Did I really think I could run from this? My desire would call me back. Already, I want to tie myself to his ankle, shackle myself to his wrist. Bind him to me so that he wouldn’t dream of leaving.
“It’s all right,” he says. He places his face in my neck. His nose drags along the nerves and veins. “It’s going to be all right.”
He rises as I cling to him.
“How can you walk?” I mumble.
“Lots of training,” he says. But his steps aren’t as sure as they could be, as if he was drunk from pleasure, too.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to shower. Then I’m going to have dinner and then we’re going to your place to have sex again because I want to be horizontal when I pass out.”
“What about my dinner?” I protest, running my fingers along his broad shoulders, which flex and bunch under my touch.
“You already had it,” he says.
“I did?” And then I realize exactly what he plans to eat.
It’s a good thing I’m being carried because I can’t walk with that image in my head.
28
Ty
“Why are you trading chairs?” Ara asks, coming out of the shower room wrapped in a Southern U towel.
Halfway across the locker room, I pause to take in the gorgeous view. Too bad I don’t have my phone on me. It’s an image I’d like to take with me—to entertain myself while I’m on the road. I console myself with the fact that I’ll have plenty of other opportunities to record her sexy self.
I give myself a mental shake. “You think I’m going to let Townley sit his ass in the same chair I fucked you in?”
“Okay, good call.” She gives me a thumbs up.
I cross over to my old locker and pick up my padded chair before switching it with the one that Ara and I just christened. I wipe it down with a couple of towels while Ara gets dressed.
“Oh boy.” I look over my shoulder to see her holding up a scrap of fabric. “You ripped my underwear.”
I grin. “I feel real bad about that.”
“Sure you do.” She crumples the fabric into a ball. “I guess I have to free ball it.”
“You don't have balls,” I point out.
“I'm free vagina-ing it then.”
I eye her. The skirt she has on is short. No underwear? I blanch. I never thought I'd be the jealous type. Guess it took the right woman. “No. Let me find something.” I rummage through my locker and toss her a pair of workout shorts.
She pulls them up, takes a step, and then stops. The shorts fall to her ankles. I swallow a laugh and go tie them up for her.
“Everyone’s going to know we did something if I walk around in these,” she whines.
“So? We’re going to tell them at some point. Why not now?”
“What about Rhyann?”
“What about her?” I grab my ball-cap and give the room a once over. It looks orderly. There don’t appear to be any signs of our shenanigans. Not that I would care, but I think Ara might.
“She’ll be mad and write ugly things about you again.”
“Nah. She’s dating someone new. I don’t think she has much credibility left.” I take Ara’s arm and lead her toward the exit.
“But what about—”
“Are you trying to make up problems?” I ask impatiently. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
She stops. “Like what?”
I realize then that I haven’t told her about the whole agent mess. I open my mouth but snap it shut when her phone rings.
She raises a finger. “Hold that thought.” And then, “Hello, this is Ara Martin.” A smile crosses her face. She taps mute. “It’s the Philly gallery!” she says in hushed excitement.
“Better find out what they want.” I gesture for her to unmute the call.
She does. “Yes, I’m at a place I can talk.” Her eyes sparkle in anticipation. She looks so happy. She needed this validation—that she could find a place in the art world without her dad’s help. I’m hoping that once she gets this job, she’ll start gaining confidence in her own work.
Her children’s art is very special. I can imagine reading her books to my children. An image of Ara holding our baby flicks into my head. I don’t run in fear of that thought. In fact, it—
The blood drains out of Ara’s face.
“No, no, I understand. It’s hard, though, because for some jobs I’m overqualified and others, I don’t have enough.” She nods miserably. “Yes, I’ll keep looking. Thank you.”
Her hand drops to her side.
“You didn’t get the job?” I guess.
She shakes her head. “I think I’m going to have to apply for a secretarial position,” she says glumly. She pushes away from the wall and starts walking. “What were you saying earlier?” she asks.
Yeah, I’m not going to bother her with my shit now. “Nothing. What’s going on with your dad?’
“He’s still in NY.”
“You went down to your dad’s place by yourself?”
“Holly was there. She was so sad.”
I can see where this is all unfolding and realize I need to squelch it immediately. Ara thinking about her dad’s past bad relationships is going to make her question ours. She’s the most confident about this connection of ours when we’re naked.
I speed up and grab her hand. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Your place.”
“Why?”
I don’t bother to answer. Instead, I pack her into the car, motor over to her apartment, and then hustle her up the stairs.
“Where’s the fire?” she asks.
“Don’t tee up the bad puns so easily,” I chide. “I’m only human and it’s hard not to say, ‘in my pants.’”
“But then I’d have to respond that you should go to the health clinic because that’s not healthy.”
“I’ll remember that the next time you tell me that something ‘hurts so good.’”
She’s punching my arm when her roommate opens the door.
“This is foreplay, Fleur,” I announce. “You probably want to go for a walk because it’s going to be loud in Ara’s bedroom.”
“Shut up!” Ara cries in mortification.
Fleur merely grins. “I have noise-canceling headphones.”
I pick Ara up and throw her over my shoulder. “Turn the music to at least eight.”
