by Brit DeMille
“This is a mistake,” she mutters under her breath.
I can’t help it, then. I grab her by the waist. My mouth is on hers before I can formulate a plan. And she doesn’t stiffen. Doesn’t pull away. No, instead, her hands go around my neck. She’s on her tiptoes. She’s opening her mouth and letting my tongue slide against hers. She lets out a little moan and I pull her as close as I can, feeling her slim body against mine. I’m hard in an instant and I can’t resist grinding against her in one slow thrust. I want her to feel her effect on me, and I make sure she does.
Her arms come down, and then I feel her hands on my ass, gripping me tight and hard. She even rubs herself against my rock-hard cock, bless her sweet intoxicating self. If I didn’t have any self-control right now, we’d be fucking in a matter of moments.
But not like this.
I’m the one who pulls away. Only to tell her, “Whatever this is between us? It’s not a mistake.”
I lean in and kiss her again, this time softly, before letting her go free. “Will you give me a chance? I know my behavior in the past doesn’t inspire instant trust. And it won’t mean a thing if I tell you I feel differently for you than I ever have any other woman. But I hope you can hear me when I say I need a chance. I need you to give me a chance, Holly Laurent.”
She bites her bottom lip, looking innocent yet still carrying the expression of a woman who is thoroughly aroused. She gives me a nod accompanied by a heavy breath as she looks up at me.
“Good, it’s settled. Now let me help you with the dishes and I’ll even let you flick water at me.”
She laughs and turns the music up. This song I recognize—Lonely Boy—so I make a big show of dancing and being a goofball while we clean up from dinner. The Black Keys keep playing and I decide I’m downloading every song they’ve ever made after tonight as a slow, sexy song comes on and I can’t help but pull her into my arms.
She rests her head on my chest as we start to dance. I put my face in her hair; it smells like mint.
“Thank you for dinner tonight,” I say softly.
“You’re welcome, and thanks for the lovely flowers.”
“They’re nothing. I’d give you the world, I think…if I could.”
She settles back against me and we dance a little more. Eventually I move back enough to look at her. A heartbeat passes, two, and then my lips are on hers again. I could kiss her sweet lips for days.
We don’t go further. I want to. God, I want to, but she’s so skittish and I cannot have her believing I only want sex from her. I want the sex, yes, but I also want other things with her. I want more.
And I’m willing to wait. It’s not like I can’t get myself off to thoughts of her. I’ve done that plenty of times already. Hell, I’ve been doing it since the first day I laid eyes on her.
I’m willing to earn Holly Laurent’s presence in my bed. And when I do, it will be something a helluva lot more meaningful than a quick fuck on a sofa or up against a wall.
For both of us.
Twenty-One
Holly
It’s our one-month anniversary. I know, I know, I sound like a teenager, counting every day I’m with him. It’s really embarrassing, but I’m also just really, really happy.
Evan has a huge social media following on his own, in spite of the fact that he posted very rarely before we started dating. Mostly, his posts were re-posts of things the team did. Everything else was stuff other people tagged him in, usually women in their own suggestive photos.
Now he posts daily pictures—selfies of us together, photos of me from the side or behind. He even got one picture of me asleep on the team bus. I did not find it flattering but the caption he posted was really sweet, so I forgave him. Sleeping Beauty.
About ninety-percent of the feedback has been good. For the most part, fans love that he’s “settling down.” The male fans, in particular, think I’m his good luck charm, since he’s been posting hat tricks in nearly every game this season. The team has only lost one game so far, and we lead in the league. And superstition rules in sports, so there’s a lot of commentary with things like Don’t let this one go! because they think his play is so strong because of me. That cracks me up, but whatever.
We’ve just won a hard-fought game at home, and Fiona has a press event packed afterward. Evan and Chalamet cover all press now, ever since the weirdness with Mikhail. They’re the team captains, so it makes sense.
