Undisputed

by A. S. Teague

  Pulling up to the front of her house, I realize I’m not ready for the night to end. I don’t think I have ever held a conversation with a woman for that long. Sidney was a bit quirky at times, telling me about her list-making obsession and tendency to think worst-case scenario in all situations. But she was also funny and could hold her own with my teasing.

  Once she’d had a few glasses of wine, she really loosened up, and before I knew it, she was laughing and telling me all about her wild college days. I had a hard time believing she was an active participant in some of the stories, but she promised that Abby would corroborate them.

  Still smiling at the thought of her sledding naked down a hill, I turn toward where she is quietly sitting in the passenger’s seat. She’s lost in thought, staring at her house out the window.

  Squeezing the fingers laced in mine, I gently prompt, “What’s on your mind?”

  Tearing her gaze away from the house, she looks into my eyes for a few moments. “I had such a good time tonight. I’m not really ready for it to end.” Sighing, she tips her chin towards the window. “Sometimes, it’s nice to take a break from the real world, ya know? Pretend that my life isn’t a mess.”

  I want to say something to comfort her, but I can’t imagine what her life’s been like these last few months. Hell, years. So the right thing to say escapes me.

  She brings our joined hands up to her lips and softly kisses my fingers. “Thanks for giving me a perfect night,” she whispers.

  Those simple words cause my chest to constrict. Sitting in front of me is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and she’s thanking me for a great night.

  Leaning forward, I palm her face with both hands and crash my mouth to hers. In my desperation to taste her, our teeth clack together, but it doesn’t stop her from grabbing my shirt and pulling my body against hers. The gear shift digs into my leg, but with the way she is clinging to me, I couldn’t care less. Her breasts press into my chest through the thin fabric of her dress, fueling my desire for her.

  Taking control of the kiss by angling her head to the side, Sidney thrusts her tongue into my mouth. Encouraged by her sudden aggression, I move my hands to her waist and drag her onto my lap. Her dress rides up sinfully high, and all I can feel under my hands is the smooth skin of her bare thigh.

  Groaning at the contact of my cock with her core, I run my hand up the side of her body and around to palm her full breasts. Her hand snakes up the back of my neck, the tips of her nails biting my scalp. I tease my thumb across her peaked nipple, and she lets out a strangled moan that causes my cock to twitch. I move a hand around to grip her ass while using my other to knead her breast.

  She begins to rock back and forth in my lap, the friction causing my erection to grow impossibly harder. I can’t get enough of her and wrap my arm around her waist to pull her even closer.

  As I press kisses down the side of her slender throat, she leans her head to the side to give me more access. Letting out a breathy sigh, she continues to grind against my cock. I want to be inside her more than I’ve ever wanted anything before, but not in the front seat of my tiny-ass car. Mentally kicking myself for not having driven Velma tonight, I continue to weigh our options. While I can’t take her inside and do all the things I’d like to, I also can’t let her go inside unsatisfied.

  Getting her off in the front seat of my car may not have been on Tripp’s list of dating must-dos, but even I can see that it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

  Sliding my hand up her thigh, I’m greeted by silk panties—and they’re soaked.

  “Fuck,” I groan, pressing my thumb against her clit.

  Her whole body shivers, and she attempts to spread her legs wider in our confined space.

  Lazily, I begin rubbing circles through the thin material covering her drenched pussy. Breaking the contact with her neck, I lean back and peer at her face. Her lips are swollen and parted slightly.

  “Open your eyes, Sidney.”

  They flutter open, and it takes her a moment to focus on my face.

  When I finally know she’s completely with me, I say, “I want you. But not here.”

  Disappointment mars her pretty features, but she nods.

  “But that doesn’t mean I won’t make you come all over my fingers before we say goodnight.” I give her a wicked grin before taking her mouth again.

  Swallowing another of her delicious moans, I pull her panties to the side before thrusting a finger into her pussy. Immediately, she clenches around me. My cock jumps, probably from jealousy, as she begins to ride my hand. Using my thumb, I rub her sensitive nub. I add a second finger, and soon, she’s riding my fingers at a frenzied pace.

