Then…
I see it.
When I was a senior in high school, my mom started dating a newly divorced dad of twin boys. Andy and Mom fell hard and fast for each other, their love bringing my little sister Hazel into the world.
Shortly after she was born, Grady’s parents held a big welcome to the family party for her.
After about twenty tries using the self-timer on Tess’s phone, we finally managed to get a decent picture of everyone looking in the general direction where she had the phone propped up. Of course, a few of us are laughing, and it kind of looks like Josh is constipated because he was trying so hard not to laugh, but it added to the character of the photo.
Reece and Aidan, my step brothers who were fourteen at the time, are looking particularly protective over Hazel, flanking either side of her with their hands folded in front of them. They look like security rather than big brothers. Which, I suppose, is fairly accurate for how they treat our little sister.
As for me in this picture? I look happier than I’ve been in the six plus years since it was taken. I’m looking up at Grady, a laughing smile on my face. His knowing smirk reminds me he had just grazed a little bit of side boob before allowing his hand to wander down to cup my butt and squeeze. We had spent so many years fighting our attraction to one another, that when we finally gave in, we had a hard time keeping our hands to ourselves, even in the presence of family.
My heart hammers in my chest as I lift the picture frame, getting a closer look at a time so long ago, it feels like it should be forgotten. But really, the memory of the day is so fresh in my mind, if I close my eyes, I’m taken right back in time. I can hear the laughter of our families. Smell the manly scent of Grady’s body wash that always lured me in, made me weak in the knees.
I wonder if he still uses the same brand.
I wonder if I’ll ever be close enough to him again to find out.
“Seems like forever ago.” Grady’s deep voice cuts through my memories, bringing me back to the present. Reminds me of the many mistakes I’ve made. Of the life I stepped away from.
“And like yesterday,” I say quietly, but he hears it.
“Also true.”
I place the frame back on the cabinet it was resting on and slowly spin on my heels, wishing I had chosen something else to wear today, meanwhile Grady’s presence is undeniably strong, stable even. He’s grown up. Feeling like a co-ed in my heather gray sundress, green Chucks, and high pony tail, I rub the tattoo on my wrist. It’s a constant reminder of a promise made long ago.
“Have a seat, Bri.”
I sit on the other side of his desk on a hard, plastic chair, as he, like the grown up he is, sits behind it.
“I feel like I’m being called into the principal’s office,” I admit with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Have you been a bad girl?”
I flush. He winces.
It’s the second time he’s said something even the tiniest bit suggestive, but we both recognize it as such immediately. Maybe he’s as sex deprived as I am. My heart is searching for any shred of forgiveness, of capturing what once was, I grasp hold of each comment and don’t release it.
“And what would you do to me if I were?”
Would he bend me over the desk separating us?
Squeeze my hips as he rubs against me from behind.
Be rough and gentle at the same time.
Kiss me between my shoulder blades.
Possibly spank me.
Or maybe that’s what I’ll be fantasizing about tonight.
He looks away, but not before I see the heat in his eyes.
It matches what I’m sure he can see in mine.
Can he still read my mind?
He clears his throat and leans his elbows on his desk. Damn, his forearms are so sexy. He’s always had great arms. Worked his ass off for the muscles on display before me. He squeezes his fingers together, cracking his knuckles, and the corded muscles flex, causing his forearms to bulge and contract. “You wanted to start out by asking about the accident, yeah?”
Right.
The reason I’m in his office.
Get your head out of the horny gutter, Bri.
I can feel my cheeks heat with the flush I’ve brought upon myself simply from the fantasies rolling around in my mind.
Geez.
I’m so freakin’ pathetic.
“The accident. It happened um, the night of Cole and Mia’s wedding, right?”
He makes a noise that sounds like a grunt.
I should have been there.
I glance away as tears build in my eyes so suddenly, I have no choice but to do a quick swipe at my cheeks to wipe away the hot trail.
“Don’t go there.”
My head snaps up to meet his bright blue eyes, emotion swimming in them.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve thought about it a lot over the years. When I was laying there, feeling like my life was over, you should have been with me, but if you had been and…” he closes his eyes briefly, head shaking side to side slowly, and looks out the big window overlooking part of the locker room. “You shouldn’t have been with me. It’s better this way,” he whispers.
“It isn’t,” I squeak out before I can stop myself.
The silence in the small room is deafening, and I’m sure he can probably hear my heartbeat thudding against my chest. “You’re partly right but nothing is going to change the past.” He clears his throat and stands up, reaches into a small fridge I hadn’t noticed earlier and pulls out two bottles of water, tossing one to me before settling into his seat again. I catch it easily and the simple action—him tossing me something for me to catch—brings back such a rush of memories it almost takes my breath away. He must feel it too because he pauses, bottle suspended in the air, before he chugs half of it down.
