He drops his spoon into the bowl and gets up, carrying the bowl with him. He places it in the sink softly then turns around, coming straight to me. “It’s a good thing I have to leave and Phil is picking me up, because I’d show you exactly how I finish.” He leans in, whispering, “All fucking day and night I’d show you till you beg me to stop.”
I stand here mouth open. I got served.
“Bye, babe.” He kisses my lips before walking out to Phil, who has just honked.
“Assface, jerkoff.” I slam my cup down on the counter, and then wipe down the mess I made. “It’s all his fault. Comes into my life”—I rinse his plate—“bossing me around”—I swing the dishwasher open, yanking the drawer out, placing the cups from breakfast in there—“sleeping in my bed.” I slam the door back closed. “Who does he think he is?” I put away the box of cereal he left out. “I’ll tell you who he thinks he is, the boss of me.” I slam the cupboard closed. “He isn’t the boss of me.” I storm upstairs, fixing the bed. “Doesn’t even make the bed.” I throw the pillows to the end of the bed and then continue fixing it. I pick up his pillow, bringing it to my nose, smelling him. “Ugh and he smells good. Piss off,” I tell the pillow, throwing it on the bed. Then like a lightbulb in my head I run to my closet, taking my pink rabbit vibrator out. “I’ll show you fucking all day and night.” I put the vibrator under the covers on his side. “Take that,” I tell the covers.
After I finish, I walk up to my office where I open my computer. I go through the emails that the PR girl has sent me about the travel schedule. There’s a ten-day road trip in three weeks. Then we get five days off. I check the calendar and see if maybe I could get away. I pull up some vacation to Cabo, some to California. I mess around on Facebook. I’m shocked to have a friend request from his sister Allison. I ignore it for a second, wanting to talk to Matthew about this. Noticing the time, I’ve spent four hours doing nothing on the computer. I have to meet Vivienne in less than twenty minutes. I put on a coat of mascara, throw on some yoga pants with a tight camisole, a jacket, and scarf. I make it to the store in record time.
I spot Vivienne right away, her hair the color of a red velvet cake, long to the waist, in bouncy curls. She sits there wearing her black tight jeans, black shirt, and a peach color jacket. Her accessories are all black. I take the seat in front of her while she looks up.
“Enfin.” Finally, she says in French. I air kiss her from my side of the table.
“Please, you probably just got here.” I glance around and then at my phone. “I’m one minute late.”
“I’ve been here for four minutes. You know how I have a phobia about sitting alone in restaurants.” This is true. She won’t even eat in a fast food restaurant by herself. She would rather go through the drive thru and eat in the car. “So tell me”—she looks at me—“no sex yet, I can see.”
I scoff at her. “How can you tell?” I say, grabbing one of the coffee cups on the table. It’s our thing that whoever gets there first buys the coffee and croissants. I pick a piece off, chewing. “I could have spent all night having sex.”
She leans forward on the table. “Chérie”—sweetheart in French—“you wouldn’t be able to walk.”
“I would so be able to walk. Maybe his penis is small.” I cringe because it’s the opposite of the truth.
She slams her hand on the table, drawing attention from the other people in the shop. “Lies.” She pulls out her phone, typing something on it, showing me a picture that Matthew is posing for. He’s in shorts and is flipping over what looks like a tractor tire. His abs are so defined you can see each muscle. His arms are huge with drops of water shining in the sun. The sweat leaking down all over him, his stare is on the camera and not on the tire that might break his nose. “This doesn’t come avec une petit penis,” she says small penis in French in case the French owners can’t understand her.
I sit back in my chair about to answer her when my phone rings. “Hello.”
“Where are you?” is barked out.
“Well, hello, sunshine.” I roll my eyes.
“You aren’t home?”
“Wow, aren’t you Sherlock Holmes. What is the problem?”
“I’m home.”
“Okay.” I peer at Vivienne, who is snickering like she is drunk. “So you're home. I still don’t understand. What do you want?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m out with my friend having coffee.”