  My balls tighten, but I fight it back. God, I could come from only watching her.

  Her mouth tears away from mine just a moment before she begins to pulse around my fingers. The sounds she makes while coming are the most erotic noises I’ve ever heard, and if I thought I couldn’t be any more turned on, I was wrong. She throws her head back and her hair brushes along the arm I have wrapped around her waist as she continues to milk my fingers.

  When she finally stills, she leans forward and rests her head on my shoulder, panting. I press kisses on to the side of her head and rub slow circles on her back.

  Clearing her throat, Sidney leans back and looks at me. She opens her mouth to speak, but I brush a gentle kiss on her lips.

  “Thank you for a perfect night. You better answer when I call…tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.” Blushing, she bites her bottom lip and nods shyly.

  I open my door, and she climbs out, adjusting the hem of her dress before turning to go inside. I climb out behind her and wrap my arm around her shoulders, leading her to the front door. Then I place a soft kiss on her lips and whisper, “Tomorrow.”

  She nods once and slips inside. I stand on the porch until I hear the click of the deadbolt and then make my way back to my car. Inside, the scent of her perfume lingers and the memory of her moans plays in my head.

  Yeah, I definitely need more of that.

  A mere week ago, the thought terrified me. But tonight? It feels so right.

  Walking in o my house after our date that night, I felt lighter than I had in years. So to say that I am a disappointed that it has been nearly two weeks since I saw Breccan is a massive understatement.

  Breccan has been out of town, training for his upcoming fight, and even though I have been tempted to make the two-hour drive, I can’t get away because of Connor’s appointments and Thanksgiving. Despite not being able to see each other, we have managed to talk and text daily, even Face-Timing once or twice.

  I haven’t had a serious boyfriend since I moved in with Abby, and I was worried that the getting-to-know-you process would be awkward. But, with Breccan, it’s been fun. He is easy to talk to, and our conversations never drag or lull. Breccan keeps me laughing, just like he did that night at Raw, even when our conversations turn serious.

  The casual chats and random texts from him make me forget that he’s a celebrity. And, while he often throws out a sexual innuendo or two during our late-night talks, never once has he made me feel like he is only interested in getting me into bed. It is a far cry from the stories I read about him during my obsessive Google search after I’d met him.

  Even after he had shown up randomly and then promised to help with Connor’s list, I was leery of his intentions. But these last few weeks have erased any doubts. Every morning, his texts always start out with an endearing name, like beautiful or baby. He always asks how Connor is doing at some point during our conversation, and when I was honest and told him that he wasn’t well, his concern was genuine.

  Breccan and I were finally able to carve out some alone time in our hectic schedules and I found it cute the way he asked me to come to his apartment. He offered to cook, but then he admitted that it would probably be something from a box since he hasn’t had much practice. Worried about him burning the place down in an attempt to im
press me, I told him that I’d handle it. The relief in his voice was evident when he told me that he pretty much likes anything and I should make whatever is easiest.

  I agonized for days over what to make before finally settling on gorgonzola-crusted steak with baked sweet potato and fresh green beans. Every man likes steak, and it could be fancy while not requiring a ton of effort.

  I don’t want to break a sweat and ruin the makeup and hair I’ve spent hours on.

  With an arm full of groceries, I walk through the double doors of the lobby and approach the doorman. “Uhm, hi.”

  He glances at me, a bored look on his face, “Hello and welcome to the High Point Community. How can I help you?” His tone matches his expression.

  “I’m here to see Breccan Carlisle. Uh, he’s expecting me,” I tell him hesitantly, shifting the heavy bags in my arms.

  Looking me up and down, he smirks. “Oh really? You’re not his usual type of visitor. Name?”

  “It’s Sidney O’Neil,” I snap back. I’m irritated by what he’s suggesting, but I bite my tongue. I just want to get upstairs and see Breccan.