“We’ll be fine. We’re both adults now. Professionals. We can get through this and move on.”
The words are meant to assure me, but I wonder if they were for his own good as well.
“Like Andy always says, ‘we got this, yeah’?”
He grins the same grin I remember from when we were kids.
I knew the memories would be hard to ignore.
I didn’t realize it would be this hard.
I set my water on the desk in front of me and redo my pony tail to give my shaking hands something to do and adjust in my seat. I’m fidgeting, not able to get rid of this nervous energy coiling up my spine.
“Bri.” I look up at the sound of Grady’s voice. “I can’t do this today but soon, we’ll talk. Not about all this,” his hands gesture around him, “but about everything between us. I think it’s pretty clear we both need a bit of…” he swallows as if he’s hating the word he’s about to say, “closure.”
Shit.
I hate the word, too.
I nod once and rub my lips together. It’s become a nervous habit of mine, and I’m sure I’ll have to buy stock in lip balm after I get through the next six weeks.
Instead, I clear my throat and reach into my bag, pulling out a little notebook and recorder.
“Look at you. Just like a real reporter,” he teases.
I smile, grateful for his teasing.
“So. The accident.”
I know exactly what happened that night. But he doesn’t know I do.
He looks at me intently, eyes squinting for a moment, then down at his leg.
He reaches down and rubs his leg, I wonder if it’s out of habit or the fact that we’re talking about his injury. Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
“Like you mentioned, it was the night of Cole and Mia’s wedding. It was late, but not too late. Still, it was after midnight when I finally left the reception, but I was in pre-season training and, well, you know me,” he chuckles. “Cole and Mia were actually still there partying.” His smile is faint, seemingly lost is a happy memory of the night that changed his future. “Mom wanted me to stay
at home with them that night, but I needed to get back to campus. I told her I’d come the next day for brunch, kissed her on the cheek, and left. We were a few weeks before regular practice was supposed to start so aside from a glass of champagne when we did toasts, I hadn’t been drinking.”
“I didn’t figure you had been. You were always dedicated,” I say, hating that everything coming out of my mouth seems to have double meaning.
“Yeah. My teammates gave me so much hell about it. I don’t know.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I’ve never really liked drinking anyway, you know that. My tolerance is shit because of it, but I hate feeling out of control. And I figured if a school is willing to take a chance on me to play for their team, the least I could do is give them my best.”
I smile, not needing to reply, and let him sit quietly while he thinks over his next words.
“Anyway. I didn’t see the car coming. I was driving down a road, I noticed the car on my left stopped at the stop sign up ahead. The car on my right, though. He came out of nowhere. Hit me in the passenger side so hard I slammed into the car waiting on my left. Perfect storm of an accident,” he shrugs like it’s not a big deal. But it is.
“Your pickup?”
He reaches into a drawer in his desk and pulls out a picture, sliding it over the desk to me.
I reach for it, my fingertips grazing the back of his hand in the process.
I gasp as soon as I see it. I may know what happened that night but I never saw any of the pictures of his pickup.
But one look at it now, I realize if I’d have been there, I wouldn’t be here.
There’s nothing left of the right side of his old pickup. And the left? I can’t believe he’s sitting across from me right now.
Memories of years riding with him assault me again.
Of laying in the bed of his pickup, staring up at the stars.
When he would lift the heavy console between us, so I could sit next to him.
How his hand would naturally fall to my leg, always driving one-handed so our bodies would stay connected.
When he would get out, he always pulled me across the driver’s seat rather than waiting for me to go out the passenger door.
The memories send shockwaves through my body so quickly I have to close my eyes against the overwhelming sensations.
Stomach lurching, I don’t even think about my next actions.
I stand up and walk over to his window, releasing the hold on the window shade and letting it fall unceremoniously with a clang against the wooden ledge.
I make my way around his desk, his eyes on me the entire time.
Gently, I push him away from the desk, then, with my green eyes locked on his blue ones, I sit down on his lap.
“Bri,” he murmurs, his eyebrows lowered. “I don’t think…”
“Shh. I don’t deserve this, but I need it.” My eyes drift to the picture on the desk again and then I shake my head, closing my eyes briefly. A sob wracks my body and I collapse, my side against his chest, I wrap my arms around his neck and let the tears come. With unsure hands, he returns the gesture, his face resting in the crook of my neck.
He takes a deep steadying breath as I continue to cry.
For what could have been, had I not been stupid.
“I told you, you shouldn’t have been with me,” he murmurs, his breath heating up the delicate skin below my ear.
He’s right.
But he’s also wrong.
Nodding my head, because I know what he means, I snuggle in closer. Rather than pushing me away, like I expected him to do, his hold on me tightens.
I press my body closer, the skirt of my dress riding up on my thighs.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper through my tears.
He squeezes me once and begins to lean back, but I don’t loosen my hold.
