by Alix Nichols
“Talking with Noemi,” I say as calmly as I can.
He glares at me. “You piece of shit, just because they chanted your name in the arena today, you think you can do anything now?”
Ah.
This isn’t so much about Noemi as about him being a substitute hole-set, while I’m the main hole-D. That’s why he’s hated my guts since the day I joined the club.
“Listen,” I say. “Why don’t you let me finish my conversation with Noemi, and then you and I can go have a beer and a chat?”
If we end up fighting, at least it will be in an alley outside a bar and not in the hotel where the entire team can witness our lack of discipline.
Something flashes in Jean-Michel’s eyes.
Could it be hesitation? I hope it is. And I hope Noemi approves of the restraint and moderation that I’m using with her fake boyfriend.
I glance at her.
She’s chewing on her bottom lip as she always does when she’s nervous. Suddenly, her eyes widen, and she yells, “No!”
Jean-Michel’s fist slams into my face before I have time to dodge it.
Sharp pain zings through my head. All goes dark.
When it clears, I feel blood trickling from my nose and on my lips. It tastes of metal and rage.
I square my shoulders. “You, fucker!”
Lunging forward, I ram a fist into Jean-Michel’s stomach.
He growls, shooting me a hateful look. A right jab lands on my midsection. He swings again, but I catch his fist in my hand.
For the next few minutes we punch, block, sidestep, kick and grapple—two massive brutes stripped of civility and common sense.
“Stop it, you morons!” Noemi screams at the top of her lungs.
Zach and Lucas and a couple of other guys rush in and throw themselves at Jean-Michel and me, prying us apart.
Noemi
The two idiots resist, thrashing and spitting profanities, but their teammates outnumber them. A uniformed hotel employee comes running, and Lucas takes him aside, no doubt to explain that the situation is under control.
When he returns to my still-fuming “suitors,” Lucas’s jaw is set. “Consider this a warning. Brawl or even argue again, and I’ll suspend both of you for a month, regardless of what that would do to our chances in the finals.”
The effect on Julien and Jean-Michel is rather spectacular. They stop thrashing and shut up. The tension that was palpable around them only a minute ago dissipates. Their teammates are still holding them, but they have relaxed their stances and their faces.
“To your rooms now,” Lucas commands, his voice steely. “Take an Advil. Get some sleep. I want you sober and nonviolent at breakfast tomorrow morning. Understood?”
“Understood,” Julien says.
Jean-Michel nods. “Yes, Coach.”
Zach, Denis, and the others cautiously let go of the two rivals who are remarkably subdued after Lucas’s intervention.
Julien begins to turn around when his eyes glaze over, and he sways a tiny bit. It lasts only a second, and no one else seems to notice his momentary faintness.
A wave of panic constricts my chest.
Julien might’ve suffered a concussion, and that must be taken seriously. My little brother had one when he was a kid. He ended up spending several days in the hospital. A concussion may even be fatal if it causes bleeding of the brain, and the person doesn’t get immediate help.
“We need to call a doctor,” I say.
Julien wipes the blood running down his nose with the back of his hand. “We don’t.”
Lucas turns to me. “I’ll have both checked tomorrow morning.”
He turns back to Julien and Jean-Michel. “Chop, chop.”
Thirty seconds later everyone has retreated to their rooms, and the hallway is quiet once again.
Spookily quiet.
I begin to pace my room as my mind serves up images of Julien collapsed on the floor next to the bed, unconscious. I wish the hotel wasn’t a sponsor of the French Swimming Federation and hadn’t given everyone a private room! The notion that Julien will spend the next ten hours alone with no one to call an ambulance if he passes out is so scary it makes my stomach flip. When my imagination concocts a scenario in which he falls and hits his head against the sink, suffering a second concussion, I reach the tipping point.
With a sigh of exasperation and defeat, I grab my purse and head straight to Julien’s room. I’d spotted it when he plodded there after the fight. Putting my ear to the door, I listen.
Not a sound.
Please, let him be all right!
Or at least alive.
I’ll take care of him. I’ll make sure he pulls through.
With my heart hammering in my chest, I knock. Quietly at first, then louder. I hear steps behind the door, and then Julien opens it.
He’s holding a cool gel pack in his hand.
“I just wanted to—” I begin.
He points his chin toward the room. “Come in. Just give me a minute, and then we can talk.”
Slowly, I step inside. He pulls the door closed behind me and heads to the bed, where he reclines, leans against a heap of pillows, and presses the cool pack to his swollen nose.
I survey him.
He’s showered and changed into the hotel’s pristine bathrobe. His nosebleed seems to have stopped. But he still looks awful with the swelling and those big purple bruises under his eyes.
“You might have suffered a concussion,” I say, standing next to him.
“That’s unlikely.” He moves the pack a little to the side so he can look at me with one eye. “I don’t have any of the telltale symptoms.”
I frown, still unconvinced.
“But the dickhead might’ve broken my nose,” he says.
“Does it hurt when you touch it?”
“Yeah.”
“So, it’s possible you have both—a concussion and a broken nose.”
