Playing For Forever: An Erotic Love Story (Playing For Keeps Book 3)

by J. C. Grant

  “I can just text you her number,” Tara offered.

  “No, David checks all of my texts.”

  She didn't seem surprised by that in the least.

  “Email?” she checked. “Smoke signals, telepathy?”

  I laughed. “Email.”

  David had access to my email, but he never checked it. Mostly because I rarely used it.

  We ended the call just as I arrived at the gym.

  Shawn greeted me as soon as I emerged from the car.

  “Hi, Mrs. Taylor, how was your vacation?”

  I couldn’t help but smile, he was always so happy to see me. And after the tense morning with David it was a welcome change.

  “Good, Shawn, thank you.”

  Heading inside, I went straight to David's office, putting my stuff away. It felt awkward. I knew we had a manager now, but I'd never met him, and I had no idea where his office was.

  Stopping by the front desk, I asked Kelly, “Hey, is the manager here? What's his name?”

  “Oh yeah, Mike. You haven't met him yet?”

  “No,” I whispered, glancing around the gym, feeling oddly out of place.

  “Want me to call him up here?” Kelly offered sweetly.

  “No, no, I was just wondering,” I quickly backpedaled.

  “Hey.” I heard a deep voice from behind me. “You new?”

  I turned, finding a wall of bare muscle. Then my eyes finally landed on his face. He was young, blondish, deep blue eyes, and admittedly really attractive.

  “No,” I answered simply.

  “I joined here in November. I’ve never seen you here.”

  I couldn't tell if he was trying to be a smart-ass or trying to be cute.

  Before I could respond with a truly smart-ass remark, Kelly chimed in, “She's been on vacation.”

  Those deep blue eyes darted to Kelly then back to me. “For over a month? Nice vacation. Where'd you go?”

  “Aspen,” I answered, getting annoyed. This guy was attractive, no doubt, but due to David’s behavior this morning and the fact I didn't enjoy being hit on, or even engaging in small talk with strangers, I wanted to put him in his place.

  But before I could say anything else, he asked, “What do you do?”

  “Me.” David's voice boomed behind me. “She does me.”

  Within seconds, David's body pressed up behind me, his thick pec against my shoulder. His hand gripped my hip, pulling me back into him, while Chances tail wagged his body, making him bump into my leg.

  I was annoyed David made it sound like I was a gold digger or prostitute, as if my only purpose in life was fucking him, but was relieved for the chat to be over.

  I watched as Blue Eyes’ expression shifted from amused to understanding.

  “Oh, hey, David Taylor. It's nice to meet you.” He extended his hand. “I'm Kal Crawford.”

  After an awkward moment, David took his offered hand, caging me with his hand at my hip and the one stretched out in front of me. The move clearly said, Mine.

  Whether the message was for me or Kal, I didn’t know. But we both received it clearly.

  “Kal, I'm sure we'll get along just fine, as long as you remember she's my wife and you stay away from her—at least an arm’s length.” David's voice was smooth, but his body was rigid as the hand on my hip tightened possessively. The tension radiating off him was suffocating.

  It took a moment for Kal to realize David wasn't kidding.

  “Shit, sorry.” He stepped back. “No problem, I didn't even realize you were married.”

  I wondered if David was starting to realize that his little publicity push of our nuptials wasn't as effective as he'd hoped.

  “Now that you know, there won't be any more confusion.” David's tone was slightly accusing. “See you later.”

  David's fingers entwined with mine, pulling me back with him toward the office. He didn’t say another word about Kal or ask any questions about what happened before he arrived.

  Which was very odd behavior for him.

  We made it through our workout with ease, mostly because the Aspen house had a fully outfitted basement gym that we used almost daily.

  After our workout, we showered. And by showered, I mean a soapy exploration of our bodies that resulted in a few orgasms. Once he was satisfied I was clean, I quickly dried off. He watched blatantly, but lazily as I clasped my bra, pulled on some ripped boyfriend jeans, and an off-the-shoulder tee. When I grabbed my boots, he finally started moving, grabbing my discarded towel and wrapping it around himself.

