by Sierra Rose
“Did you just say blow job at a minor league baseball game in front of children?” he said in her ear.
“Yes! But I whispered it!”
“All I said was ‘licking.’ I could have been talking about an ice cream cone,” he said.
“Right.”
Laughter erupted from him. “You’re going to get us thrown out of a game. By throwing a tantrum over what you perceived as harassment.”
“I didn’t perceive it. You took my nacho snack and twisted it into something inappropriate.”
“The only one saying inappropriate things here is you. I certainly didn’t shout about anyone’s genitals,” he said with a reluctant chuckle.
“Did you just laugh at me?”
“You’re being funny. I can’t help how I react to your behavior.”
She laughed. “Fine.”
He stood. “I’m just taking the remains of the nachos to the garbage. I don’t want to litter, especially after disrupting the good, clean family fun of the ball game with your blow job outburst.”
She followed him up the stairs. “I did not have a blow job outburst, Luke. You were the one acting like everything I did was part of a porno reel. You looked at me like you were going to just—drop your pants.”
“I did not even consider dropping my pants.”
She playfully nudged him. “You looked like you could have. Gosh, you were ogling.”
“I’m wearing sunglasses. How could you possibly tell what I was looking at?” he demanded.
“I could FEEL you looking at me,” she laughed.
“Really, what did it feel like?” he challenged.
“Like this. Stand still,” she said, squaring off to face him, hands on her hips. “Just stand there, and I’m going to look at you the way you were staring at me. See how you like it.”
Paige seemed to zero in on him with some kind of laser focus. She swept her gaze over him in a way that felt suddenly palpable, intimate. Like she was touching him all over, like her eyes could see through him and examine everything beneath his clothes. She was so intent, so unflappable as she undressed him with her eyes, one eyebrow raised as if she liked what she saw.
He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, determined not to be uncomfortable, not to let her know that he felt anything from the way she was looking at him. He felt sweat film his chest and neck, an itch to his palms. He could feel her scrutiny along every inch of his skin. She might as well be stripping off his clothing right here in the parking lot, might as well put her hands on his body if she was going to look at him that way. Like he was a thing, an object she could peel and examine.
“Are you quite finished?” he said, intentionally affecting a tone of deadly boredom.
“Yeah,” she gave a dismissive half shrug as if there were nothing worth looking at anyway, “I saw everything there was to see.”
They both burst out in laughter.
She wrapped her arm around him and led him outside.
“So, where to now?” he asked.
“What?”
“The date isn’t over. You agreed to two dates. Half a minor league game that you left bellowing about oral sex is not an entire date.”
“You’re kidding,” she said.
“I’m afraid I’m not.”
“I left because I thought I might’ve embarrassed you.”
“Not a chance.”
“So do you want to go somewhere else?”
“Yep. I’m entitled to time.”
“Did you, like, pay for a whole three hours? Because your Pretty Woman references are fairly sophisticated for a nonfan,” she said.
“I wasn’t referencing prostitution or your insistence that it’s a reasonable setup for romance. I merely indicated that, for a fair hearing, one requires at least four to five hours for a single date.”
“Agreed.”
“I chose the ill-fated baseball game. I suppose let’s go to the next stop on my agenda, although it’s a bit early.”
“There’s an agenda? I was all impressed by your low-key baseball date, and then I find out there’s a schedule to keep!” she laughed.
He liked her laugh, liked that she was relaxed enough to laugh again now. He was sorry he’d made her uncomfortable by checking her out so openly at the game. And he liked how she put him in his place. Women never dared to do that. He even hoped they could move past it and have a nice time. Luke shook his head.
“I think we’ll have a detour first. Not on the official agenda. Since you were talking shit about my squash game, let’s head to the gym.”
“I’m not dressed for a workout,” she said.
“There’s a shop at the gym. We’ll kit you out.”
“Do I have to wear a kilt or something? For squash?”
“The uniform is shorts and a jersey, but you can wear whatever you like to exercise in.”
“I don’t like to exercise. I like to eat nachos. I thought we established that,” she joked, following him to a corner where he hailed a taxi.
He laughed.
Chapter 13
SHE SAT BESIDE HIM in the back of the cab. He wished he’d called one of his chauffeured cars—it wouldn’t smell like old cigarette smoke and whatever greasy drive-thru food the driver was eating—but he knew she’d be self-conscious in a chauffeured car. He wanted her to be comfortable, to have fun. So he tried to breathe through his mouth and ignore the stink of the hired car.
Paige sat close enough that her arm brushed his sleeve. He was aware of her closeness, of the vanilla scent of her hair or skin, either the smell of her shampoo or a lotion. Something sweet and highly edible. Soon he could smell only her. The vanilla of Paige, a scintillating sugary musk, overwhelmed the less pleasant fragrances of the interior of the Buick he’d hailed.
