DITCHED

by RC Boldt

  “Same.”

  “If it’s okay, I’ll head out.” Chris’s hushed voice interrupts gently, and he sits up, lowering the foot of the recliner back into position. By far, he’s one hell of a dedicated manager, always going the extra mile. This is yet another example of that.

  “Of course. Thanks for everything.”

  He nods with a smile. “Call me if there’s anything else you need.” He gestures to the papers sitting on the kitchen island. “That’s the printout from her visit to the vet, and the meds are there with instructions.”

  We say goodbye, and Chris exits quietly, leaving us ensconced in silence.

  “I’m going to grab a quick shower and get some rest.” I press a kiss to her forehead and back away and head toward a sleeping Daisy.

  “What are you doing?” Ivy asks as I crouch down and carefully scoop the pup into my arms.

  I murmur quietly to Daisy, “Easy, girl. I’ve got you.” I cradle her against me much like I would Emilia, and she nuzzles me without making a peep.

  When I turn and meet Ivy’s eyes, they’re widened, appearing almost startled. “I don’t want to leave her down here without me. Plus”—I step past her to make my way toward the stairs—“she has her bed up there, too.”

  Without a word, Ivy follows me up the stairs, and I settle Daisy back in her bed. With a soothing stroke of her back, she emits a cough that sounds like she’s choking before she settles back down. I let out a sigh of relief when her breathing evens out again and remain rooted to the spot, staring down at her.

  Ivy’s arms snake around my waist from behind. I place my hands over hers and close my eyes, taking comfort in her touch.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Her hushed words wash over me, easing some of the tension in my muscles, and I realize how anxious I’d been to get here and ensure Daisy was okay.

  She leads me into the en suite bathroom, flips on the lights and fan, and turns on the water in the walk-in shower. While I rid myself of my clothes, she adjusts the water temperature before turning to face me. Her eyes study me. “All set.”

  I step closer, cupping her face in my hands, and dip my head to graze my lips across hers. “Will you shower with me?”

  She leans back, her gaze searching. “Are you sure you don’t want to be alone?” There’s no hint of reproach in her tone; simply understanding. “I know sometimes when you have a lot on your mind you like to be alone and mull it over.”

  I freeze, and every fiber of my being draws to a screeching halt at her words, at her observation. It’s true, but that’s not what gives me pause. It’s the fact we’ve known one another for about five months now, and she’s recognized this, whereas Lindsay and I dated for two years, and she never once picked up on this nuance.

  I reach for the zipper of her hooded sweatshirt and tug it down slowly while holding her gaze. “I need you.” I swallow hard. “Please.”

  God, Ivy, I think to myself. If only you knew how much I need you, how much I ache for you.

  It eats away at me, not being able to tell her how I feel. I want to express my feelings outright, but I don’t want to scare her off. We’ve come so far, and I don’t want to undo that progress.

  Emotion flickers within the depths of her blue eyes, and she quickly disrobes and steps back into the shower. I follow, and soon, we’re surrounded by the textured stone walls and the multiple showerheads spraying warm water against our bodies. Ivy grabs the body wash and begins lathering it over my skin. As weary as I am from the game, the travel, and the worry over Daisy, it all slides off me much like the way the water rinses the soap from me, disappearing down the drain.

  I wash her hair and body, giving her the same thorough care she did me. When I glide my palms over her breasts, purposely running my thumbs over her nipples, she lets out a faint gasp. She tilts her head back, and her long, dark hair adheres to her back and shoulders. Droplets of water cling to her eyelashes and her fresh-faced skin. The way she arches into my touch, I’m convinced I haven’t seen a more beautiful sight.

  She opens her eyes and meets my gaze. “You take my breath away,” I say softly and run my index finger along her cheekbone and trace the line of her jaw.

  When her lips curve, just so, into a private smile for only me, is when I know I was wrong a moment ago. This—this right here—is the most beautiful sight I’ve witnessed.

  Though she might not be ready to voice it or admit it, it’s written on her face.

  Ivy Hayes loves me.