  “I'm out, babe,” I murmured, as I stood from tying my boots, leaning into his towel-clad body.

  “Be careful, sweetheart,” he whispered against my lips, before giving me a chaste kiss. “Meet you at home.”

  I studied him a moment, put off by his non-aggressive, non-overbearing behavior. I couldn't help but wonder if maybe I'd been too pliant in Aspen, too agreeable if I wasn't getting a warning, Go straight home, no side trips, call me when you get there.

  Especially since my colonic therapist had a no cell phone policy now.

  Unnerved but not willing to saying anything, I headed to my appointment while David stayed at the gym.

  David

  I pulled on my jeans and sat at my desk, staring at the door my wife had just left through.

  My need to claim her hadn't lessened with time; it was only growing stronger. I needed something more permanent, something tangible, something that bound us together.

  It had started when she got the show, this need.

  But Aspen had only intensified it.

  I hated to admit it, but I was jealous of her mother. Jealous of their relationship. Jealous of the time they spent together. It was seriously fucked up, but that's how I felt. And feeling that way just made me feel more inadequate.

  Especially after Evelyn arrived in Aspen and asked me if I'd considered offering Dawn a kind of “severance pay” to leave us alone.

  If I could've disappeared under a rock, I would've.

  I didn't feel needed. I felt a bit like a burden. Particularly because Dawn was still intruding on our lives, on Austin's.

  Austin made everything right for me.

  What did I offer her?

  Money and a big dick?

  That's how I felt.

  Logically, I knew there was so much more between us, but I didn't feel it. It felt like she would wake up any day now and realize she could do better.

  And finding her talking to that guy this morning...

  I picked up the gym phone, calling Fergus.

  “I need a favor.”

  Austin

  By the time noon rolled around, I was climbing into my car. And I was starving.

  I dialed David to see if he would grab lunch on his way home from the gym, on the third ring his voicemail picked up. I stared unseeingly out the window. Stunned.

  As I listened to the automated message, there was a dull feeling in my chest, a hollowness. I didn't know what the feeling meant, but I didn't like it. Ending the call, I started the car as my mind raced to find a reasonable explanation, but I came up with nothing. David always answered when I called.

  Always.

  This was what I’d been afraid of, the reason I hadn’t asked him what was wrong. Not waiting for me to eat, giving me space, no questions or warnings, not answering my calls... Was he was tired of me?

  Had it been a mistake to let him in, let him really see me? I knew—for most men—my allure was the mystery, the fact they never really got to know me. I was the puzzle they could never solve. But for David that mystery was gone now.

  When I arrived home and still hadn't heard from him, I tried to distract myself. I checked my email, then called the woman Tara had suggested for the lap dance lessons, booking a private appointment for the following day.

  Just as I was ending the call, the door to the garage opened and David walked in.

  “Where've you been?” I demanded.

  “Sorry,
I couldn't answer earlier.” He was so calm, like nothing was wrong as he crossed the room toward me. “Then Elaine called.”

  An excuse, a pitiful, awful, vague excuse.

  A sick feeling of dread crawled through me.

  Fear kept me from asking the real questions, afraid of the devastation from hearing him confirm my suspicions.

  “What's wrong with your finger?” I managed around the lump in my throat.

  “Got a tattoo,” he said casually when he sat next to me on the couch.

  It took a few seconds for me to process his words, it was so far from where my mind had been.

  “You what?” I asked in disbelief.

  “I got a tattoo. For you, because I won’t be wearing my ring during the season,” he explained as he peeled the bandage off.

  “Why?” I asked as I stared at his finger, now swollen and red, with my name tattooed where his wedding band should be.

  “Sweetheart, it would drive me crazy with this ring rubbing up against a bat.” He pulled his ring out of his pocket, holding it up for a moment before setting it on the ottoman.

