by Erika Kelly
He didn’t say anything, and awareness broke over her like a cracked egg. Don’t forget that he walked away, stayed away for seven years. He’d had no intention of ever seeing you again.
Oh, God. He was talking about a childhood crush, and she was standing here gushing at him. “I mean, I know you don’t love me anymore. Of course. Obviously. I’m just saying that you’ve given me a whole new perspective on my childhood, and it’s pretty damn amazing. We’re good, though. We can work together without you thinking that I’m, like…that I expect…you know, that I think you’re still in love with me.” She laughed, but it sounded as phony as it felt. “Anyhow. I just wanted to say I believe you. That’s a big moment for me, not you, so I obviously shouldn’t have woken you up to tell you. I could’ve kept that one to myself. So, anyhow. I’m a weirdo. Goodnight.” She gave him a smile she was pretty sure could only be found in a Fun House hall of mirrors and started to go.
But his years of training served him well, because his arm shot out, wrapped around her waist, and jerked her against his hot, hard chest. “Never keep anything to yourself.” He leaned in until she could smell the toothpaste on his breath and the clean-linen scent on his skin. “I love every fucking thing that comes out of your mouth.”
And then he pressed those beautiful lips to hers, and her heart exploded. Desire, sharp and fierce, burst in her core, the current so strong it flooded every fiber and tissue in her body. Immediately, she lost herself in the feel of his smooth, warm skin and the command of his tongue as it took possession of hers.
Gray’s kiss started with supreme confidence, making it feel like he was in charge, that she was along for the ride—a thrilling but controlled ride. One you knew couldn’t go off the rails.
And then it faltered. He let out a sigh that sounded desperate. The power of his touch gave way to a tremble in his arms, and his body heated up to blistering.
His control turned reckless, wild. She’d never been kissed like this—like he needed to gobble her up but couldn’t get all of her in at once. Like he needed to consume her, get his fill before she was snatched away. Everything about Gray—his scent, the way his strong hands roamed her back as though he couldn’t believe he got to touch her—the passion in his embrace—lit her up, flipped on all the lights—and she wanted it. She wanted this torrent of yearning and desire and need.
Until those strong hands slid down and cupped her ass and gave her a lusty squeeze. The press of his rock-hard erection against her stomach sent up warning flares—sex—and, God, sex with Gray Bowie?
Panic had her pushing him away. “I…” Her fingertips brushed across her sensitive lips.
Those blue eyes worked hard to read her, his chest pumping, arms still curved around her, so that if she took one step forward her bottom would fit snugly back in his hands.
And it struck her—like really hit her hard—how much she wanted that.
“I’m sorry.” What was she doing? “I…goodnight.”
Wind—too cold for mid-September—cut through Gray’s sweatshirt. People gathered at the bottom of the ramp, his brothers and a bunch of guys who’d come out of the training facility to catch his final run of the day.
He sucked in what was meant to be a calming breath, but it hurt, like there was a vise around his lungs. That damn kiss. It kept popping up like a game of Whac-A-Mole. He’d stomp it out, and then, out of nowhere, it’d pop back up, taunting him. Landing like a punch to his solar plexus.
Breathe. He took in the dark gray mountain range, the bright snow draped across the summits like a sparkling, white blanket, and the brilliant blue sky. Hurt like fuck to fully accept it, but…
His heart didn’t want him.
She’d responded to his kiss—her body had gone hot, her hands clutched at him, no question about that—but when she’d pushed him away, he’d understood it was different for her. She’d never seen him as anything other than a friend, and then out of nowhere he’d declared his love for her and…it had been a shock. So, yeah, she’d responded.
But he’d seen her expression afterwards. She didn’t want him like that.
“Dude,” Brodie called from down below. “Time for your afternoon snack? Need a juice box?”