Smiling, he removes the cool pack from his face and sticks it in the minibar. He returns to the bed and sits down on the right side, stretching his legs. His nose is red and swollen, for sure, but it doesn’t look deformed.
I guess that’s a good sign.
Julien pushes half of the pillows to the left side and pats the bed. “Come sit here.”
I hesitate.
Wrinkling his brow, he squints at me. “Please?”
“All right.” I plonk myself as close to the edge as possible. “But don’t read too much into this. And don’t kiss me again.”
He shakes his head, pointing at his nose. “With this face?”
I relax and sit back against the pillows.
“There’s something I need to tell you about me,” he says, peering into my eyes. “About what happened after your eighteenth birthday party. I should’ve told you this long ago.”
Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. Because nothing he can say will change the way we are, the way we can’t stop hurting each other. If there ever was an us, it was shattered into too many pieces to glue back together. And no revelation about the past will change that.
“Please don’t,” I say.
He bunches his eyebrows.
“Hold on to your secret, Julien.” I smirk. “You know me. Can’t promise I won’t use it against you one day.”
His expression darkens.
I force myself to smile. “It’s not like such a thing would be out of character, eh?”
He looks away for a while and then turns back to me. “OK, no confessions. Let’s just do some small talk before you go back to your room. Would that be agreeable?”
I nod.
“How’s work?” he asks. “Still toiling away for your nasty boss?”
“Not anymore.”
“Oh?”
“I resigned three weeks ago.”
“Good for you.” He nods. “Were you able to find another job?”
“I’m starting my own practice.”
“Really?”
“Y
up. As a member of the Paris Bar, nothing prevents me from becoming an attorney despite my young age.”
“What kind of attorney?”
“Defense.”
He stares at me and tips an imaginary hat.
“My parents lent me a bit of money to get started, which helped a lot.”
“When do you expect to win your first case?”
“Hold your horses.” I grin. “I just found an office space, and my website went up two days ago. I have yet to acquire my first client.”
“Right.”
“I mean, my first private client,” I add. “I’ve been doing some part-time work for a legal aid center.”
“Do they pay well?”
“Nope, but that’s not the point when you take legal aid assignments, is it? Some of what I do is actually pro bono.”
“What happened to your colleague Melissa?” he asks. “The one your former boss was framing?”
I tell him about my nanny cam stint but not without apprehension. Julien doesn’t exactly have good memories associated with that object.
But, to my surprise, he doesn’t blink an eye. “So she got to keep her job?”
I nod. “When I’m earning enough to be able to afford an assistant, I plan to hire her myself.”
He surveys me without saying a word for a long, long moment before he takes my hand in both his.
I draw my brows together but, since his gesture doesn’t imply anything erotic, I don’t pull my hand away.
“You need to dump Jean-Michel,” he says.
I arch an eyebrow. “Because you said so?”
“Because he doesn’t deserve you.” Julien’s eyes bore into mine. “As recently as tonight in the bar where we were celebrating our win, he bought a drink for another woman.”
I shrug. “So what?”
“Noemi, I saw him flirt with her.” Julien shakes his head. “That’s the kind of guy he is. You don’t want him near you. Regardless of how things go between you and me, I won’t let him near you.”
I sigh. “If you want to know the truth, I’m breaking up with him tomorrow.”
His shoulders sag with relief.
“And if you want to know the whole truth,” I say. “I’m dumping him because he’s served his purpose.”
Julien smirks. “So, I was right about you using him.”
“As far as that part is concerned, yes. But not about my goal.”
He arches an eyebrow. “You weren’t trying to make me jealous?”
I huff. “I was, but not to win you back.”
“Why then?”
“As a retaliation. So that I could send you to hell when you came groveling.”
Before the last word tumbles out of my mouth, I realize that admitting to how premeditated the whole scheme was sort of defeats the purpose. But it’s too late. I can’t take those words back anymore.
“Did it feel good?” Julien asks. “Sending me to hell?”
I nod.
Did it, really?
“You’re luckier than me.” He gives me a half smile. “I felt like shit when I wrote that breakup letter. And I felt even worse later that day when I regretted it.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying, Noemi. I regretted that stupid letter just a few hours after I wrote it. But I was on a plane, and there was nothing I could do to make it disappear.”
“If that is true,”—I narrow my eyes at him—“why didn’t you call me as soon as you got back to Paris? It’s been a month now.”
“I know…” He gives my hand the tiniest stroke, shifting the pad of his thumb against my knuckles.
Can I still qualify his touch as non-erotic?
Yes, I can.
And I will.
“In the beginning,” he says. “I thought like you, that we couldn’t be together. Because we couldn’t forgive and trust each other. So, I tried to forget you. I really fought it.”
“What did you do?”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “You want all the sordid details?
“No… But maybe we can swap some tips.”
“I don’t have any tips to give you,” he says. “I failed miserably.”
“Me, too,” I murmur with a heavy sigh.
He presses my hand to his lips. “You’re mine, Noemi. And I’m yours. Twisted or not, we belong together.”
I stare at him, refusing to nod.
