In Too Deep

by Lexi Ryan

  “Yeah. She loves her Aunt B. I’m sorry if I get a little protective.”

  I write a note in my calendar—not that I think I’ll forget—and Mason watches me curiously. “It’s okay. Should I meet you at the restaurant?”

  “No, no, just meet us over here if you can. Um . . .” She draws in a long breath, and I realize this isn’t a simple case of her changing her mind. She wants something.

  “What do you need, Sarah?”

  “Brandon saw the news. I wasn’t going to tell him about your husband, but that wedding video of yours has gone viral, and he . . .”

  Seconds ago, I was warm from Mason’s touch, but now my skin chills. I don’t want anyone using Mason or trying to use me to get to him.

  “Listen,” my sister says, “I know it’s awful for me to ask, but I was wondering if you could bring your husband with you to dinner. Brandon would just love to meet him, and I would too, of course. I mean, he’s my baby sister’s husband, so I should meet him, right?”

  I could point out that she’s manipulating me, or that I shouldn’t have to play tit-for-tat to see Faith, but I don’t. Faith’s turning six, and I want to have dinner with her. If it’s okay with Mason, it’s worth it, right? “I’ll ask Mason,” I say, lifting my eyes to meet his. “But I’m leaving it up to him. If he can’t come, does that mean I’m not welcome?”

  She gasps. “Of course not. I know it’s awful to ask you to bring your celebrity husband, but you should come either way.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek. I don’t believe I would have gotten this invitation if it weren’t for Mason, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to miss my chance. “I’m not trying to interfere with her life,” I say, my voice low. “I’ve never done that.”

  “Can you blame me for being cautious? You can’t deny that you’re not the best role model. I know I’m uptight and need to relax . . .” I hear the clink of glasses and imagine her washing dishes. “I’m trying, okay? But it helps to see that you’ve got your life together, that maybe you’ve turned over a new leaf.”

  How is marrying a rich guy turning over a new leaf? I bite my tongue so the question can’t escape. I don’t want to fight. I want to see Faith blow out her candles and open her presents. I want to celebrate with her. “I’ll see you Friday night, then. I’ll ask Mason to come, but I’m not making any promises. He’s really busy.”

  “Of course, we understand. I mean, he’s an NFL player and all.” She laughs nervously, and I feel nauseated. I feel bad for keeping the temporary nature of my marriage from my sister, but telling her the truth will only confirm all the reasons she already thinks I’m a bad influence on Faith. “I’ll see you,” she says.

  “See you. Thanks, Sarah,” I say before ending the call. I stare at my phone for a few deep breaths before lifting my gaze to meet Mason’s.

  “Is everything okay?”

  I nod and set my phone and purse onto the counter. “Remember my niece I told you about?”

  “Faith?” he says, and something tugs in my chest that he remembers. Of course he does.

  “She turns six this weekend, and my sister wants us to come to her party. Any chance you’d be willing to go?”

  He frowns and steps forward to pull me into his arms. “I’d love to.” He tilts his head, studying me. “I’m a little surprised you’re asking.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re the reason I was invited at all.” I lean my head against his chest and close my eyes. My frustration with Sarah fizzles away when I’m in his arms. I feel so safe here. “Her boyfriend’s a big fan, and he wants to meet you. Before he knew about our marriage, I wasn’t invited to the party.”

  He pulls in a breath through his teeth. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

  “My sister likes to keep me at an arm’s length. She doesn’t let anyone close.”

  He chuckles. “Are you telling me that’s a genetic condition, then?”

  I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze. I don’t want this night to end. I don’t want us to remember that this is temporary or that I don’t belong here. “I’m pretty sure she’s ashamed of me. But I married an NFL player, so I guess I make the cut now.”

  “Why does she treat you like that? That’s bullshit.”

  I pull back to meet his eyes. “I don’t even care right now. I just know I haven’t spent Faith’s birthday with her since the . . .” I hesitate. “Since the day Sarah adopted her. I’m happy I get to be there this time.”

