Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2)

by T. A Richards Neville

  “Are you thinking about Nellie?” he asked.

  I nodded under his chin, my hand slipping inside his vest and spreading out over his flat abs.

  “I’m confident I could take your mind off it.

  I circled one of his shirt buttons with my index and middle finger. “How confident?”

  “You won’t believe this, but I got a puppy. A rescue German Shepherd.”

  I peeled myself from his hard body so I could look up into his face. “You have a dog?” It was Julian’s turn to nod, and I felt the skin tighten above my eyes. “Where is it?”

  “In my condo.”

  “You left him in Miami alone?”

  “Angela’s looking after him. Checking on him through the day, feeding him and taking him out.”

  “Okay, and who’s Angela?” I wasn’t jealous, I didn’t think. Just caught off guard at the mention of another woman’s name. Especially when this was my first time hearing it.

  “Team reporter. She talked me into getting the dog. He’s had a cruel start in life, and I was thinking”—Julian scratched the side of his neck—“he’ll be good for Taj. Someone for him to talk to, someone to listen. I’m proving every day I can’t be that for him.”

  “You should let Taj name him,” I suggested. Taj was going to fall in love with the idea of having a puppy. I just wished Julian didn’t live so far away. “I’m excited for you to tell him.”

  Julian smiled, trailing a finger along the edge of my bra. It dipped inside and he rolled my nipple between his finger and thumb until it was taut and responsive, demanding for more of his touch. He pulled down the lace cup and lowered his head, plumping my breast with his hand and sucking my sensitive and greedy nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirled and his teeth nipped. I clamped my thighs together, pushing my hand against his stomach even though I wanted more. His warm breath coasted from my chest to my neck, pausing behind my ear. “I’ll tell Taj tomorrow. Tonight, I’ve got other plans. Plans that involve every single part of your body and only two of mine.”

  I stared down at my iPhone, following the link that’d been sent in a text message from Marilyn. The web address directed me to a Twitter page, and the resolution that filled my screen took a couple seconds to comprehend. I knew what I was looking at; could see it as clear as the ice spread in front of me. But the visual wasn’t sinking in. Wasn’t sitting well on first glance. If Julian was ever photographed, at least from what I had seen, he was nearly always alone, traveling to and from training—games. Coming out of his condominium complex or a store, or just walking along a busy Miami street with black shades covering his eyes.

  So I was a little thrown that in this picture, he was lying on a patch of grass stretched out on his side with the ocean behind him. A blonde woman sat next to him with crossed legs, her face inches away from a black and brown puppy draped over her arms. Both Julian and the woman were smiling, but not at the puppy. At each other. Hers was candid, open happiness, and Julian’s relaxed grin was as cool as he was. Effortless, as always.

  I didn’t bother reading the two dense paragraphs accompanying the picture. Entering the NFL as a first round draft pick, and his early departure from NCAA football, Julian was always destined to be big news. Didn’t hurt that he was so easy on the eyes, either. Women and men alike went crazy for him, and it was all part and parcel of playing professional football for his living. He was on the celebrity radar whether he’d asked for that side of fame or not. Whatever was printed in this article, instinct told me not to give it another look. The chances of the words holding any truth were slim.

  Still, didn’t mean I had to like what I saw.

  I locked my phone and tucked it away in the pocket of my Lycra jacket. I stretched on a pair of gloves and turned to look through the fogged-up Plexiglas, right as my five-fifteen slot walked up to the half-door and stepped onto the ice. At thirty-two years old, Madison Craig was twelve years older than me and definitely starting out too late in the world of figure skating. But that was the joy of sport—any sport. Showing off hours’ worth of practice through competition, alongside world class talent, was exhilarating. The most intense rush I’d ever experienced. It didn’t have to be about competing, though. Just taking up a sport because you had a passion for it and wanted to have fun with it was also pretty exhilarating. Courageous, too. To not give a damn what others thought of you? I couldn’t think of a more admirable trait to possess.

