by Lilah Grey
The wait was unbearable.
His stubbled jaw glanced against my inner thigh as he pulled his head back. My legs jerked away from him as I giggled.
“That tickled!”
“I can stop if you’d like,” James said, his husky voice covering me like a warm blanket. His intonation indicated that he knew full well that I didn’t want him to stop.
I frowned at him like a child who had been denied another piece of Halloween candy. “You’re not stopping now.”
“No?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. He pulled away as though he were about to back out, but I crossed my ankles behind his head pulled him back toward me.
I shook my head. “Not going to happen.”
A smirk formed on his lips as his eyes searched my face. “Have it your way.”
James slid his hands under my back, and in one effortless motion, he picked me up, my legs still resting on his shoulders, and repositioned me on the bed.
I fought to catch my breath. He was so strong, so confident in his movements. I’d never been controlled like that by anyone before. It was as though I were nothing but a doll, a child’s plaything.
I’d gladly be James’s plaything if it meant more encounters like this.
His deft fingers slid under my panties, pulling them down slowly as he kissed my inner thigh. I wanted to rip them off myself. Forget the foreplay, the teasing, the agony of anticipation; I wanted to feel him inside me right now.
But as he continued, my body slackened, all resistance draining from it as I gave myself up to James, willingly and completely.
James.
I turned his name over and over in my mind. How was this happening? I couldn’t even remember how we got to this point, but what did it matter? It’s happening. Or at least, it was.
James stopped kissing me after he had pulled off my underwear. I looked down at him smiling up at me.
“You’re beautiful, Cori,” he said. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire, tingling in euphoric bliss.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment, but then he lowered his head and pressed his warm lips against my mound, his tongue covering my clit. It was like a valve had been turned, and all the pressure that had been building inside me finally had been released.
My head rocked back, and I let out a deep moan. I clutched James’s hair in tight fists as the rest of my body convulsed. I closed my eyes and bit down hard on my bottom lip, but when I opened them again, James was gone. The taste of fresh blood lingered on my lips.
I pulled the covers up to my chin, breathing deep, hoping that at least his scent would be there. But I had no such luck. The only remnants of the dream that remained were the pleasant, residual feelings, an afterglow that warmed me up like an oversized mug of hot cocoa (with miniature marshmallows, of course) on a cold night.
I wanted to cling to the feelings, but I knew that, like the dream, they’d fade. After a few more moments, I flung the covers off of me. I needed a break from my thoughts. But really, I just needed food. Or coffee. Preferably both.
James’s kitchen looked like it had been plucked straight from a Food Network TV show: gorgeous cabinets, chef-grade appliances, granite and stainless steel galore. I half expected to see Martha Stewart or Giada De Laurentis walk around the corner. If my cooking repertoire reached further than the microwave, I’m sure it would’ve been love at first sight.
The smell of coffee lingered in the air, but James was nowhere to be found. His mug sat half empty on the long rectangular island at the center of the kitchen. After a few minutes of opening and closing cabinets, I finally found the mugs. I filled one with lukewarm coffee and a dash of cream I found in the fridge.
“James?” I called out, placing my mug into the microwave. No response.
Reheated coffee in hand, I wandered over to the windowed wall at the back of the apartment. Every couple of steps, I had to pull up James’s oversized sweatpants. Eventually, I just gave up and let them rest low on my hips. I didn’t mind; I liked that I was wearing something of his, something that he’d worn at one time.
I looked out at the expansive view of the city. A dense fog blanketed the top of the buildings. Cars lined the streets below, and people dotted the sidewalks.
After a while, I showered and changed back into my sundress, but James was still gone. My stomach rumbled. If he wasn’t back soon, I’d have to forage for food myself, and he wouldn’t like that. Violet might be a disaster in the kitchen, but I was a Category 5 hurricane. Speaking of Violet, I checked my phone and found a slew of texts and voicemails from her.
It completely slipped my mind to tell her that I wasn’t coming home last night. I listened to the first voicemail.
Corinne! Where. Are. You? Please call me back. Please, please, please. Tell me you haven’t been kidnapped. Wait. If you have been kidnapped, then I must be talking to your kidnapper right now. In that case, listen up kidnapper. You know the movie Taken? It was based on a true story. My story. So if you don’t want to turn out like the bad guys, I suggest you return my friend to me. However. If you choose to—
The message cut off, but I was still laughing. The earlier messages were calm, while the later ones were in the same vein as the voicemail: threats and pleas to my supposed kidnapper.
I sent her a message to curb her fears, hoping that she hadn’t already called the cops. It was good to know that if I were kidnapped, Violet would be on the case in a heartbeat.
James still hadn’t returned. I was a little concerned, but not enough to send out a search party just yet; I wasn’t Violet. But with him gone, I did what anyone else in my position would do: snoop. Particularly, in his room.
James’s room was large but minimally furnished. I nearly dropped my mug when I spotted the Rothko painting hanging above his bed. I gaped at it, wondering if it was real or not.
Of course it was genuine. James had enough money to buy anything he wanted. This apartment proved that. I didn’t know he was interested in art, though.
