by J Santiago
As he tried locked door after locked door, her frustration mounted.
“You’re Tank Howard. One would guess you merely had to think, Open sesame, and the lock would just do your bidding.”
Tank’s answering chuckle should have made her smile. It didn’t. It increased the agitated energy, making her caustic, so when the knob on one of the closets finally turned, it radiated through her. He gently pulled her inside, peering at her, his translucent green eyes searching hers for some connection before the darkness of the closet engulfed them. But she didn’t need his soothing tonight.
She pushed forward, and her mouth landed on his before the door could shut. The wall behind him came quicker than she’d thought, and the momentum slammed her into his body. It was the perfect opening for what she wanted. Her hands were on his belt before her tongue entered his mouth. When his hands found her wrists, attempting to slow her, she pulled them free and went to work on the buttons of his shirt. He might have tried to neutralize the kiss, but she used his desire for her against him, working his body, his pleasure points, playing him like she was a maestro. She was a goddess, and she demanded his worship.
As if he suddenly understood where this was headed, his resistance stopped. His hands, instead of trying to slow her, reached down to her hips, and he gathered the material of her dress before hefting it, shoving it up around her waist. When he turned them so that her back was to the wall, she wanted to shout out in victory. When he didn’t try to touch her or play with her, when he merely pushed her underwear to the side, a wicked smile curved her lips.
As she wrapped her legs around him, her mouth found his neck, his ear, and as he thrust up into her, she cried out, “Yes!”
His punishing rhythm was exactly what she craved, what she wanted, what she needed. Her hands were everywhere as he drilled into her. The sound of their bodies meeting slapped into the dark recesses of the closet, echoing in the tiny space, a consistent barrage of smacking skin and grunts. She tried to suppress the moans, but he moved his hand to rest lightly upon her throat, claiming her reactions.
Startled by the intimacy, she became more aggressive, mapping the increased mass of his body. The weight he’d had to gain rounded out the muscles he’d developed as a kid. His body at twenty-one had been stunning; his body at twenty-two was becoming a masterpiece. She had a fleeting notion of what he would be like in ten years, which she quickly squashed. There was no Tank in ten years. This was it. Her body tightened on the thought.
Tank paused, checking on her. “You okay?”
It hadn’t dawned on her that Tank could read her. She didn’t connect his knowledge of her, his care. But she fed on the hate sex. It filled her up, quenching the hunger pains she’d nurtured in the months apart.
She’d adjusted to the veil of darkness in the closet, enough to make out his luminescent stare. For the first time since he’d entered her, their eyes met. She imagined he could read the anger in hers because she could see the hurt and confusion in his. It should have penetrated her hardened heart, but it pissed her off instead.
Their gazes still locked, she lifted her hand from his shoulder and shoved two fingers into his mouth. He drew on them, and she felt herself clench around him. The lids of her eyes closed involuntarily, and when they reopened, his had darkened with desire. She pulled her hand away from his mouth and dropped her fingers between them to where they were joined. He groaned as she played with herself. He squeezed her ass, perhaps in warning, before he pounded into her again.
Her orgasm ripped through her. Dropping her head to his shoulder, she bit down, attempting to suppress the scream tearing out of her mouth. He grunted as both her body and teeth clamped around him. Continuing to thrust into her, he filled her up as he emptied.
The aftershocks of her climax died, she released the skin on his shoulder and muttered, “Fuck.”
The awkwardness immediately descended. Unwrapping her legs, she dropped her normal left foot to the floor. His hands fell to her waist, anchoring her until she was steady.
Suddenly, the door in front of her opened, and she snapped back from the past.
“You need a special invitation to come in, Sunshine?”
It might have been the nickname, which she hadn’t heard in years, or maybe it was just the heat of the memory she’d just conjured, but instead of the predicted anger, she looked up at Tank with a radiant smile.
“Hey.”
“Are you coming in?” He tilted his head as he asked, and his dimples winked out at her. He stepped back and opened the door further, giving her space to get by him. Then, his gaze dipped down, and he reached forward. “Let me grab some of that.”
The wine bottle she had tucked under her arm was suddenly confiscated. He placed it behind him on a table in the entranceway and then grabbed the bag containing the present for Tilly and Keira.
“Madison has some place for the gifts, but I’m not sure where, nor am I willing to mess with her master plan, so I’ll leave this here,” he explained as he dropped it next to the bottle of wine.
The casual mention of another woman should have gone unheeded, but she wanted to inhale sharply, her breath stolen. His back was still to her as he arranged her things. But, when he turned back to her, he didn’t hesitate to step forward and pull her into a hug. It was quick but heartfelt, an embrace of friendship. She withheld another intake of breath, not wanting to get a close whiff of his scent.
“Good to see you,” she said, meaning it.
“You, too.” He opened his stance, and intending to move her, he placed his hand on the small of her back.
Without conscious thought, she stepped away. “Party this way?” she inquired, nodding her head toward the landing on the right.
He closed the door behind her and nodded. “Yep, right up those two flights of stairs.”