  “She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?” He studies me, and for a second I think he might see the truth in my eyes. For a second, I wish he would. It doesn’t matter how sure I am of my decision to let my sister raise my child; carrying the secret alone is exhausting.

  “You have no idea.”

  He rubs my back. “I think it’s time to say goodnight.”

  “Am I sleeping alone again?” I ask.

  “That’s why it’s time to say goodnight. I’m trying really hard not to change my mind about that.”

  “Why?” I bite my lip. “There are a lot of things way more worth your effort than staying out of my bed.”

  He chuckles. “We’re taking it slow, remember?” He dips his head and skims his lips over mine. “And when I’m finally inside you again, I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

  A slow shiver shimmies through my whole body. I just might like slow.

  Another day of practices and meetings, watching film of our opponents and of ourselves in practice, analyzing weaknesses in them and in us, and then another meeting with the offensive coordinator after, and now it’s been a thirteen-hour workday and I’m destroyed.

  A few of the guys were going out for drinks and suggested I go with them. When I passed and told them I wanted to get home, there were grunts and nudges, chuckles, and the rookie wide-out said, “I’d want to get home if I had her waiting for me, too.”

  They think I’m going home to make love to my wife when the reality is that my evening plans only involve me and a dozen bags of frozen peas. I’m too exhausted to think about my complicated marriage. I just want to sit in front of the TV and watch some SportsCenter while icing my aches and pains and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll get to kiss my wife goodnight.

  When I walk in the door, Bailey’s nowhere to be seen. I hear music out back, and I follow the sound to the patio. She has Ed Sheeran playing and she’s swimming laps, her body flowing effortlessly through the water, her legs kicking back behind her as if she’s some sort of mystical sea creature.

  Is Shell right? Do I need to tell Bailey what I did? If I did, would she understand or would she leave before our time is up? Would she ever speak to me again?

  When I think of letting her go forever, a thousand different memories pass through my mind. I think of the first night we met, when she kissed me and told me to take her back to my room. The nights after that when we couldn’t get enough of each other, and filled every spare moment together naked. I think of the night she told me she wasn’t my girl, and the way she pushed me away when Nic Mendez got parole, and insisted on calling our relationship casual. I think of how far from casual it felt to hold her in my arms as we watched them lower Nic into the ground. The way she shook as Mia tossed a handful of earth onto the coffin.

  I think of the nights after. She’d come to me because she didn’t want to sleep alone, and when she’d wake up from the nightmares—sweaty and panicked—I’d smooth back her hair and hold her tight and whisper in her ear until her breathing steadied and she believed that everything was okay.

  Every time she pushes me away, I think of how she clung to me during those nights. How she needed me and how I could calm her in a way no one else could. I think all these things with a combination of love and frustration toward Bailey and a heavy dose of bitterness for the man who wasn’t worthy of half of her love.

  I’m sick of missing Bailey. I’m sick of walking around halfhearted. If my mistake of sleeping with Lindy and that night in Vegas can give me one last chan
ce with the woman I’ve loved for four years, I’m taking it.

  I don’t know how long I stand there watching her swim through the water or how many laps I watch her complete, but the aches and pains I was so acutely aware of when I walked in the door are suddenly far from my mind. All I can think about is her.

  When she stops, she puts her arms on the edge of the pool and gasps for breath, as if she wasn’t going for a leisurely swim in the safe waters of a pool but was instead lost at sea and swimming frantically to shore.

  “Do you creep on all your wives?” she asks without looking at me.

  I peel off my shirt. “Only the special ones.” I toe off my shoes and unbutton my jeans before pushing them from my hips, then I dive into the water in nothing but my boxer briefs. The water is warm from the hot summer sun, but it stormed this afternoon and the air is cool. I glide easily through the water to reach her, and she spins around to face me, treading water by the edge before I trap her against it with an arm on either side of her, stealing her space so she’s forced to slip her arms around my neck to stay afloat.

