I narrowed my eyes. “Who is she?”
Tate looked decidedly uncomfortable. “She’s a reporter, and I sat down with her for what I thought was a chat about the team. But she was looking for something else.” His lips pressed into a straight line. “I told her I wasn’t interested, though. I made that clear in no uncertain terms. Her kiss—it was pretty lackluster.”
One side of my mouth curled up. “Oh, yeah? She didn’t rock your world, huh?”
He shook his head. “Not hardly. Because she wasn’t you. I’ve been ruined for the rest of my life by Gia kisses, and now that I’ve had the real thing, I accept no substitutes.”
I couldn’t help the giddiness that danced inside me at hearing him say that. “I want to climb over this table right now and remind you how amazing our kisses are. But I promised myself we’d talk for a long time before we move onto things like kisses and groping and . . . more. I’ll be good, because I want to do everything right.” I paused for a moment, trying to think of how to say what I needed him to understand. “But even while we’re taking our time, never doubt for a minute that I’m dying to jump your bones. I dream about you every night.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I still ache for you, Tate. All the time. I never stopped.”
He groaned softly. “Remind me again that we’re being cautious and careful because we want something that lasts. Right? This won’t be easy, but the payoff will be worth it. Tell me that again.”
“You always told me that the real thing was worth waiting for, didn’t you?” I linked both of our hands together, forming a bridge between us. “You waited for me for a long time before. This time, we’re both being patient. We’re both working toward the same goal. And that means the rewards are going to be . . .” I cast up my eyes, trying to think of the right word. “Forever. We’re working toward forever.”
Tate’s fingers tightened around mine. “When it comes to you and me, forever is my favorite word.”
“Hey, G.” Zelda knocked on my open bedroom door and leaned in. “I’m leaving for Eli’s now. I’ll see you tomorrow some time.” She paused, and I could tell she was fighting back a smile. “Uh, what time is Tate coming over?”
I rolled my eyes at her. “You can stop trying to play coy. He should be here in about half an hour.”
Zelda waggled her eyebrows. “Oooooh, I’m getting out just in time, before the fireworks start!”
I tossed a throw pillow at her. “Get out of here, woman. Tell Tuck I said hey.”
“Will do, gorgeous. And seriously, have fun tonight.” She winked and then disappeared, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I listened to the front door open and close behind her before I got off my bed and wandered into the living room.
A huge fresh-cut Douglas fir dominated the corner of the room. It was lit up with so many tiny colored lights that the adjacent walls looked like a giant rainbow. With a sigh of satisfaction, I sat down in the corner of the sofa, hugging a pillow to my middle.
It was hard to believe that we’d just celebrated Thanksgiving two days before. Zelda had insisted on us spending Friday decorating the apartment for Christmas. She was madly wild for the holidays, which was slightly out of sync with her usual personality, but I wasn’t complaining. Watching her act like a little kid as we hung ornaments and picked out boughs and ribbons made me happy.
This year, there were quite a few things that made me happy. I’d sat at the table on Thursday, looking around at my friends, and I’d found myself on the brink of tears, overwhelmed with gratitude for what I had and how much of it was in spite of my own actions and screw-ups.
We’d celebrated the day at Tate’s house with Pops. It had made sense, since it was easier for Tuck to get there from his small apartment in Eatonboro, and Pops had been tickled at the idea of hosting all of us. Zelda and I had agreed on the condition that we could help with the prep and the cooking. Pops had taken us up on that; he’d been like a ring master, directing us here and there, tossing out orders even as he teased us.
There had been ten of us at the table, since Tuck’s parents had come, too, and Tate had invited some of his teammates who lived too far away to justify flying home for one day. Dinner had been the way I’d always thought it could be; we were loud, with lots of laughter, praise for the food and conversation about football, of course.
Tate, sitting next to me, held my hand under the table, and that had made me giddy. A year before, I never would have been able to predict that I’d be here, in a state of mind where I was happy and enjoying the company of my friends. It was a good feeling.
