by Virna DePaul
She didn’t know how people couldn't hear them. Couldn’t they hear how her heart pounded, how her pussy clenched around his cock, how she wanted to scream his name in complete ecstasy? Surely they could hear his body slapping against hers, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. Her only consolation was that the store had been virtually empty moments before. And if someone did happen upon them? Let them hear: let them hear what absolute pleasure sounded like. What did it matter to her, when Heath’s cock was so deep inside her she could barely catch her breath?
His rhythm became jagged, and she knew he was on the edge. She chased her orgasm, a beautiful, flighty thing, and then he reached down and rubbed her clit. That bit of stimulation propelled her forward, and suddenly she caught that delicious wave. Leaning her head against the mirror, her body shook and trembled, and if Heath hadn’t been clutching her hips, she would’ve collapsed from the pleasure. She bit her lip, tasting copper on her tongue. It only served to prolong her orgasm, especially when he started coming, too. She could feel his cock flex inside of her, and God, she could barely take the pleasure, it was so intense.
When did sex become this life-transforming thing? When did sex with Heath Dawson become as necessary to her as the air she breathed? Gasping, she saw her breath fog up the mirror as they both came down from their high. She slipped downward, but Heath caught her, holding her around the waist, his cock still inside of her.
He kissed the side of her neck. He stroked her sides and cupped her breasts and said things she couldn’t even comprehend right now.
“Jesus Christ, Camille,” he kept saying. “Jesus motherfucking Christ.”
She tilted her head back against him. “My thoughts exactly,” she gasped.
As their bodies calmed, they knew they were lucky they hadn’t gotten caught. Camille blushed, wondering if they had been heard, and she put on her clothes with shaky hands. She couldn’t believe she’d had sex in a dressing room! But then he kissed her hard on the mouth, and she couldn’t find it in her to regret what they’d done—or buying the pirate lady costume, after all.
Chapter Thirteen
After a grueling practice, Heath was about to get in his car when his phone rang. He sighed when he identified the caller, hesitated a few seconds, then finally answered.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked his dad.
“Oh good, you’re still alive. You been avoiding me, Son? Doesn’t make a father feel too great, you know.”
“No, just been busy. You know the daily grind and all that.”
“Well, how’s about you tell me all about it and we get drinks tonight. Can you do 7:00, or is that too late for you?” His dad laughed at his joke.
Heath hesitated once more, but it had been a while since he’d seen his dad, and it would be good to catch up. “Sure, drinks at 7:00. The usual place?” I’ll talk to him about Grandad, as well, Heath thought. Rudy Dawson, at 85 years old, was still as sharp as a tack, but his health was failing rapidly, mostly from a shoddy heart and a diagnosis of diabetes a few years ago. Rudy hated eating the diet the doctor had prescribed—sugar-free and tasting like goddamn cardboard, as Rudy had described it—but he was losing sensation in his feet and hands and needed a nurse to help him. The part-time nurse had worked for a while, but Heath knew a full-time one would be needed soon.
Arriving at the usual haunt to meet his dad, Heath saw that he’d commandeered a table near the bar and was already flirting with the young waitress. Having just turned 60, Sam Dawson had been a handsome man in his prime, but a diet of fast food and a tendency toward corpulence had lent him a double chin within the last decade. Heath hadn’t seen him in a few months, and he realized that his dad had gained more weight. Diabetes obviously ran in the family, and Heath wouldn’t be surprised if his dad was also diagnosed with it soon—if he hadn’t been already.
“Son!” Sam called out with a shout. “Come, come, give this pretty little thing your order.”
The waitress instantly recognized him. She dislodged Sam’s hand as she made her way closer to Heath. “What’ll you have, Mr. Dawson?”
“Whatever dark beer you have on tap,” he said distractedly.
Sam had already ordered a basket of hot wings, which he was chewing on with gusto. “Help yourself! You gotta keep up your strength.”
“Not sure chicken wings are the way to do it.” But he took a wing regardless. He could hear the conversations around him—the whispering and the squealing (when the team was doing badly, it was more often derisive comments)—telling Heath that he’d not only been noticed, but that he’d soon have fans coming up and asking for photos and autographs. He appreciated his fans, he truly did, but sometimes he just wanted to get a drink in peace without the insanity of people asking for things from him.
Right as he finished that wing, he saw out of the corner of his eye two women who were making their way to their table. When Sam noticed them, he grinned, slapping Heath on the shoulder.
“You’re the best wingman a guy could ask for. Just sit you somewhere and all the ladies come flocking.”
The two women sidled up to the table: one was blond and leggy, the other brunette and curvy. They both wore dark lipstick and false eyelashes, and they ignored Sam at first, intent on getting Heath’s attention.
“I can’t believe Heath Dawson is here at this little bar!” the blond said. “We come here all the time, and we’ve never seen you before.”
“And we would’ve noticed if you had,” the brunette added.
The blond stroked his arm, her eyes widening, almost comically. “I knew you were built, but how do you get those kinds of muscles?” Her mouth was a wide, red O, and Heath had to restrain himself from laughing.
