Kissing Madeline (Dearest #3)

by Lex Martin

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “So you want me to choose young and stupid again, huh?”

  He chuckles, the rumble beneath me satisfying. “Yeah. That’s probably what this is, but I don’t care. You feel too good to care.”

  I have to agree.

  * * *

  It’s still dark when the alarm goes off. When I open my eyes, I recognize the dark gray comforter and the arm wrapped around my chest. A small bolt of fear races through me, but as I think about the night before, about how sweet and caring Daren’s been, my apprehension melts away.

  He loaned me a BC t-shirt last night, swearing that’s all he had, but I know he was just making me pay for all of those “friends don’t let friends go to BC” jokes I’ve told him. I thought coming back here would be awkward, especially since I let him violate my body six different ways in a public parking lot, but he was so easy-going and fun, I forgot to be uptight. Thank God for tinted windows.

  When we got to his place, he made me hot chocolate and snuggled me up on his giant bed and then tickled me until I was laughing so hard, I snorted. Yes, so ladylike. But that only made him laugh harder and then he kissed me until I was practically begging him to have sex with me again. What kind of girl does that? Me, apparently. And the jerk made me say, “Pretty please, Daren, stick your big dick in me.”

  Of course, I said it.

  Rolling my eyes at myself, I try to scoot out from under his arm, but it just tightens.

  “Where you going, Wildcat?” he asks gruffly in my ear.

  “To work out, remember? And then I have to get to the studio. Sorry to wake you up.” My whole body aches, and my girlie garden is still having aftershocks from last night, but I need to stay on schedule. I roll into him and brush his bangs off his forehead and lean down to kiss him between his eyebrows before I can second-guess the gesture. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Wait. I’ll come with you.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll go running with you. That’s what you do in the mornings, right?” He rubs his eyes and then gives me the sweetest smile.

  “Don’t you have practice later? And a game Sunday night?”

  “Yeah. So? Today is a light practice, and I’m probably only gonna play one quarter.”

  He starts to get up, but I put two hands on him to hold him back. “No. Nope. You can’t do this.” I’m suddenly wide awake. “You’re on a very specific workout plan. I don’t care what you think you’re playing on Sunday. You don’t know for sure. What if you end up playing half of the game or more and you’re tired from running with me today? I can’t have that on my conscience.”

  The grin on his face is so adorable, I make a mental picture of it.

  “That’s really considerate of you. But I assure you I can handle it.”

  Then he pulls me down on top of him, and I laugh. He kisses my neck, and I groan. “No. No, you aren’t coming with me.”

  He nips my skin, and I feel him harden between us.

  “Let me give you a workout. I promise you’ll use your leg muscles. On all fours.”

  Then he slaps my ass before he rubs the offended skin. A throb grows between my legs as he moves my thighs down to straddle him.

  “Did… Did you just spank me?”

  He grunts in my ear. “Yeah, and I’m fully planning on doing it again if you try to get out of my bed right now.”

  I sit up on him and his grip on my thighs tightens. Bracing my hands on his chest, I laugh. “So you think you’re the only one who gets to punish around here?” I rotate my hips in a slow circle, the thin fabric of his boxers separating us.

  His eyes darken and his fingers sink deeper into my skin.

  Pulling my shirt up so he can see my bare skin grinding on him, I say, “What if this is as close as I let you get this morning?”

  He watches as my thighs pull his boxers taut over his impressive length. If I had any shame, I’d be embarrassed that he can probably feel how wet I am, but I’m pretty sure I left my modesty on the floor of his car with my underwear.

  He laughs. “I’d say it’s still one hell of a way to wake up.”

  And then he pulls me down to him and gives me my morning workout.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  - Maddie -

  I can’t stop smiling. It’s downright idiotic. It’s eight at night, I’m still at work, and this grin won’t stop.