  Madison skated a half-circle around me. “I love those leggings, where did you get them?”

  I looked down at my black leggings with the strip of lemon spiraling from hip to my heel-covered figure skate. “Um…” I’d had them so long I couldn’t remember. “I forgot, but they’re just standard practice wear. I’m sure you can get them at any skate store. They probably sell them at this rink.”

  “You’re one of those girls that looks great in anything.”

  I really wasn’t, but a fifteen-minute private lesson didn’t come cheap, and Madison was paying for an hour. With that in mind, I grinned and took the compliment, rather than arguing about it. I was positive she nor anyone else had that kind of money to waste.

  We spent the full hour on basic footwork sequences, focusing mainly on perfecting the Waltz three turn and incorporating a few small toe jumps. Nothing too showy. I already had our next session planned out: we would start with the Power three turn sequence, using the length of the ice, skating both directions. Then if Madison picked that up easily enough, we’d move straight on to backward power three turns. One step at a time, and even though Madison was slow to pick up the sequences today, I guessed it was a confidence issue that was holding her back. That would fade in time, the longer she took to the ice. I hoped she kept it up; I loved the energy she brought to our sessions.

  We sat in the stands, unlacing our skates. I wedged on my blade guards and tucked my figure skates into their case. “Text me about next week,” I said to Madison, standing up. I had a term paper due for World History, and between working at the rink to earn my coaching badges and flying to Boston, I’d lost sight and feel of the ground under my feet. I was swamped, and it would take more than a few days to get myself straightened out.

  Madison followed me out, pausing at the entrance doors. “What about Friday? Does four-thirty work for you?”

  I mentally recapped my week. My last college lecture was three-fifteen. “Four-thirty’s good.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  I had nothing left of my day, and with a full day at college tomorrow and the rest of the evening taken up by the rink, I drove to the campus library, hauling my study guide and textbooks in my backpack.

  I found an empty table and unloaded my books, pens and laptop. As the evening stretched into night and the library started to empty, I saved my work and closed the completed document. My essay on ‘historical events related by cause and effects’ would need some thorough editing, but that could wait for another day. My eyes had strained themselves enough.

  Against any better judgement I might’ve had, I pulled up my web browser and logged in to Twitter, taunted by the article Marilyn had sent me earlier. I searched Julian’s name, and the picture of him and the blonde was the latest piece tweeted. Anything after was football related. I clicked on the tweet, opening the entire article.

  A few words stood out, and I stared at the picture of them together, feeling stupidly like this girl had taken my place.

  Who was she?

  I looked closer. I’d bet she lived nearby, maybe in the same building as him. Could see Julian whenever she wanted. Unlike me, his actual girlfriend. Rather than feeling jealous, I felt like a disappointment—a letdown. I hadn’t even been to one of his games. How many had she been to? Because I couldn’t not find out, I raked my eyes over the article, sorting through the words until I spotted a name that wasn’t Julian’s.

  Angela Valentina.

  The first thought that struck me was the resemblance in our names. The second thing was: is
this my replacement?

  “No,” I said aloud, closing the laptop and piling my books on top of it. The beginnings of a headache were creeping across my eyebrows, and my mouth was dry from the air conditioning. I left the library and walked the five minutes to my car, throwing my stuff in the passenger seat. By the time I pulled up at my house, I was practically half-sleep. Stumbling up the steps of my small porch and through the door, barely remembering to lock it behind me.

  My phone lit up as I climbed into bed, Julian’s name on the display. I switched off silent mode and tucked the phone between my chin and shoulder, unscrewing the lid on my water.

  “I’ve been calling you.” Julian sounded exasperated.

  “I had a skating lesson, then I went to the library. My phone’s been on silent.”

  “No shit.”

  “Are you okay?”

  A couple beats of silence filled the line. “I’m fine. Just wasn’t sure you were.”

  I picked up the remote and switched on the television, turning down the volume to low. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s the shit I’ve been forced to assume, since I can’t see you for myself.”