The turnout is crazy, with lots of questions about our team’s chances of keeping up this momentum throughout the season, all-star voting, and odds on our making it to the playoffs.
“We’ve got great energy out there,” Chalamet is saying. Our passing is crazy good this season. It’s almost like we’re reading each other’s minds.”
Evan laughs and chimes in. “I can read your mind right now, Chalamet. You want a Miller Light, a bucket of fried chicken, and a soft bed.”
“Us old married guys are way too boring,” Chalamet says, grinning.
“When will you pop the question, Evan?” a young reporter yells from the back of the room. She’s petite and blonde and barely visible from where I stand at the side of the room.
“To Chalamet?” he asks in response. “I mean, I love the guy, but I don’t think his wife would share him with me.”
The room erupts in laughter. The question goes unanswered, which is great because we’ve been dating a month, not a year, and the idea of marriage seems really premature. I catch Evan’s eye and he grins and winks. Lots of flashbulbs go off, catching the moment. I blush, on cue, and pretend to fiddle with something on my phone.
Fiona claps her hands and yells, “Two more questions. Make ‘em about sports, please.”
I really love her for this, even though I know she only did it because she’s still annoyed that Evan and I are allowed to flout the team’s very specific no-fraternization rules. But even as the last questions turn to an injury suffered by one of our defensemen in this game, I look over and find Kacey King glaring at me. If daggers could fly out of her eyes, I’d totally be dead, because she is not happy with the talk of marriage, even as far-fetched as it is.
I don’t flinch away from her stare, though. I just give her a professionally polite smile, which forces her to look away and start packing up her gear.
Holly: 1, Kacey: 0.
Not that it’s a competition but it sure feels satisfying to me right now.
As the press conference ends, Evan walks over and gives me a big kiss on the cheek. “I’ll just go grab my bag and meet you outside?”
“Yep. Give me ten minutes to run up and post a few post-game things?”
“Sounds good.”
He and Chalamet lope down the hall, ribbing each other about the marriage proposal question.
Pam calls as I’m heading up to my cubicle.
“What’s up, Pammy?”
“Good game tonight, and the post-press cracked me up.”
“The bit about Evan proposing to Chalamet?”
“That very thing,” she says.
“It was funny, I agree. Funny but definitely awkward for the two of us. He handled it well, but unfortunately it won’t stop more of the same from inquiring minds.”
“He’s got a career as a sportscaster or play-by-play person once he retires from the game,” Pam says. “He’s really a natural in front of the camera.”
“He’s a natural on the ice, too. He’ll probably play until he can’t skate anymore.”
“He’ll be out there with a walker,” Pam jokes.
“He might be.”
“Is he a natural elsewhere as well?” She doesn’t even try to disguise mischief in her voice.
I snort. “Real slick.”
“This inquiring mind wants to know.”
“Nosy, entitled minds, you mean?” I knew this convo was coming with Pam, I just wasn’t going to be the one to initiate it.
“Same difference, Holls. Come on, throw your bestie a bone here.”
“Well, if you must know, we’ve been taking it slow.”
“Slow as in…”
“Slow as in, we haven’t had sex.”
“What? Why?” She sounds genuinely confused. “If I had a hot stud like that, I’d have jumped his bones on the first date.” Pam makes these kinds of jokes all the time but we both know she’s not serious, and to be kind, I don’t contradict her. She has her own issues to shoulder.
“I wanted to, Pam, I want to now. He is so hot, and the chemistry is totally there, but I just felt like…”
“You wanted to make sure he wasn’t just in it for a quickie.” She finishes my sentence for me.
“I mean, he doesn’t have a good track record. And I’m skittish. So…”
Pam makes a huffy sound of annoyance. “You need to let that shit go. Everyone’s got baggage. Look at me for example.”
“Yes, they do, but I’m not interested in getting hurt again. So sue me.”
“Well, you do like him a lot, right?” she asks gently.
