Pipe Dreams

by Sarina Bowen

  “Twenty bucks says the tennis pro will drop her by the end of the month,” someone said.

  Jesus, no. He hoped the dude in white tennis shorts made her insanely happy.

  The night he finally went to see Lauren, he hadn’t even planned it. One moment he was driving around his new neighborhood thinking about where to buy another lonely dinner. The next thing he knew, he was on her side of town, and then on her street. Not once in the eight years they’d known each other had he ever stopped by her house. He only knew where it was because it was the manager’s house too. When he saw the light on in her tiny apartment over her father’s garage, he didn’t even hesitate. He parked his car in front of a neighbor’s house and jogged up the driveway.

  He tapped on her door having no idea why he was there.

  “Just a second!” she called, and the sound of her voice made his pulse quicken. The downside of avoiding her for a week was that he’d made this moment into something bigger than it needed to be. Two friends from work could commiserate about his shitty life, right? It didn’t have to be weird.

  The door popped open and he got his first glimpse of Lauren in over a month. She wore a tiny tank top and cut-offs, her hair up in a knot on top of her head. She held an accounting textbook under one tanned arm, and a pair of reading glasses was perched on her nose.

  If there was a sexier human on the planet, he’d never met her.

  “Hi,” he managed.

  Wordlessly, she opened the door wider and he walked in. But when she shut it, Lauren stayed right there, her back to the door, hugging her book. “You okay?”

  He flinched. “Yeah. It is what it is.” Stupidest statement ever. They were staring at each other now. The moment stretched and grew heavier. “I, uh, if you’re studying, we can talk another time.”

  She looked down at the book in her arms as if she’d never seen it before. “No. It’s okay.” Her blue eyes flew up to his. “Haven’t seen you around,” she said carefully. “Sorry for your troubles.”

  “I suppose I’m this month’s gossip at the office.”

  “Yeah.” She made a wry face. “They live for this stuff. But only until the next juicy disaster comes along. And there’s always something.”

  He nodded. Grief picked that moment to hit him hard. He’d spent almost a decade playing house with Shelly, listening to her complain that she hadn’t gotten the life she’d planned. He’d told himself he was a good man for staying in a loveless marriage.

  But what was he now? Just another asshole with a divorce lawyer at five hundo an hour and two houses to pay for. He was really fucking lonely, and there was nobody who knew how he felt. Not his teammates. And not even Lauren, because he couldn’t admit any of the ugly, desperate things in his heart.

  He stood there, rooted to her rug, his throat tightening up and his eyes stinging. He needed to find his way back to casual conversation, but the words just couldn’t make it past his teeth.

  “Michael,” she whispered. “Hey, now.”

  Shit. He rubbed his temples and tried to breathe.

  Lauren chewed her lip. “Want a beer?”

  “Am I breathing?” he tried, but the joke came out sounding strangled.

  She stepped around him, and he got a whiff of the lilac scent that always seemed to follow her. It must be her shampoo or body lotion, or something. He’d always been tortured by it. Tonight it was like an actual pain in the center of his chest.

  “Have a seat,” she said over her shoulder.

  His eyes tracked her across the room, but when he found his gaze attached to the slim, kissable line of her neck, he shook his head and looked around instead. Lauren lived in one big room, with a peaked ceiling overhead. It was cuter than a room over a garage really should be, and all because of her handiwork. The walls were painted wood, which lent the place a cottage feeling. She’d decorated with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and framed art prints.

  On the coffee table sat a vase with a couple of cut hydrangeas arranged in it. Of course. “It’s that color of blue,” she’d said once. “I’ve never seen it anywhere but on a hydrangea.”

  After years of knowing Lauren, there were scads of details he had memorized about her. Yet now it hit him that she worked in an office with several other women who’d been with the team for the same length of time. And he didn’t have any idea which were their favorite flowers, or why.

  He was way too far inside his own head.

  “Nice place,” he said. But she’d disappeared into what had to be a tiny kitchen in the corner. Lauren had told him once that she lived here rent free so that she could save all her money for college. Her asshole father probably made seven figures every year, and he hadn’t given his only daughter a penny of tuition money.

  When he’d met her eight years ago that had sounded crazy. And now that he knew Bill Williams better, it only seemed mean. Williams was a narcissist. He’d grown up poor and made sure everyone knew it. “Get off your ass and make it happen,” was his favorite saying.

  By his logic, you shouldn’t give your kid college money because that wasn’t letting her make it happen. But it was fine to give her a job in your office and work her to death. Nobody worked harder in the organization than Lauren, and everyone knew it.

  Lauren reappeared with two bottles of Dos Equis, a lime wedge in each one. She gave him a curious look, and he realized he was still standing by the door like an idiot.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking one. He pushed the lime into the bottle, his eyes sweeping the room until they landed on her bed against the far wall. It was made up with a white comforter and a million throw pillows.

  Hell. Don’t look at the bed.

  Beacon followed her to the sofa and sat down, his back to the bed. He would not allow himself to think about pushing her down into that white cloud and learning the answers to all his fantasy questions.