  It’s been three days, and I’m still riding a high. We’ve texted a few times, but I wouldn’t go over Saturday night because I didn’t want to keep him up late before a game. He banged on my wall and yelled that could be us breaking his headboard. I laughed but stuck to my guns.

  Oh, and our interview last week? The segment ran Saturday and got such a huge reaction that ESPN replayed it on Sunday before his game.

  He looked phenomenal on the field. So in control. So confident. Every time the camera zoomed in on him, I wanted to lick the screen.

  My laptop blurs in front of me, and my fingers rest on my lips like they can still feel Daren's rough fingertips grazing my skin. This—whatever I’m doing with him—is by far the most reckless thing I’ve ever done. I am sleeping with the source of my sports segment. I could go down in flames in so many ways. And I'm exhilarated and terrified in equal measure.

  Is this what it feels like to be a thrill-seeker? Why people jump off mountains with a tiny little parachute? All I know is I want another hit.

  And then his text comes in, and that smile somehow grows wider.

  Hey, Wildcat. Thinking of you.

  Thank God he doesn’t write “u” instead of “you.” What? A girl has to have standards.

  I force myself to finish up my web report before I reach for my phone. I might be thinking about you. Possibly.

  His response: Naked, I hope.

  Every time I watch baseball, I'm going to blush. Guess you hit a home run in the bottom of the ninth. I'm being a cheese ball, but I can't help it. I mean, we freaking hooked up in the parking lot of a restaurant.

  Babe, I hit a goddamn grand slam. I fucking won the World Series.

  I snort into my hand, nearly dropping my phone.

  “You’re getting laid, aren’t you?”

  And then I do drop my phone. Spinning in my chair, I see Nicole, who is standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. “My guess? Daren ‘I’m so hot every girl wants my cock’ Sloan.’”

  “Jesus, Nicole. You startled me.” My heart is racing in my chest. God, does she know? “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  Her eyes narrow. “I mean, good for you. At least it takes that permanent scowl off your face.” I scowl? What? She thrusts her hand on her hip. “Just know you’re not the only one. He’s probably banging every girl from here to Hollywood.”

  My stomach twists as she stomps off. Another text message buzzes in on my phone, but I can’t bring myself to look at it.

  She’s probably right.

  No. Daren promised he’d tell me, break things off, if he ever wanted to sample other options.

  It’s this moment that finds me cursing my ex because I trusted him so wholeheartedly that I ignored all the signs he was unfaithful. And now, whether or not Daren is hooking up with other girls, he bears my knee jerk mistrust.

  An hour later, I’m about to drag myself home when Spencer pops his head in my cubicle. “We’re doing promos all week for Boston’s Number One Bachelor Contest, so I need you to lay off the news assignments.”

  “I thought Nicole was covering that story.”

  He gives me a bored shrug. “People seem to like you on the sports segment, so I’m going with a hunch.”

  I love how he says “people” like me, as in, he doesn’t. I don’t like you either, buddy.

  Well, that would explain why Nicole looked like she wanted to tear me a new one. This should be her story. She’s been campaigning for it all week. Lord knows I don’t want it.

  Glancing down at my color-coded notes for the other assignments I’m working on,
I can’t quite believe what he’s asking me to do.

  “But I’m doing research for two news stories already, and I’m hoping to do a feature on this homeless shelter that—”

  “Yeah, I don’t give a shit. Give the work to someone else, and bring that darling smile that everyone seems to love and be ready tomorrow morning at eight.” He starts to walk out and pauses. “And would it kill you to wear something sexy for once? If you wear a business suit tomorrow like you’re covering City Hall, I’m firing you, so go home and find something that boosts ratings.”

  And then he’s gone with every ounce of pride I used to have in my job clutched in his money-grubbing hands.

  I spend the next several minutes moping around as I try to get a grip. But by the time I head home, I have an idea that I hope gets me a small reprieve. God knows I need one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  - Daren -

  Any semblance of contentment goes down the drain the moment I see that text from Veronica.

  Can we talk?

