Chase smirks and raises his brows. “Whatever you say. But I’m just gonna go ahead and take a shot in the dark and say Melody thinks the whole flood thing is way too obscure not to…” He waves his hands around mockingly. “Mean something.”
I laugh softly and eye him. “She did say something about it being a ‘sign.’” I hold up air quotes and roll my eyes.
“Yep. That’s Melody, all right.”
“Fucking insane is what it is. She’s like a naïve little puppy. I hate to burst her bubble and tell her there’s no such thing as supernatural signs and destiny and all that yogi crap. But there’s not. Her damn water heater broke.”
Chase tilts his head and considers this. “I don’t know, bro. I hear you. But Mel knew Whitney and I were the ones for each other long before we did. She called that shit. And she couldn’t have been more spot-on.” He stands and grabs his cleats, turning to walk back to his locker, giving me a shrug. “I’m just saying.”
I sigh and stand, facing my locker and pulling off my practice jersey. Kennedy’s just all in his relationship feels from getting engaged. He’s been drinking a bit too much of Melody’s “destiny” Kool-Aid, just because he found the one.
He found the one who is his best friend and perfect match in every way. They’re undeniably similar and complementary. They go together. That’s what the one should be. That’s the girl I’m waiting for. Laid-back, chill, logical. Normal.
And I can focus on finding her once the wild, loud, NFL-hating bouncy ball of pink insanity is out of my condo.
Six
Dylan
“Oh, hi, roomie! How was your ball-kicking?”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
I stand frozen in the doorway to my condo, my nice, understated, classy, and relaxed condo, with minimal crap on the walls or unnecessary decoration.
Melody is standing—standing—on the kitchen counter. Her annoyingly perky little ass dances slightly as she tosses a strand of twinkling Christmas lights onto the tops of the cabinets.
I glance around, unable to pick my jaw up. The bookshelves in the living room are scattered with little knickknacks and those tiny cactus-looking plants she loves so much. The string lights are everywhere, and my simple gray couch has a brightly colored blanket thrown over it.
The curtains that I keep shut ninety percent of the time are wide open, the light of the sunset pouring in. The whole place feels about ten times brighter.
“Melody…” I say slowly, drawing in a deep breath and swallowing hard.
“Yeah?” She hops off the counter, and for a split second I’m certain she’s about to break an ankle, but she lands more gracefully than a cat, seemingly in slow motion. “I hope it’s okay. You really needed some color in here. Don’t get me wrong, gray has its place in the world. Just not, well, my world.” She happily turns around to go put some colorful pillows on the couch, practically skipping to the living room.
I inhale to respond, but before I can formulate words, she keeps chattering.
“I mean, gray is so…lifeless. It’s like black. Which isn’t even actually a color. It’s the absence of color. And you could really use more than just the—” She turns around suddenly, going silent as her wild, energetic eyes finally read the look of shock on my face. “Oh. You don’t like it. You don’t like any of it.” She looks at the ground and shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I’ll put it all away. I was trying to be—”
I step toward her, placing my hands on her shoulders. My home is covered in twinkling lights and flowery patters and abnormally small plants. It’s so bright in here I need sunglasses. It’s completely the opposite of how I think a house should look.
And yet, I’m looking at this girl in front of me. This virtually homeless girl, who is the human personification of color and fascinatingly annoying insanity, and all that comes out of my mouth is, “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
She relaxes a little. “I’ll take it down now. I just thought it could be a little more homey in here, at least until I leave, and maybe you’d like it.”
I raise my brows and meet her gaze. “Have you met me?”
“Barely,” she says softly. “Sorry, Dylan. It’ll be all back to gray and boring as soon as you get out of the shower.”
I walk toward my bedroom, shaking my head slowly and, once again, trying to figure out what—or who—the hell I got myself into.
“Oh—” Her voice is quieter than usual. “I got you something. It’s to thank you for letting me stay here. You’ll probably think it’s stupid or hippie or whatever, but…” She hands me a tiny statue of a fat bald guy that I recognize as Buddha sitting in the same position she sat in on the sidewalk this morning.