  Then, for the first time ever, they had thirty minutes of awkward conversation. She asked where he was staying and he answered in halting sentences. “I feel like I’m house-sitting, you know? Maybe it won’t be so weird once we start traveling.”

  She made sympathetic noises, and he got tired of hearing himself talk. All the funny things he’d wanted to tell her deserted him. There was only the strain of the shitty month he’d been having and the tension of whether or not their friendship would still be the same.

  It was unbearable. He needed to go to what passed for his home and have a nice tall pour of whiskey.

  “You were studying,” he said, standing up to ferry his beer bottle into her kitchen. “I should go.”

  “Okay,” she said quietly. “Just . . . leave it.”

  It took him a beat too long to realize she meant the bottle. “Thanks,” he stammered, overwhelmed by how close they were, and how alone. Her bra strap peeked from underneath the tank top. Hot pink. Her skin looked buttery soft. He wanted to taste it.

  She took both bottles and set them onto her coffee table. “I’ll see you at work.”

  “Right.” He needed to get the hell out of there before he did something stupid.

  She frowned up at him. “Sit down, just for another minute.” She studied him carefully. “Are you really okay? Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

  “Yeah.” His voice was a raw scrape. He sat down on the couch, suddenly too aware of his hands. He rubbed them on his bare knees.

  “Okay,” she said. “I worry about you. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.” Then she scooted closer and folded him into a hug.

  And it was sudden sensory overload. Soft, lilac-scented hair brushed his face. Long, tanned arms wrapped around his back. She was saying something more—telling him she was sorry, or not to worry. He couldn’t make sense of the words because his pulse kicked up four notches. Unbidden, his arms clamped around her back. He stuck his nose in her hair and took a deep, forbidden breath. />
  That’s when everything got quiet. She stopped talking and just held him. His worried brain went still, because this right here was everything he needed. He drew a dozen peaceful breaths while the fingers of his right hand traced absently up the centerline of her back. She fit perfectly in his arms, just like he’d always known she would.

  Lauren shivered in his embrace, and it brought his brain back online. He felt her exhale a careful, shaky breath against his shoulder. A deep, achy sound came from his own chest. He lowered his head to sweep a soft kiss across her forehead.

  She gasped, her hands bracing his back.

  Now he had to know. Was he crazy, or were they both fighting the same battle?

  “Lo,” he whispered. “Hey.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Look at me.”

  She turned her chin away.

  Beacon palmed it, turning her face toward his. And the heat in her gaze could have melted all the ice in the NHL.

  He cursed under his breath, his hand still trapping her face. He lifted her chin another inch and dropped his lips to the soft skin of her neck. One soft, open-mouthed kiss and he was hooked. It was the first taste of her he’d ever permitted himself. Heavenly.

  Lauren first went rigid in his arms, then just as rapidly melted against him. “Fuck,” she whispered, and the sound of that dirty word on her pristine lips made him hard. Or maybe he was already there. Logic and rational thinking had left the building the minute she leaned into his arms.

  He actually felt drunk, which was ridiculous. But his head was swimming as he tongued his way across her jaw to her ear.

  “Mike,” she gasped, the sound both shocked and needy. He turned his head and their mouths found each other, finally.

  Finally.

  He kissed her softly at first, his senses a little stunned that this was real. But it was really Lauren’s soft body pressed against his chest, and Lauren’s arms around him. He pressed the tip of his tongue gently forward, seeking entrance to her mouth. And when she opened for him he tasted summer ale and temptation.

  Even then, he had a last, split-second moment of clarity. Will I regret this, later? He asked himself the question as his lips slid across her softer ones. No, he decided. Maybe weakness led him here, but the strength of his feelings for her would not be denied.

  Their gazes locked, and he moaned into her mouth. She gripped his biceps. Hard. The moment combusted like a brush fire—scorching heat and loud disorder. He leaned over her body, pressing her into the back of the couch, deepening the kiss. And suddenly their hands were everywhere. He palmed her hip, her thigh. Lauren’s fingertips swept his ribcage, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

  Their kisses were so fast and desperate that it was impossible to mark where one ended and the next one began. Every urgent kiss demanded another. Every taste was intoxicating. And everywhere his hands landed he found sun-warmed skin. His fingers slid unbidden beneath her tank top, and she whimpered as he palmed her lower belly just above the waistband of her shorts.

  Her helpless sound made his balls tighten dangerously. He’d never needed anything as badly as he needed to touch her right now, and to hear that sound again. With a tug, he raised her tiny shirt up off her body.

  She lifted her arms and let him shrug it over her head. That broke their kisses, of course, so he got a look at the expression on her face. There was no reluctance, only molten heat in her bright blue eyes. She grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and lifted it, tossing it to the floor.

  “Fuck,” he heard himself say as his gaze wandered south, down her delicate neck, to the creamy skin of her chest. She wore a lacy hot pink bra, and rosy nipples peeked through it. He had to lower his mouth to one of them, tonguing her nipple through the fabric. She gasped and arched into him.

  Years of anticipation pulsed through him. He shoved that bra out of his way and sucked one perfect nipple into his mouth, while his hand popped the button on her shorts.