  He had completely misinterpreted my question. I wanted to know why he hadn’t told me, asked me, or even talked to me about the tattoo. Although, I’d admit, it was a little disconcerting to know he wouldn’t be wearing his ring while he was away.

  He continued, “And this ring means the fucking world to me. I don't want some fucking bat scratching it up. I don't want something I hate, touching something I love.”

  That made me pause. “You hate baseball?”

  He shrugged. “It's the only way I can make real money for us, so I'll deal. Won't hurt that the endorsements'll stick around a little longer.”

  That was my opportunity, if ever there was going to be one, to tell him not to play. But I said nothing, too dumbfounded by the events of the day. Because what he was saying didn’t add up. His reason for the tattoo and his behavior all morning... He was lying, I knew it in my gut.

  But I refused to confront him; if he wanted to lie to me, then I was going to let him. So, with my heart in my throat, I nodded. “Okay.”

  His eyebrows pulled together as he watched me. Confused. After a moment he asked, “Why were you calling earlier?”

  “Oh, nothing, just lunch.” It seemed stupid now.

  “Oh, shit. Yeah, I'll go grab something. Or do you want to go out?” he offered, eager to please.

  I could tell my lack of response to his tattoo was bothering him, but what was there to say? He’d already done it.

  “No, actually, I think I'm going to lie down.” I was exhausted. Whether from jet lag or the stress, I couldn’t tell. And honestly, I didn't care. I just wanted to rest.

  Lie down? Fuck, I'm turning into an old lady.

  I pushed to my feet and headed for the bedroom.

  “Okay.” His voice was unsure. “I'll go pick up something.”

  I didn’t respond and I didn’t look back. I went straight to our room, changed into a sweatshirt and shorts and crawled into bed. Covering my face with my hands, my jaw clenched and I took a deep breath. It was surreal. How had we gone from blissful five weeks to this?

  *****

  I didn’t know how long I'd been lying there when I heard David's voice.

  “Sweet girl, I didn't get the tattoo for you,” he confessed in a low, hushed tone. It reminded me of how someone would confess to cheating.

  Rolling over, I found him standing just inside our bedroom doorway.

  “I should've said something to you first. Just wanted a constant physical reminder... Proof I'm married to you—that you’re mine. I need it.” His tone was pleading with me to understand.

  Something in my chest tightened at his expression.

  “Why?” I whispered.

  “It’s so fucked up.” He came over to the bed, crawling up next to me. I’d never seen him like this, he was like a completely different person. Ashamed, embarrassed. He settled on his stomach, looking at the pillow. “I was jealous of your mom.”

  His eyes darted to me, gaging my reaction. But honestly, I was too lost to have one.

  “Your relationship, I’ll never be that close to you. And your mom... after all that Dawn shit...”

  It was obvious that our experiences in Aspen had been vastly different. And to say that didn’t crush me a little would be a lie.

  “Oh, my God.” My voice was barely a whisper. Running my fingers through his dark hair, I sighed. I had completely misunderstood his vibe all morning.

  “I’ll never have what you two have...” He spoke to his pillow, his fingers playing with the edge. “And it’s so fucked to even feel that way.”

  It hurt to see him so upset.

  Letting my hand rest on his neck, my fingers played with the hair there as I tried to explain, “David, I was terrified to let you in—panicked as hell—but I had no idea how good it would feel.”

  He looked at me then, his eyes filled with regret and shame.

  “You’re one of us, we love you, you not getting out now,” I promised, my voice rough with emotion.

  He swallowed thickly, and reached over, wrapping his arms around me, burying his face in my chest. He squeezed me tight and took a shuttered breath. I realized then, he was trying not to cry.

  My hands glided over his neck, shoulders and back, comforting him.

  “And hey, as far as Mom goes... She’s known about Dawn since I found out about her. She’s the one who told me to let it go, that it was to be expected. No big deal.”