I take it in my hand and look at the enormous grin on the Buddha’s face.
“It’s the Laughing Buddha,” she explains quickly. “He symbolizes energy and joy. And, well, fun. Which I thought you could use a little more of. No offense.”
I look at the little statue for a long time. Fun. Never been a huge priority for me. Something in me feels soft and melty when I look at this gift and the girl who gave it to me. I don’t like feeling soft and melty. “All right.” I narrow my eyes at her. “You can keep your crap everywhere. But you better look into getting a storage unit, because there’s no way you’re taking all of this onto a boat. And please, God, don’t start a fire with candles or incense or anything.”
Her blue eyes brighten like the Christmas lights, and she jumps close to me. “Really? Oh my gosh, Dylan, you are so nice!”
Her smile is effervescent again, and I notice how quick her mood can change. She gets so overjoyed by the tiniest things in a nanosecond. It’s remarkable, really.
I walk back into the living room, and I have to laugh at the Melody-ness that exploded all over my house.
She bends over, plugging a power strip into a wall outlet, and I catch myself lingering on her unbelievable toned and delicate body.
She’s wearing black leggings with pink flowers all over them, and they’re sinfully tight around her firm, round ass, which, as she bends down trying to get the plug into the outlet, I have to physically hold myself back from grabbing.
“There!” She clicks the plug into place, and all of the lights come on in one quick burst. Tiny spots of color glow everywhere she strung them, and suddenly I feel like I’m standing in the Christmas display at the bohemian version of Bloomingdale’s.
Melody gasps in delight and looks around approvingly. “Isn’t it magical?”
As she stands up, my eyes trail up and down the curve of her chest in a tight pink tank top and the defined, sexy abs that only a yoga teacher could have. The glow of the colored lights seems to complement her, bringing out all her craziness in all the right places. “Oh, it’s magical, all right,” I say.
Melody starts toward me, and I reluctantly pull my gaze from her body and push away the heat that floods me as soon as she’s close. I wish my dick could listen to my brain about her. “One last teeny tiny thing, and then I promise I won’t bother you at all anymore.” She grins.
“Yeah, we both know that’s not true.” I wink. “What is it?”
“I need a place to practice yoga.” She gestures toward the guest room at the end of the hall where she’s staying. “There’s plenty of room in there, but the floor is carpeted. And I kinda need it to be on wood.” She smiles nervously and bounces on the balls of her feet.
We both know the living room and kitchen are the only places in the condo that have wood floors.
I look skyward and sigh. “Fine. By the window, Confucius.” I jut my chin toward the huge window in the living room that has a good amount of empty floor space in front of it.
“Silly.” She slaps my arm lightly. “Confucius wasn’t a yogi. He was a Chinese philosopher. Although I did write a comparative essay juxtaposing him with Buddha for an Eastern religions course in college.”
I draw back and half smile in surprise and amusement. “Huh. You
don’t strike me as the academic type. Too much of an ‘institution.’” I wave my hands teasingly. “No?”
Melody rolls out a bright purple yoga mat and slaps it on the ground by the window, flipping her hair and giving me a blazing look. “No. I double-majored in international religious philosophy and business administration. Which is how I run my own studio.” She sticks her tongue out at me and lifts a shoulder. “So, suck on that lollipop.”
I chuckle and sit on the sofa next to where she laid out her mat, feeling a wash of intrigue and more deadly attraction coursing through me. “You’re just full of surprises today, aren’t you?”
I sarcastically look around at my condo, which looks like it’s been transformed into one of those messy, overly cluttered tourist shops at the beach.
Melody shrugs and sits on her mat, curling herself into yet another impossibly tiny position. I’ve never met anyone who can do what she does with her body.
She pats the space next to her on the rubber mat. “Come stretch with me.”
I groan at the idea. “I don’t do yoga.”