“Yeah, tell us your secrets,” the brunette said with batted eyelashes. “How did you manage to get so…big?”
Normally, Heath would’ve grinned flirtatiously and answered their questions in similar fashion, but not tonight. He recognized when people were blowing smoke up his ass, and he was tired of it. He was tired of these women throwing themselves at him and trying to get something out of him: sex, money, fame, or all three. Neither of these women wanted anything legitimate from him. And did he need people telling him how great he was? You already do such a great job of that yourself, he heard Camille’s voice in his head.
Camille wouldn’t talk like this. She wouldn’t try to get into his pants simply for a story to tell her friends and the media. Hell, she hardly wanted to get into his pants when he was being sincere.
“Ladies, ladies,” Heath drawled, “you look parched. Let me buy you some drinks, and how’s about you entertain my dad here? Sam Dawson can take care of you two.”
The two women glanced at Sam, but realizing that Heath wasn’t going to be easy prey, they fell onto Sam with alacrity. Heath left to get them something fruity and sweet. He watched his dad flirt outrageously with the pair of women, and the women giggled like schoolgirls at his advances. Sam may not be as handsome or fit as he had been in his prime, but he could charm the pants off a woman, Heath would give him that. The bartender finally pushed two red drinks toward him, and he made his way back to the table.
“You two ever been to Vegas?” Sam was asking. “I’m going there next week, and I’m thinking I could use some company.”
The brunette snagged one of the drinks, sipping it with red lips pursed. “Well, when you put it like that… Will Heath be there, too?”
“I have football to play,” Heath said before his dad could respond. “But you’ll have a great time with my dad here. I promise.”
Although the two women flirted with Sam for a while longer, the brunette continued to eye Heath over her drink. She soon made her way toward him, and she slid a manicured hand across his shoulders. She took out her phone, and began taking selfies with Heath; despite his non-participation, she didn’t give up.
Brushing her breasts against his arm, she whispered, “Wanna take me home and show me where you keep your balls?”
Her breath was hot against his ear, and he had to restrain himself from pushing her away. A sudden headache pounded in his temples.
“Not tonight, darlin’. I have an early morning tomorrow.”
The brunette curled her lip before flouncing away, back to her friend and Sam’s attention. The women stayed for a little longer until they finished their drinks. Sam pocketed their numbers and sent them off with whispers in their ears that made them giggle.
“What a pair! I owe you, Son.”
“Did you even get their names?” Heath asked, exasperated.
Sam waved a hand. “Farrah? Faye? I think that was the blond. The brunette was Gigi, I think.”
Heath needed to get out of here, but not before he talked to his dad about his grandfather. “Dad, you know Granddad isn’t doing too great right now, right?”
Sam’s eyebrows furrowed at the sudden subject change. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Listen, I’m thinking Granddad needs a full-time nurse to take care of him. He has a hard time getting around these days, and I’m afraid he might fall or something if he doesn’t have someone with him 24/7.”
“Son, don’t spend your money on that. Put him in a home. They have nice, fancy ones where they take care of old folks. You don’t want him in your house like that, do you? How can you have people over, have parties and shit, with an old man hanging around? You’re too busy to worry about this, anyway. A man like you needs to be able to party. Meet women when he’s not playing ball.”
Heath gritted his teeth. He’d had a feeling his dad wouldn’t be supportive of the full-time nurse, but hearing him tell his son that he’d rather put his own father into a home? Like he was some worn-out horse that needed to be put out to pasture? Rudy Dawson had been like a father figure to Heath, especially when Sam hadn’t, and the thought of shuffling him off to a place where he knew absolutely no one? He couldn’t bear the thought. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford the extra care, either. He’d just thought it was respectful to include his father in such decisions.
Wanting to change the subject—again—Heath said bluntly, “I’m not interested in meeting more women. I’m seeing someone.” Instantly, an image of Camille in her costume—and out of her costume—filled his head and the tightness in his chest eased slightly.
Sam’s eyebrows rose, but then he laughed. “Of course you are, Son. Is it that little cheerleader you told me about?” He made a gesture at his chest, like he was cupping two large breasts. “You lucky cuss.”
“No, it’s not Genevieve. She’s a photographer, actually, and has a kid.”
Sam clucked his tongue. “You can’t get involved with a woman with a kid. They’re always looking for someone serious, and you don’t have time for that right now. You need to play the field, sow your wild oats. This woman sounds like a total drag.”
Having his dad disparage Granddad was one thing; having him disparage Camille was another. Anger pulsed through him, and it took all of his strength not to toss Sam out on his ear.
That’s when his phone vibrated, and he pulled it out to see a text from Alec. Some girl’s tagged you on Instagram. Says you two hooked up.
Normally, his buds wouldn’t tell him about any random social media posts from women—they happened all the time, and Heath hardly paid attention—but since Alec knew Heath was interested in someone, he’d probably assumed Heath would want to know. He groaned inwardly: this night couldn’t get any worse, could it?
Actually, it could. If Camille saw the pictures.
Standing suddenly, he said, “You know what, Dad, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”
And before Sam could respond, Heath slapped a few dollar bills on the table for his tab and stalked out.