  “I don’t like long distance any more than you. But try and remember that it isn’t forever.” There was no use even discussing how much Julian hated being in Miami while I was here in Los Angeles. It wouldn’t change our situation, wouldn’t bring us any closer. “Did you name the puppy yet?”

  “I kinda just started calling him ‘Dog’.”

  “And he answers to that?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “That’s really lazy. What happened to Taj naming him?”

  “He wasn’t interested. Mom’s got him at the rink at least once a week, and he’s still cramming in skateboarding and rollerblading whenever he’s got a minute.”

  “So, this hockey infatuation isn’t just a phase?”

  “Doesn’t look like it. It’s all he watches now.” There was a pause between words. From both of us. “Taj wants to see you.” Another longer pause. “I want to see you.”

  “I know,” I said, but it came out more like a sigh. “I want to see you.” I stretched my legs out in front of me, inspecting my peach nail polish. “This is hard, huh?”

  “Hard’s not the right word. I’d like to show you hard.”

  “Julian!”

  “What? I’m horny as fuck here.”

  “How?” There was nothing sexual about this conversation.

  “Your voice.” A high-pitched bark had me moving the phone from my ear. “Okay, chill,” Julian said, his voice distancing. “Angel?”

  I flicked through the channels, trying not to associate the barking puppy with Angela. “Yeah?”

  “Dog wants to go out.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “He’s flighty, so… I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Uh huh.” A weird feeling fluttered in my stomach.

  “Hey, you good?”

  “Sure,” I lied. I wasn’t good, but I wasn’t totally sure I understood what the problem with me was. “See to the puppy. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

  I ended the call before either of us could say bye. It wasn’t like me and I knew Julian wouldn’t like it, but I had to get off the phone before I said or felt things that didn’t belong in my head or coming out of my mouth. My emotions were heightened, and I was blaming it on Nellie dying. I trusted Julian, it was me I didn’t trust. I didn’t trust myself not to mess up my relationship. Not to say something on impulse without putting thought to good use.

  I opened the message from Marilyn and then deleted it, erasing my unwarranted insecurities with it.

  “Okay, now backward swizzles,” I called out to my group of kids. I was taking another Tots session for Alessa, and I loved my thirty minutes with them. I led the brigade, demonstrating the correct way to move backward across the ice. “Toes together.” I put the toe of my skates together and pushed out from my knees. “Bend your knees, and then push.”

  I skated a few swizzles and then glided back to the boards, to gather the kids into position for their turn. None completed a full swizzle, but they all enjoyed trying and it was only their first attempt. I picked up the fallen few from the ice and helped Georgia, a dark-haired three-year-old, to the door.

  “You all did so well,” I said, as the kids made their way to the boards, some quicker than others. I held their hands, one at a time, helping them up over the step and through the door. It was amazing how quickly thirty minutes could go by when you were surrounded by children.

  Before I could get myself off and changed, a hulking figure in a white jersey stepped onto the ice from between the benches. In my periphery, I saw him skate toward me, a black helmet tucked under his arm and a hockey stick in his other hand, the blade down on the ice. I backed into the boards when he skated up to me, shaving the ice as he stopped.

  His smile was dangerous, and I questioned my reasons for smiling back. “Angel, right?”

  “Yes.” I narrowed my eyes. “What’s your name again?”

  Beau laughed. His stick tapped the ice as he skated closer, and I stepped back, reclaiming my own space. “I could really get used to seeing you here.”

  “That’s a shame.” My smile shed some of its confidence and playfulness. This wasn’t territory I wanted to be in, or belonged in. “I was just leaving.”

  “You don’t feel like staying and watching our practice? It’s open to the public, and you’re already here…”

  “No thanks. Besides, I don’t follow hockey.” Or any other sport.

  “I could get you some Kings merchandise. Signed and everything.”

  “What, for my bedroom wall?” There I went, smiling again. But whatever Beau wanted from me, no matter how innocent, I couldn’t help feeling like I was in the wrong place. With the wrong person.

