“Come on, Dylan,” Whitney says through gritted teeth, gripping my hand and squeezing tight as the guys line up for the field goal.
“So if he makes this…” I say slowly.
“They tie the game. It’ll go into overtime.” Whitney turns to me, her deep-brown eyes sparkling.
I see him jog out. No. 3. Confident, but not even remotely cocky. Calm. Poised.
“Do you think he’s nervous?” I ask my cousin as tingly swirls race through my body.
“He’s Dylan,” she says dismissively. “If he gets nervous, he’s sure as hell never shown it before.”
“Sure is a lot of pressure,” I say under my breath, holding Whitney’s hand as tight as I can and keeping my eyes glued to that No. 3.
In what feels like slow motion, he launches the ball, kicking it hard and fast and insanely accurate. No one moves or breathes or blinks as it soars through the air. I resist the urge to close my eyes, completely overwhelmed by how riveting this game is. This moment.
“Hell, yes!” Erica jumps to her feet, and it takes a nanosecond for me to register the ball going right through the middle of the yellow goalposts.
Suddenly, everyone is up, jumping, hugging, popping open a bottle of champagne. The air is filled with a buzzing energy. An excitement. A pure, unfiltered, contagious joy.
All because of Dylan.
“He did it!” I exclaim, hugging Whitney as we embrace tightly and I bounce in her arms. “Wow…” I pull back, breathing in the living energy of the moment. “What a rush,” I say through a laugh.
Whitney laughs and Frankie the Preggo walks over and wraps her arms around us. “Now we gotta get through OT.” She grins widely.
“See?” Whit bumps my arm playfully. “Football isn’t all bad.”
I look back out over the field, laughing as I watch the guys chest-bump and high-five and celebrate as they prepare for overtime.
The purple socks catch my eyes once again. “You’re right, cuz. It sure isn’t.”
Ten
Dylan
Adrenaline is still pumping through my veins as I pull into the parking lot of my condo. The guys are going out to the Atlantic to celebrate our overtime win against Carolina tonight, but the idea of that feels suddenly less appealing, for some reason, as soon as I catch a glimpse of the red Mini Cooper with a bumper sticker of a sloth that says Kindness Matters.
My mind flashes with thoughts about the owner of that car, the enigma of a girl sitting in my house right now, all feisty and colorful and frustratingly sexy.
I truly can’t explain why she was the last thing to cross my mind when I scored the game-tying field goal today. Why, for no understandable reason at all, the second my foot made contact with the ball, all I could see was silky pink hair and a heart-shaped ass in yoga pants.
Maybe because I knew she was watching. Maybe because I can’t stand how much I want to bang her again. I don’t fucking know. But I do know that every muscle in my body is buzzing with hype from that win, and the idea of walking into that condo and not falling into bed with her seems next to impossible.
I get out of my car and jog up the stairs, the tiniest chill in the winter air as the sun goes down.
I unlock the front door and swing it open, only to find Melody in nothing but a sports bra and leggings—goddammit—on the floor of the living room, twisted up like the world’s hottest pretzel, with her legs stretched behind her and her back arched in an impossible curve.
I let out a sharp breath and drop my duffel bag to the floor. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Oh, hey, you!” She unknots her elastic body and hops to her feet.
Her vibrant hair is pulled up in a ponytail that swishes back and forth, and she rushes toward me. “I believe a big fat congratulations is in order!” She grins widely with sparks in her eyes and wraps her arms around me.
I laugh softly and lean into her embrace, her head tucked under my chin and the heat of her body burning against me.
Keeping her dangerously exposed chest against mine, she pulls away and grabs my face with both hands, pushing my cheeks together. “That was seriously amaze-balls! You totally saved the entire game in the span of, like, a second!”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” I mumble, my mouth still squished between her palms.
She slides her hands slowly down my neck and shoulders, stopping at my triceps and giving them a not-so-subtle squeeze.
