” I break off when Emerson flinches. “I’m not trying to hurt you, sweetheart. I’m just being brutally honest. Not having my mother at the Super Bowl was painful enough. Your absence made it a thousand times worse. So I went a little overboard in celebrating and yeah, drunken orgies were involved. Maybe Vega was around. Maybe she wasn’t. I honestly couldn’t say because I don’t remember. That should tell you how much her presence mattered to me.”

  Emerson says nothing, scraping her teeth over her bottom lip.

  I spear my hand into her hair and bring my face close to hers. “Winning back-to-back Super Bowls was phenomenal, and I’ll never forget it as long as I live. But you know what else sticks in my memory? Winning the state championship when we were sixteen. You were right there in the stands, screaming and cheering your head off with my family. I’ll never forget the sight of you heckling the other team and hugging my mom every time we scored. I’ll never forget the way you ran up to me after the game, leaped into my arms and kissed me all over my face. Those memories mean more to me than you will ever know.”

  Her eyes go all soft and gooey.

  “You were there, baby,” I say tenderly, stroking her silky hair. “You were there to celebrate my first major championship. And you’ll be there when I win my third Super Bowl.”

  She grins. “Not if—when.”

  “Damn right.” I cup her face before crushing my mouth to hers, tasting her sweet lips before sliding between them to suck her warm sugar tongue.

  She moans with pleasure, the sound shivering down my spine and tightening my balls. I kiss her until we’re both breathless, until my cock aches with need and I feel like there’s a fire burning beneath my fucking skin.

  She whimpers when I tear my mouth away and pull my hoodie over my head, baring my chest to her appreciative gaze.

  Rising to lean over her, I unsnap her jeans and slowly lower the zipper, watching her beautiful green eyes dilate to a deeper hue.

  “What about dinner?” she asks in a throaty whisper. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Ravenous.” Holding her gaze, I ease my hands inside her jeans and panties, peeling them down and off her legs.

  She quivers as I stare at her glistening pink pussy, my cock throbbing painfully.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” I rasp thickly.

  “Me?” she teases. “Or my kitty kat?”

  I lift my gaze to meet her hotly glittering eyes. “All of you.”

  A naughty smile curves her kiss-swollen lips. “We missed you, too.”

  “I c
an tell.” Crouching between her legs, I kiss the inside of her silky thigh, feeling her shiver against me. Intoxicated by her scent, I hook her legs over my shoulders, bend down and touch my tongue to her hard clit.

  She gasps my name, her hips arching against my mouth.

  Groaning at her taste, I slide my tongue through her lusciously soaked folds before sealing my mouth over her clit.

  “Oh God, husband.” She clutches my hair, her head falling back as I commence to devour her, showing her with every bite, lick and taste just how badly she was missed.

  On monday morning we have a team meeting to review game film from Sunday’s win against the Giants. We’re off to a strong start with a 3-0 record. Spirits are running high and guys are feeling optimistic for the first time in many years.

  After the meeting, I lift some weights and then hit the sauna to relieve my sore muscles. I’m relaxing in the steam with my head tilted back and eyes closed when the door opens.

  “Bro, there’s something you need to see,” DeVante says urgently, joining me on the wooden bench.

  I open my eyes, take one look at his grim expression and assume he has news about Emerson’s father.

  Although she hasn’t mentioned Silvio in months, I know his terminal illness and pending trial are never far from her mind. As deliriously happy as we are together, she won’t be truly at peace until her father is either dead or locked away for good.

  “It’s about your uncle.” DeVante hands me his phone.

  I look down at the bright glowing screen, my gut tightening when I see the headline: Law and Order Candidate Not So Squeaky Clean.

  Below the headline is a photo of Brigham snorting a line of coke off the stomach of a naked blonde, her private parts blurred out.

  What. The. Fuck.

  “The picture was leaked anonymously,” DeVante says. “It’s all over the Internet.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter, scanning the accompanying story. It’s short on details, but quotes an unnamed source who claims that the photo was taken ten years ago at a party in the Hamptons.

  DeVante shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ve done some crazy shit in my day, but not even I’ve snorted coke off some naked chick. Your uncle is wild as hell.”

  I smooth back my wet hair, jaw tightly clenched as I contemplate Brigham’s sheer hypocrisy. He’s spent his whole life protecting the family name, shunning any and all undesirables who would taint our precious bloodline. After all his bloviating about preserving our distinguished lineage, he’s now caused the biggest scandal in the family’s history.

  The irony isn’t lost on me.

  I hand DeVante his phone and rise from the bench, securing the towel around my waist. I need to go check on Susanna and make sure she’s okay.

  DeVante follows me out of the sauna. “Do you think your uncle will drop out of the race?”

  “He won’t have a choice,” I say darkly. “Unless that picture is a fake, he’s fucking toast.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  EMERSON

  The bombshell photo sends shockwaves through the political world.

  As soon as the story breaks, Brigham’s campaign goes into damage control mode. They cancel a rally and fundraiser scheduled that week. Senior advisors and campaign surrogates make the rounds of cable news channels, decrying the scandalous photo as a “despicable smear job” orchestrated by Brigham’s political enemies. They insist that he never met the woman in the picture, therefore it must be Photoshopped.

  Their blustering denials are met with widespread scorn and skepticism. A day later, the mystery woman comes forward to verify that she had sex and did drugs with Brigham during a weekend of debauchery in the Hamptons.