“Admit it,” he rasps.
Shockingly and utterly incomprehensibly, I want to. My lips ache to form those words. My heart craves the sound of them.
I’m yours. That would be my verdict.
Only yours. My final ruling.
Always yours. My life sentence.
I shake my head. “Can’t.”
“I get it.” Julien’s stare scalds me. “Then say you’re mine tonight.”
As he presses his lips to my hand once again, I close my eyes and savor the bittersweet joy of his touch.
“I’m yours tonight,” I murmur, opening my eyes and turning to Julien. “Just tonight.”
Julien
Tonight will do.
For now.
I pull her to me and bracket her face between my hands.
“Are you going to kiss me?” she asks, laughing. “With that face?”
“Do you mind awfully?”
“As long as we don’t rub noses…” She grins. “Wouldn’t want you to yelp in pain in the middle of a kiss.”
“No nose rubbing,” I promise before my mouth descends on hers.
I kiss her, drinking her in, slipping my hands under her tee and stroking her tummy, her hips, and sides. She yanks her top off, revealing a lacy bra and creamy, smooth skin. My heart picks up as I cup her breasts and fondle them.
When I unclasp and remove her bra, I draw back and spend a few long moments just staring at her stiff nipples. They beg for my touch. I pinch them gently while trailing my tongue up and down the elegant curve of her throat, tasting her skin. Then I lick her lovely collarbones. When my mouth closes over one of her scrumptious buds, a deep, low growl escapes my lips.
Noemi whimpers.
“Mine,” I say again, my voice hoarse.
Unzipping her pants, I shove my hand between her legs. She’s wet. Eager. Aching for me to fill her.
I’d wanted to give her long, tender preliminaries, but that would have to wait until the morning. Right now, my need is too raw, too urgent to allow anything that would delay my cock from plunging into her tight, hungry heat.
As if to eliminate my last doubts, Noemi opens my bathrobe and stares at me. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. Jesus. I take her hand and guide it to touch me. She does more than touch. She wraps her fingers around my erection and strokes it with a firm, possessive grip. When she trails her thumb from the base to the center of the crown, my head tips back with the pleasure of her touch.
It must be now.
“Give me a sec.” I dash to my duffel bag and return with a condom in my hand.
She snatches it from me and works it onto my cock. I shrug out of my bathrobe, pull the rest of her clothing off, and a moment later, I’m inside her.
The bliss.
This is where I’d like to spend the rest of my life.
Propping myself up on my forearms, I push my tongue into her mouth in time with my thrusts. Deeper, harder. She moans, gripping my neck, digging her fingernails into my back, squeezing me with her inner muscles. To tease her, I withdraw completely and hover over her, the tip of my erection barely touching her folds.
“Please,” she begs.
“Please what?”
“Get back in there.”
I position myself at her entrance and slam in. She gasps, clinging to me. I pound into her, my thrusts sharp enough to give her what she craves, but measured, so I can keep my own pleasure in check.
Her whimpering picks up in intensity, and she spurs me with her heels against my ass.
Breaking the kiss, I grab her ankles and push her legs even higher, so
that I can penetrate her deeper, touch her more fully, take more from her, and give her more.
Noemi lifts her head and kisses my chest, my throat, my chin. “Baby, I’m so close.”
Me too, sweetie, me too.
I release her left ankle and grab her ass, pinning her to me, just as I pump into her with all I have. Again, and again, and again. She bucks, her eyes rolling in her head and her mouth gaping in ecstasy as she comes. I thrust again. Her inner muscles contract. Her entire body trembles. And then she arches her back and cries out her release.
That’s my girl.
A few more jerky thrusts and I erupt, shuddering and spurting hot fluid. When my tremors calm down, I slump on top of her. She runs her hands over my back, strokes everywhere she can reach—my neck, shoulders, spine, ass—and whispers tender words against my disfigured face. Carefully avoiding my nose, she rains soft kisses on my cheeks, mouth, and chin. When her lips touch mine, I open and delve my tongue into the welcoming sweetness of her mouth.
We stay like that for a while, stroking and kissing each other. When I pull out and roll to my side, she looks bereft. She won’t be able to see it on my messy face right now, but bereft is exactly how I feel, too, moving away from her.
While she’s in the bathroom, I dispose of the condom and apply the cool pack again.
After she returns to my side, we fall asleep, our fingers interlaced and our limbs entwined.
In the morning when I wake up next to her, I know I’ll never have this kind of sex—this kind of connection—with another woman.
Noemi jumps out of the bed and fetches my cool pack. “You look better than last night, so I guess this thing works.”
Dutifully, I sit up and hold it to my nose.
She settles next to me and strokes my shoulder. “Did it hurt when you had the tattoo removed?”
She’s never asked me about the tattoo before. We’ve never even mentioned it. It’s as if it hadn’t existed.
I nod.
“Laser?”
I nod again. “Several endless sessions. Felt like having my back roasted on a defective grill.”
She squirms. “That unpleasant?”
“Still, it had nothing on having the tat inked in.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “Jeez, I was so stupid back then!”