He let his middle finger answer for him. Focus. Bending his knees, he took off, gaining speed down the inflatable ramp. Anger and frustration propelled him until he launched like a rocket. A wild sense of recklessness took hold and, during that first rotation, he knew he had the speed and amplitude to pull off a triple. He shouldn’t do it—not here, not now—but, dammit, she didn’t want him.
Gripping his board, he threw himself into a third rotation, the world a blur of green, brown, and blue. As he spun, a tumult of emotion roiled like carbonation in a soda can. He spotted the airbag and…stomped his fucking landing. Hell, yeah.
His brothers went nuts, shouting and clapping.
Except Fin. “Jesus Christ, Gray.” His hands clutched the side of his head. “Are you out of your mind? You don’t pull a triple twelve-sixty on a training ramp.”
“I know, right?” Electrified, Gray made his way to the edge of the bag and jumped off, where Brodie met him with a fist bump.
“Solid,” his brother said.
Still vibrating with the rush of his trick, Gray sat on a bench and unclipped his boots. The chatter around him—the guys excitedly going over his run—tamped down the volume of his thoughts.
Until Brodie broke away and dropped onto the bench beside him. Arms folded across his chest, he watched the group talking and laughing. “He’s pissed because you took off for a few days. Not because you pulled off that trick.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got a business to run.”
His brother tipped his head back, closing his eyes against the bright sun. “I never realized how alike we are, you and me.”
“How’s that?”
“We’re businessmen, like Dad.” Brodie pushed back, stretching his legs out in front of him. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“I’m not apologizing.”
“No, but our family’s all about sports, you know? Mom made out like Dad’s business was evil because he wasn’t around much. And then, when she took off, he quit, so…nobody said anything, but it was like being a businessman was bad. Being an athlete was good.”
He could see that. Still, that hadn’t been his issue.
“I’m just saying, I get it. You need more than this.”
That’s true. “Yep.”
“I just wonder if your heart’s in it.”
His back straightened. “What’s that supposed to mean? I just pulled off a—”
“I know. I saw. I just think Dad created this…mentality when he made that damn trophy case for my Olympic medal.”
Brodie had been eighteen years old and weeks away from the Games when a childhood injury had reared up and forced his retirement.
“That was some kind of pressure to put on a kid, you know?” Brodie said. “Like I had any control over whether I’d get on that podium. And if I didn’t…I’d have to look at the empty case the rest of my life.”
“Yeah, but that came from Coach. He drilled it into us, about visualization. I think Dad just wanted you to have absolute confidence, like that medal was yours.”
“True, true.” Brodie still looked troubled. “But it wasn’t, and now it sits empty, and…I guess I want to know why you’re going for it.”
“Who else is going to?” He side-eyed his brother with a mischievous grin.
“I’m serious, man. You don’t give two shits about it.”
“You think I don’t want an Olympic medal?” He sure as hell did.
“I don’t know. I’m asking.”
“Don’t strain your brain. It’s not that complicated. I’m going for it.”
“Yeah, okay.”
He couldn’t be pissed at his brothers for not being interested in his life and then shut them out when they asked. “On some level, I want the medal to honor Dad and everything he di
d for us. It’ll close out an era, and we can all move on.” And figure out who we are outside of snow sports. “But, also? I’m going to win it because I’m sick of you guys thinking I’m a fuckin’ slacker.”
Brodie cut him a hard look. “We only know what we see.”
Well, he’d taken care of that, hadn’t he? Cat’s out of the bag.
“And if you’re going to win it,” Brodie said. “Then you’d better get your head in it.”
He started to argue, but his brother was right. He dropped his head into his hands. “Got a lot on my mind.”
“Work stuff?”
Last time he’d opened up about Knox, he’d gotten shut down. His dad’s words still reverberated in his head.
Every minute you spend alone with that girl is a betrayal to your friend.
Walk away, son. No good can come out of this.
What if she falls for you? What happens then? You going to be boyfriend and girlfriend right in front of Robert?
And the worst one of all, A man makes choices, not all of them easy. Listen to your gut. And if your gut’s not telling you to keep away from that girl, then you’re not the man I raised.