  “Did you have a good day?” she asks.

  “Kind of shitty,” I admit. “The coach is all about more live tackles in practice this year, so I feel like I’ve been beaten to a pulp, which is normal come October, but I hate feeling like this before the regular season has even started.”

  She licks her lips and studies my face. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s better now.”

  I expect her to duck under my arm and swim away at any moment, but she surprises me by wrapping her legs around my waist. “Thank you for agreeing to go to my niece’s party Friday.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m happy to.”

  “Is this okay?” She locks her feet behind my back; the movement presses her hips against mine. Watching her swim through the water had me half hard, but the press of her heat against my cock finishes the job. “Or are you about to push me away again?”

  “It’s okay.” Maybe it’s not. Maybe this is a really bad idea. After all, sleeping with Bailey for a year after we first met never seemed to get me any closer to a chance at a real relationship with her. There’s no reason to think it might now.

  I slide a hand into her hair and lower my mouth to hers. She tastes like sweet red wine, and when my tongue sweeps across hers, she moans—a low and vulnerable hum I once mistook for lowering walls. I won’t make that mistake again. I won’t assume that just because she’s giving me access to her body, more will follow. But I’m sick of resisting, and I’m terrified that when our time together is over, I might actually have to let her go.

  I’m not even sure I’m capable. As many times as I’ve told myself I was walking away from Bailey, that I was finally moving on, I’ve never been able to do it.

  She rocks her hips against mine, rubbing herself against my erection. I respond by pulling down a strap of her swimsuit and exposing one perfect breast to the night air.

  I take it into my hand, lower my head, and skim my tongue across her nipple. She gasps and arches into me, and I draw her into my mouth. She cries out, the sound of her pleasure disappearing into the night sky.

  Her legs are like a vise around me, tightening with each touch. She slides her hands into my hair and leads my mouth back to hers. Her kiss is the drug that makes me forget why this is a bad idea, and the rhythm of her hips moving against mine is the best kind of high. I hold her tightly and guide us to the shallow end, where I settle her on the steps and pull the other strap of her suit down so she’s naked from the waist up.

  I drop to my knees, spread her thighs, and kneel between them. I circle her navel with my tongue and slide a hand between her legs to rub her through her suit. Pulling back, I appreciate the way her bare breasts look in the moonlight, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her back arched in pleasure. With every stroke of my fingers, her legs spread farther and her hips lift off the step.

  “You’re so beautiful.” I take her suit in both hands, guide it down both of her legs, and toss it away onto the pool deck. She’s bare in front of me, and before I have a chance to take her in, she’s grabbing my briefs in her fists. I help her, standing in the waist-deep water and stripping down to nothing before I’m even sure why. Then we’re both nude, her hand between our bodies, her fist wrapped around me and stroking in a slow, steady rhythm that could make this end before it’s even begun. I move her hand, pull her to me, and guide her back to deeper water. She wraps her legs around my waist again, only this time there’s nothing between us. The heat of her presses against me, and then with a shift of her hips, the head of my cock rests at her entrance. She arches her neck, her face to the sky as she exhales two words. “I. Want.”

  Some part of my brain reminds me I’m not an idiot anymore. I don’t fuck without condoms. That comes with consequences. But another part, a louder part, tells me that for Bailey, I would take the consequences, and with Bailey it wouldn’t be fucking. I just want to be inside her.

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  Her fingers curl into my shoulder blades. She shifts once, then twice, then I’m sliding into her, and it’s so damn good. She squeezes around me, flesh to flesh. I bury my face in her neck and breathe.

  “I’ve missed you.” She rocks her body in time with mine.

  I chuckle. “You’ve missed this.”

  She shakes her head. “No. I’ve missed you, Mason.” I pull back enough to look at her face, and she meets my eyes. “I’ve missed us.”