“Of course, he’s a great person. We really have a lot of fun together. It feels like I’ve known him forever.”
“And he’s obviously really into you. His posts about you are super swoony. The Sleeping Beauty one slayed on social.
I can’t hold back a huge grin. “They are swoony, aren’t they?”
“Well, I hope you decide to put out for the guy soon, because I need to live vicariously through you to spice up my own boring situation.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, love you too, you big jerk.”
“I know you do,” she laughs. “Love you, babe.”
We hang up and I do the post-games really quickly before grabbing my backpack and heading down to the employee parking garage where Evan parks his ridiculously audacious sports car.
He smiles as I open the door and slide into the passenger seat. “It was more like twenty-one minutes,” he says leaning over the center console for a kiss.
I happily oblige, enjoying the taste of spearmint gum on his tongue.
As we pull apart, he says, “I guess I forgive you.”
“I’m sorry. Pam called me.”
“Say no more,” he says, turning on the engine. The radio blasts but it’s not his usual classic rock. Instead, the Beatles’ Saw Her Standing There plays. We both sing along as he makes his way out of the labyrinth of a garage.
“I didn’t know you liked the Beatles.” He grins over at me
“Everyone likes the Beatles,” I say. “Blackbird is my favorite.”
“That’s a good one. I think my favorite is A Hard Day’s Night. I like the movie too.”
“Hey, you turned the wrong way for my condo,” I point out.
“We’re not going to your condo, beautiful.”
“Oh, do I finally get to see your apartment?” He has never invited me to his place and I’m starting to get a complex about it.
“No, it’s a surprise.”
I try to act unbothered by the fact that it’s been a month and I still haven’t been to his apartment. As we pull up into the valet lane of a very fancy hotel, my annoyance fades slightly.
“A hotel? I didn’t bring anything…”
“Don’t worry about that. Everything will be perfect.” He plants a quick kiss on my lips before exiting the car. He’s around to my side and helping me out before I can blink. He takes my hand firmly in his and gives me a satisfied grin. My guy is up to something sneaky, and I have a good idea what it might be.
We’re ushered inside, and Evan spends about three minutes at the desk checking in before whisking me off to the elevator and up to the thirtieth floor. When we walk into the room, I’m floored. It’s very much like the sexy dream I had so many months ago. There are floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the twinkling lights of the Strip. The sunken living space is comfortable looking, and a full kitchen stretches out to the left, leading to a window side walkway that heads into a huge bedroom with a massive bed draped in soft, luscious, white bedding.
The bathroom is huge, with a four-person hot-tub in one corner and a grotto shower in the other. There are several shopping bags sitting on a vanity, each with designer labels. Evan gives me an impish smile when I look at him, questions surely in my eyes.
“I took the liberty of calling a personal shopper,” he tells me, taking both of my hands in his. “I have no idea what’s in those bags.”
“Evan, this is…” I don’t even know what to say. Overwhelming? Sweet? Too much? I settle for, “What’s all this about?”
He answers me with a gentle kiss before leading me back out to the living area, where a bottle of wine has been chilling on the coffee table. An assortment of sweet and salty treats are presented beautifully, and two candles are lit with flames dancing. It’s a very romantic scene.
As Evan pours us each a glass of wine, he says, “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this past month, Holly.”
“It’s been a lot of fun, I agree.”
We sit on a soft couch next to each other. Evan picks up a remote and with the push of a button, music plays. It’s too loud, so he scrambles to turn it down. It’s the Artic Monkeys, though, a band I absolutely love.
“Nice touch. Are you trying to get lucky, Kazmeirowicz?”
Evan grins slyly. “I’m already lucky.”
I nearly choke as I take a sip of wine. “That was so cheesy.”
“Thank you,” he says proudly.
“This is a really nice place.” I look around the room pointedly. “Have you…stayed here before?”
He shakes his head. “No. I came over and picked the room, but I haven’t been here with another woman, if that’s what you’re asking?”