“Trying to put me at a disadvantage, I see,” she quipped with a smile.
He returned it. “There’s an elevator,” he offered.
“Of course there is.” Again, she kept it light.
“Come on.”
She followed him across the elevated entranceway, down two steps, and toward the back of the house. She quickly took in the sleek, contemporary lines of the decor, trying to keep her eyes off of her guide. Making their way through the kitchen, he turned down a hallway, presumably toward a garage. Two identical ornate doors were on the left. One had a doorknob.
“Garage,” he explained. The other had a call button on the frame. “Elevator.” He pressed the button, and it lit up.
“There you are,” Madison exclaimed as the door to the elevator slid open.
Madison stepped forward and brushed a soft kiss on Tank’s mouth. The touch, filled with familiarity and comfort, reminded Amber of the way Franco and Molly interacted. Madison’s hand stole down and interlaced with Tank’s before she turned toward Amber.
“I’m Madison,” she introduced, sticking out her free right hand so that Amber could do nothing but shake it. “You must be Amber.”
“Hi,” Amber returned, releasing her hand at the appropriate time.
“I remember you from the wedding.” Madison winked at her with a shit-eating grin on her face.
Amber found she had no idea what to make of the beautiful woman in front of her. She wanted to hate her, of course, but there was something too mischievous in Madison’s gaze for Amber to feel anything but mild amusement.
“Right,” Amber drawled out. “But we weren’t really introduced, so it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“I came down to grab another bottle of wine. Give me a second, and I’ll ride up with you.”
“I’ll get it,” Tank offered. “You go up.”
Madison laughed. “You just don’t want to use the elevator.”
“Maybe.” He leaned over and dropped a kiss on her head before he turned and walked down the hall, leaving Amber in Madison’s hands.
“Shall we go?”
Amber followed her into the elevator.
“He hates this thing. I don’t think he’s ever actually been in it. I think Hawk, his agent,” she explained, as if Amber didn’t know who Julian Hawkins was, “convinced him to put it in when he was having the loft built. It’s super convenient for parties though because the best room is at the top of the house. I’m pretty sure Tank sat with the architect on every detail. You’ll love it.”
“I’m sure.”
As if on cue, the elevator door opened, and Amber found herself looking out over Tank’s rooftop loft. She quickly inventoried the space with its high ceilings, roll-up garage doors, pool table, massive entertainment center, and sparse but comfortable furnishings. She agreed; she loved it. She loved who filled it more. Keira and Tilly, Iman, Lamarcus, Franco and Molly. There were others, people Keira had mentioned, whom Amber would meet, but all the people who mattered to her were in this room, and she couldn’t contain her smile.
She rushed out of the elevator and into Keira’s waiting arms. Their embrace was long, drawn out, and full of sighs and murmurs of congratulations.
“You okay?” Keira whispered as they drew apart.
Amber should have expected the concern. Ever since the accident and the events leading up to it, Keira had worried about Amber. It had changed the dynamic of their relationship from best friends to one of overprotective big sister and resentful little sister. When Keira had gotten serious with football player Tilly Lace, things had changed again. Keira’s family had not been open to the interracial relationship, and Amber had helped to ease the way with her friend’s family.
Amber glanced over Keira’s shoulder to where her parents stood.
“I’m so glad your parents came,” Amber said soft enough so only Keira could hear.
“Me, too.” Keira continued to study her though, and Amber knew her ploy was obvious. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but this has to be a lot to take in. I’m just making sure you’re okay.”
Amber glanced around to see if their conversation could be overheard but everyone around them was engaged or deliberately ignoring the reunion. She looked back to Keira. The happy, content aura of her best friend was palpable, and she could feel nothing but joy at being here to celebrate with her.
She pulled Keira in for another quick hug. “I’m really good. More than okay. I met Madison, and she escorted me up here.” This earned her a horrified chuckle from Keira. “Your parents are here to celebrate with you, and I have all my favorite people in one place. Now, let’s go get a drink.”
They made their way to the bar set up on the deck outside. The lights of Atlanta dappled the skyline view in front of them. As they lifted their drinks in a toast, Amber celebrated more than just Keira and Tilly’s engagement. She was lifting her glass to finally achieving freedom from her anger with Tank Howard. She was truly over him. The eventually Franco had promised her three years ago had arrived.
Tank could work a room. From the moment he’d stepped onto the Kensington State University campus as the nation’s number one recruit, he’d been called on to meet with boosters and alumni, even the university president. He read crowds like he did defenses, constantly looking for weakness, strengths, breaks in the line. Then, he managed them like he did his offense—with well-honed efficiency.
But tonight was different.
His house was full of the people who’d watched him take his first stumbling steps into adulthood. They knew his history and, unfortunately, his hubris. It made for an interesting cocktail of familiarity and discomfiture.
Madison stood near him, a poodle prissily marking her territory. He didn’t have to look over at her to see her protective stance, her hackles elegantly disguised in her semiformal black dress.