  Beau’s smile was contagious, his handsome face difficult not to want to look at. Julian was imposing even when he wasn't kitted out in his football pads. Nearly six-and-a-half feet of toned muscle. But Beau, in his hockey gear, was enormous. Tall, strong, and undoubtedly all man. Him and Julian were similar, in a sense. Both presented themselves as having no trouble protecting what was theirs; owning and claiming whichever woman they wanted. It was a quality I never found in Jordan, no matter how hard I looked. And now, I couldn't escape it.

  This was definitely not okay.

  “You don’t have a family member who’d want some of that stuff? A kid brother? Cousin? Your dad?”

  More hockey players filtered onto the ice. Men in white practice jerseys, yellow, green, and black. Pucks were thrown in, scattering over the red and blue lines, and the nets were pushed out. It was beyond time for me to go.

  “That’s a really nice offer,” I said to Beau, who hadn’t made any move to join the rest of the Kings. “But, no thank you. I’m an only child.”

  He pushed his light brown hair behind his ear when it fell forward, his smile thinning with acceptance. “You want tickets to a game then?” He didn’t give up easy.

  Yes, and I’d love to take Taj with me. But there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be attending an NHL game before seeing Julian play. “Sorry.” I shrugged, then turned and skated off the ice. I didn’t look back, but I had a feeling that if I did, Beau might still be standing there.

  S itting on one of three stools at the high-glossed kitchen bar, I propped my forearm on the counter while I held my phone. “Lose the bra,” I said to Angel. I had her on the screen of my cell in a white lacy bra and high-waist thong. Could see everything down to her folded knees, where she sat in the middle of her perfectly made-up bed.

  Miami was three hours ahead of LA, and hazy, golden-blue light warmed Angel's bedroom. She leaned over, showing me part of her back as she flicked on a shell lamp by the side of her bed. The picture on my screen brightened, and the strain in my shorts grew even tighter.

  It was nine p.m. here, six p.m. LA time. I didn't practice ma
king a habit of late nights now I'd turned pro, but Angel almost to the point of naked was a definite exception. It'd been an uphill battle getting her this far, but she was slowly conforming, losing another layer with the right amount of coaxing and encouragement.

  Honestly? I loved how shy she was. I mean, cut me some goddamned slack here. This was my girlfriend, for Christ's sake. And here she was, still making me work my nuts off, and I was eating it up like a hungry dog.

  “I'm not taking my bra off,” Angel said, her tone dismissive. Like she wouldn't even consider it.

  “Why not? It's just me here. I'm not going to tell anybody.”

  “You hear all the time about celebrity's phones being hacked, naked pictures getting leaked.”

  “Babe, this is a video call. I'm not recording you... chill.”

  “I'm still not comfortable with it.”

  So fucking uptight, even after all this time. I tried not to smile. “Okay, so, just lower your straps and your bra might fall off.”

  Angel laughed, her teeth gleaming white and her arms meeting at the wrists at the bottom of my screen. I couldn't see her feet, but I knew she'd grabbed onto her crossed ankles. I noticed everything about her, studied every new move and habit I was graced with. Nothing she did or said bored me.

  When her laughter mellowed into a smile, one hand came up to her left shoulder. “You mean, like this?” Fingertips nudged at the white lace strap, until it fell over her shoulder, settling halfway down her slender bicep. Her eyes were on me and mine were on her skin—the parts I was holding on to my breath for. I inhaled deep and silent when she pushed loose the other strap, wrapped one arm around her chest and unhooked the clasp behind her back with the other hand. The scrap of lace dropped from beneath her arm and only skin covered skin. I wiped a hand down my mouth, wishing I could climb into the phone and directly between her smooth thighs.

  My eyes met hers for a pulsing second. Then her arms were up, lifting long brown over her shoulders, and my hard-on swelled to what felt like twice its original size. I slid my hand into my shorts, wrapped a fist around my shaft and squeezed.