Locke chuckles.
“And she made Paige huge. Like, Paige had these tiny stick arms and legs and this giant, perfectly round belly. Lily was born at seven pounds, six ounces. By the time we were in the hospital, and some god-like nurse stuck an epidural in her, Paige was screaming for Lily to get out of her house.”
“Was it…uh, I don’t know how to ask this. Was it good labor?”
“Sure. If you call fourteen hours of contractions a great time.” I give him a light punch on his belly. I’m still on my elbows, looking down at him. “Only two hours of pushing, though…is this too much? Is this TMI?”
He shakes his head. “No. Nothing about Lily is TMI.”
I smile again. “Good. I was there, at one of her legs, a nurse was at the other, and Lily was born into this world screeching.”
“That’s my girl.”
“She was perfect. Oh, my God, she was. And was laid right on Paige’s chest. Paige stayed in the hospital for about two days, and because of visiting hours and…not being family…I was restricted in seeing them, but they were happy. Paige was terrified, still, of course, but the nurses were helpful. Except, Lily wouldn’t latch, no matter how hard everyone tried.”
“Wouldn’t latch?”
I glance down at my breasts, half covered with a white sheet. “On the nipple.”
Locke’s brows jump. “Ah.”
“Maybe TMI now?”
“Never. Go on.”
“Things get…a little worse by this point.”
“Do you want to stop talking about it?”
I shake my head. “You deserve to know. And now’s as good a time as any. A newborn is…taxing. They scream a lot, and you don’t know why. Could be gas, colic, a bad day, just pissed off, you don’t know. And with Paige having so much difficulty breastfeeding, that added a ton of pressure on her.” I pause to swallow, staring at the folds in the sheets in the small space between us. “It went downhill, fast. Paige cried a lot. I’d go into her room where Lily would be asleep in her bassinet, and Paige would be curled up and sobbing on her bed. I’d get her some tea, ice water, rub her back, simply sit with her or lie with her, take shifts with Lily, but it wasn’t enough. She went on autopilot. Feed the baby, rock the baby, put the baby down, go to her bed and cry. I think…” I ponder this a moment, wondering how much I should say. “I think she had postpartum depression. And I was working on a way to tell her to get help, that it didn’t mean she was a bad mom, but I wasn’t sure if this was the way all new moms were—especially single ones. By the time I summoned up enough courage…Paige decided to do it herself. Go to the doctor, see about her problems with breastfeeding, and then speak to the doctor about talking to a therapist, maybe. She knew.” I shake my head, saying softly, “She knew something was wrong, and not just physically.”
“I wish—I know you two didn’t want to tell me, didn’t think I was that kind of guy, but I wish you would’ve come to me then.”
I nod. “We were so naïve. So brutally tired and scared. There’s only about a two-year gap between then and now, but I feel like I’ve aged years.”
Locke finds my upper arm and squeezes gently. “Your year has been condensed into two weeks for me.” He grins, and I can’t help but smile back.
“So, we go to the doctor,” I say on a tired sigh, determined to finish. “And that’s when she finds the lump. That’s the exact moment every purpose, every distraction of ours, funnels into one thing: cancer. And whether or not she had it. Turned out, she did. Stage four.”
Locke’s gaze shutters, as if he’s traveling back into his own time. I’m about to nudge him, to ask what’s wrong, but he beats me to it. “I can’t say anything to make it better, but I’m so sorry.”
I press my lips together. “Do we…can we stop here? I can tell you more, but I need a break.”
“Of course. Abso-fucking-lutely.” He finds a dangling strand of my hair and plays with it for a moment. “How about we enjoy the now for a minute? Before we start overthinking the situation and Lily starts screaming and our morning is changed to an egg and banana breakfast.”
“Our toothless dragon’s favorite,” I say, but lay against his shoulder, stroking his stomach.
“I love that baby, don’t get me wrong,” Locke says. “She’s become my everything. But right now, all I want to think of is you.”
