That Wild Player, page 14
“Seriously?” I ask, looking at the cap.
Luke nods. “Sammi’s mom loves the team.”
“Marrying the girl isn’t enough to make the woman happy?”
“What can I say? Happy in-laws for a happy marriage.”
When a server comes by, he orders a beer, then looks at the chicken wings. “Those any good?”
“Pretty decent. A little sweet.” Then, without thinking about it, I add, “Michelle would love them.”
“She does like sweets,” he agrees. “You mind?”
I gesture at the plate. “Go for it. When’s the happy day for you and Sammi?”
“Don’t know yet. She wants to get married at the Chapel.”
I can practically hear the capitalization. “The Chapel?”
“At UVA. She graduated from there, but the wait list is pretty insane.”
“She wants to wait?”
“That’s what it looks like. I just want to get it done. Maybe I should suggest a destination wedding… Someplace that can top the Chapel.”
“Where?”
“Hawaii, maybe? The beaches there are pretty.” He looks off into the distance. “Hmm… A sunset beach wedding…”
“What’s the hurry?” I don’t add that if they wait long enough, they’ll realize what a horrible mistake they’re making and part ways before wasting a bunch of time and money.
“There’s something very…comforting and final about legal ties.”
“What about the marriage penalty?”
“The tax thing?” Luke shrugs. “A small price to pay.”
The man is illogical. But then, Dad said people don’t behave logically. And Luke is an artist…
Jan, Matt, Sammi and Michelle arrive together, probably having left work around the same time. Luke and I wave. Sammi lights up like a kid before Christmas at the sight of Luke and dashes over. That girl can move faster a mouse spotting a chunk of cheese.
Michelle makes her way over, her gorgeous bod wrapped in a deep purple dress that somehow intensifies her caramel eyes. A wide smile curves her lips, and her gaze is on mine as she walks up and gives me a kiss.
“Thanks for coming,” she says.
“Thought that was going to be my line,” I whisper.
She laughs. “Behave.”
We all sit down and order appetizers and other finger food. Michelle, Jan and Sammi get margaritas, and Matt gets a beer. When our drinks arrive, we toast.
“To success,” Sammi says.
“To friendship,” Jan says.
“Cheers!”
We clink glasses. Michelle glows, her cheeks flushed, as she takes a sip of her margarita.
“So when is Mimi making the announcement?” Jan asks.
“During the official fiscal year closure,” Michelle says.
“You’re the first of us to get promoted,” Sammi says with a huge grin.
“No, Jan’s the first,” Michelle points out.
Jan shakes her head. “I moved to app dev. Lateral transfer, not a promotion.”
“Right. She’s a junior developer like everyone else who starts out in app dev,” Sammi explains.
“So you”—Jan points at Michelle with both hands—“the man.”
The flush in Michelle’s cheeks deepens, and her eyes sparkle until they glow like firelight through amber. She’s so gorgeous it makes my chest tight. And I love the shy way she basks in her friends’ praise, like she almost can’t believe it.
After we devour several plates of food, the women’s conversation naturally gravitates toward Jan’s wedding. They even move so they can sit together and look at photos on their phones. No longer shy, Michelle’s totally in charge, shaking her head, then nodding, but making suggestions and drawing stuff on napkins to show Jan and Sammi.
“They’re really into the whole planning thing, aren’t they?” Honestly, I’d rather they talk about something else.
“This is the first one for them,” Matt says. “Of course they’re excited.”
“Sammi’s already started planning ours, and we don’t even have a date yet,” Luke says.
Matt turns to me. “By the way, thanks for putting Izzy in her place.”
“Oh, it was my pleasure. She deserved it.”
“She’s been aggravating Jan more than usual, being passive aggressive about the wedding.”
I make a face. “Did she email the entire company?”
“No. But she’s been saying stuff about how more than half of marriages end in divorce, and how much men cheat, especially when men and women have unequal education level, on and on and on. It gets old.”
“Bitch,” Luke says. “She’s been saying similar shit to Sammi, too. Who is she anyway? And how come she hasn’t been fired already?”
“Her boss says she can’t go. Apparently she’s ‘irreplaceable,’” Matt says.
Luke makes a disgusted noise. “Gotta be sleeping with her.”
“Probably,” Matt says. “Too good in the sack to sack.”
We all laugh. “But seriously, Izzy?” I say. “How desperate do you have to be?”