  That would be a resounding fuck, no. I’m actually surprised it’s taken her this long to reach out to me. But we are over. And no amount of crying on her part will repair the damage done in our relationship. I’m sick of her lies. Of her drama. Of her bullshit.

  Besides, any feelings I had for her withered and died the night of the draft when she leveled that bomb at me. The moment she left, I packed up the shit she had at my place and shipped it to her mother’s the next day.

  Jeanine pops her head into the locker room, jarring me from the foxhole I retreat to whenever I think of Veronica. “Daren, I need you out here in five. The other guys are here, and the station is ready to tape.”

  When the door closes, Quentin struts over naked and mimics her voice. “Daren, I need you out here because all of your adoring fans are ready!” And then he pretends to make out with himself.

  The guys laugh, and I toss a jockstrap at his face. He ducks with a laugh and shakes his bare ass at me.

  I tilt my head back and laugh. “I see how it is, Q. Jealousy is an evil thing. Not everyone can be Boston’s number one bachelor.”

  Dumbest contest ever, and if it didn’t raise millions for a few great causes, I’d never do it. Besides, the guy who wins gets the donation to his charity matched by the sponsoring corporations, and I plan to get the St. Martin’s Homeless Shelter expanded threefold.

  My parents might be rich now, but my mother’s family was homeless at one point when she was a child, and that always resonated with me. Bad things happen to good people every day, and my family found help in this charity back when it was a one-room food pantry behind a grocery store. So yeah, I’ll stomach a silly bachelor contest if it means I can help St. Martin’s.

  Brentwood rolls his eyes at me, not caring that I’m obviously joking. He’s been bitchy all week, and I’ve been tempted to ask if he needs tampons. But then, I don’t know any woman with PMS this bad, so it’s an unfair slight to females.

  By the time I get to the conference room, the guys are each standing by their respective female fans, who have been rounded up to coo over us. Five Rebel cheerleaders hover in the corner, and when one spots me, she beelines over and hugs me.

  “Hey, Daren.”

  I give her an awkward side hug while my eyes search for the girl who has been front and center in my dirty dreams all week.

  A fire-engine-red dress in the corner catches my attention.

  Sweet mother.

  Maddie glances over her shoulder, and I catch my breath. Her black hair is down, tousled like my hands have been in them. Doe eyes stare back at me in a moment that drowns out the thirty other people in the room.

  I’ve never seen her so dressed up. Although she looked awesome the night of my party, the color red amps up her sexiness, which I didn’t think was possible. Today, she looks like a flame, from the silky smooth fabric wrapped around her like a second skin to her sky-blue eyes. Damn, she’s mouthwatering.

  Her pouty lips give me a flirty smile before she returns her attention to the camera guy, and I take a gasping breath when our connection is broken.

  Voodoo woman.

  I haven’t had time to connect with her this week. And when I say connect, I mean fuck her senseless. I intend to rectify the situation as soon as possible. She’s supposed to come over tonight, thank Christ.

  That Spencer asshole grabs the mic that’s been set up in front of a black backdrop and welcomes everyone, promising that the only reason we’re doing this on my home turf is because the team has the available space. Jeanine winks at me from his side, and I know that’s all bullshit. I’d bet money she talked Spencer into doing all of our group promo shots here. Why it makes a difference where it’s shot is beyond me.

  Spencer motions toward us. “We’re adding two more athletes and breaking you into two teams. The group that gets the most money will get your cause featured in prime time segments, which can raise additional revenue for your charities. We’ll still do an individual winner, but this is another way to generate interest. One team of three guys will go with Maddie for interviews and promos, and the other will go with Nicole.” He motions to the two girls who wave behind him.

  After a few more introductions, I get ushered toward Maddie, and as we’re gearing up to shoot our first promo, the back door opens and some tatted-up fighter walks in with what appear to be cage girls. He looks vaguely familiar.

  Maddie tenses next to me and curses under her breath.