Because his gut hadn’t told him to walk away. And that meant he wasn’t the man his dad thought he knew.
It meant his dad hadn’t known him at all.
And now here he was, seven years later, right back in the mess of wanting a woman he couldn’t have. Only this time, he’d gotten the taste of her. He’d mapped the flare of her hips and curve of her ass with his hands.
Sensation shot through him, practically lifting him off the bench.
Worse, he’d felt her surrender—if only momentarily. There’s no going back from that. It might’ve been a mistake for her, but for him? It had been a game-changer.
He looked down at his boots, kicked a tuft of crab grass. “I’ve got a thing for Knox.”
Brodie stiffened.
It shouldn’t have felt this good to get it off his chest. “Always have.”
“Back when she was with Robert?” his brother asked.
“Yeah.” He let out a harsh exhalation.
“And now?”
“She doesn’t see me like that.”
Brodie looked at the inflatable ramp, watching some guys do flips. “Shit timing.”
“Timing doesn’t matter. She’s just not into me.”
“No, I mean running into her now. The next five months, you need your focus.”
“I know.”
“And you’re not going to be around much.”
“Yeah, I know that.” He must’ve been a slow learner. Why the hell did he think it was a good idea to open up about this shit again?
Brodie shifted his ass back on the bench. “You’re a winner. And not because you’re lucky or a Bowie.” Brodie turned and looked him right in the eye. “You’re a winner because you’re smart and you work your ass off. So, come back in five months and win the girl.”
Knox felt the eyes in the restaurant on her like a thousand red ants swarming on her back. She wrapped her hand around the glass of ice water, wishing she could bring it to her temple to cool herself down.
The only thing keeping her from bolting was logic. Since she’d chosen the seat facing the wall, she couldn’t see the patrons, but in all honesty, how many of them were her bullies from high school? How many recognized the back of her head and were ready to chuck their dirty napkins at her?
Besides, it was her first Ladies Night Out…ever. And the company was awesome.
“I gave it up at sixteen. To Fin.” In her slim-fitting black leather pants, suede ankle boots, and magenta-colored blouse, Callie looked like a New Yorker through and through. Chic, gorgeous, and totally sophisticated. “It hurt. It was messy. And it was over so fast I didn’t ever want to do it again.”
“Truth.” Delilah reached for her cocktail. “To the first time sucking.”
They all raised their glasses. Knox tried really hard to play along, but she couldn’t keep the creepy-crawly feeling at bay. Did anyone recognize her? Were they talking about her?
She needed to shut it down and pay attention to the conversation. The problem wasn’t that someone would recognize her—she was honestly so over the immature idiots. It was that they’d embarrass her in front of her friends.
“I lost it to Saxton Montgomery, the third.” Delilah made a comical expression. Yup, I did that. “This famous chef did a culinary program on Cape Cod the summer between junior and senior year. Sexy Saxy ‘summered’ on the Cape, and we met on the beach. He was tan and fit with floppy hair and—looking back—unnaturally white teeth.”
Knox hadn’t known Delilah long, but it was becoming clear the woman had no particular style. One day she wore kitchen clogs with leggings and a rock band T-shirt, another day she had on baggy boyfriend jeans and a slouchy cotton sweater, and tonight…tonight she rocked a dark red sweater dress that accentuated every curve on her voluptuous figure. She was a knockout.
“Sounds like boy-band hot,” Calle said.
“Totally,” Delilah said. “Anyhow, I crushed hard on him, showed up at all the places I thought he might be. Finally, he asked me out. Just the two of us for a fancy dinner. I thought it was weird, you know? Like, we’re seventeen but going out to an old school fancy restaurant. But my sister goes, ‘Well, he knows you’re there for culinary school and wants to take you somewhere nice.’” She shrugged. “I bought it.”
“Turns out he just wanted to get in your pants?” Knox said.