I feel a blush coming on because he saw right through me.
“So, I don’t want this to get heavy,” he says, pausing like he’s trying to figure out how to word what he wants to say next. “I think we need to just get some stuff out in the air, you know. Just talk through it so we can move forward. What do you think?”
I stiffen a little at this. “Talking about the past is not romantic for me.”
“No, it’s not,” he says. “But this is a neutral zone, and we’re both grown-ups, and I think if we just talk about it, maybe we can set it loose. Let it go.”
“Okay…” I say warily.
“I know I have a reputation. I know there are a million pictures of me with other women out there. I know I’m not known for making long-term relationship commitments. Yes, I have a sexual history. Yes, I have been tested many times and I am clean. I can’t make the past any different. But I can assure you that I care about you. That I’m interested in more than sex. That I want more with you.”
“I guess I’ve just been…”
“Gun shy,” he finishes for me. “I know. You’re wary, and I suppose I would be, also. But why don’t you tell me what happened to you. I mean, I know you were engaged. I’m assuming you have a sexual history, right?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m not a virgin.”
“Okay, so it’s established that we’ve both had sex. What about this guy? Who was this idiot who hurt you?”
“Pam and I agreed we were just going to call him Soccer Boy. You know, He Who Shall Not Be Named. But his name was Donovan. He was a UCLA soccer player. Things were hot and heavy. We moved really fast and I fell really hard. We got engaged at the beginning of my senior year.”
“Your senior year?” Was he younger than you?”
“Yes, just a year,” I say. “He’s a senior this year.”
“So, you got engaged and then…”
“And then, a month later, he cheated on me.”
“You caught him?” Evan asks.
As much as I’ve avoided this topic I admit it feels rather freeing to finally have it out in the open. I take a deep breath and tell him the rest. “The men’s and women’s teams were on a tournament trip. Pam found pictures on one of the female player’s social media. They were kissing, half-naked, under the cov
ers. It was obvious enough, and when I confronted him about it after he got home, he said they’d had an on-off sexual thing going for a couple years. He’d been casually sleeping with her since before we even got together.”
Evan cringes. “What the hell was he thinking?”
I shrug. “He said it was purely sexual, nothing emotional. Said he loved me and wanted to be with me.”
“So, you dumped him. Good on you.” Evan smiles a little and gives my shoulder a gentle nudge. “And damn good for me because if you hadn’t I wouldn’t have you here with me right now.”
“Yeah, good on me,” I answer, loving another of his British expressions. “I mean, he tried to get me to stay, but when I asked if he could be monogamous, he couldn’t answer. He looked like he physically had something stuck in his throat.”
“I’m very sorry, Holly.” He takes my hand and I look up through my lashes to find him looking incredibly sexy and intense.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. And I can see why you’d be shy about getting into a relationship with someone like me.”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. “It’s hard not to worry that it will happen again. I think I’d feel that way no matter who I dated.”
“Well,” Evan says, “I won’t promise to be perfect, but I can promise to treat you with respect. To be honest with you.”
“That’s a good start. I’ll make the same promise,” I say, holding out my glass toward his. He gives it a clink, the cheerful sound sort of clearing all the past regrets away.
“What do you think about trying out the hot tub?” Evan asks, lightening the mood.
“I think it sounds just lovely,” I answer.
He refills our glasses and we pad in. The music filters throughout the suite, which is amazing, and Evan turns it up a tad once we realize how loud the jets are.
There’s a teeny-tiny string bikini in one of the bags. It’s simple and gold and fits me perfectly. I’m impressed yet horrified at the price tag. I change quickly in the bedroom and then wander in to find Evan already lounging in the hot water.
The water feels amazing, instantly relaxing my muscles. I let out an involuntary, loud sigh as I sink in. Evan hands me my glass of wine, and I take a sip before setting it back on the ledge, letting my head drop back.
