Moon Shot

by Tara Wyatt

  “You okay?” He smoothed a hand over her hip, his fingers feathering over where the skin on her ass stung and throbbed.

  She nodded. “Uh huh. I’m good.”

  “Bathroom?” he asked her in a raw voice, dropping kisses on her shoulders.

  “On the right, by the front door.”

  He caressed her hip again and then slid carefully out of her. A sudden weakness hit her and she collapsed onto the floor, rolling onto her back. She didn’t have the energy to do anything but lie on the floor halfway between her front entrance and the living room, her dress bunched around her waist, her entire body blissfully sated. She stared at the ceiling, and she knew for certain that she was either a genius or a dumbass for agreeing to Javi’s sex only plan.

  When he emerged, he let out a low chuckle at the sight of her. He held out a hand and she took it, letting him help her up off the floor.

  Shocking the hell out of her, he bent and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest and walked them over to the couch. He sat and settled her in his lap, her head resting against his solid shoulder. Without saying anything, he stroked a hand up and down her back in a soothing caress. She could hear the steady thump of his heart, could smell his clean soap and fresh laundry scent, feel the solid warmth of his broad body. And she knew, with every fiber of her being, that she should pull away. This—cuddling and holding and nuzzling her face into his neck—wasn’t part of the just sex deal. But in the moment, it felt too good to do anything but let it happen. Which, come to think of it, seemed to be the prevailing theme when it came to her and Javi.

  “That was unbelievable,” he said, his voice low and sated. “It’s always so wild with you. It’s amazing.” There was a note of incredulity, almost awe in his voice.

  She tilted her head to look up at him. From her angle, he was all long eyelashes and square jaw, a silhouette of straight nose and perfect lips. “You mean that’s not your usual style?”

  He shrugged, his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. “I mean…I’ve always been…uninhibited, I guess? But being with you, it’s like you flip this switch in me and I just have to take and claim and I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Maybe because you’ve never had sex with someone you don’t actually like before.”

  “No, Aerin, I—”

  She cut him off with a kiss, not wanting to hear him say that he liked her, that he didn’t hate her, even if she wanted those things to be true. She didn’t need after sex half-truths. She didn’t need him to stroke her ego or tell her pretty things. “Let’s not overanalyze a good thing, okay?”

  “Okay.” He kissed her again, but it wasn’t like before. There was no urgency, no neediness in it. It was sweet, slow and tender and it made her throat ache and her chest feel hollow in a way she didn’t fully understand, so she pulled away.

  “Your place is amazing, by the way,” he said almost absently, playing with a lock of her hair. She wanted to hum and stretch in pleasure, but it didn’t feel right, so she shut the urge down.

  “Thanks.” She didn’t say anything else, mostly because she didn’t know what to say. Everything that popped into her mind felt too…too intimate. Which was weird, because he’d been inside her five minutes ago. But then he shifted beneath her and something almost like panic washed over her. Crap. She didn’t want him to go.

  “Um. Do you want a beer or something? Or I could order in? I don’t know what the standard protocol is for a frenemy with benefits.” She lifted her head, searching his face, watching for the first sign of rejection so she could beat him to it.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Really? We’re frenemies?”

  “Are we not?”

  “I don’t know… I thought maybe we could be more like sex buddies. You know, how you have gym buddies, or poker buddies? But, you know. For sex.”

  “Sex buddies,” she said, almost testing the words. Weighing them and examining them to see how they felt. They didn’t set any alarms shrieking in her head, so she nodded slowly. “Well, I guess. I mean, this does count as cardio. And there’s some poking going on…” He grinned wickedly at her and she felt the last of her defenses crumble against the battering ram of his easy charm. “Okay. But we should lay out some ground rules.”

  “Such as?”

  “Rule number one: no feelings.”

  He nodded, a little too quickly for her ego. “No problem.”

  “Great. Rule number two: condoms.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Three: if you meet someone else, that’s fine. Just let me know and we can call this off.”

  “Okay,” he said, again, just a little too quickly, as if he were eager for all of this distance she was putting between them. Which, she had to remind herself, was a good thing.

  “Four: no sleepovers.”

  “Done.”

  “Five: no cuddling.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear, reminding her that she was sitting in his lap and quite enjoying it.

  “Okay, fine. Limited cuddling.”

  “Those are pretty vague contract terms, Ms. Stone.”

  She sighed. “Cuddling shall not exceed fifteen minutes post-sex. Exceptions made in the case that it can be reasonably assumed that more sex shall be occurring within the next hour.” She squinted at him. “Two hours?”

  There was that devastating grin again. “Please. Give me some credit.”

  “Fine. One hour.”

  “I accept your delineated terms re: limited cuddling.”

  “Six,” she said, doing her best to pretend he wasn’t cute and charging ahead. “No dates.”

  “Well, like I said. We’re not dating. This,” he said gesturing between them, “is not a dating thing.”