Ara beats her tiny fists against my back. “Let me go!”
“Make that ten.” I make straight for the bedroom and kick the door shut behind me. I toss her on the bed and reach behind me to grab the back of my T-shirt.
“You’ve got about sixty seconds before I start tearing your clothes off—in case you want to save your bra or your T-shirt.”
It takes me half that to get naked. She’s still struggling with the waistband of the borrowed shorts.
I bat her hands away and pull the shorts down her legs.
“The outside world is fucking up, baby,” I tell her as I pull her to the edge of the bed. “Let’s hide in here for a while.”
“You have to leave for the combine tomorrow.”
“And I will.” I push her back. “But for now, I’m going to enjoy my girlfriend’s perfect body.”
She bends forward and reaches for my dick. I push her back again.
“What are you doing?” she asks in frustration.
I kneel at the edge of the bed and throw her an impatient look. “What do you think?”
“What about that?” She points to my hard-on that bobs eagerly between my legs.
“That can wait.”
“But—”
I slap her ass lightly. “Ara, I want to go down on you. Why are you fighting me on this?”
“But you already went down on me in the shower.”
With exaggerated patience, I explain, “And I want to do it again.”
At her stunned silence, I ask, “How many guys have you dated? Actually, no, don’t answer that. I
like going down on you. I like having my mouth on you. I like the way you look. No, scratch that. I love the way you look. The way you taste. The way you smell. If I could I’d spend an entire weekend with my face between your legs. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes, but—”
I hold up a hand. “No buts. Any further comments should be held until after you come.”
She doesn’t shut up, but it’s okay. Her dialogue consists of, “Oh my God,” and, “Yes, fuck yes,” and, “Ty, please,” and “Tyyyyyy.”
She does taste like heaven. Sweet, sweet heaven. Her pussy is smooth and soft and slick. I use my fingers to spread her apart and then devour her.
She does fall quiet then. Her thighs close around my ears. The heels of her feet dig into my shoulders. Her fingers pull tightly on my hair.
Her excited response, the flavor of her on my tongue, all of it makes my dick rock hard. Hell, yeah, I could spend an eternity down here.
I suck and bite and lick her until she comes screaming. This girl is good for my ego.
“Any complaints?” I wipe a hand across my mouth.
Wordlessly, she shakes her head.
“Good.” I climb onto the bed, sit back on my haunches and palm my aching dick. “You have a couple choices,” I tell her while I stroke myself. A hungry expression creeps over her face. I know the answer before I present her options. “You can go to sleep while I jerk myself off. You can watch me. Or, if you want, you can climb on top and ride me.”
“Ride,” she chokes out.
I spread my arms wide. “Come on, cowgirl.”
29
Ara
“From the look on your face, I don't need to ask how it was,” Fleur notes as I shut the door behind Ty.
He's off to pack for the combine. He proclaimed he didn't need to pack, but I needed a breather. I think he understood, but he warned me he was coming back to talk after he was done. The message was that I get a little time to get my head together and then he wants to clear the air.
“Yes, watered my crops, cleared my acne, and obliterated the need to study, is that what you wanted to hear?”
“I knew all that already. You two weren't quiet.”
I try not to blush. Fleur has been my roommate for four years. She knows everything about me. Why should I be embarrassed that I was a little noisy? My cheeks heat up anyway.
“So?” I shrug, making my way into the kitchen. I need some sustenance. Sex makes you hungry.
“So why'd you kick him out like he was a mistake you dragged home after an all-night bender?” Fleur follows me. “You're acting like you aren't even friends.”
I grab some sandwich meat and the mayo. Fleur hands me the loaf of bread. “I don't know,” I admit. “Every time I start thinking about what's going on, I start panicking.”
“You need to stop thinking and just enjoy yourself.”
I wish I could. “I’m trying, but I keep thinking of the future and it scares me.” I point my knife at the bread.
She shakes her head and pushes herself up on the counter. “And your reflexive response is to sabotage the whole thing before it even gets off the ground.”
“That's not fair.”
She falls silent while I finish making my sandwich.
“You know, I really hated that you kept working at Marissa's. She always introduced you as Artie's daughter, like you didn't have your own identity.”
“Um, yes,” I say between bites, “and that's exactly how I think I'd feel dating Ty. I'd be Ty's girlfriend, but he wouldn’t even be there mentally. Look how he doesn't eat anything but healthy shit. And he hasn't drunk even a drop since the night of the Championship game.”
“But that's because the draft is coming up. It's the single biggest event in his life.”
“I know, but after that it will be his first NFL game and then his first night game and then his first playoff game.”
“Those are all excuses,” she barks out. “You're a coward, Ara.”
I stop with the sandwich halfway to my mouth. “What? A coward? How can you say that?”
“You're an emotional scaredy-cat. You'd rather hide and play the victim than take control of your life. The thing with Marissa? You allowed that. You could've told her to stop treating you like you were a line on her résumé. And if you end up with Ty, the only way you'll only be his girlfriend is if you don't speak up for yourself.”
My appetite disappears. I slap the half-eaten sandwich on the counter. “You don't know what it's like. Leon adores you. He lives to serve you.”