I shake my head, not ready to leave the safety of his arms.
He chuckles and the sound is like a balm to my soul, not realizing how desperately I needed to hear it. I lean back, and he reaches up, his thumbs wiping away tears from my cheeks.
I sniffle, first laying my hands on his shoulders then sliding them up to cradle the sides of his neck as I look into his bright blues. “I never stopped loving you.”
My confession lingers in the air between us, crackling and popping.
One hand rests on my leg, the heat of his palm on the bare skin an inferno. His strong fingers flex against my thigh.
Grady licks his lower lip and my eyes drift to watch. I clench my legs together and let out a stuttering breath.
And then…
His lips are on mine, his tongue wasting no time to beg for entry into my mouth, his fingers threading through my hair that’s still pulled up in a ponytail, and for the first time in six years, I feel like I’m where I belong.
Grady
Six years.
It’s a long damn time to go without the feel of Bri Jameson in my arms.
To hear her soft moan.
I’ve been in a holding pattern since the day she told me she couldn’t do it anymore.
Professionally? I’ve been kicking ass.
With my family? I never missed a beat.
Personal life? Nil.
It was a year after Bri broke up with me and one drunken night when I was missing Bri more than normal, I decided to download the Babble dating app. To be fair, I didn’t so much as decide to do it, rather I was encouraged to, quite strongly, by my dumbass friends. But, in the end, I figured it couldn’t hurt.
I’ve dated. A few.
Kennedy, being one of them. We tried. Or rather, I tried. She didn’t have to work at it to know if she wanted more.
I was wrong.
The app only allows girls to be the first to contact the guy, which I thought would make it easier for me to ignore it.
Because girls are shy, right?
I was wrong.
Again.
So very, very wrong.
Within the first hour of my drunken download, I had notifications from seventeen girls wishing to connect.
I shouldn’t have been surprised at the number of girls who contacted me right away.
I wasn’t exactly an unknown on campus, considering my status on the field, and since the app was connected to another social media site, one that was mainly filled with pictures of me playing football. Anyone who clicked on my profile discovered exactly who I was. Initially, Bri was by my side everywhere we went. In almost every picture I posted on social media, she was there with me. It was a noticeable change when she was no longer present in my life.
But the thing is, I could always spot the girls who were after me for the status. Even though a few became relentless in their pursuit, I wasn’t swayed no matter how many nearly naked pictures they would send my way.
College athletes were like a challenge to some of them. A challenge they weren’t willing to back down from. Many would latch onto an athlete, happy to be arm candy if it meant she was part of the status that came with a successful college athlete. They saw prestige, a potential future only a small fraction would ever see.
I eventually replied to Kennedy, though.
There was something about her.
Maybe it was the fact that she looked like the exact opposite of Bri.
But Kennedy never treated me the way other girls on campus did. Sure, she made it clear she wanted more from me than just friendship. That was obvious in the way she pursued me instead of the other way around.
I know a part of her liked the idea that I was an athlete. She knew who she was clicking on when she contacted me through Babble.
But Kennedy never let it influence how she treated me. While other girls would shamelessly flirt, wear shirts that made their tits pop out of the top, those around them fearing for (or hoping for, depending on who it was) a nipple slip, she treated me like the only thing that made me special was… me.
And finally, when push came to shove—when I told her I wasn’t interested in something d
eeper—she didn’t fight me on it, saying our friendship was more important.
There are still a few times where her gaze will linger. Her touch is sometimes a little too flirty and part of me still wonders, if I told her I was interested in more, would she throw our friendship to the wind?
I had moments of guilt that I had responded to her, knowing Bri still owned my heart. For leading her on. She always said she understood and never asked for much of an explanation. Eventually, I did admit I’d been hurt and that hurt was deep. I told her I wasn’t sure I’d ever be over my first love and she smiled, told me she understood and just like that, a friendship I never expected was formed.
She was there for me after the accident.
Encouraged me when the pain of rehab was almost too much to bear.
Cheered me on and was there for me to lean on when I was so fed up with feeling like I was losing every last bit of me.
For that, I’ll love her forever. The same way I love all my friends.
Now, with Bri in my arms, even not having a clue what it could possibly mean for us, there’s no doubt in my mind why nothing else ever felt right.
I squeeze my hand around her thigh, willing myself to not slide it farther up her leg. Not until she and I talk more. Get shit sorted out.
But right now, I can’t stop kissing her, even though I know I should.
Our tongues wage a war with one another. A soft whimper escapes her throat when I take control, and I angle her head by a simple tug of her ponytail, causing a tightening of my shorts I know without a doubt she can feel.
I rise out of the chair slightly so she’s straddling me before I lean her back against the edge of my desk, her body arching into me and her hand mimicking mine, threading her fingers into my hair, flexing and holding me to her.
Waiting for Her Page 7