  She moaned his name and grabbed his ass. Both their hands became busy, busy, busy. It shouldn’t have been possible for the two of them to get naked so fast given the confines of her sofa, but he was an athlete and Lauren was an overachiever. She shed the bra while he yanked her shorts down. He unzipped himself, and then Lauren shoved the rest of his clothing off, kicking it away with smooth legs.

  Then they were skin on skin. Finally. Nothing had ever felt so good as pressing his erection against the cradle of her body, and feeling her shiver with longing beneath him. He leaned into her curves, pressing his tongue into her mouth, making love to her mouth the way he needed to do to her body.

  All the complications fell away. There was only this room and this woman and his pounding heart. His love was like a tidal wave. He couldn’t have held it back one more second if he tried. He slipped a hand between her legs and moaned at the soft slickness waiting there. “Need you so bad,” he murmured. It was the truest thing he’d ever said.

  Panting beneath him, Lauren lifted a knee, opening herself up to him. “Mike,” she begged.

  The sound of his name on her lips practically did him in. He grabbed her knee in one hand and, staring down into her flushed face, he pushed inside her for the first time.

  They both gasped. He could feel her heart thumping against his as he leaned in for one more searing kiss. Maybe his heart was astonished that the moment had finally arrived, but his body would not be denied. His hips began to move in time to his throbbing pulse. He lost himself in her kisses. It was all so bright and perfect that he hoped it would never end.

  But Lauren’s breathing became ragged and her whimpers desperate. She clawed at his back and sobbed out his name. Her body pulsed around his.

  Then it was all done except for the game-over buzzer. His balls tightened and his spine tingled. Then he was coming and groaning and spilling himself inside her for the first time.

  They lay there panting and sweaty in the August heat. No air conditioning unit could ever match the explosion of pent-up sexual energy that had just happened here. “Lo,” he growled, kissing her neck. “Look at me.”

  But she wouldn’t. She bit her lip and studied the couch cushion.

  “Hey,” he whispered. “There’s two things that could happen now. The first one is I go home and spend the next year trying not to remember this happened, or how happy it made me. I’ll do that if you really want me to. The second choice is that I carry you to your shower for a rinse down, and then we do it several more times in your bed.”

  When she finally turned to look at him, her eyes were full of tears.

  “Don’t freak, honey,” he whispered. “This wasn’t an accident or a fluke. It was inevitable.”

  “I know.”

  “So why do you look sad?”

  “I’m not the least bit sad. I’m just astonished.”

  “Why? Because it was good?”

  “No. That it finally happened, and it was just as amazing as I knew it would be.”

  “That’s because I love you.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “Mike.”

  “What? I can’t say that? Like it isn’t fucking obvious? There’s probably nobody in your office who doesn’t know.”

  Lauren looked stricken. “The gossip is going to be awful.”

  “Maybe. But do we care?”

  She cupped his face, one thumb testing the grit of the stubble on his chin. “I might not even notice, so long as I have you.”

  “Mmm.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, then slowly pumped his hips one more time. “Good answer, Lo.”

  She smiled against his lips, and they got lost in their kisses again for a little while. “I’m not going home tonight,” he announced. “I want to lie in your bed and taste every inch of you.”

  Lauren made a little happy noise in the back of her throat.

  He traced the pretty curve of her cheek with his
nose. “Would this be a horrible time to ask if you’re, uh, on the pill or something?”

  She tilted her chin to give him better access to her neck. “Lucky for you, I am.”

  “Good to know.” He kissed her again, because it was so incredible to be able to do that. “Obviously I’m a shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later kinda guy.”

  “I noticed that,” she whispered. And when she smiled at him, it was with the same smile he had held in his heart since the first week he ever met her.

  FIVE

  LAGUARDIA’S MARINE AIR TERMINAL, NEW YORK

  APRIL 2016

  Lauren paced the airport terminal with her clipboard, checking off each player as he arrived. The airline had warned her that they needed to push back from the gate at precisely noon, because a storm moving into the area would likely shut down some East Coast airports this afternoon. Yet with ten minutes left before boarding, there were three names unaccounted for.

  So she paced, worrying.

  Between the play-offs and Lauren’s regular job at Kattenberger Technologies, she was putting in fourteen-hour days. And in the wee hours of the past week she’d somehow written the last sections of the senior essay she’d turn in next month.

  Meanwhile, in a move that surprised every sportswriter in America, the Bruisers had won both of their Brooklyn games against the D.C. team, which made the series 3–1 in Brooklyn’s favor. So now it was back to Washington for game five. They could actually win the entire series tomorrow night, if only she could get all the players onto the freaking jet.

  A fresh-faced athlete she didn’t recognize walked through the sliding doors next and looked around.

  Lauren pounced. “Are you Silas?”

  “That’s me,” the kid said just as several of the other players swarmed.

  “Dude!” “Silas!” “Long time no see!” There were back slaps and high fives all around.

  Lauren checked off Silas—a backup goalie she’d never met—on her list. Apparently he’d been on the roster earlier in the season but got sent down to the minors six weeks ago.