Fleur calmly picks up my sandwich and takes a tiny nibble. “And Ty'd be the same way if you gave him half a chance, but for all your big talk about wanting to create your own place in the sun, you don't do anything about it. Take Blinkie the Rabbit.”
“What about him?” I have half a mind to rip my food out of her mouth.
“He sits in your notebook. You won't do an official piece and put it in your portfolio. You're like the literal definition of hiding your light under a bushel. Instead of taking the chance of rejection, you'd rather no one see it at all. You'd be doing everyone a favor if you got your head out of your ass.” After throwing those bombs at me, she takes another bite.
Fuming, I grab my sandwich out of her mouth.
“You can make your own damn food.”
“I will.” She hops off the counter.
“I hope you choke on it.” I stomp off to my bedroom.
“I love you, too,” she sing-songs to my back.
In my bedroom, I start throwing stuff around. The bed is a wreck. I snap a sheet off the ground.
“Head out of my ass? I'm a coward? She doesn't know what she's talking about,” I rant. “I'm the only one with my head on straight here. Ty's blinded by his dick, and Fleur…” I pause. I don't know what Fleur's problem is. “She's PMSing,” I conclude.
“I can hear you!” she yells.
Startled, I drop the sheet. Damn, these walls are thin. It's hard to vent when you have to whisper, but I try. Meanwhile I can hear Fleur fucking whistling out in the living room. I huff and puff as I clean the room, muttering about how no one understands me.
Finally, after the room is neatly arranged, I end my childish tantrum and pull out my notebook. I started drawing this two years ago. Every so often, I'd pull it out and doodle in it some more. Only a few people have ever seen it, and only by accident.
I've kept it private because it's not good. It's not that I'm afraid of rejection, but rather I'm realistic. There's nothing wrong with facing your flaws or recognizing that perfect things don't exist in this world.
That doesn't make me lazy or cowardly or afraid. It makes me smart. I flip open the book to the last sketched page. I haven't progressed beyond Blinkie cowering in the corner from Farmer Brown. I trace a finger around his furry face.
Ty's right. No one wants to cheer for the scared rabbit. I grab a pencil off my desk and shade in a couple of front teeth. There, I think. Not so helpless. Ty's suggestion of a sword and horse pop into my head. I draw a stick in the rabbit's mouth and a goat behind Farmer Brown. Not exactly the knight in shining armor, but more fitting for a farm. I giggle over the idea of Ty as a goat.
I finger a corner of my notebook. Would it kill me to show my dad? Gauge his opinion? What’s the worst thing that he’d say? That it’s no good? I already think that. No, I must think it’s worth something because if I really, truly believed it was no good then I wouldn’t be scared of honest criticism. I think it’s decent and am afraid to hear from my dad that it’s not.
I am a coward.
I pick up my phone. I’m going to tell him. I’m going to tell Dad about this work. Then I’m going to go to Ty and tell him I love him and see if he runs toward me or away. Because I’m tired of hiding.
Dad picks up on the second ring. I hear road noise. “Hey, Ara, honey. What are you doing right now?”
“Are you driving?”
“I’m just pulling up to your apartment,�
� he admits.
“What?” I jump to my feet. “I thought you were in New York.”
“I decided to fly home. Stephen was getting tired of me,” he jokes.
“I'm on my way down.” I pull on a knit miniskirt and grab an oversized sweatshirt. It’s Ty’s, of course. I hug it to me. Ty's life and mine are intertwined. I was nuts to think I could separate my feelings for him forever. I wonder if I should text him.
My phone beeps. I raise it and see a text from my dad.
Campus police r behind me. Hurry. I'm not good in enclosed spaces.
I send the eyeroll emoji but abandon the idea of contacting Ty for now. It’s better I see him in person. I jam my feet into a pair of flip-flops, stick my phone in my pocket and, at the last minute, grab my notebook.
Dad gives me a peck on the cheek when I climb into the car.
“When did you fly in? I would’ve met you at the airport.”
“I already had my car here,” he reminds me. “Besides, this way I get to take you to dinner. You hungry?”
I remember my aborted attempt to eat. “Yeah, I am.” He drives over to the Row House. As we climb out of his car, he gestures to the notebook under my arm.
“What's this?”
“Nothing,” I say by habit.
He comes around the front of the car and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You look different.”
Oh God. Am I wearing a sex face? I pat myself self-consciously. “Prettier?” I boast, trying to throw him off the scent.
“Stressed.” He points to my forehead. “You have wrinkles.”
Frantically, I rub my forehead. “Dad. You’re supposed to tell me I'm the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“You are. Only you’re the most beautiful stressed girl in the world. Is this because you were fired?”
My jaw drops and I stop walking. “How did you know? And no, I wasn't fired. I quit.”
Instead of responding, he opens the door to the Row House and ushers me inside. Jeanette greets us. Dad orders the evening special and then hustles me into a booth.
When we sit down, he says, “Dear, the art world is tiny. I know that you no longer work for Marissa, although the word is that you were fired. I also know you got turned down for the jobs in Philly and Dallas.”
Played: A Novel (Gridiron Series Book 4) Page 20