“Where? I’ll come meet you.”
I’m already shaking my head while Vivienne yells out the coffee shop’s name.
“See you in five.” And he disconnects.
“Great.” I put the phone down. “Thanks for that!”
“De rien,” she says I’m welcome.
I get up, going to the counter and ordering two more croissants. I sit down and am about to take a bite when I hear the bell over the door chime. I know right away it’s him because I see Vivienne’s eyes almost bulge out of her head and her mouth hangs open.
“Hey, babe,” he says, kissing my lips and sitting next to me.
“We are in public.” I point out to him. “Anyone can see.”
He shrugs his shoulders, picking the hat off his head to scratch it and then putting it backward.
“Menteuse!”You liar, Vivienne yells next to me. “He is so hot.”
I roll my eyes while Matthew puts his arm around my chair and moves his thumb against my back. “He’s not that hot.”
Vivienne laughs at me, leaning in. “Did you go to the optometrist again and they put that dye in your eye making you see blurry?” she asks me with a serious face.
“No. Meet my friend Vivienne.”
He smiles.
“The last time she did that exam she broke her foot walking into her bedroom door.” She laughs, picking up her coffee cup. “Remember you had to get that scooter for your foot?”
“Okay, so this has been fun,” I say, getting up.
“Relax, sit down,” Matthew says, leaning in to grab a croissant and chewing it. “These are awesome.”
“They are,” I agree with him, sipping my cold coffee.
“So, Matthew, tell me, we were discussing proportion,” Vivienne says. Being French, they have no qualms about discussing sex in the middle of the day in a corner store.
“We were not discussing anything like that.” I try to change the subject, giving Vivienne my narrowed eyes, hoping she gets it.
“Oh, okay. Sorry, we weren’t discussing if you have a big penis or not. Ma faute.” My bad, she ends that sentence.
“She’ll tell you I’m like a horse.”
I roll my eyes.
“Tell her.” He points to Vivienne
“I’m not telling her anything because I don’t know anything. And really, Matthew, a horse?” I watch him smirk.
“Okay, fine, not a horse, but close to it.” He motions with his hands. “Big.”
Vivienne can’t stop laughing and for the next hour the two of them trade sex jokes while I pretend that I’m not with them. By the end of the hour, we have plans to meet up the next time we are home. Which is in about a week.
When we say goodbye Vivienne whispers in my ear, “J'espère que tu vas prendre ton pied!” She did not just tell me she hopes I get properly fucked in the middle of the store.
“I don’t know what she said, but we should do it,” Matthew says, holding my hand while we walk away.
“She said she hopes that the medicine you got for your crabs works.” I smile up at him, then down at our hands. It feels like we’ve been doing this forever, yet last week I didn’t even know him.
Chapter Eleven
Matthew
When I got home and saw that Karrie wasn’t anywhere, my heart sped up a bit, not sure why, but I just wanted her there. Must have run up and down the stairs in two seconds flat. When she told me she was having coffee I ran down there. Literally. She was sitting with her friend Vivienne, who is a hoot. The way she switched from Engl
ish to French made it look so natural and then hearing Karrie speaking French, my cock had never been harder. I made a mental note to ask her to speak French to me while I eat her.
“I don’t know what she said, but we should do it,” I tell her while I grab her hand in mine as we walk down the street.
“She said she hopes that the medicine you got for your crabs works.” She smiles up at me and then looks down at our hands.
I stop walking, throwing my head back and laughing at this comment.
“You guys were talking about my dick?” I ask her, turning to face her, pushing the hair away from her face with my free hand. I lift our hands up together, kissing her fingers that are linked with mine.
“Seriously, after everything I just said that’s the only thing you thought about?” She turns to continue walking, dragging me with her. “I’m starving,” she says, smelling the aroma in the air. It smells like barbecue, making my stomach grumble also.