Even more unbelievable was the fact that my mom came down to have dessert with us. She’d met Tate earlier in the fall, when we’d driven up to have dinner with her, and she adored him. We’d been invited to eat Thanksgiving dinner at my sister’s house, but one of the things I was learning was that I could best take my family in small doses. And when I’d countered that invitation with the suggestion that Mom eat dessert with us, she’d readily agreed.
Would wonders never cease?
Pops had insisted that we all share at least one thing that made us especially thankful. When it came time for my turn, I hadn’t hesitated even a moment.
“I’m grateful for Tate.” I’d lifted our joined hand and pressed my lips to his knuckles, rewarded when his eyes went warm. He’d curled his free hand around my neck and drawn me in for a long kiss that brought wolf-whistles from Tuck and the other football players and set my body’s senses on high alert.
And then it was his turn. Tate had kept his arm around my shoulders, and gazing into my eyes, he’d murmured, “I’m grateful for . . . pumpkin pie.”
Under the cover of the ensuing hoots of laughter, Tate had leaned in to whisper in my ear. “You know the truth, babe. You beat out pumpkin pie. Now . . . you, naked, holding a pumpkin pie? That would be the trifecta.”
Thinking about that now, I checked the clock and realized Tate would arrive soon, and I wasn’t quite ready. I had a plan, and I needed props to make it work.
The last months had been amazing ones for us. The friendship that we’d enjoyed before had been easy to reclaim, and Tate was still the flirty, funny guy who’d won my heart. As if by unspoken agreement, we’d refrained from doing anything but holding hands for four weeks, until Tate had taken me on what he called a real date . . . out to Amico’s, of course. Afterwards, when he’d walked me up to Zelda’s front door, he’d leaned into me, his eyes steady and warm, and kissed me.
It had been exciting, full of yearning and need and promise. It had been coming home.
“I love you, Gia. I never stopped. I never will.” He’d punctuated each sentence with another kiss. “I’m going to be crazy in love with you until they shovel dirt over my casket.”
I’d laughed a little, leaning against his steady strength. “That’s quite an image, baby.” I’d swallowed hard then and gave voice to what I’d felt for a long time but had been too frightened to utter out loud.
“I love you, Tate.” And then, as though we were saying vows, I repeated his words back to him. “I never stopped. I never will.”
The light in his eyes had been glorious, and when he’d kissed me again, it had been with more heat and intention.
But we hadn’t gone any further than that. I knew Tate was waiting for me, biding his time, and while I’d been dying by degrees for weeks, longing for him, I’d waited, too. I knew when the time was right, I’d realize it.
Sitting at the dinner table at Thanksgiving, I’d known it.
My phone buzzed, and a text box popped up: it was Tate, letting me know he was parking and would be up shortly. I responded quickly, telling him that I was getting ready for dinner, and that the door would be unlocked for him. Butterflies flittered through my stomach. I’d tried to sound casual when I’d invited him to come over for dinner, suggesting that he plan to spend the night, since he had practice the next morning ahead of the team playing on Monday night. But Tate always could see right through
me, so I had a hunch he’d known what I was really proposing.
I turned the deadbolt and then hustled myself back to the kitchen. A few minutes later—though it felt like several hours—I heard Tate come in, whistling.
“Babe . . . where are you?”
I began to answer, but my voice came out croaking. Clearing my throat, I tried again.
“Here, in the kitchen. C’mon in.”
Taking a deep breath, I stood up straight and lifted the pie with one hand just as Tate rounded the corner, stopping short at the sight of me.
His mouth fell open, his eyes went wide, and when he sucked in a breath of surprise, he began to choke, coughing. I didn’t know whether to put down the pie and help him or hold the pose.
“Gia. Oh, my God, babe.” He pounded a fist on his own chest. “What . . . I mean, damn.”
I lifted one shoulder, hoping to God I didn’t look as ridiculous as I felt now. “You said the other night that you’d be most thankful for me, naked, with pumpkin pie. I wanted to give you your wish.”