His senses swam with her nearness and the rich vanilla of her seeming to fill up the entire space. Luke felt the shape of her hand, the outline of her littlest finger as it lay on the seat beside his leg. He studied her hand. The short nails with pink polish, the glittery sort. The women he spent time with had glossy nude colored manicures showcasing long nails that spoke of effortless, work-free lives and accentuated diamond jewelry. Paige’s hands were different. These were hands that carried and lifted, hands that performed tasks and didn’t have a maid and a chef and a manicurist. He picked up her hand in both of his before he could think better of it. Her hand felt small and calloused in his, dry as paper and not at all like the supple fingers of his girlfriends with their designer moisturizers. He covered her hand with his.
“Wait, this is your gym? It looks like a hotel. A fancy one.”
“This is the gym. Granted, the lobby is a bit over the top.”
Luke nodded toward the three-story glassed atrium that marked the entrance to the gym he belonged to. Inside, he scanned the marble floors, the bright, fresh floral arrangements and decided that Paige was probably pretty overwhelmed by it all. He pressed his thumb to the sensor and was admitted. He took her straight to the sporting goods store to be outfitted.
“That’s a fucking kayak,” she said as they walked past a display of outdoor goods.
“There’s a watercourse upstairs before you get to the lap pools.”
“Watercourse? Like a pretend river?”
“Yes.”
“How is that real? This is like a theme park.”
“This is a great place to work out. And I’m sure they can help outfit you with something so you can learn to play squash.”
He pointed to the salesperson approaching them, “My guest needs workout wear and shoes for squash. Please put it on my account.”
Thirty minutes later, he met Paige on a squash court. She was wearing a pink and white outfit that looked like something Workout Barbie would be dressed in, right down to pink tennis shoes and a high, bouncy ponytail. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She held a racquet as if she was already a pro.
“So, do I look ready?” she said.
“Yes. Do you like i
t?”
“It’s really pink, I know, but it’s fun. I figured if I’m playing dress up on someone else’s dime, might as well get something frivolous.”
“You mean you won’t be wearing this to the office anytime soon?”
“No. Definitely not. So, teach me how to do this. How do I squash?”
“It’s not a verb. You’re not going to squash things by stepping on them,” he said amused. “Let me show you how to start.”
Luke reached out and showed her how to grip her racquet. Then he demonstrated a couple of swings for her to try. She followed along gamely. He served and waited for her to hit the ball back to the wall, so he could receive. Instead, she hit the ball, lunged across on the bounce and hit it again, snagging the ball on the next three hits without a pause, essentially playing by herself. He stood back, hands on his hips.
“Maybe I didn’t explain that the object of the game is for us both to play.”
“What?”
“You’re kind of a one-man show here.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“I was becoming concerned that you misunderstood squash, believing it to be a UFC match where you were allowed to use racquets as a weapon. Let’s try again.”
Luke served, stepping over for her to receive and hit it back before he bobbed inward to strike the ball. She swiped it out from in front of him.
“Sorry. My bad,” she said with a giggle, “I’ll try harder.”
“Okay, let’s start again.”
She tried again with not so good results.
“How am I doing?” she said, panting, as she slammed into him to block the ball.
“You’re making me wonder why football pads aren’t standard issue equipment in squash.”
“Did I hurt you?” she teased as he rubbed his ribs where her elbow had slightly jabbed him.
He looked up at her with a playful look. “No. I’m concerned about your understanding of the sport. You’re playing aggressively and incorrectly.”
She smirked. “Says the man who can’t get control of the ball.”
“The trash talk would be cuter if you hadn’t just bruised my ribs. Can you take instruction from me or do we need a pro?”
“Wait, you’re willing to admit there’s a superior squash player somewhere in the world? I’m shocked.”
“Squash isn’t my job.”
“Why didn’t you go pro?”
“The competitive squash world is surprisingly competitive. It also lacks the prestige of being CEO of my grandfather’s company.”
“So, it’s not because you suck at squash?” she kidded.
“I assure you that if anyone in this court sucks at squash, it’s you.”
“Is that how you get in all the ladies’ pants, big shot?”
“I’ve never taken a woman to the squash court before.”
“That’s a relief. If this is one of your signature date moves, you got no game,” she laughed.
“I got no game?” He wanted to laugh. But he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how she’d startled him with that ridiculous declaration. “I’ll have you know, I’ve got plenty of game.”
Luke tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingertips just brushing the soft skin beneath her ear. He felt her tremble, saw the spark in her eye and knew her knees had gone weak at his expert touch.
“See? Game,” he said smugly.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she said, trying to seem unaffected, but the rasp of her breathy voice betrayed her.
“I can see the pulse fluttering in your neck. It’s no good pretending. Your body gives everything away.”
“Of course, my pulse kicked up. Someone grabbed my head. It’s fight or flight.”
Her movements belied her words. She took a half step nearer to him, until he could feel the heat of her body, see the frantic thumping of her heart as it wrinkled her pink top. Her cheeks blazed with color and not merely from the exertion of her version of squash. She was alive in his hands, the pounding heat of her, the rise and fall of her chest as she panted, the curve of one lock of loose hair that had caught in the corner of her parted lips. He held her face in both his hands.