  She nodded, trying to ignore the sting of his words. “And finally, point seven, which is really comprised of several subpoints: boundaries and definitions. This starts now, and either of us has the ability to end it without any hard feelings. Honesty is expected. If you want to hook up, text or call and I’ll do the same. Again, no hard feelings if it’s a no. Conversation and fucking are fine—and limited cuddling—” she added at his raised eyebrow— “but everything else is too intimate and therefore off the table. If we see each other at work, this does not get discussed.”

  At that, his grip tightened on her, just a little. “Oh, really? You seemed pretty pleased with the meeting we had a couple of weeks ago.” His voice had taken on a harder, darker edge and she squirmed in his lap, remembering just how hot it had been to get fucked on his desk. Hot and stupid.

  “It would look bad for me if it got out that I was sleeping with a manager. It’s not against the rules, per say, but it would damage my reputation. So work is a firm boundary for me.”

  “Fine. Anything else, Ms. Stone?”

  “No meeting friends or family. No gifts. No favors. No special treatment,” she finished quickly.

  “Deal.” He leaned forward and kissed her, taking her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. She moaned into his mouth and moved to straddle him, weaving her hands into his thick hair.

  “You’re a terrible negotiator, Flores.”

  He smiled against her mouth. “Am I? I think I just got everything I wanted.”

  His words hit like cold water in the center of her chest, and she had to remind herself that she was protecting herself here, too. That it didn’t matter how he felt about her. They would have some really freaking fantastic sex and then go their separate ways, hearts intact. The fact that he was just as on board with that as she was was a good thing.

  He kissed her again and it didn’t feel like a good thing. But she shoved that away and focused on the kiss, on his hard chest against hers, on the new heat gathering between her legs. All too soon, he pulled away.

  “And thank you for the offer, but I can’t stay. I have a Skype date with my girls and then a late dinner meeting.”

  Right. He had kids. Another cold punch right in the sternum.
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  “Sure,” she said, climbing off of him and wishing she were wearing more than a sheer slip of fabric. Despite the conversation they’d just had, she wanted to ask him about his life. About his daughters and who he was having dinner with and all kinds of crazy things she had no business asking him. She’d said that conversation was fine, but what she’d meant was the kind of teasing banter that seemed to end up with him inside her. She hadn’t meant anything deeper, and God knew she didn’t want to discuss her life with him.

  But she didn’t say anything, because saying nothing was easier than figuring out the right thing to say, the perfect, witty, flirty thing when she was still adjusting to this new reality and mapping how she was going to navigate it.

  And so, she walked him out, shut the door behind him, and retreated to the shower.

  Ten

  Monday, April 9

  Aerin: Hey, Javi? Can you come over tonight? You guys have an off day, right?

  * * *

  Javi: Shit, no, I can’t. I’m having dinner with the GM and some other suits. Tomorrow?

  * * *

  Aerin: Tomorrow I’m leaving for LA for a few days. I get back Friday.

  * * *

  Javi: I can do Friday. I’ll be late though. We have a 7 pm game. I can come over after.

  * * *

  Aerin: Great, I’ll text you when I’m back.

  * * *

  Javi: Okay. Have a safe trip.

  * * *

  Wednesday, April 11

  Javi: Wow, so you’re kinda famous, huh?

  * * *

  Aerin: Am I?

  * * *

  Javi: You’re in Forbes. Top sports agents.

  * * *

  Aerin: Oh, that. Well, I’m no Scott Boras…

  * * *

  Javi: Thank God for that.

  * * *

  Aerin: He’s not your type?

  * * *

  Javi: I just don’t think he’d like being spanked, honestly.

  * * *

  Aerin: Haha. Good luck against the Yankees tonight.

  * * *

  Javi: Thanks. See you Friday.

  * * *

  Thursday, April 11

  Aerin: Do you ever have one of those days where everything that comes out of your mouth is wrong?

  * * *

  Javi: Only on days that end in Y. What happened?

  * * *

  Aerin: Uh, well…A client—who shall remain nameless—just told me he’s in love with me.

  * * *

  Javi: Oh, man. Where’s the body?

  * * *

  Aerin: Hardy fucking har. I should’ve handled it better. I didn’t know what to say.

  * * *

  Javi: What did you do?

  * * *

  Aerin: I was mean. Like, really mean.

  * * *

  Javi: I’m shocked.

  * * *

  Aerin: I made him cry. So, he’ll probably be looking for a new agent.

  * * *

  Javi: For what it’s worth, he was totally inappropriate. I can’t say I blame him, though.

  * * *

  Aerin: For crying or for thinking he’s in love with me?

  * * *

  Javi: Oh, definitely the crying. You’re terrifying.

  * * *

  Aerin: Aw, thanks Javi. That’s sweet.

  * * *

  Javi: Try not to break any more hearts before I see you tomorrow, k?