She rolls her eyes and shifts flat on her back, hugging her knees to her chest and accentuating the flawless heart shape of her ass. Is she trying to get me so turned on I can’t think straight? Because, fuck, that bendy little psycho yoga goddess knows exactly what she’s doing.
“You’re an athlete. You need to stretch.” She pats the floor again. “C’mon. There has to be something you want to work on. Improvement requires constant awareness.”
“I have trainers,” I say matter-of-factly, my jaw clenched as I fight the hot rush of blood that flies to my dick at the sight of the mesmerizing slopes of her body. The way she twists and turns sends my mind back to banging her, and I’m starting to really wonder how long I’m gonna last.
Someone that crazy and annoying shouldn’t be allowed to be this hot. It’s way too confusing and should be illegal.
“Just for a sec.” She stands up and grabs both of my hands, using all her weight to pull so I’m forced to stand up.
I shake my head as she drags me onto the mat, and I sit so I’m facing her. “Fine,” I mumble. “My kicks were a little off today.”
Her eyes widen with intrigue.
“A little,” I emphasize. “I think it’s a rotation thing. But seriously, we have trainers and coaches and—”
“Yoga heals everything.”
“Yeah, I don’t…” I scratch my head and lose myself in her oceanlike eyes for half a second. “I don’t need healing.”
“Your soul is restless because you struggled in practice today.” She keeps her gaze locked with mine.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t say struggled, necessarily—”
“Okay. Do something with me.” She scoots her butt forward, inching toward me and straightening her back. “This is a seated forward bend called Upavistha Konasana.”
I snort. “These fucking names.”
“Are ancient and meaningful,” Melody asserts. “Now, put your legs out…like this. It opens the hip flexors, which will allow for a wider range of motion in your kicks.” She spreads her strong, slender legs all the way apart, like some sort of dirty, provocative split.
I swallow and hope my very alert cock isn’t too noticeable. “Yeah, mine don’t go that far.” I glance down at my pitifully tight hamstrings and let my eyes wander all over her for another brief second.
“It doesn’t matter!” She shrugs cheerfully. “Flexibility is a journey, but even a small improvement could help you target a certain angle in a kick. Don’t worry, I didn’t use to be this flexible.” She smiles brightly.
“I find that hard to believe. You seem pretty, uh…” I bite my lip and nod at her physical perfection. “Comfortable with using your body.”
Her face flushes, and she looks down at the mat, confirming that I am definitely not the only one whose mind is replaying our unforgettably wild sex over and over again.
“Of course I am. The human body is an amazing and beautiful home for the soul,” Melody says. “Now stop being so dirty and grab my hands.”
I laugh heartily, shaking my head and reaching for her hands. “Who’s being dirty?”
“Lean back so you’re pulling me forward.” She draws into me, the warmth of her body tickling mine. “And you know exactly what you’re doing, crazy boy.”
“Oh, I’m crazy?”
“You’re the wildest person I’ve ever met,” she teases, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “And you’re very funny with all those little implications. I thought you could barely stand me, and yet here you are, looking at me with those ‘get in my bed’ eyes.”
“Me?” I pull on her hands even harder, but her damn bendy-ass self just lies flat on the ground between her legs, like her muscles and joints are made of literal rubber. “You’re the one running around with your tight little pants and your…” I shake her hands. “Sexavasana or whatever the fuck this is.”
“It’s a hamstring and hip-opening stretch. It’s really good for range of motion. That’s why I’m showing you.” She giggles into the mat, popping her head up and resting on her chin. Her gorgeous mouth is dangerously close to my dick, and her eyes are wide and sparkling. “Your mind is so deep down in the nasty gutter, Dylpickle.”
I yank her hands playfully. “Even that inane nickname is dirty!”
“Oh my freaking goodness, are you thirteen?” She looks skyward and sits back up gracefully. “Okay, now I’ll do you.”
I laugh sharply and eye her. “Thought we said that was off-limits.”
“I meant I’ll help you stretch,” she says, arching her back and underscoring every flawless curve of her toned body.