After the shock wore off from seeing a painting that could fund the stipends for the women’s team for years, I collapsed on the massive bed in the center of the room. I rolled around, breathing in James’s scent. But my mood soured when I thought about how many other girls had been in this bed.
It was a silly thought to get angry about. It’s not like James and I were dating—that would never happen. But it still dampened my mood.
I crawled to the edge of the bed and hung over it. I peered under the bed and spotted a shoebox. How cliché. But then my mind raced with all the possibilities of what might be inside.
I pulled it out, placed it on the bed, and opened it. Shoes. Well, that was a major letdown.
I dangled over the edge of the bed again and replaced the shoebox. As I was pulling myself back up, I spotted a stack of letters, tied together with twine. They were further under the bed, so I had to drop to the floor and stretch to reach them.
On top of the stack was a picture of me—the photo that used to be pinned on the refrigerator when I was younger. I’d always thought that my mom had taken it down as some passive-aggressive statement. It had never crossed my mind that James had taken it before he left.
I set the photo down next to me and turned my attention to the letters. They were my letters—the letters I’d sent to him after he left. I flipped through them, one after the other, checking the dates. All of them, from the first to the last, were here. He kept every single one.
I didn’t know what to think. A wide range of emotions swelled inside of me. I’d kept the letters James had sent me, but it never crossed my mind he’d done the same. I figured they would’ve gotten lost with all the traveling he did. Or that he didn’t care enough to keep them. But he did and that made me smile.
Unfortunately, my happiness was short-lived as a more unpleasant thought struck me. James had received all my letters, including three that he never responded to. I’d held on to a glimmer of hope that those three had been lost in the mail, or they
were sent to the wrong address. He always seemed to be bouncing around to different locations, so it was possible that I caught him in between a move.
That glimmer of hope, however, was crushed, just like my mood. Why didn’t he respond? Why did he—
I didn’t have much time to think about it because the elevator opened. My heart pounded as adrenaline coursed through me. After replacing the letters and the photo, I rushed out of James’s bedroom, slowing my pace before I reached the end of the hallway. I breathed deep, trying to steady my breath as I turned the corner.
James was standing in the entranceway, balancing large, brown paper bags in his arms. He smiled at me. “Morning, Cori.”
My stomach fluttered and every unpleasant feeling disappeared. How he did that, I had no idea. All I knew was that I was becoming hopelessly drawn to him. And if something didn’t change, I might find myself in the same position as last year.
I can’t allow someone else to have a stranglehold on my emotions.
JAMES
I could get used to this view.
Corinne stood a few yards in front of me, surrounded by the light streaming into the room from the windows behind her. I could see the dark outline of her body under the thin fabric of her sundress, and I was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate.
“Oh, no!” she said, reaching out to me as the bag of groceries I had been balancing on my left arm toppled to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere.
Smooth.
I set the second bag on the table next to me and then knelt down, shoving the scattered groceries back into the bag. Corinne dropped down next to me, helping me. I tried to focus on the mess of groceries and not her cleavage as it threatened to spill out of her dress while she was bending over. Thankfully, we weren’t down there for long.
“I’ll take this one,” Corinne said, grabbing the bag I had placed on the table.
“Thanks,” I said. “Sorry I didn’t leave a note. I didn’t think I was going to be gone very long.”
“That’s alright,” Corinne said, looking back at me. Her hair bounced as she walked in front of me and into the kitchen. “I hardly even noticed.”
I laughed. “Good to know how forgettable I am.”
After sorting through the groceries, I made us breakfast.
“I could get used to this,” Corinne said, raising a forkful of eggs before bringing it to her lips.
So could I.
And that was the problem. Whatever was happening here needed to stop before it evolved into something else entirely. I couldn’t live in this fantasy world where I could keep things simple between me and Corinne. Last night and this morning were proof of that.
I couldn’t think of anything but Corinne. Nothing, other than soccer, had ever consumed my headspace like this before. It felt like I had a complete lack of control.
A few seconds later, my phone rang and I picked it up. Pete. Good news, hopefully.
“Sorry,” I said, standing up. “I need to take this.”
“That’s fine,” Corinne said, “but I get your bacon now.”
I gaped at her.
“Sorry,” she said, reaching across the counter and grabbing my bacon, “but those are the rules.”
“When I get back…” I started.
She flashed a cheesy grin and then took a bite out of my bacon. And in that moment, a piece of me died. There’s nothing more sacred to a man than his bacon. I shed a single tear and then answered the call.
“What’s up?” I said, walking to my bedroom.
“How’s a trip to Hawaii sound?”
“You’ve lost me,” I said as I sat down on the edge of my bed. “What are you talking about?”
“You. Marybeth Adler. Photoshoot. Hawaii. Harvey’s already signed off on it. In fact, he’s even considering bringing you back into practices early, depending on how much Stars branding is included in the shoot, of course.”
I kept quiet for a moment.
“James, you there?”
I heard Corinne’s chair scrape against the floor. Then there was a clang of metal against metal, followed by the sound of running water. I fell back onto the bed.