My breath catches. I lift my head. “You mean that?”
He tucks a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. “I think about you, Carter. All the damn time. Last night was…”
“Special,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” He smiles again, stroking a thumb across my cheek.
I’m close to basking in the glow of this morning and believing everything he’s saying. But I’m naïve to think I’m any different from any other girl he’s had in this bed. Maybe he’s said the same to them before he low-key takes a shower and waits for them to leave. Maybe it’s all he knows because he’s never tried to look deeper into anyone’s soul since he’s too busy gifting out orgasms like candy.
My time here is limited, and that could be exactly why I’m naked on this mattress with him.
“Want me to put on the coffee?” I sit up, taking the sheets with me, suddenly modest.
“Didn’t I say we should enjoy this quiet time together?” He folds an arm to the back of his head, stretching his torso. My mouth waters as his muscles ripple.
I glance at the clock on his nightstand. “Six o’clock. My body timer refuses to let me lie in bed longer than that. I should get Lily’s bottle ready, her food…”
“Carter,” Locke says gently.
“…she’ll be up any second. We really should get up, Locke.”
“We don’t have to.”
“But I do,” I say, and his brows furrow. “Look, I’m giving you an out, okay? Just take it already.”
“I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
“I’m different from your usual, and—”
“My usual?”
“Yes. You can’t kick me out on the down low, because one, I live here, and two, there’s a baby in the other room I’ve been helping you take care of. Thus, I’m slipping out of this bed, going to the kitchen, and giving you time to make this less awkward and we can go about our day—”
“Wait a sec—”
“Let me do this, Locke.” My arms go limp at my sides.
He sits up, the sheets falling from his chest and pooling on his thighs. Exposing him in a way that makes me want to stay in this spot forever. “I think there’s been a massive miscommunication here.”
“Don’t you get it? There isn’t. I’m being totally open with you. We don’t have to make this more than what it is.”
Locke cocks his head. “What if I want it to be? More?”
His words stun me, but I cover it with a scoff. “You don’t mean that. I know you. I know what you’re like with women—”
“I haven’t had one chick near me since you came around.”
“That I’m aware of,” I blurt out.
My statement seems to hurt him. Or at least cause enough blowback to make him jerk in surprise. “Carter, I haven’t slept with anyone. Dated or spoken to anyone, either.”
I find invisible lint on the sheets. “You don’t have to sugarcoat anything for me.”
“I’m not.” Locke shifts closer and crooks a finger under my chin. “You are giving me every chance to let you go, and I’m not taking it. What does that prove to you?”
“That I live here and you can’t do what you usually do, so you’re improvising.”
“Oh, honey.” He searches my eyes.
“And I hope to be a part of Lily’s life for as long as I live. And if I’ve screwed that up, if last night makes it more difficult for you to—”
“If that’s honestly what you think, I’m more of an asshole than I took credit for. And clearly, I have a lot of work to do.”
“Just…” I shake my head, avoid his eye. “I’m gone in two week
s. We can’t make this more than what it is.”
I feel him breathing, and he strokes down my arm before letting go. “I’ll make this whatever you want it to be. You’re in charge.”
I dare a look at him.
“I mean it. I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. Then, his gaze takes on new meaning. “If you want to fuck me right now, I’ll let you. If you want to go and make breakfast, go right ahead. If you want to leave in two weeks, I’ll take you to the airport.”
If I want to leave. As if it were a choice. It’s my turn to search his expression.
Locke’s giving me the lead, and I shake with the implications. I wonder about satisfying immediate cravings versus dealing with long-term repercussions. I listen for Lily’s cries, hear nothing, and am utterly conscious of the naked Adonis mere inches away, with only a sheet separating us. I’m also thinking of the baby, of what the hell I’m doing with her father, and how it’s not only my life I’m changing the trajectory of.
But I’m tired, very tired, of always doing the right thing.