  While his campaign goes on the attack, another shocking photo is released to the public. This one shows Brigham getting a blowjob from a young brunette in skimpy black lingerie. He’s sitting in a leather armchair with his pants around his ankles and his head thrown back as the woman kneels between his legs.

  The picture was taken at an angle, as if the photographer was spying from the doorway. Brigham’s genitals are concealed but his face is clearly visible, eyes closed and jaw slack with pleasure. He wears a Harvard class ring on his right hand, and there’s a thin scar on his leg from an old boating accident. Anyone who’s ever seen him in golf shorts would recognize the scar.

  The blowjob photo is even more damning than the first one. It proves to be the final nail in the coffin of Brigham’s candidacy.

  Two days later, he holds a press conference to announce his withdrawal from the governor’s race. His wife, Coralee, stands dutifully beside him, her face pale as paper, blue eyes shining with tears.

  Braxton and Susanna stand off to one side of the stage. Braxton looks shell-shocked, his eyes wide and blinking as he takes in the sea of reporters, microphones, cameras and lights.

  Susanna stares straight ahead with a vacant expression, as if her body is present but her mind is far, far away.

  Watching the press conference with Reyes that afternoon, my heart breaks for Brigham’s wife and children. I feel particularly sorry for Susanna. As the daughter of a notorious embezzler, I can relate to what she’s going through.

  Brigham looks and sounds appropriately contrite as he delivers his prepared speech. He pauses at the right intervals, looking into the camera as he apologizes to his family and supporters and laments his own moral failings. It’s a good speech that hits all the right notes of humility and remorse.

  But beneath the platitudes and veneer of contrition, I sense another emotion in him: fury. Steaming, blinding fury.

  “In addition to suspending my campaign,” he continues somberly, “I will also be taking a leave of absence from my duties as U.S. attorney. It’s been an honor and privilege to serve the good people of the Western District. But I need to spend time with my family in order to repair the damage I’ve caused. I’m committed to restoring their faith and trust in me, so I ask for your prayers and understanding. Thank you all.”

  As the press corps explodes with questions, Brigham exits the stage with his family.

  Reyes punches off the TV in disgust and tosses the remote onto the kitchen island, growling under his breath, “Fucking asshole.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “I understand why Coralee felt obligated to play the role of dutiful, supportive wife. But why did Braxton and Susanna have to be dragged up onto that stage? Haven’t they been humiliated enough?”

  “That’s the Malone way,” Reyes says, his lips twisted cynically. “It’s all about protecting the family image and keeping up appearances. Malones always have to present a united front, even when the whole fucking house is burning down around them.”

  I scowl, sitting forward on my bar stool. “Thrusting Braxton and Susanna into the spotlight was totally unfair. Poor Brax looked like a deer in headlights.”

  “I know,” Reyes agrees grimly, leaning back against the counter. “For the first time in my life, I actually felt sorry for him. His father is his hero, so this is like the worst goddamn betrayal. And Susanna . . .” He trails off and shakes his head, fury hardening his features.

  After the scandal broke, Susanna took refuge at our house for two days. We held her when she cried and let her vent when she needed to. It was only after her father went to stay with his parents that she returned home to comfort and support her mother. When I talked to her this morning, she was still trying to convince Coralee to go away with her for a while to escape the media feeding frenzy.

  I watch as Reyes splashes more wine into his glass and takes a deep gulp. “Do you think Coralee will divorce him?”

  Reyes snorts. “It would serve the bastard right if she did. But she won’t. Divorce is still frowned upon in their high society social circle.”

  “Even when your spouse is a cheating scumbag?”

  Reyes smirks. “Even then.”

  With a snort of disgust, I wrap my hands around the bowl of my glass and stare into the deep red wine a few moments bef
ore speaking again. “I think my father released those photos.”

  Reyes frowns at me. “Your father?”

  “Yes,” I say, giving voice to my suspicion for the first time. “I think he had the photos anonymously sent to various media outlets. He and Brigham ran in the same social circle, so it’s highly possible that he was at that party in the Hamptons. I can see him spying on people, gathering dirt to use against them if the need ever arises. He blames your uncle for his downfall. What better way to return the favor?”

  Reyes nods slowly, his expression grim. “You’re probably right.”

  “I am. I’m sure of it. This feels like his handiwork. And I think Brigham knows it, too. I sensed his anger. Didn’t you?”

  “I did,” Reyes grumbles. “He’s a malignant narcissist. Of course he’s infuriated that someone had the audacity to take him down.”

  A prickle of anxiety lifts the fine hair on my arms. “What if he decides to retaliate?”

  “Against your father?”

  “Yes. Or me.”

  Reyes’s eyes narrow and harden. “He won’t retaliate.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Whoever released those photos deliberately doled them out one at a time. That tells me there’s probably more where those came from—”

  “More photos?”

  “Yeah. Each one felt like a warning shot. Like they would’ve kept coming until Brigham dropped out of the race.” Reyes folds his arms in front of him. “My uncle may be cruel and vindictive, but he’s not stupid. If he tries to retaliate, God only knows what other dirt would come out. He won’t take that chance.”

  I nod slowly. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am.” Reyes picks up his wineglass and raises it to his mouth, a raw edge of violence glittering in his eyes. “Brigham knows better than to fuck with you again. Believe me.”

  I feel myself relaxing inside. I believe him wholeheartedly.