  30

  Ivy

  My heart feels like it’s about to catapult from my chest, it’s hammering so violently. Becket stares down at me, and his words manage to weave themselves around the chasm in my chest, around the heart I’ve come to think of as a waste.

  “You take my breath away.”

  I reach for him, not knowing exactly what to say because I’ve never felt this way before. I press my body flush against his, my softer form contrasting to his harder, more muscled physique, and our mouths collide.

  I attempt to pour everything into the kiss, the passion, the longing, how much I ached for him while he was away. How much I love how he cares for Daisy like a person, the way he cradled her close to his chest like a baby. The fact he actually admits to needing me astounds me—that this capable, strong, intelligent man needs me. He could have anyone at his beck and call if he wanted.

  Instead, he simply wants me.

  Our kiss, chock-full of emotion, is wilder, more carnal, and passionate. His lips slant over mine, his tongue sweeps inside, and it’s as though neither of us can taste deeply enough. I steer him back to the wide bench seat, and a whimper pulls free when we break apart for him to sit down.

  He smirks up at me. “Still worried about my shoulder, huh?”

  He doesn’t take his eyes off me while he wraps his large palm around his jutting cock. My lips part on a tiny moan while I watch him stroke his length. Finally, I drag my eyes from the tantalizing sight and meet his gaze.

  “Of course.”

  He tips his head back against the shower wall, his heavy-lidded gaze rapt on me, and his smirk is coy. “Be careful, Ivy. Might start thinking you care about me.”

  Something in his tone pricks at me as if he’s not certain I care. I step closer and climb on him on the bench, straddling his hips, and brace my hands on the rough stone on either side of him. Languidly, I lower myself down, and he guides himself inside me while our eyes remain locked.

  I drop tiny kisses along his forehead and his jawline while I ease down inch by inch. “I care, Becket.” I gently toy with his bottom lip between my teeth before I soothe it with my tongue. “I care more than you know.”

  Something within him snaps, and his hands fly out to grip my hips. He pulls me down while he thrusts upward, burying himself deep. “Ivy,” he grits out. His voice is gravelly and hoarse with arousal as his grip tightens on my hips. I begin to ride him with aching slowness, using the wall as leverage. His fingers dig into my hips, and his head descends to fasten his lips around my nipple, suckling the hardened peak before laving it with his tongue.

  A surge of wetness floods me, and my inner muscles clench at his arousing touch. He moves to my other nipple, paying it the same homage, and I quicken my movements, more frantic with need. “Becket,” I moan.

  He releases my nipple from the delicious suction of his mouth and raises his head to look at me. The moment our eyes connect, he sees it. He understands what I need.

  Removing his grip from one side of my hips, he slides his hand between us to press his thumb to my clit, and I instantly arch, shifting on his cock.

  “Fuck.” The hoarse quality of his voice is a testament to his arousal. He continues to work my clit in circles, applying the perfect amount of pressure, while I ride him. “I love watching you like this.” His words are a tinge breathless. “So damn beautiful.” We both groan when his upward thrust hits just the right spot. “Love feeling you come...”

  His thumb works me faster,
and I tense, my toes curling, as I approach the precipice. “Becket, I’m close,” I whimper.

  He responds by thrusting even harder while his thumb sends me over the edge and my inner muscles spasm and clench around his cock. I moan his name over and over while the waves of my release wash over me.

  “Ivy,” he groans, thrusting feverishly before his body jerks, and he floods me with the warmth of his release.

  Our harsh, labored breaths linger in the shower, and I remain limp on his lap, my forehead pressed against his shoulder. “We should probably move,” I mutter.

  His slight chuckle vibrates beneath me. “Guess so.” He sounds as resigned as I do, but we both rise from the bench and rinse off once more before finishing our shower.

  After we dry off, Becket checks on Daisy once more. He pulls on a pair of low-slung pajama pants that make me want to jump him all over again, but he looks exhausted. When he hands me a pair of cotton shorts with a tank top from one of “my” dresser drawers, I accept them and tug them on, and we brush our teeth before crawling into bed.