She amazed him, the way the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw fit in the cup of his palm, the way her eyelashes brushed his thumb when she blinked. He felt the jolt of that featherlight touch, the accidental intimacy of it, straight through to the core of him.
A line seemed to run from that point where her lashes grazed his thumb to something in his gut, something that clenched till he was nearly breathless. His mouth went dry with lust and something more. It was the something more that he chose not to think about too closely.
He wanted her. He struggled to breathe with wanting her so much. He could have her now, he knew. Right here in the gym, in the private squash court, against that wall behind her if he wanted. But he wouldn’t. Not because he was above such semi-public displays, such urgent rutting. But because it was Paige, and for some reason, that mattered. It mattered that he had a bed to lay her on, and quiet and time enough to explore her. He would not have her this first time up against a cinderblock wall in a room that was too warm and smelled of lemon floor polish and old sweat. He nearly scoffed in disgust at the thought, even as he cradled her face in his hands and imagined which of fifty ways he would kiss her first.
“So, are you fighting or flying now?” he challenged.
“It feels like I’m flying. Or falling,” she admitted, her voice so soft, so breathy he couldn’t be sure he’d heard her right.
“I’ll catch you,” he said against her lips.
Paige’s lips were so soft, so pliant under his, her fleshy lower lip clinging to his upper one. The tip of his tongue darted out to touch her upper lip. He felt a primal surge of pleasure at licking her lip, at sliding his tongue along the seam of her full lips. He felt like he was claiming her, as if the rush of her body pressing into his, her arms about his neck spoke of some physical possession.
His fingers trailed from her face to her throat, feeling every whimper of response in her until he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her hands at the back of his neck felt like firebrands, marking him with her fingerprints. He gathered her roughly into his arms, hauling her up against the wall of his muscled chest. He knew he lifted her off her toes, knew when he held the weight of her in his arms. She wasn’t light or inconsequential—there was a strength and solidness to her that he loved holding in his arms.
He liked that he could pick her up and hold her this way, that she somehow trusted him enough to hang on and not kick and protest. He kissed her more, deeper, until she parted her lips for him. He groaned, unable to help himself. He drove his tongue into her, slaking his need for her in the curves of her wet mouth.
Luke felt the hardening, the clamp of tightness nearly painful as her thigh rubbed against his length. As if she knew, he felt her smile against his lips as she slid her tongue into his mouth.
Nothing felt better than this.
His arms tightened around her, his arousal stiff and aching as Paige kissed him with a passion and hunger he’d never imagined. Luke was hers in that instant, in the moment when she licked the roof of his mouth and a shudder went through him. He knew it was unmistakable, that she would have felt the effect her mouth had on his entire body. But he didn’t want to hide it. He wanted Paige to know what she did to him. That whatever was between them kindled his body like nothing else ever had.
His hand moved down her hip and gripped the curve of her bottom in the thin, silly pink shorts she’d chosen. He nipped at her lips, and she responded passionately. The kiss went on so long that when they broke apart, he staggered a little after he set her on her feet. Her fingers fluttered to her lips. She smiled slyly as if she’d gotten away with something.
“Definitely flying,” she said with a grin.
It was all Luke could do to keep from groaning with desire at her flirtatious remark. She was irresistible. He had to calm down, thin
k of cold water or spreadsheets or something that wasn’t sexy as hell and smiling at him like the cat who got the cream.
“That kiss,” he began, but he couldn’t think what he had meant to say beyond it.
“Yeah, it was. I guess you got game after all, Conners.”
“I’ll take that as admission you were wrong about me.”
“I never said you didn’t have useful skills. I just underestimated them. You could make a fortune teaching a class probably. Online courses for men who don’t know how to kiss.”
“I don’t think it’s something you can teach. It’s more of an innate instinct,” he said, trying for humor and bravado when he couldn’t even marshal his body’s response to her from six feet away.
“Oh, I bet you could teach the technique at least. You can’t expect every student to be a prodigy, but you would be doing the women of the world a favor. Spreading a beneficial life skill among men who lack guidance in that arena.”
“Somehow, I don’t like the idea of people paying tuition to watch me essentially make out with a webcam,” he said with a grimace.
“Perhaps a demonstration video. I could volunteer. You know, for the greater good. You could show a video of you and me, doing what we just did.”
“I think that’s more of a PornHub thing than an instructional video. So as flattering as it is that you think I could teach a class in kissing, I couldn’t stand people watching a video of us, of you that way.”
“You really think we were hot enough to get on PornHub?”
“Is that, like, a goal of yours?” he laughed.
“No, it’s gross, but also I’ll take it as a compliment. A weird one, because clearly you think people would get off watching us make out on the squash court. So, it’s odd, but also makes me feel like a total goddess at the same time.”
“I assure you as a man—a man who’s having a truly demented conversation, by the way—that plenty of people would be excited by just watching, listening to us. What just happened. That sound you made, when I first—” Luke had moved toward her again, closing all the respectful distance between them and his hand was on her cheek.