I glare at her and bite my lip. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
She ignores me with a flip of cotton-candy-pink hair and keeps her hands locked in mine, pulling me gently toward her. “Just tell me when I pull you as far as you can go. You don’t want to overstretch.”
“I know, I know.” I lean forward slowly, letting her pull me one inch at a time. “You do remember that I’m a professional athlete, right?”
“So am I, technically.” She shoots me a wink, and something in her bright rays of colorful confidence makes more energy jolt to my cock. “Now, relax and take a deep breath.”
I follow her instructions and stretch a little deeper with her gently yanking me toward the ground.
“Do this twice a day and see if your rotation gets better at all.”
I sit back up and run a hand through my hair, arching a brow at Melody. “If there were some magic stretch that’s gonna suddenly make me a better kicker, why wouldn’t my trainers make me do it?”
She bounces to her feet and reaches a hand out to help me up. “I’m sure they do. But yoga is different. It’s way more about the mind and spirit than just the muscles. It’s the constant flow of energy to bring your body to its best self. It’s not just stretching.”
I accept her hand and stand up, meeting her gaze and catching another sinful whiff of the flowery sunshine smell that just seems to follow her around. “NFL players don’t care about the mind and spirit.”
She scoffs and leans away from me, a playful glimmer in her feisty blue eyes. “Well, I don’t know the first thing about football, but I do know that it’s a mental game. It has to be. Especially for you. I mean, don’t you get, like, one second to make or break an entire game? What could be more spiritually challenging than that?”
I try to hide my attraction as I gently push a glossy pink wave behind her overly pierced ear. “I kick the ball. If I kick it straight and far, I did my job. There’s no spirit involved. Just my right leg.”
“No wonder you’re having trouble!” she blurts.
“I am not having trouble.” I walk past her toward the bedroom, still wanting my long-awaited shower and fighting the pesky adoration for the dangerously distracting force in my living room. “Just an off day,” I mumble over my shoulder.
“I mean, it has to be, like,
the most mentally oriented position on the field!” I can basically hear her jumping or leaping or skipping with completely unwarranted excitement.
“That’s probably the quarterback,” I say back, unsure why I physically can’t ignore her even when I should.
“Chase Kennedy? Nope. Because you have so much more pressure. You get literally one chance. That’s an insane amount of pressure. I mean, goodness! I would be just bursting with nerves.”
I glance over my shoulder from the bedroom doorway. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind next time the win is riding on me.”
“Namaste, Dylan.”
I shut my eyes and turn around completely to find Melody’s soft cascades of pink hair falling toward the ground as she bows her head and practically folds her body in half.
I lean against the doorframe and angle my chin toward her. “Now that one I’ve actually heard before.”
“Do you know what it means?” She pops up eagerly.
I lift a shoulder and give a half smile. “Let me guess. It’s ancient Hebrew or Aramaic or some shit, and it means…” I hold up two fingers and wave them teasingly, using a mockingly laid-back stoner voice. “Peace and good vibes, man.”
She tilts her head and laughs softly. “It means that the spirit within me recognizes the spirit within you.”
Before I have the chance to make a snide comment about her woo-woo magic words, she walks forward and places her hands on my pecs, and I feel an instant spike in my heart rate at her touch.
She inches closer, and I’m drawn to her in every possible, inexplicable way. The slope of her incredible chest rises and falls, and she looks at me, her palms on my heart. Something hot and palpable fills the air between us.
She’d call it energy or spirit or vibes. I call it raw, burning sexual tension.
“So…” Her voice is tiny, and her lips part delicately, just a few dangerous inches from mine. God, why do I want her again so badly? “Namaste. Thank you for sharing your space with me.”
I hold her gaze firmly, leaning into the electricity that runs through us and around us and between us. “It’s only for a month, right?” I give her a teasing wink, playing into the obvious shared desire for our mouths to be against each other. No, not desire. Need.
Thrill Ride Page 4