  Dryly, he says, “Oh, look. You are on the list. Who would have guessed,” before ushering me into an elevator reserved for the penthouse.

  I find myself laughing at the thought of being on an approved-visitors list.

  When did I become that woman?

  The elevator dumps me out on Brec’s floor, and my stomach drops when I see him leaning against his door, his phone to his ear. He’s wearing gym shorts and a sweaty shirt that’s clinging to his muscles in all the right places. When I step out, he glances up and the sexiest grin I’ve ever seen appears on his face.

  Still smiling at me, he says into the phone, “Reb, got to go. Sid just got here. Yeah. Okay. You too.” After ending his call, he takes a step forward and removes half the bags from my hands. “Hey. You look great. I’m sorry I’m gross. Mark kept me at the gym late. I think he did it on purpose. Anyway, do you mind if I take a quick shower?”

  I don’t tell him that what he considers gross is making me drool. “Of course. But, once you’re done, will you give me the grand tour?” I ask, hoping that the tour will begin and end in his bedroom.

  Leaning in, he brushes a light kiss across my lips. After two weeks without the feel of his lips on mine, I have to use every ounce of restraint I possess to not drop the groceries and jump him here in the hall.

  When he pulls away a faint smile plays at the corners of his mouth, and it doesn’t take a mind reader to know he feels the same.

  As he opens the door to his apartment, I find myself nervous.

  “Make yourself at home,” he says. “The kitchen is on your right. I’ve got a bottle of wine in the fridge for you. I’ll just be a couple of minutes.” He gestures towards a kitchen that’s twice the size of ours.

  The appliances are state of the art, and I fantasize about making Christmas dinner on the six-burner restaurant-grade stove.

  After opening several cabinets, I finally give up on finding a wine glass and settle for a plastic cup from the local barbeque restaurant. I pull the fridge open, shocked at the contents. I fully expected to see nothing but beer and moldy takeout containers. Instead, I’m greeted by a fully stocked vegetable-and-fruit drawer, an entire shelf devoted to bottled water, and multiple Tupperware containers labeled chicken, eight ounces. It’s easy to forget sometimes that he’s a professional athlete.

  I locate the bottle of Pinot Grigio, smiling that he remembered my favorite wine, and fill my plastic cup. I hear the shower running as I begin pulling pans out to start dinner while contemplating joining him. I stave off the desire—barely—and pull up my favorite cooking playlist on my phone. When Tupac starts singing about his mama, I get lost in the task at hand.

  The steak is resting on the counter when I notice a messy stack of mail on the corner of the bar. I’m not a nosy woman, but I am a neat woman. Just the sight of half torn envelopes nearly toppling over makes my eyes twitch. After ignoring it as long as I can, I finally give in and move to straighten it up. I’m sorting through it by size when a single sheet of paper catches my attention.

  As I pick it up, a twinge of guilt hits me for reading his mail, but I rationalize that I’m not actually snooping. Just cleaning—or so I tell myself. The paper is a lab report from the local hospital. Breccan’s name and date of birth are at the top. Scanning it, I begin to worry that it’s results from an STD screen.

  What if it’s positive?

  I rack my brain for sexually transmitted diseases you can get from kissing and fingering.

  Then add a trip to the doctor to my mental to-do list for next week.

  My mind is spinning out of control when I’m stopped in my tracks. In bold are three words I’m all too familiar with:

  Not a match.

  My mouth falls open as I read those words over and over.

  Not a match for what?

  Even as I question it, I know.

  Glancing back at the top of the page, I see the words that have haunted me these last few months.

  Blood type and tissue type are not a match for patient Connor O’Neil, DOB: 02/26/2004.

  My heart feels as though it’s going to pound right out of my chest, and I’m having a hard time catching my breath. My vision begins to blur as tears fill my eyes. I’m frozen in place, holding the paper in my shaking hand, and I can’t stop the sob that escapes my lips.

  Behind me, Breccan says, “Sidney? You okay?” He places a hand on my shoulder.