  He turns off the small light and speaks quietly within the darkened bedroom. “You planning to sleep on your side like usual?”

  I falter at his question. “What do you mean?”

  He hesitates before finally answering. “You always fall asleep there before you move and snu…curl up against me, wrapping your arm around me.”

  I physically jerk at his admission, at the word I know he was about to say. “I had no idea. I’m sorry.” Such an early riser by nature—and requirement, too—he’s always up before I am, so I had no way of knowing this.

  “Ivy.” He shifts, turning to face me, the faint light of the moon sneaking through the blinds to partially illuminate his features. “No apology is necessary. I was only mentioning it just in case you felt like you had to fall asleep right there instead of beside me.” Then he lowers his voice, and it dips to something huskier. “I love when you curl up against me.”

  I’m at a loss for words, for the right thing to say.

  He reaches out to smooth a lock of damp hair back and tuck it behind my ear. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  “You didn’t.” I swallow hard. “I just…don’t really know what to say.”

  Becket rises to lean over and press his lips to my forehead. “Just say good night, Ivy.” He lies down on his back and reaches for my hand to link our fingers together.

  “Good night, Ivy,” I murmur.

  His soft chuckle brings a smile to my lips, and my earlier tension eases. “Smart-ass.”

  “You love it,” I shoot back softly.

  There’s a beat of silence. “That I do.”

  “Good night, Becket.”

  “Good night, Ivy.”

  When the strong tug of sleep begins to pull me under, I can’t help but replay the way his voice deepened, changing to a lower timbre when he said, “That I do.”

  And I wonder if there’s any chance someone like him could really love a person like me.

  31

  Becket

  HALLOWEEN

  I’m waiting for the guys to get here since we’re all riding over in the limo. I’m normally pumped as hell about this party because my inner kid rejoices at getting to dress up for Halloween. Tonight’s excitement is trumped considerably at the prospect of seeing Ivy dressed up and as my date.

  She agreed to go to this Halloween bash put on by ESPN only if she could avoid the red carpet action and all the photos. Of course, I’m a little disappointed I won’t have her by my side for the entirety, but I understand. She’s always been up front about her aversion to that sort of attention, and I respect it.

  The first sign that my guys are screwing up my plans—or more specifically, my theme of movie and TV duos—is when they start showing up at my door.

  Dax and Mario arrive first. Dressed in a plain beige T-shirt, Dax has a sunglass-wearing baby doll in a carrier strapped to his chest. Behind him is Mario in a plain white sleeveless shirt with a giant-size Hello Kitty bandage on his shoulder.

  I stare at the two for a moment, trying to scan my memory of the movie The Hangover but keep coming up short.

  “Hold up.”

  The two stop before me, and I point at Dax.

  “I know you’re the guy from The Hangover”—I wave my hand at Mario—“but I don’t remember anyone with a Hello Kitty bandage.”

  Dax’s lips curve into the widest, shit-eating grin. “Probably because we’re not from that movie.”

  “Then who—”

  Dax points both index fingers at himself. “You’re looking at Uncle Becket.”

  Before I can manage to respond, Mario beams with pride and points to the Hello Kitty bandage. “And I’m ‘My shoulder’s botherin’ me because I’m a pussy’ Becket Jones.”

  Jesus.

  I place my hands on my hips and glare at them. “We had a plan. A theme.”

  “Change of plans.” Dax slaps my arm playfully and grins. “Plus, I think your ball-buster of a woman will love it.”

  I squint at them. “Get outta here.” I tip my head toward the living room where I have snacks laid out. “Feed your inner mean girl while you’re at it.”

  They boom with laughter as they stride down the hallway, and I close the door. Once I step into the living room, the doorbell rings again, and I find myself wondering what the hell will be on the other side.

  As soon as I open the door, my eyes widen in shock. Briefly, that is. Because I should have known better.

  Tank, our lineman, is clad in only a pair of black Under Armour boxer briefs. But that isn’t what’s drawn my attention. Nope. It’s his large belly that appears to have drawn-on abs—or specifically a six-pack—in black marker.