“Can’t do it.”
Pete sighed. “Why is that?”
“I can’t leave the Hawks in a lurch.”
They’d just had their first game. Who cares if Harvey was offering to take me back early. Harvey wanting me to do the shoot was reason enough for me not to do it. Petty, I know, but I actually wanted to stay with the team. With Corinne, really.
“You’re not. It’s only a week. They’re not going to fall apart because you miss a couple practices.”
“I think I used that same argument with Harvey.”
“You missed more than a couple of practices, James. You missed them all.”
Ordinarily, I would’ve accepted something like this without hesitation. But in the past few weeks, things had changed. I liked the routine I’d built. Although it would be nice to practice with Jack and the rest of the team again, I was managing fine without them. Corinne was my only hang up.
Things were finally going well with her, and I didn’t want to throw a wrench into it. She was opening up. We were having fun. I enjoyed what he had going.
I closed my eyes and my mind drifted back to last night, to the image of Corinne’s beautiful profile. My cock hardened as I traced the delicate curves of her body in my mind. Fuck me…
“James?” Pete’s voice jolted me out of my head. “I need to know now if you’re doing this or not.”
I sat up, ran a hand through my hair, and sighed.
“Yeah. Give me a minute.”
I heard footfalls down the hallway, and I turned my head and watched as Corinne walked slowly down the hall, barefoot in her sundress, her eyes trained on me. My stomach twisted into knots.
When she reached the doorway to the guest room, she smiled and waved at me before disappearing inside. I wanted to drop the phone and follow her. I wanted to…
“Book it,” I said.
I needed to get my head straight before I did something I’d regret.
Something that had consequences for more than just me.
22
Corinne
“Have you figured out your paper topic for Methods yet?” Violet asked before taking a bite out of her cream cheese laden everything bagel.
I sighed, dropping my head into the crook of arm on the kitchen table and mumbling a response.
“I’m sorry. What was that?” Violet said, still chewing.
“It’s five o’clock in the morning. Could we not talk about…” My phone buzzed next to me, and my eyes immediately snapped to it. My pulse quickened as I saw James’s name flash on the screen. I snatched it off the table and read the message.
James: Morning, Cori
I couldn’t help the wide grin growing on my face. It was silly how much a short simple text like that affected me.
Corinne: You’re up early :)
Corinne: Or late, I guess. What time is it there?!
James had only been in Hawaii for a few days now, but it felt so much longer. Every time I heard my phone buzz my heart leapt into my throat. I felt like a giddy schoolgirl.
James: 1:11 a.m.
Corinne: Why aren’t you in bed mister?
James: I am. Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d check in to make sure you’re keeping up with our workout routine. Just because I’m gone doesn’t mean you can slack.
James: Missy.
My cheeks flushed. Missy. Oh boy. He had another thing coming if he thought that was going to stick…
“Who’s the new guy?” Violet asked.
I nearly dropped my phone as I jerked my head away from the screen. She smiled at me with an amused look on her face, chewing her bagel.
“Wai—wha—no.” I knit my brow and sucked in my bottom lip, dragging my front teeth across it. “There’s no new guy,” I said, setting my phone down gently in front of me.
My phone buzzed
again, and my eyes drifted back down to the screen. I had a strong urge to pick up my phone and respond, but with Violet watching, I had to use every ounce of energy to resist. And this early in the morning, and without the requisite levels of caffeine, I wasn’t working with a full tank. After a brief pause, I looked back at Violet.
She raised her brow, eyeing me over her coffee mug as she sipped from it. “Uh-huh,” she said, setting it down in front of her. “I’m sure my texts elicit that same reaction from you.”
“It’s not a new guy. I’m not dating anyone. I swore off men until this season was over, remember?.” I glanced at my phone out of my periphery.
Must resist… must resist… must… Well, just a quick text.
I grabbed the phone.
“Oh, I remember… But things have a funny way of changing, right? Maybe they’ve…”
Violet’s voice drifted away as I focused on James’s new text. I responded to his first one—of course I was still keeping up with his routine. The next message had me bursting at my seams with excitement.
James: Interested in seeing the Blazers play when I get back? I’ve got two tickets, compliments of Marybeth Adler.
Of course I wanted to go—why wouldn’t I? It’s embarrassing, but I’d never actually been to a professional soccer game. I’d never found the time, and not to mention, they’re expensive. My mother certainly wasn’t going to shell out the cash for one. And to be honest, I wouldn’t want to go with her.
Marybeth Adler.
I nearly lost it when he told me she’d be on the shoot with him. She was amazing, an absolute star. MVP two seasons in a row. Olympic team since college. She was everything I strived to be in this sport. I admired her more than almost any other soccer player.
After sending a response, I set down my phone and looked at Violet. “What’s that look?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Violet said with a chuckle.
“It’s not a new guy,” I said a little more forcefully than I had intended.
“Okay, okay,” she said, holding her hands up. “It’s not a new guy.” A pause. “But…” she began.
“It’s James. He just invited me to a Blazers game. That’s all.”