Her touch and attraction and eyes that tell every dirty thought she’s having sends hot need racing through my body and surging in my dick.
“Well…” Her voice is lower now, quiet and breathless. “You did a good job.”
Our bodies pull against each other like magnets as her hands continue to explore my arms and shoulders and back.
I fix my gaze on her, locking every explosive spark of tension between us. She looks up at me with a wildfire behind her eyes. Her fingers have chills coursing down my spine, and her cheeks are flushed with attraction and lust.
My body is taut with aching need and still pumped from the intensity of the game.
Sorry, energy of the space. Platonic isn’t a fucking option. It never was.
Without another thought, I hold her face tightly and press my lips to hers, slipping my other hand down her side, rocking her flawless curves against my erection.
The kiss is like an explosion of fireworks, sealing the unspoken certainty that we have to bang again. It’s not even up for debate.
Melody climbs on me, clinging to my biceps as I lift her up and clumsily carry her to the bedroom, blood and warmth pumping through both of us as our bodies knot tighter and tighter against each other.
We finally reach the bed, both of us hot and breathless and completely unable to even think about denying our bodies what they desperately crave.
I get on top of her, and our hands are everywhere. I pull off her sports bra as fast as I can, revealing the most perfect tits and sending even more heat ripping through me.
“I can’t stand how fucking hot you are,” I say breathlessly as Melody pulls my shirt off, anxiously running her hands down the lines between my abs and arching her back under me.
She manages a dirty smile. “Ditto, Rivera.”
My heart slams in my chest as we grind against each other, both fully aware there’s only one possible way for this to end.
I slide my hands over her breasts, cupping them and savoring every soft inch of her.
She wraps her legs around me, arching and twisting and practically begging for more.
I kiss my way up and down her gorgeous chest, rocking against her. When I make it back to her lips, I kiss her hard and deep, and she kisses back even harder. I grip her hair with one hand and slide the other onto her waistband, suddenly wishing yoga pants weren’t so damn difficult to get off.
Melody has her own plans, grabbing my sweatpants and sliding them off eagerly.
I’m still fucking around with the world’s tightest spandex. “These leggings are hot as hell, but Jesus,” I mumble.
Melody giggles, a sound so sexy and musical, making me even harder. “Having trouble there?”
I glare at her, sparks crackling between our gazes. “This is why,” I rasp, yanking harder at the waistband, “I instated a no-leggings rule.”
She laughs and lifts up her magnificent ass, finally making it possible for me to slide the godforsaken things off and get to what I’ve been thinking about since that field goal. Maybe longer.
“I thought it was to avoid…” She looks down at both of us, frantically stripped down to nothing but underwear and completely entangled, like two needy-ass puzzle pieces. “This.”
“We both know…” I grab her hips and shift her underneath me, drinking in the feeling of being almost naked and on top of her. “We can’t avoid this.”
She doesn’t argue with me—for once—and bites her lip, looking at me with that damn fiery intensity that radiates from her constantly. That wildness that
makes her somehow both annoying and painfully irresistible.
I study her for a second, trying not to obviously lose myself in her eyes and the halo of soft pink waves surrounding her striking face. Why is she so damn beautiful? Pink hair should look ridiculous. On anyone. But not Melody. Her cotton-candy-colored hair just makes me want to kiss her and touch her and be inside her even more.
“Dylan,” she whispers, her voice quiet and uncertain.
I dip my head low and kiss her neck, gliding my hands up and down the curves of her sides. “What’s up?” I mumble against her skin.
“Hang on. Just a quick sec.”
Fuck.
I pull in a reluctant breath, lifting my head and meeting her gaze. “Melody, I know you think we need to keep things platonic, but it’s just so…” I glance down quickly, then back up at her. “You’re so hot, and… I guess I got carried away—”
“No!” She shakes her head vigorously and smiles. “It’s not that. At all. I can’t resist you either. I mean, wow. If anyone got carried away, well…” She looks to the side and buries her face in her cascades of hair.