Across the room from him, Amber leaned in toward Iman, giving his young friend her undivided attention. Tank remembered her interest. It was never false. She couldn’t pretend if she were on a stage and the director called for it. Her dark brown eyes could flash with anger, swim with jealousy, shine with laughter. He wondered if her emotions had been more easily discernible on her face before the indelicate scarring had marred its perfection. Right now, he could tell from where he stood that she was confused by something Iman had told her. Her eyes briefly cut to him, and he saw a look of derision tossed in his direction. He almost chuckled, wondering what he’d done to raise her ire.
God, he loved that about her. He could always count on a reaction.
What is that physics rule? For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
The horrible aftermath of their frantic fucking in the closet came back to him as he stepped away from Madison and made his way out onto the deck to grab a drink.
“Heineken,” he requested from the bartender Madison had hired. He ran his hands along the tiled countertop as he waited impatiently.
He wasn’t a huge drinker, but the architect had insisted a built-in bar would enhance the space on resale. He could admit when he was wrong—most of the time.
The beer slid slowly across the couple of inches of space, and Tank nodded his appreciation to the guy. He grabbed a cocktail napkin and wrapped it around the icy-cold bottle. The standing space heaters kept the air warm enough, but it was still February.
He trudged toward the railing, looking for some peace among the white noise of the music, conversations, and laughter.
His attention was captivated by the view of the city spread out before him. He could see the infinite lights of the office buildings and high rises of Atlanta, a dappled galaxy dropped into suburban sprawl. He’d bet, if he focused really hard, he could see the illuminated sign of The Fox Theatre. Again, the memory of his last encounter with Amber nagged at him. He just wanted to forget that night, not relive it like a bad play over and over, attempting to figure out how he could have done it differently. Really, how else could he have reacted when she shut down on him, even as his release soaked her thighs?
He dropped his head to the railing, transported back to that moment when everything had exploded between them.
Tank knew the moment Amber’s legs stopped shaking and the security of the wall behind her breached her lust-sated brain because she pushed his hands off of her waist and glared at him.
“You didn’t fucking use anything.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “I don’t remember you asking me to suit up.”
The resentment poured out of him, and he knew she felt it. He never had sex without a condom. It was rule number one of his mother, Chantel Jones’s, list of things he needed to know. The circumstances of his birth had led his mother to make sure he kept himself baby-mama free, so it was an automatic response.
Woman in the vicinity? Condom in hand.
But he hadn’t even thought about it. And, right now, he didn’t want to give her that. Because, if she knew she had nothing to worry about, the exposure would be too much. He couldn’t take her rejection a third time.
She brought her hands up and pushed against his chest, demanding room. The temptation to crowd her, to intimidate her with his size, was almost too great to fight. So, when he took a step back, it was with reluctance.
“Oh, that’s right. It’s my fault. Because any shitty, stupid thing you do comes down to me making you do it.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Christ!”
He took a deep breath, trying to rein in his fury, his emotions but she made him fucking crazy.
“You’re on the pill, right?”
She broke eye contact and looked up at the ceiling.
Dread pooled in his belly.
“Of course,” she said. “Amber to Tank’s rescue.” She looked back at him. “Pregnancy isn’t what I’m worried about. It’s more your whoring ways.”
Bitch.
He wanted to scream the truth at her. Wanted to watch her inhale his confession and react to it. But he didn’t want to be vulnerable to her anymore. The moment he let it out that he hadn’t been with anyone since her, the balance of power would be firmly in her hands. If
she wanted him in any other way than for what they’d just done, he’d probably risk it. But he knew better.
Glaring at her, he took an additional step back, letting the darkness seep between them. “I’ll send you my blood test results.”
“Make sure they’re recent.” The blackness of the closet couldn’t hide her sneer.
His hands fisted and clenched against his thighs as anger vibrated through him. This girl!
She made him crazy.
And sad.
He studied her. The light aqua of her dress was barely discernable in the absence of light. He could draw the curves of her body, and he struggled with stick figures. He knew the lines, had them embedded on his psyche. He rubbed his fingers against his thumb, knowing exactly how the scars on her face and neck bumped and rolled under his touch.
Her rage, the most prominent emotion present, penetrated his hope. He’d buried it over the last year. He’d achieved so much in his rookie season. But he’d failed to overcome the regrets of his relationship with Amber. He’d hoped the year apart would dull her sense of betrayal, but he could admit now that not only had she not forgiven him, but she’d also harbored and fed her disappointment until he could no longer climb the heavily fortified walls of her heart.
The realization pissed him off. He turned away from her, grasping for the knob. Yanking the door open, he stormed out into the hall, his head downcast. He heard Amber fumble behind him, but he couldn’t deal with her at the moment, so he kept moving.
“Tank?”
The sound of Madison’s voice had his head jerking up. She stood a few feet in front of him, obviously confused by finding him tearing out of a closet. He didn’t bother to try and mask any emotions. He imagined she saw his anger, his hurt, and his guilt prominently displayed.