“Exactly. But it didn’t work. That date was so boring, I immediately lost interest in him. God, he was obnoxious, talking about his dad’s yacht and their second and third and fifteenth houses around the world.” She faked a yawn, patting her mouth. “But I guess that got his attention, because the rest of the summer he worked hard to get me.”
“He stopped being obnoxious?” Callie asked.
“He did. He dropped the act. We had some good moments. Until we finally did the deed.” She lifted her eyebrows in a look that said, Can you guess what happened next?
“Don’t tell me he ghosted you?” Callie said.
“Yep. Right after I slept with him. Never heard from him again.”
“Oh, ouch. What a dick.” Callie lifted her wine glass. “To good men who don’t objectify women.”
“To good men.” All three clinked glasses
Callie tipped her chin to Knox. “I’m guessing you gave it up to Robert.”
Knox hesitated. At the end of sixth grade, her class had taken a field trip to the community garden. She’d worked alongside Lisa Bettner. For the first half hour, Lisa had chattered nonstop, while Knox remained quiet.
Eventually, though, she’d found herself relaxing, and at one point, when Lisa had asked what her mom did for a living, Knox had said she was an artist. That she used scraps of metal she found in junkyards to make sculptures. It had all seemed innocent enough, until she’d gone back to school the next day and found herself tagged the junkyard dog, a title that had stayed with her until she’d left town at the end of senior year.
So, Knox didn’t trust easily. But there came a point when a woman couldn’t use her past as an excuse anymore. And that point was now. “I did.”
Callie started to raise her glass and, while Knox was curious to hear what the toast might be, she cut it off when she blurted, “But I was too young.”
The smiles abruptly died, and both women waited for more. Not in a salacious way but with interest and concern. “Robert and I were inseparable. His mom spent more time in Manhattan than Calamity, and his dad was always in Los Angeles, hanging out with starlets and getting high.”
“What about your parents?” Delilah asked.
Oh, yuck, yuck, yuck. This is why I don’t make friends easily. Because I hate talking about my life. There was no fun way to spin her childhood. “My mom’s got what her friends like to call a joie de vivre. Which means she lives for adventure. She hates to be tied down, so she’s a seasonal wor
ker and an artist. As far as my father…well, like I said, she’s a seasonal worker, so, he was gone by the time she found out she was pregnant.”
“So, you were alone a lot,” Delilah said.
“I had Robert. We did everything together.” She had great memories of those early years. Hanging out by his pool all summer, doing stupid diving contests and trying peanut butter on everything they could find in the pantry and refrigerator. They’d wander the hills and trails, free to say whatever was on their minds. “But then we reached an age where…”
“Hormones hit,” Callie said.
She loved that they understood so readily and without judgement. “Exactly.”
“Can I ask a weird question?” Delilah said.
Knox tried to nod, but it felt like her neck had been bolted on too tightly. She might be sharing but that didn’t mean it felt good.
“Did you love him? Like, the way Callie and Fin were in love?”
Knox closed her fingers around the glass salt shaker in the middle of the table and tapped it against the pepper. “No.” The word came out a whisper wrenched from a dank, secret place inside her. “I needed him. We were inseparable. But it was only after I left—and I mean a long time after—that I realized it had never been romantic love. I think we went from kids who hung out to me trying to keep him clean all the time. There wasn’t a time where we could have been in love. Does that make sense?”
“Totally,” Delilah said.
Callie nodded. “I get that.”
“And the same went for sex. We had urges, and so we experimented with each other. It felt safe and totally comfortable. Like, we laughed through every awkward moment. I could tell him what he was doing that wasn’t working, and it was like building a car engine together. Here, you do this, and I’ll do that. Put this over here and that over there.”
“…junkyard dog?”
Two words rose above the chatter in the bar. She could’ve misheard out of her own insecurities, but it sent a chill down Knox’s spine. She forced herself to roll right through, barely missing a beat. “I know it sounds sad, but there was no better person to have all my firsts with.” Because the addiction didn’t kick into high gear until sophomore year.