  Looking up at me, expression was both surprised and hopeful. “Really?”

  I grinned. “Yeah, it pissed me off, I stopped talking to her about it.”

  He nestled his head back into my breasts, taking a deep breath.

  “So, the tattoo...” I prompted.

  “I wanted to feel more connected to you,” he mumbled into my chest.

  It was fucking adorable.

  “Kinda mad you didn’t tell me, or let me have a say,” I admitted quietly.

  In the next second, he was pulling the covers back, climbing inside, kissing his way down my body until his face was level with my hips, whispering, “I'm sorry.”

  As his lips moved toward my inner thigh, I couldn't help but smile. He wanted to fuck the sadness away. And I wasn't about to stop him.

  *****

  Three weeks passed by in a blur. What I had considered busy before the holidays was nothing compared to our current schedule.

  I'd spent the past week finding David a house to live in during spring training. Truth was, I asked him to let me do it; I wanted contribute to our relationship, to feel equal to him. Letting him do everything all the time, I didn’t feel like we had a partnership. I mean, I loved that he took care of me. It was amazing. But I wanted to feel like I brought something to the table, other than my pussy and great sex.

  Now I had the task of finding a decorator to furnish the house. Between that, finishing two more episodes, dance classes, my trainer, my colonics, and keeping up our routine, I was exhausted.

  I sat on the couch, opening my laptop, searching Los Angeles adventures.

  We'd had a great morning, despite David's displeasure with my workout with Tracy. He had been taking our workouts more seriously since Tracy was training me twice a week, almost as if it was a competition. I couldn't deny I felt a little like a bone being fought over—at least from David's side. As fucked up as it was, I kinda loved it.

  Another thing I’d noticed over the past weeks was David’s tattoo. He was so proud of it; he would puff up his chest a little and stand a little taller when anyone asked him about it.

  And that’s how I came to the conclusion to get one myself, to help him feel that connection he was seeking. I had spent five days deciding where and what, to only realize I had no idea how to find a good tattoo artist. Unwilling to put the fate of my flesh in the hands of Yelp, I’d asked Fergus. Now he was my accomplice, in hiding the dance classes—he drove me to and from—and our fl
esh branding mission later in the evening.

  I still hadn’t come up with a cover story for my tattoo, and the appointment was only hours away. And considering David’s mood... I needed a distraction.

  “How much do you weigh?” I called out to David, who was standing at the kitchen island with his freshly made protein shake. His hair was still damp from our shower at the gym, the inky strands falling over his eyes. The black athletic shorts he wore, hung low on his hips, exposing those sinfully honed muscles. He'd amped up his workouts quite a bit, prepping for the season, and it showed.

  “Two twenty.” After a minute, he looked up and asked, “Why? Trying to figure how much you need to weight me to the bottom of the ocean?”

  I couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up out of me.

  He continued on, undeterred, “You’d have all the money, the house, the cars. You’d be set.”

  My laugh grew louder as I visualized trying to fit him with cement boots.

  “Okay, that laugh is not a joking laugh,” he added as he rounded the island and made his way over to me. “Now you’re starting to make me worry."

  “I'm sorry,” I managed to say through my continued laughter.

  He sat heavily on the couch by my feet. “What the fuck is so funny? And why do you wanna know how much I weigh?” He wasn’t angry, but he was trying to be. The amusement in his eyes gave him away.

  “It's a surprise.” I instinctively pulled my feet in tighter and the laptop closer.

  “Yeah, well... I'll know what's going on if you rent a yacht for my birthday.”

  “David,” I said through newly building laughter. He was desperate to know what he was getting.

  He'd tried everything to wear me down; looked like this was his form of trying to guilt me into telling.

  “Sweet girl, you're getting a lot of freedom right now. Hope you're not getting any ideas.” He gave me a mischievous side-eyed glare.

  “How am I getting a lot of freedom right now?” I asked in disbelief.