“You have a grill at home?” I ask her, walking across the street to where I see a butcher.
“Yes, but I…” she says, following me into the butcher shop. “I don’t know if it works.”
“Whatever, we can pan cook it if anything. Can I get two Rib eye steaks about eight ounces each?” I ask the butcher. “What do you want?”
“You just ordered two.”
“For me. I’m training, babe, got to eat the protein. We’ll take three then.” My hand lets go of hers, but only for my arm to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her toward me.
She smiles at me and it lights up her eyes. Her face goes soft. I lean down and softly kiss her lips.
I pay the butcher as we walk home holding hands, not saying anything. I feel peace, which is a feeling I haven’t felt, well ever.
I feel settled, almost like if something happens, it will all be okay.
“We should make some baked potatoes with those steaks,” I tell her while she unlocks the door and almost stumbles into the boxes that fill up the entrance.
“What the hell is all this?” she asks, looking at about fifteen to twenty boxes that are scattered around.
“It’s my stuff. My mom shipped my clothes and stuff.” I assess her while she takes in the entrance. “And that box over there”—I point to the white boxes—“are T-shirts and jerseys and stuff to sign for the foundation. Grab yourself one for the next game.” I walk to the kitchen.
“I already bought mine,” she says from behind me, having me stop mid-step, turning to her.
“You bought my jersey?” I ask her softly, my heart beating fast, my hands becoming clammy. I don’t know why it’s a big deal, but it is. I’ve always had people cheering for me, wearing my jersey, asking for my signature. It was always just a thing, but now knowing that she bought it. She bought it, not that I gave it to her, or made her. It’s something. It’s everything.
“Matthew.” Her voice breaks through the haze. “You okay?” she asks, coming to me, her hands landing on my chest. Her palms open right over my heart.
“You bought my jersey,” I whisper while she nods her head yes. “I can’t tell you how turned on I am right now.” I grab her hips, pulling her to me, my cock busting to get out.
“Um, Matthew, you are pretty much always turned on.” She smiles at me, getting on her tippy toes, kissing under my jaw. “Now feed me, please.”
I shoot my eyebrows up at her. “I can feed you something really big right now.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Can I bite it off?”
I hiss out, thinking of her teeth chopping on my rod.
“Glad you agree.”
“Okay, you start the potatoes in the oven. I’ll go in search of the grill.” I tap her nose, turning to walk outside. I uncover the new grill, turning it on. I march back inside where I see her cutting up the making of a salad. “The grill is good to go. How do you take your steak?” I ask her, going over and prepping them with salt and pepper.
“Medium rare would be good.”
We work side by side till I grab the steaks and head outside. By the time I’m done I walk into the house, going to the dining room. The lights are dimmed. Some jazz music is filling the house. Karrie is lighting some candles while swaying to the music.
I walk to her, kissing the back of her neck that is bare, since she tied her hair on top of her head. The smell of peaches fills my nose.
We sit down and fill our plates with food. She grabs a glass of wine, filling it, “You want some?”
“No. I’m good with water.” I cut into my steak, taking the first bite. Not bad.
“So.” I hear her voice while she takes a sip of wine. “I think we should talk about things.”
I smile at her while I cut another piece of steak. “You're a talker, aren’t you?” I drink some water. “Even in bed?” I wink at her.
She puts the bite of potato in her mouth and then points the fork at me. “This is why we have to talk.”
“Let’s talk,” I say, eating.
“Are we really going to be sleeping in the same bed together all the time? I think that’s a little extreme.” She cuts her own steak.
“If you are in the same house or hotel with me, we sleep in the same bed. Next,” I tell her. This isn’t an option.
“What if I want to sleep alone? What if I need alone time?” she asks me.
“You need alone time, you tell me, you don’t need alone time when you sleep,” I say, grabbing more salad.
“What about sex?” she asks, and I almost choke on the piece of steak in my mouth.
“What about sex? We are going to have it. Lots of it. I plan to have lots and lots of sex with you.”