I should be smart and back off. I need logic instead of lust. This will only hurt me, tasting him one more time, being so close to him I can count his breaths and know the instant I’m making him come.
But I came here so wounded. What are a few more fissures on an already cracked and broken heart?
I drop the sheet, and his eyes go black with promise.
Forgive me, Paige.
We both rise to our knees at the same time and our mouths crash.
His hands slide down my back and cup my ass, squeezing me closer, sinking me into his skin, my body pliable clay to his deft finger-strokes.
My head falls back as his tongue trails down, swirling against my clavicle, drawing sinful circles on my nipples, sucking, biting, and I’m wet with desire. If I’m to be honest, I was wet long before his tongue hit my body.
Locke tips me back to lie on the bed, but I stop him, my soft smile the only communication I need to tell him this is my show, my rules.
I palm both his shoulders and push him down until I’m straddling him, all of me exposed in the natural sunrise, but I’m not thinking about that, about how I look to a man in high-definition because Locke’s expression says it all: he wants me.
And boy, do I love being wanted by this man.
He reaches down, tips his dick up, but doesn’t go further. Though it probably kills him, he waits. For me.
I lick my lips, still swollen from his kisses last night, and he makes an approving mmm sound at the sight.
Taking over, I move his hand aside and do the directing myself, but slowly. Ever so excruciatingly, for both of us, his expression an exact copy of mine, because it’s agony not to take all of him in one passionate plunge. But it’s the most delightful torture.
I see him through half-lidded vision, my lips parting, my chin tipped up enough that he can come up and nip at my jaw, which he does.
“Vixen,” he rumbles into my ear, and I smile. “May I?”
I lean back from his face, studying.
“I want to fuck you against the wall,” he says frankly, but his eyes are twin flames. “And I need your permission to do so since this is your show. So, Carter Jameson, may I fuck you against the wall?”
I’ve never had any man be so succinct on what he wanted to do to my body. All I can do is nod.
A smile ghosts his lips, and he lifts us up. My legs wrap around his waist, and he moves us to the sidewall, the instant freeze of the plaster tingling through my spine until it meets the heat at my center.
Locke sounds out a low grown as he pushes in, my cry in harmony with his until I grit my teeth and pant with each thrust, desire coating my lips. Locke takes his time. Long, hard strokes as he buries his face in my neck and shoulder, exhaling in tandem with his motion. I dig my nails into his shoulder blades, wanting him closer, deeper—always wanting—until there’s more of him left than me.
“Please,” I find myself saying.
Locke’s hands tighten on my thighs, and he lifts off my neck so I can see him. His firm grip anchors me to the wall, his movements fervent, directed to one purpose, his upper lip curling at the feat.
I keep his stare, establish my dominance when I move my hips to meet his. I dig my fingers into his hair, and bring him down for a final, passion-soaked kiss, taking us both over the beautiful, brilliant, jagged edge.
Lily alerts us to her wakefulness as we’re panting in the aftermath, my feet on solid ground, yet still feeling light as air. Locke’s resting both his arms on either side of me, his head bowed as he catches his breath.
“What happened to the sports athlete?” I say, laughing quietly.
“I’ll admit, I’m a little winded.”
“And your knee?”
At that, he pushes off the wall. “How ‘bout I tell you when it’s hurting, instead of you asking.”
I bite my tongue and hesitantly move around him, collecting one of his tees off the floor and throwing it on.
“I apologize for that,” he says behind me, and I notice he slumped onto the bed, elbows on his knees.
“It’s a touchy subject,” I say in understanding, then head out of the bedroom. “I’ll get her.”
“Wait.”
I stop at the doorframe, one hand on it as I turn.
“I suck at this. This…” He waves his hand between us. “The after.”
Laughter bursts from me. “I’m aware.”
“Can we be together today? Just hang, the three of us?”
His question surprises me, and I can’t ignore the pleasant warmth, like embers glowing behind my ribcage. “Sure. This morning I have to pop over to Pierce’s, get the check for my painting, but after that, let’s do it.”