Chapter Fourteen
Hey, did you see this? Camille read Sheila’s text before clicking on the Instagram link her friend had sent over. There, she saw a post from a woman named Gina, saying that she and Heath had hooked up last night. Heath was barely in the photo, but Camille would recognize him anywhere.
Jealousy congealed in her belly, and she clicked off the Instagram post in disgust. Texting Sheila back, she wrote, Doesn’t matter to me.
But it did. The jealousy roiling through her told her exactly how she felt about Heath going on a date with this unknown woman with her breasts practically falling out of her top. But Lord, what had she expected? That because he’d gone shopping with her and they’d had sex again, that he would suddenly want to commit to her and only her?
Of course not.
Yes, she’d started to believe he’d changed from the cocky boy he’d been. That he was truly a good man, with far more to him than he let the rest of the world see. But just because he was funny and lived with his grandfather and maybe even cared about her a little didn’t mean she had the right to expect anything from him, let alone a commitment.
Besides, she had other things to think about. Namely, volunteering in Emma’s class now that school had started again. And Emma’s party, which was coming up in two weeks. She’d already sent out the invites to Emma’s friends—and to Heath, she remembered with a grimace—and the RSVPs were coming in a steady stream. She just hoped she had enough room in her house to host all of these kids.
“Hey Emma, come help me with this!” Camille called.
Emma came into the kitchen. “What, Mom?”
“I need you to help me tie these ribbons on the party favors we’re giving out.” She’d found little tea sets at the Dollar Store that she’d bought up, and she’d wrapped them in pirate wrapping paper. “Come sit and let me use your finger.”
Emma sighed a little, but she did as she was told. She held out her finger, and Camille used it to press down the ribbon and then tie the ribbon around the boxes. Using scissors to make the ribbon curly, the pile of boxes grew steadily as the afternoon passed.
“I got an RSVP from Isabella today,” Camille said.
Isabella and Emma had been fighting—over what, exactly, she had yet to figure out—but she’d been glad to see that Isabella would still be attending Emma’s party.
Her daughter, though, sniffed like she’d encountered something disgusting. “I don’t want her to come.”
“Why not, honey?”
“She tattled on me to Mrs. Travers when I used the glitter without asking. She was just mad that Ethan asked me to be his girlfriend and not her.”
Camille hid a smile at Emma’s serious tone. To be a kid again, worrying about the teacher scolding you for using glitter! Mrs. Travers had already told Camille the part about the glitter, but she hadn’t known Isabella had tattled. But she also knew Emma took things rather seriously, so she didn’t laugh at her. Instead, she said, “Isabella didn’t do a nice thing, you’re right. But you also disobeyed your teacher. So I’m thinking you were both in the wrong.”
Emma didn’t reply, which generally meant she knew her mom was right and didn’t want to admit it.
“I know you’re mad, but life’s too short to stay mad at a friend. I hope you’ll forgive her.”
Wrinkling her nose, Emma replied, “I guess.”
After finishing up the tea set boxes, Camille heard her phone sound. She really hoped it wasn’t Sheila with another text that linked to some social media post about Heath, but to her surprise, it was Heath himself. Anger filled her—he sure had some gall, to contact her after hooking up with some other woman!
What are you doing?
Making dinner.
Great, what time should I be there?
You’re not invited, Dawson.
She waited for his response, and even began to feel guilty, imagining hurt in his silence. But that was ridiculous. Like Heath Dawson didn’t have better things to do than have dinner with her and Emma.
You pissed at me for some reason, Watergirl?
Not at all. Just stating a fact. Besides, it looks like you’re not hurting for company.
Ugh, why had she texted that? It virtually declared her jealousy. B
ut when Heath’s text came, it wasn’t a response she’d expected.
You shouldn’t believe everything you see, Watergirl. But I understand.
Lord, if it was possible for a text to communicate disappointment and weariness, his did.
Was it possible he actually wanted to spend time with her and her daughter over the kind of women he was photographed with. Since they’d been reunited, he’d been cocky and funny and infuriating, but he’d been sweet and kind and generous, too, even outside of bed.
What would it hurt to invite him over for dinner?
It wasn’t like anything would happen between them with Emma here.
I was just kidding before, about you not being invited. If you’d like to join us for DINNER, I’m sure Emma would be thrilled.
There, even if he didn’t buy that she was extending the invitation on Emma’s behalf only, at least she’d emphasized that dinner was all she was offering.
Dinner sounds great. What’s your address?
With shaky hands, Camille texted it to him.
See you ladies soon.
Chapter Fifteen
Heath made a quick stop before driving to Camille’s place. When he drove up to the neat little two-story house two hours after hanging up with Camille, Heath rang the doorbell and waited, hands behind his back with his surprise. Finally, Camille opened the door—her dark hair in a neat top-knot on top of her head and wearing jeans and a t-shirt—and his heart pounded. God, she was beautiful. She wore little makeup, but her peaches and cream complexion shone regardless. He wanted to lick her and taste her and consume her. He shifted, trying not to be too obvious. Especially when a little girl pushed her way through, her face one of awe and excitement.