  And in the long game of tug-of-war for my heart between me and Bailey, I happily lose it in this moment. I feel it pull away, feel her own me completely. “I’ve missed you too.”

  “Did you?” she asks, stilling. “You moved down here last year, and it was like I never existed. I thought you’d call more or visit or . . .”

  “I was trying to move on, but it was hell trying to pretend I don’t care.”

  Something crosses over her face, but before I can get a read on her, she shifts her hips and pleasure takes over and wipes it away.

  The air is cool on my skin. The water warm. The patio lights cast shadows across her face and the stereo has shut off. It’s just us in the warm Florida night, making love in the water to the ocean’s rhythmic hum.

  “Bailey?” Mason calls when he walks in from the garage.

  “I’m in the kitchen.” I hoist myself on the island and cross my legs at the knee. Anticipation races up my spine as I hear his heavy steps coming toward me. I spent my day working but distracted by thoughts of Mason. What happened in the pool last night was sweet and intense, and I’ve spent all day giddy with nerves and anticipation for the moment he returns home from practice.

  He comes around the corner, and my insides shimmy when I see him. When I first moved in, I thought he’d come home sweaty straight from practice, but it turns out that there’s a lot more that goes into being a professional football player than running around on the field. It seems like he spends more than half of his “working” hours in meetings.

  Tonight, he has on faded jeans and a green Gators polo that makes his eyes look an even deeper green than usual. He got a late start this morning and must have skipped his shave, because there’s stubble on his jaw. My fingers itch to run over it.

  He freezes when he spots me. “I’m pretty sure I would have blown off my last meeting if I realized what was waiting for me at home.” He steps forward and grins. “There would have been hell to pay, but it would have been worth it.”

  His eyes go dark as he takes me in—from my red stiletto heels up to my blue-checked kitchen apron with nothing underneath. I did a photo shoot for a baker once, and some of the best pictures were of her in nothing but her apron.

  I uncross my legs and swing my feet as I grip the edge of the counter. “Still trying to figure out this wife thing. Like I said, I’m not really sure what I’m doing. Does this seem about right?”

  His chest rises and falls with a deep breath as he steps closer. He puts a big ha
nd on each knee and slowly slides them up my thighs, guiding them apart so he can stand between them. “I’d say you nailed it.”

  I loop my arms behind his neck. “How was your day, dear?”

  “Hard,” he says, his hands inching higher on my thighs. “Painfully hard. What about yours?”

  “It was long.” My breath hitches when he sucks at the tender spot beneath my ear. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for you forever.”

  He slides a hand between my legs and groans against my neck. “That sounds awful. Let me make it up to you.” Then he does.

  Sex on the kitchen counter, followed by a shower, and ordering dinner in—because Mason’s worn out and the only thing in the house I can cook is Pop-Tarts—and I’m feeling mighty content.

  “I almost forgot.” Mason hands me a business card. “This guy does my website. I talked to him yesterday, and he said he can make room in his schedule to get your site up and running.”

  I frown at the card for the graphic designer before looking at Mason. “My site for what?”

  He opens the fridge and pokes around. Even though we just ate, he’s hungry again. I don’t envy his hours of training, but I’m a little jealous that he can eat so much—not that I’d choose the healthy foods he does. Boring. “For your photography business.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t need a website.”

  “Sure you do. People will take you more seriously if you have a web presence. He said he’d get you set up on social media, too.”

  “I don’t need people to take me seriously.” I put the card on the counter. “Thanks for thinking of me, but I don’t think this is necessary. I’m not launching an enterprise or something.”

  Mason closes the fridge and turns to me. “Bailey, you have natural talent, and you already have a line of football wives dying to get an appointment with you. Do you know what a great opportunity this is to launch a career? A real career? You’ve made it clear you don’t want my money, so fine, don’t take it. But you could start charging more for your sessions and stop living paycheck to paycheck.”