I roll off of her and lie on my back, still trying to shut my dick up. “Then what’s going on?”
She flips onto her side and places a gentle hand on my chest, wetting her lips like she’s thinking deeply about something.
I’m not sure how anything could possibly be going through her mind that doesn’t involve us banging.
“I know I tend to get a little nosy, and maybe I don’t always realize I’m doing it…” She twists a strand of her hair and looks past me. “But I just…”
I furrow my brow, more confused than ever. “Whatever it is, just ask.”
“Where did you go yesterday morning? You seemed to be in a really troubled mood, and I know it’s none of my business, but…” Her expression suddenly turns serious. “I won’t sleep with you if you have a girl. And I would think you’re really, really gross and awful, and I would want nothing to do with—”
“Melody.” I grasp her face with my hand and steady her nerves. “I don’t have a girl. I promise you that.”
“I’m not doing anything with you until I know where you snuck off to,” she asserts, quiet but firm. “I don’t like secrets.”
I run a hand through my hair and sigh deeply, leaning back into the pillows. A new mix of indefinable emotions courses through my mind. I haven’t told anyone the truth about my dad, not even my teammates.
I turn my head to meet her eyes. Her expression is warm and sweet and concerned. She smiles, and I can practically see the relief written all over her face now that she knows I don’t have some secret girlfriend.
I hardly know Melody, but right now, in this bed, with her blue eyes and pink hair, I feel like I’ve known her for a really long time. Maybe it’s nothing more than the fact that my hormones are still buzzing, and she’s sinfully and obnoxiously hot, but I feel like I can tell her anything. And I should.
Not just so I can sleep with her. But because she doesn’t have a judgmental bone in her flawless body. She’s nothing but color and light and positivity, and I can’t think of a better person to tell.
“I went to see my dad,” I say slowly.
“Oh!” She laughs, then frowns at me in confusion. “Why…is that secret?”
“Because my parents are separated. It’s pretty…new.”
“Oh.” She looks down and picks at a thread on the sheets. “I’m really sorry. I remember Chase and Whitney telling me your parents had, like, a perfect marriage. Like, true love.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, “in light of recent events…I’m not so sure about ‘true love’ anymore.”
“Don’t lose hope,” she says, a worried eagerness lacing her voice.
“It’s not just the separation, Melody. There’s more. There is a real…weird part. The part I really don’t want any of the guys to know.”
Her eyes widen, and she softly strokes my chest, a tiny gesture that somehow makes this conversation a whole lot easier. “I’ll admit I’m curious, but I don’t want to pry. I’m working on my nosiness.”
I welcome the laugh that rises in my chest.
“You don’t have to say any more.”
“I’m afraid if I don’t…” I tap her nose with my finger. “Your nosiness will eat you alive.”
She wrinkles her nose.
“No, I need to tell”—you—“someone.” I swallow hard and try to figure out how to even put this into words. “My dad, a few years ago, decided to stop doing…anything. To stop living outside the house, basically.”
“Is he sick?” Her brows shoot up with worry.
“No, no. That’s the thing that really pisses me off. He’s able-bodied and completely fine. He just started leaving home less and less, and before I knew it, he’d gone many months without walking out the door, and my mom was packing her bags. She couldn’t take it anymore.”
Melody holds a delicate hand to her chest, which is barely covered by my sheets. “Oh my goodness, Dylan.”
“Yeah, so…I take him groceries and shit. I’ve given up fighting him on it, because he won’t listen and he won’t change. And it’s unbelievably frustrating.”
“You can’t fight him on it.” She sits up, suddenly fueled with energy again, clutching the sheet over her boobs.
I wish she’d drop that sheet. And this conversation.
“Yeah, well, I guess I’ve learned that. But it’s pretty hard to be nice to him when he’s making the dumbass choice to give up on everyone and everything for no fucking reason. He hasn’t been to one of my games in years. It makes me so mad.”