“How about I bring Lily by the coffee shop? I can take a look at your art show.”
Warmth hits my cheeks. “It’s not…it’s not a gallery or a show or anything like that.”
He straightens. “It’s your work on display. It’s your art. I want to see it. And I’m no longer waiting for an invite.”
“Shoot, I should’ve told you to come by sooner.”
The thought of Locke seeing my paintings, seeing all I have to give to this world, makes my insides curl. His opinion matters, and while he likes one of my paintings, what’s he going to say about the others? I put faces in things, in objects. He might consider it weird and compliment the first painting he saw because he felt he had to.
It’s annoying, how I constantly feel like an imposter. Like I don’t deserve praise for my work. As if I’m better off crunching numbers for a major corporation to impress a family that makes it clear I’m a mistake, rather than using a paintbrush to bring emotions to life within everyday things.
And to think, I’d just been crafted into a goddess under Locke’s strokes. Someone else held the paintbrush in his hands, for the first time in my life.
“It’s been weird with us these past few days,” he says. Lily’s cries are growing louder, so he finishes with, “Later, let’s have dinner or something. You and me, after Lily goes to sleep. We can talk about…”
“Us?”
“Yeah.” His lips lift slightly. “Us.”
“Okay.” I nod as if there could be an us.
“And maybe…after.” Locke rubs at his scruff.
“Yes?”
“You can come to one of my meetings,” he finishes in a rush. His hand’s still on his mouth, and he’s perplexingly bashful, afraid to look me in the eye. “The NA thing.”
“I’d love that, Locke.”
“Really?” He brightens. “Awesome. I’ll meet you out there in a sec. I want to text East, see if he’s all right after the fuckery that was last night.”
“He’s more than all right. He’s famous.”
Locke’s smile slips. “Exactly what I’m worried about.”
“Call Ben, too. Astor seemed worried about him last night.”
Locke frowns, wants to say more, it seems, but Lily’s ins
istent, so I scoot out of there, out of the after and the duty to discuss it.
Lily’s peering between the crib’s bars and bounces up and down upon seeing me. She’s shaky, her butt doing most of the heavy lifting with balance, but soon she’ll be wandering these halls same as Locke and me, and that’s crazy to think about.
I reach for her, lifting and then pressing her soft, wiggly body close to mine, smelling her baby-ness and wondering how much longer I’d have with her until she’s a baby no more.
“Morning, sunshine,” I say into her hair, those tiny, satin curls of hers tickling my nose.
“Guh,” she says, then rolls her r’s with a follow-up. “Burrrrrrrrrr.”
“Yes, exactly,” I say, turning to the changing station. “I think I’m starting to like your daddy, too.”
I look down at Lily, arms and legs akimbo as she refuses to sit still for a diaper change. Two times, I’ve had to spin her around on her back before she crawls off the changing table’s cliff.
I change Lily, but my mind is off, back in the room with Locke and the consequences of sleeping in that bed.
Basking in the pleasure of Locke, that’s easy.
But dealing with the reality of caring about Lily’s father…that’s a responsibility better left to a girl who doesn’t give a fuck about love.
28
Locke
Carter left a while ago, and I decide it’s too nice a day to stay inside.
I balance Lily against me with one arm while carrying the stroller down the stairs with the other. I’ve learned—or my knee has told me—to balance one on each side. It’s also reminded me to book a follow-up with my surgeon and physical therapist because this baby shit is not something either had in mind for my recovery.
Hell, neither did I.
But Lily’s got a hand on my cheek, scraping along my stubble and grabbing my lower lip when she can. She’s also digging around for what seems like gold whenever she gets a few fingers in my mouth.
I lower her into her seat, but she’s got a finger fish-hooking into the corner of my lips, and I appear either demented or sloshed because she erupts with a laugh-scream once she gets a load of my pearly whites and all the gums that come with them.
Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection) Page 23