  * * *

  Aerin: No promises.

  Javi strode the length of the dugout, kicking the empty Gatorade cups out of his way with a low chuckle. Normally, the guys drove him nuts with their inability to put their empty cups in the garbage bin, but tonight he didn’t care. No, tonight, he had bigger and better things than trash and lazy players on his mind. He glanced up at the stadium clock, a grin spreading across his face. Aerin was due to land in Dallas in half an hour. It was the bottom of the fourth, meaning he’d likely be at her place in another three hours or so. And he’d hopefully be inside her in another three hours and six minutes. Give or take.

  Abby moseyed up beside him, casually tossing a handful of sunflower seeds in her mouth. “You look awfully happy for a manager whose team is down by five runs,” she said, shooting him a smartassed smirk. “It’s almost like you’ve got something else on your mind.”

  “I have a date later,” he said, the words out of his mouth before he could examine them too closely. He and Aerin were most definitely not dating—she’d made that abundantly clear, which was fine by him—and yet any other word for what he was looking forward to later didn’t quite fit. Yeah, it was a sex thing, but he couldn’t deny that a part of him was excited to see her. To hear more about her trip. He’d gotten little snippets over the texts they’d exchanged, and they’d only left him wanting more.

  “Oooh,” said Abby, making an exaggerated sitcom-esque sound of sexual intrigue. Javi said nothing, his attention on Hunter, who was currently struggling at the plate.

  Abby smacked him on the shoulder. “Is it Aerin? I bet it’s Aerin. Is it?” He glanced over and met her eyes, which were sparkling with mischief.

  “Yeah. But don’t tell anyone. It’s just a super casual, no strings kind of thing, okay?”

  Abby grinned, pantomiming zipping her lips shut. “For what it’s worth, I’ve always liked her.” She looked out onto the field, her eyes zeroing in on Hunter as he swung and missed for strike two. “I know she has a bit of a reputation, but she really went to bat for me and Jake. I don’t know that my career or my relationship would’ve survived without her help.”

  “So what you’re telling me is that you’re going to name your firstborn Aerin, weird spelling and all?”

  “Ha, yeah, hard no on that. Even my gratitude has boundaries.”

  Hunter struck out for the second time that night, and Javi could see him wrestling with his temper. He’d come so far and worked so hard over the past several months, surprising and impressing everyone with his newfound restraint, self-awareness and control. But tonight, he was struggling, his grip on himself and his infamous wild side tenuous at best.

  He plodded back into the dugout, tossing his bat dejectedly back into its cubby before slamming himself down on the bench. Even though he was clearly frustrated and angry, his actions were a far cry from the bat-breaking, wall-punching Hunter of a year ago.

  Abby leaned close, her voice low. “It’s not his mechanics or anything I can help him with. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but he’s been off the past couple of nights now, and his frustration’s only making it worse.”

  Javi nodded slowly and made his way to where Hunter sat slumped, staring at his hands. “Tough night so far,” he said, leaning back and kicking his legs out in front of him, his eyes on the field.

  Hunter nodded slowly. “I’m fucking it all up,” he said, so quietly that Javi had to strain to hear him.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s only April, and you’ve had a rough couple of nights. Abby says your mechanics and timing are solid.” He paused, rubbing a hand over his chin, having a feeling he knew what might really be going on. “How’s Marlowe feeling? Those early weeks can be tough.” His mind flashed back to Cara’s second pregnancy, when her nausea had been so bad she’d had to take prescription medication for it. She’d spent the first fourteen weeks of her pregnancy with Olive either puking or sleeping.

  At the mention of his wife, Hunter’s head snapped up. “She’s hanging in there. She’s been feeling pretty sick, but her doctor said the nausea should fade soon.”

  “When’s she due?”

  “September 3rd.”

  He clapped a hand over Hunter’s shoulder, giving him a small shake. “You’re gonna be a great dad, you know.”

  At that, Hunter’s eyes met his, wide and earnest. “Am I? Because in case you hadn’t noticed, I have a knack for royally fucking everything up.”

  “The fact that you’re even worried about fucking it up puts you
head and shoulders above a lot of guys out there, Hunter. Fatherhood is scary. It’s also amazing.” A tender ache bloomed inside him, his entire body suddenly yearning for a hug from his girls. Pushing his own feelings aside, Javi continued. “And yeah, there will be times where you get it wrong. There’s no such thing as a perfect parent. Even the best hitters strike out sixty percent of the time, right? And this is your first, so you won’t know what you’re doing, but that’s okay. You and Marlowe are in this together. You’ll struggle and you’ll learn and you’ll laugh and you’ll cry. That’s parenthood. That’s life.” He shrugged. “You guys have got this, I promise you. No one feels ready, no one’s really prepared. You just run with this beautiful gift you’ve been given and you learn as you go. Just keep moving forward, and forgive yourself when you screw up.”