  I raise my eyes to meet his laughing ones. “I know I’m gonna regret asking who you’re dressed as.”

  His mouth stretches into a wide, toothy smile, his top front gold tooth shining back at me. He playfully slaps my shoulder before stepping around me to enter the house. “I’m Becket Jones, the underwear model.”

  I can only manage to stare after him as he disappears down the hall to join the others.

  “Trick or treat.”

  At the sound of her voice, my lips part for an immediate smile, but the moment I turn my head and take in the sight of her, I falter.

  Holy shit.

  I’m faced with the only woman who could possibly make this costume look sexy as hell. I mean, overalls and a paisley shirt unbuttoned, and dark-framed glasses shouldn’t make any woman look so appealing. Ivy gives the character Laney Boggs, an unpopular high school art student from the movie She’s All That, a run for her money.

  But on her, she’s…

  “Well, hell, if you aren’t exactly what the movie title says.” I snake an arm around her waist to pull her close. With a quick press of my lips to her forehead, I lean back to take her in once again.

  “She’s all that,” I murmur. My eyes lock with hers, and I detect a shimmer of pride in the depths.

  “Well, you’re no slouch for a Freddie Prinze Jr. either, buddy.” She pats my chest with a sly smile before glancing past me, eyes narrowing at the sight of Dax. “Hey,” she yells down the hall, “I thought you said we were all showing up at the same time.”

  “Sorry, Ivy.” Dax’s response carries down the hall. “We had to space ours out in order to carry out the dramatic entrance.”

  Ivy stares at me in confusion. “Dramatic entrance?”

  I shake my head. “Go see for yourself.”

  She steps closer and draws a finger down my chest before she pauses over my crotch and my cock jerks at her light touch.

  “Stop touching me there!” I say in loud faux outrage, grinning down at her the entire time.

  She rolls those beautiful blue eyes at me. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “You’re the one touching me where my mom always said were no-no places.”

  “No-no places?” Her eyebrows rise, eyes dancing merrily. “Do you e
ver actually listen to what comes out of your mouth?”

  I smirk and hold up a finger. “Give me a moment.” I close my eyes and say, “I have to savor the fact you said the words come and mouth in the same sentence.” Then I let out a dreamy sigh. “God, that was just beautiful.”

  “Ugh.” She shoves at me, and I grab her swiftly and grin before I place a quick kiss on her lips.

  “I love messing with you.”

  The edges of her lips twitch as she attempts to restrain a smile. “Clearly.”

  “But, really, Ivy,” I say with utter seriousness. “You shouldn’t touch me down there.”

  One eyebrow arches. “That’s not what you said the other night.”

  Mollified, I gasp dramatically. “I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating. I’m a man of delicate sensibilities.”

  “Really?”

  My expression crumples, and a smile breaks free. “Nah. Not even. I mean, come on.” I lift a shoulder in a half shrug. “I get slapped on the ass by other men on a pretty regular basis. Nothing too delicate about that.”

  She laughs, her eyes shining with amusement. “You’re something else.”

  Ivy moves past me, getting in a little swat of my ass, and strides down the hall. I shove the door closed without breaking my attention, still admiring the way her ass looks fine as hell in those overalls. Her long brown hair gently sways against her back as she moves.

  “You’ve got it bad, dude.”

  So caught up in my staring, I hadn’t realized the door didn’t close, and my final guest had arrived.

  Instantly, I fix a hard glare at Myers, our kicker. By far, he has the most elaborate costume out of all the guys. “Not you, too?”

  He flashes me a toothy grin. “Damn straight.” Stepping inside, he closes the door behind him, and this is when I truly get a look at the extent of detail that went into this costume.

  On exactly one-half of him, from top to bottom, he’s wearing a T-shirt with my number on the chest and one leg clad in jeans. Directly down his center, like a dividing line, the different fabrics are sewn together. The opposite side is a dress, including half a dark-haired wig with a blue streak in it. He’s even gone so far as to wear one woman’s shoe—albeit a low-heeled one.