  I whirl around, the paper still clutched in my hands. He looks down at what I’m holding, the concern on his face morphing into anger.

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “You were tested?” I have so many questions, but I’m having a hard time finding my voice.

  He takes two steps backwards and runs his hands through his hair, “You were going through my mail.” It’s a statement.

  “No. The clutter on the end of the counter was making me crazy. I was just trying to straighten it up.” I move towards him, but he backs away.

  Snatching the paper from my hands, he crumples it up and throws it before roaring, “Fuck!”

  Flinching at his outburst, I straighten my shoulders “Hey, what’s going on here? Are you mad because I read your mail?”

  “You were going through my shit. What were you looking for?” His chest heaves.

  The guilt I was feeling is replaced by anger. I wasn’t going through his mail, and I’ve already told him that. My phone is still blaring in the background, only now it’s Biggie rapping about money and problems. I snatch the phone of the counter to turn the music off before turning back to Breccan. The sudden silence is oppressing.

  After taking a deep breath to calm myself, I say evenly, “I was not going through your mail, Breccan. I was organizing the mail in piles by size when it caught my attention. I’m sorry I invaded your privacy.”

  I’m not really sorry though. I want to know why he was tested and when. But I can’t ask him those questions now. Holding my breath, I wait to see how he responds.

  Surprising me, he drops his head and mumbles, “Fuck my privacy, Sid.”

  Well, that was an unexpected one-eighty.

  “Uh, okay. Then what are you so pissed about?”

  He looks up at me and the pain in his eyes causes me to freeze. “Why the fuck is no one a match for him? It’s not fucking fair!” He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “I’m twenty-six years old and I don’t have shit to show for myself. All I do is fuck up. Shit, I can’t even give away one of my kidneys.” He paces back and forth then finally stops speaking.

  My heart breaks in two. His anger has nothing to do with me. Breccan’s devastated because he can’t save Connor. It’s a feeling I know all too well.

  Tears spill down my cheeks as I launch myself into his arms. This time, instead of backing away from me, he wraps his strong arms around my waist and doesn’t let go. Burying my face in his chest, I begin to sob. But I’m not ju
st crying for Connor. After months of being strong for everyone else, I finally let go.

  Breccan holds me tight while my body is racked with anguish. He doesn’t try to offer soothing words because he knows as well as I do that there are none to be had. Instead, he just places gentle kisses in my hair and rubs his hands up and down my back. Even after the tears have stopped flowing, he continues to comfort me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. After clearing my throat, I speak a little louder. “I’m sure the last thing you wanted to do tonight was comfort your crying girlfriend.”

  His body stiffens and he stops the slow circles he was rubbing on my back. “Whoa, uh.. Let’s not get carried away,” he says.

  I push back from his chest, and he does nothing to stop me. I peer at him through wet eyelashes.

  “What?” I don’t know what his reaction means, but suddenly, it feels as though I swallowed a ten-pound weight.

  “I mean, we don’t need to put a label on it.”

  My voice is shaky when I ask, “A label on what?”

  He waves his hand back and forth between us. “This.”

  My laugh is void of any actual humor, and I repeat his action with my hand. “This? You mean us?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I mean, we’re having a good time, right? I just don’t want to mess things up by giving each other titles.” He searches my face before adding, “You know, things always seem to go downhill when you make them official.”

  I blink at him for several beats and then back away. I’m embarrassed to have assumed that our relationship was exclusive. But, more than being embarrassed, I’m pissed that Breccan’s too afraid to admit to himself that I’m more than just some random girl he picked up.

  Trying to keep my voice even, I say, “Okay, then what exactly is this? Because it sure as hell isn’t just fucking. That usually requires…ya know, fucking.”

  He recoils from my words but doesn’t respond.

  Frustrated, I throw my arms out to my sides. “I don’t know why I expected more from you.” I stalk to the kitchen and snatch my purse off the counter. After spying my cup of wine, I pick it up and take a large gulp before slamming it back on the counter.