“Why me?” she asks me, putting her fork down and drinking the rest of her wine, then filling up her glass again. “I mean, honestly, you're you.” She drinks again. “There’s a reason I was hired. I didn’t read your file.” She drinks again. “I just.” She drinks again. “I’ve never done the whole boyfriend sleeping over and stuff.”
I put my fork and knife down gently, instead of slamming them down. “Let’s tackle that one at a time, shall we?” I lean forward, “Why you?” I start, “Why not you? I was pulled to you the minute I saw you, then I saw you in the office, and you gave me that sass. You didn’t give a shit who I was. You called me out on all the bullshit I threw at you and did it with almost a smile on your face.” I smirk at her, remembering that day. “You wanted to stab me that first day.” She smiles in her glass. “And most of the times after that.”
“Pretty much.” She sips her wine again.
“You're beautiful, sexy, and sassy. You're independent and you will never cave and let me get away with shit,” I continue while she sits there with her wine glass, watching her, not sure if she should drink or not. “You also don’t give a shit who I am or that I’m a professional athlete. You look at me and see me. That makes you worth everything.” I scoot back in my chair. “Come here, Karrie.” I wait for her to look at me and see the things that must be running through her head. I don’t know why I’m holding my breath, but I am.
She takes a second to take me in before pushing back and coming to my side. My hand goes up her legs to her ass, where I squeeze and then move up to her back. I grab her hips, turning her around so she can sit on my lap. Her ass sits directly on my cock while she crosses her legs that hang on the side of me.
“I don’t know what is in that file.” I start while I look straight into her eyes. “I have no doubt any of it is good. I was a young stupid kid.” I close my eyes, thinking back to the way I just let loose once I was out of my house. “My whole life I pretended to be happy.”
She looks at me, confused.
“Don’t get me wrong, I had a great childhood. My mother made sure we were always her priority. But my father, he”—I shake my head—“he couldn’t care less who he hurt or what he did. When they divorced, I used to listen to my mom cry at night.” The memories are etched into my heart. “I vowed to never be the one to make her cry,” I con
tinue while Karrie puts a hand over my shoulder and comes in for a hug, her face going into the nook of my neck. She fits into my body as if she were made for me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, another thing that draws me to her. Her heart is soft and even if she didn’t want to care she does.
“So I just pretended nothing bothered me. I pretended I was happy when all I wanted to do was yell at the top of my lungs, wanted to get into his face and yell ‘Why?’ but I did the only thing I could. I took care of my mom and sister. It was easier than having a meltdown and seeing my mother add another thing to worry about to her shoulders. Then she met Cooper and I slowly started coming out. I was way more aggressive on the ice.” Her face comes out of my nook. I move her hair off her shoulder while I kiss her neck. “My first NHL game, I dropped the gloves. It was stupid. I got benched for two games after that. I got my ass chewed by everyone that I knew. So then I took it out when we went out. I would get into fights with anyone, just for the fuck of it, because I was The Matthew Grant. There were even a couple of lawsuits that they buried. The partying took over my life also. I was just happy to not be perfect Matthew.”
“You don’t have to continue,” she tells me.
“I don’t have to, but I want to. I want to give you all of me. I don’t want to hide who I am from you. That past is a piece of me, just like what we are doing is a piece of me, just like my childhood is a piece of me.” I take a deep breath. “There were lots of women.” The minute the words come out of my mouth her body stills, she gets stiff, and tries to get up.
“Okay, I think we have had enough talking for one night.” But I block her with my arm around her waist.
“No, we are doing this because once I get in there, I’m not fucking leaving. So we do this now.”
“Once you get in there?” Her head cocks to the side.
“Yeah,” I say, pointing to her heart. “Once I get in there, I'm never leaving.”
“Okay, I get it you had women. You weren’t a boy scout. You had orgies, I get it.” She starts babbling. “I don’t really need to hear the details.”
Something So Perfect Page 8