“You nailed it.” He reached for the plate and set it on the counter. “I don’t know what to touch first.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Am I seriously coming in second to a piece of pumpkin pie?”
“Never.” With one swift motion, Tate grasped my hips and lifted me onto the counter top, making me shriek when my ass hit the cold tile. He tugged me to the edge and slid his arms around me, taking my mouth with surety and an air of possessiveness that I loved. His hands skimmed down my back and then circled to the front to cup my boobs.
Feeling his hands on me was exulting. I’d been craving this for months, dreaming of being with Tate, of him driving me upwards into crazy, mind-blowing pleasure. I reached down for the button of his jeans, my fingers shaking with anticipation. He eased back just enough for me to tug down the zipper and release his cock.
He was hard and pulsing in my hand as I ran my thumb over the crown, spreading the small drop of moisture there. Tate groaned.
“Wait a minute, baby. Hold on.” He gently lifted my hands away. “Let me enjoy you a little first. If not, I’m going to explode all over you in about two seconds.” Before I could answer, he shot me a sly smile and reached for the pie.
“What’re you up to?” I sounded breathless and needy—and I was.
“Patience, honey pot.” Using two fingers, he swiped some of the pumpkin filling and smeared it over my breasts. “See, I figured I could have my two favorite things in my mouth at once.” So saying, he bent and covered my nipple, sucking it between his lips, licking me clean before he moved to the other side.
I held his head, threading my fingers through his hair. “That feels so incredible.”
His mouth still on me, he flicked his eyes up to my face. “Hard enough?”
“Perfect,” I gasped.
“That’s what I’m aiming for.” His lips moved lower, down my stomach until he knelt before me, nudging my legs apart. I drank in the sight of his head between my legs, feeling his warm breath on the part of me that was dying for his touch.
With one finger, he drew a line down my center, parting me. I let my head drop back, moaning. Tate circled the tip of his finger around my clit as I wriggled, trying to get him to touch me where I needed him. He chuckled.
“Something wrong, sweetheart?”
“No.” I panted through gritted teeth. “Not a thing.”
“Good.” He pushed two fingers into me, and I arched again, surging into him. He upped the ante by sucking my clit into his mouth.
I couldn’t help moving, but Tate held me still with one hand as he worked me relentlessly. “The best thing in the world is feeling you come against my mouth. Do it now. Come for me, babe.” He pumped his fingers, taking me faster and higher until I cried out, my words unintelligible and crazed.
Before I could breathe again, Tate was standing between my knees, positioning himself at my entrance and pounding into me. His arms came around to support my back, his fingers spread over my shoulder blades as he slid in and out of me.
“Love you, Gia,” he murmured, bending to cover my mouth and stroke his tongue against me. I tasted the spicy cinnamon of pumpkin pie and my own essence. Tate kissed down my neck before he slipped his fingers between us to rub my clit.
“Tate.” I ground out his name. “God, babe. I love you. Love you so much.”
“Come again for me, baby. I want to feel you tight on my cock. Feel me pounding into you. Gonna come so hard . . .”
His touch and his words drove me up and over the edge again, just as he shouted out my name, releasing into me, pulsating again and again.
When he could breathe once more, Tate gathered me close and whispered in my ear.
“Dessert before dinner. Best day ever.”
I was mindful of the fact that Tate had practice the next morning, and I didn’t want him to be tired, so I tried to encourage him to sleep. But the man was indefatigable. He informed me that we had time to make up for and he wasn’t wasting any of it.
So after dinner—which I had made all by myself, thank you very much!—I showed Tate to my bedroom, where he laid on my bed while I explored his body at my leisure, using my hands, my tongue and my lips before I straddled him and rode him until both of us were spent again. A little later, we christened the shower, where Tate took me up against the tile while we drained the hot water heater.
“You know, our sex life before was good,” Tate remarked as we lay in bed again, drowsy and damp after the shower. “I mean, I don’t have any means of comparison, but I was more than happy. But this . . . it feels different. Not bad,” he rushed to add. “Not bad at all. The opposite. Nothing was wrong before, but tonight was incredible. There’s a different dimension. It’s deeper. Richer.”