“There isn’t no reason,” she says, emotion sparking in her eyes. “His soul is troubled. And you’re hurting because of it.”
I wave off the comment. “I’m fine. It’s just annoying. I’m not hurt. I don’t get hurt.”
She looks at me, reading me like a fucking magazine. “It hurts you that he stopped coming to your games. You feel like he’s not proud. Like he doesn’t care enough to show up.”
“Okay, Freud.”
“It sounds like agoraphobia, which is completely—”
“No.” I hold up a hand and shake my head. “That’s, like, a mental disease or some shit. He doesn’t have that. He doesn’t need a psychiatrist. He just needs to man up and stop being such a—”
“Dylan.” Melody reaches out and places a gentle hand on my face, running her thumb along my cheek. “Your father is suffering. His soul is in a really dark place. You can’t blame him. He needs love and help and patience.”
“I’m not checking him into some kind of institution,” I say gruffly.
“I would certainly hope not.” She lies back down next to me, her tender fingers finding their way back to my chest. “He needs to regain peace and positivity. This is when he needs you the most.”
I clench my jaw and stare at the ceiling fan. “Can we go back to almost fucking? I liked that better.”
Melody laughs and presses into my shoulder. “Could I meet him?”
I draw back in shock, examining her massive eyes and soft smile. “Why the hell would you want to do that?”
She shrugs and purses her soft lips. “I’d really like to try and help him. I think I can.”
“If you think you’re getting him into some kind of headstand on a yoga mat, think again.” I play with a strand of her hair.
“I’m not gonna make him do yoga—not yet, anyway. You can heal the mind in a lot of ways, and I think I’m maybe a little more comfortable with centering the spirit and soul than you are. No offense,” she adds quickly.
“Yeah, I’m not offended by that.” I chuckle, letting Melody’s unexpected idea swirl through my mind. “Why, though? You’re shipping off to sea in a few weeks to go be a traveling ocean yogi. What would you gain from helping my dad?”
“Why would I have to gain something?” Her eyes are wide and innocent. Enchantingly sweet. “I like helping. I like healing.” She taps my nose.
“Think of it as my way of paying rent.”
I sigh and consider this. “I guess there’s really nothing to lose at this point. He already lost his house, his wife, and basically his will to live.”
“Give me a chance, Dylan.”
I turn to her, studying her expression, which is somehow a perfect blend of soft gentleness and fiery passion. I draw in a breath, searching for reasons why this is a bad idea and why I shouldn’t have said anything and how my asshole dad isn’t her problem, but all that comes out of my mouth is…
“Okay.”
She smiles brightly.
“He’s a lost cause, so don’t get your hopes way too far up. Although I can tell you already have.” I lift a brow.
“There’s no such thing as a lost cause. Every soul can be found again.”
I wrap an arm around the confusing and borderline insane girl in my bed, who’s brimming with a kind of selfless optimism I’m sure I’ve never seen before. “You’re something else, you know that?”
She nestles against me. “You hate that you like me.”
I squeeze her a little closer, assuming sex is not in the cards for tonight—shit got too serious. But I’m weirdly okay with that. I feel a different kind of satisfaction having that secret off my chest. “Oh hush. I tolerate you.”
Eleven
Melody
“Do you think he’ll like it?” I eagerly poke Dylan’s arm as we get into the car after stopping at Lowe’s so I could pick the perfect succulent.
He glances at the small potted Echeveria cactus sitting in my lap. “It’s the thought that counts.”
I stick my tongue out at Dylan as he backs out of the parking spot. “It’s a symbol of timeless and enduring love.”
His brows shoot up. “Not sure that’s the symbol he wants, considering his wife of thirty-four years is currently living in a rental condo ten miles away.”
I draw in a slow breath and force positivity into my voice. “I meant like the love between a father and his son.” I twirl a strand of hair and lean the side of my head against the warm window, relishing the winter sunshine.
Thrill Ride Page 7