  The guy heads straight for Maddie, and the way his eyes crawl up her body make me want to launch my fist into his face.

  “Hey, babe,” he says to Maddie, which doesn’t seem to bother the two girls draped over him. “You’re looking as hot as ever.”

  Maddie shakes her head, closes her eyes for a moment and then points across the room. “Jacob, you’re with Nicole. And do me a favor.” She waits for him to lean forward. “Don’t talk to me. In fact, you can pretend we've never met.”

  The arctic air blowing off her is enough to give me chills. He starts to open his mouth, but Nicole trots over to usher him to the other side of the room.

  “You know that guy?” I whisper to her when he’s out of earshot.

  Maddie taps the mic that’s clipped to her dress and asks, “Now what gave you that impression?”

  Even though she’s clearly brimming with tension, as soon as we’re taping, she’s all charm and smiles as she beams confidence into the camera. I love her focus. She can block out that drama and get her shit done like a pro.

  Pride fills me for my girl.

  Whoa.

  No, Daren. My friend. My fuck buddy. But definitely not my girl. Don’t forget that.

  Surprisingly, though, our interview is strangely awkward. I can’t totally pinpoint why. Was it the conversation with that fighter guy or is she pissed the cheerleaders are grabbing onto me? But damn. That’s all at the direction of her boss. Spencer tells the girls to sit on my lap and wrap their arms around me.

  I guess I can’t be surprised Maddie’s all business, getting the segment done before she’s off interviewing the other guys.

  But that’s not what bothers me. That’s not what has me second-guessing our arrangement.

  I can’t lie. Slipping like that, thinking of Maddie as mine, scares me a little. Okay, it scares me a whole helluva lot.

  I’ve done monogamous sex before without getting attached. In retrospect, that basically describes my entire relationship with Veronica. Because now that I’ve had some space, I realize I didn’t love her. And she sure as hell didn’t love me.

  I tell myself I won’t fly into asshole mode and ignore Maddie when she calls, but that’s a moot point because she doesn’t call like she said she would. Our Tuesday night plans come and go with radio silence.

  By the time Thursday morning rolls around and I head out to the field for our weekly Football 101 interview, I’m feeling like a dick for not at least texting her yesterday to ask if she was okay after the run-in
with that MMA fighter.

  Turns out he’s her ex. Guess I’m not the first jock she’s dated.

  But we’re not dating, so scratch that.

  She’s cordial during my interview, and I can’t decide if her nonchalance is a relief or irritating as hell. Getting distance from her should be a good thing. If we’re just fucking around, then none of this should bother me.

  But it does.

  I’m hoping to get a moment to talk to her afterward—to say what, I’m not sure—but Jeanine is hovering like a starved vulture and ushers me over to a group of sorority girls on the sidelines to shoot more hype footage for the bachelor contest. I don’t know why I’ve turned into her pet project, but it’s taxing.

  On my drive home, I’m in a foul mood, so when my cell rings, I press the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel and grunt hello.

  “Son, now what kind of greeting is that? You sound like a constipated bear.”

  I chuckle. “Hi, Mom.”

  “How’s my favorite son?”

  “I’m your only son, Mom. If I’m not at the top of your list, I’m doing something wrong.”

  “Guess who I saw the other day?”

  This can’t be good. “No idea.”

  “Clementine.” Here we go. Mom’s never gotten over my breakup from my high school sweetheart. But this is not the shit I want to talk about today. Or ever. “Have you talked to her lately?”

  My mom is digging around for something. “We talked a couple of days ago. Why?”

  “I was wondering if you’ve read her new book. My friend says it’s fantastic!” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “But I heard it has sex, so I’m reading it on my Kindle where I keep my Fifty Shades.”

  That is… something I don’t need to know. “You really called to tell me this?”

  Mental note, avoid Clem’s new book and my mother’s e-reader.

  “No, I called to find out if you’ve ever considered asking her out again. The two of you grew up together. You were inseparable. That girl always had her heart set on you.”