I smiled against his chest, where my cheek lay pressed into him. “I know. I think maybe I was always holding back. Not consciously, but I was expecting the other shoe to fall the whole time.”
“But not anymore?” Tate’s voice held a tentative note.
“Not at all. I’m all in, baby, so you’re stuck with me.” I nuzzled his neck and was rewarded with his deep chuckle.
“I can think of worse things.”
We were silent for a minute, Tate’s fingers playing with my hair. The light from my bedside table gleamed from the rim of his watch, catching my eye. I circled his wrist, tracing the band.
“Do you know, I always loved that you wore a watch. It’s just such a Tate thing. A little old-fashioned, but it suits you. When you pick up your arm and look down to check the time, it is one of the sexiest things ever.”
“Really?” Tate sounded amused. “I’ll have to keep that in mind. Whenever I want to turn you on, I’ll just let you know what time it is.”
“Oooooh, baby,” I cooed, giggling. “You know what I like.”
“Yeah, I do.” He pinched my ass, making me wriggle and laugh. “Hey, by the way, did you talk to Quinn?”
I sighed. “She called today to talk about their engagement party. They aren’t making any formal plans yet, because they don’t want to jinx the off-season.” The Richmond Rebels were likely to clinch a play-off berth, and Quinn and Leo had decided not to set the date for their official engagement party until the Rebels’ season had ended, whenever that might be.
“Yeah, Leo told me the same thing.” Tate was quiet for a minute. “He asked me if I’d heard anything from you. I kind of evaded the question.”
I bent my leg so that my thigh brushed over Tate’s. “I didn’t say anything to Quinn. I know you don’t get why I want to keep quiet about us for now. I’m just tired of being the friend who everyone feels sorry for.”
“Hey!” Tate tapped my chin to make me look up at him. “Are you saying that being with me makes you someone to be pitied?”
“No, not at all, silly.” I lifted myself up and kissed him. “But I think the others always assume I’m making bad decisions or getting into something without thinking it through
.”
“But Zelda and Tuck know. They seem to approve of us.”
“Of course, they do. They love you, and that’s saying something, because Zelda thinks most men are suspect. But she thinks you’re adorable and sweet and wonderful.” I dropped another kiss on his lips, just for good measure. “Quinn’s different, though. Darla said something one day, when I’d been telling her about my friends. She said it sounded like we all think of Quinn as better than us, and she’s probably right. Zelda told me that she loves me, but she sees Quinn as the best person she knows. I guess I do, too.” I tickled Tate’s ribs. “Present company excluded, of course. You’re definitely up there near sainthood, too.”
“Not even close, babe. I’ve got tons of faults.” He rolled us over so that he lay over me, caging me with his arms, the muscles bulging and making the sleepy smolders of my desire reignite. “You’re right that I don’t understand why you’re dragging your feet on telling Quinn and Leo about us. But I’ll go along with you. As long as I get to end most of my days like this, with you looking so amazingly soft and kissable under me . . . I don’t care about anything else.”
He lowered his mouth to mine, and that was the last time either of us spoke for a while.
The brick building I stood in front of had seen better days. Some of the windows were taped, and the paint on the front door was peeling. The term fixer upper sprang immediately to mind.
But it was mine, and to me, it was beautiful.
I glanced down at my watch, smiling a little as I always did when I looked at it. I never checked the time anymore without thinking of Gia. It had become a secret signal between the two of us; when we were out with other people or too far apart from each other to speak privately, I’d catch her eye and lift my arm with deliberate slowness to look down at my wrist. I was rewarded with her slow smile and hungry eyes . . . and we almost always went home fast after that.
Turning in a small circle, I surveyed the block. It was a work in progress; there was no doubt of that. But the restaurants on the corners were new and popular, with lines out the doors each Friday and Saturday night. Nearly all of the homes were in the process of being renovated or under contract to be sold. These were all good signs.
Not Broken Anymore Page 26