“He’s married, but his wife’s up in Canada finishing her master’s degree at the University of Toronto. Do the math,” Matt says.
“I can see how he might want to play around…but Izzy? I’d rather screw my mom’s goat. And he’s castrated.”
Luke winces. “Ouch.”
“Pretty sure Izzy would tell his wife if she got fired. I wouldn’t put it past her,” Matt says. “The only problem is that, unlike her, he’s actually good at his job, and Alexandra is fond of him.”
I shake my head at the ludicrous situation. More evidence that marriage doesn’t work out. A guy cheating on his wife who’s studying in another country with someone as classless and foul as Izzy? What other than marriage could cause a guy to be that stupid?
I gaze at Matt, wondering if he’s made the connection. But he seems totally oblivious. He finishes his beer and orders another before happy hour ends. Luke orders one, too, then goes to the bathroom.
When I continue to look at him, Matt says, “What?”
“Nothing, just…curious. Why are you marrying Jan? Don’t say it’s because you love her.”
He frowns. “But…I do. That’s the reason.”
“Okay, then, why do you love her?”
“She makes me happy. No one else gets me like she does, and nobody makes me smile the way she does, either.”
“It’s going to be a lot of work—marriage, I mean,” I say, unable to bring myself to say it’s going to end poorly.
“I know, but she’s worth it. Anything worth having requires work.”
I glance over at Michelle. She looks up from her phone and smiles, and just like that, my chest feels achy and hot. I’ve never worked this hard for a woman, but Michelle’s worth it. And I’m not going to ruin what we have because of ludicrous societal expectations or “everyone’s doing it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Michelle
CJ and I get back to the townhouse at the same time. Jan and Sammi are staying at their boyfriends’, so we have the place to ourselves. I toe off my shoes and sigh as the tension in the soles of my feet eases.
“Want something to drink?” I ask, as I dump my purse by my shoes and lock the door.
“No, thanks.” He spreads out, his arms stretched along the back of the couch. “I think I’ve had enough for the day.”
I smile. “That was fun.”
“C’mere.” CJ crooks a finger.
I take a seat next to him, our thighs brushing. “What?”
“I have something to give you.” He bends, reaching for a small paper bag I didn’t notice he was carrying. He pulls out a small silver box. “Here. A present.”
I take it, bemused, and slowly tug the pretty golden ribbon off. When I flip the lid open, a large, star-shaped gold pendant winks at me.
“You are my superstar” is stamped on the metal, and the necklace is made of intricate links.
“It’s gorgeous,” I say.
“I saw it when I was at a mall to pick something up for Mom, and it reminded me of you.”
“Help me?” I turn around, pulling my hair away from my neck.
He takes the necklace and puts it on me. I look down at the star. It’s just so freaking perfect that I can’t help but admire it.
“You like it?” he says, his voice light and teasing.
“Love it. I’ve never had anything this pretty before.”
The sentiment behind the gift is exactly what I needed, and I’m touched by CJ’s thoughtfulness. I felt sort of awkward after telling him about my parents not being too thrilled with my career. It isn’t something I’ve ever told a guy, and even Jan and Sammi only know because they’ve heard Mom make disparaging comments about my job.
Although he said he isn’t the committing type, I can’t help but feel like maybe there’s hope for us yet. The kind of guy who just wants sex wouldn’t have texted, stopped by my office, defended me against Izzy—who made it completely obvious she would do anything he wanted in bed—come to my celebration tonight…or bought a gift this sweet and thoughtful. Maybe he was never into commitment, but it could just be that he’s never met the right person, rather than being unable to form a lasting bond. I’ve seen him interact with my friends and their fiancés. He’s certainly capable of friendship and camaraderie.
And I want that kind of lasting bond with him—including friendship and affection and amazing sex and everything else.
“Michelle?” he whispers as I continue to gaze at him.
I lean forward, placing my hands on his shoulders, then kiss him softly.
His lips are warm and pliant. Oh, the things I want to do with this man.
I lick his mouth, flicking my tongue against the closed seam. Then I follow the teasing strokes with the barest brushing of my lips against his—until his breathing grows noticeably shallower.
Slowly I tilt my head, digging my fingers into the hard muscles on his shoulders as though I can’t bear to let go of him. I increase the pressure of my mouth over his, and he parts his lips. We breathe in the same sweet air, and I feel my sanity slip away stroke by stroke, lick by lick. His taste fills me—until I can’t remember what it’s like not to have his mouth fused with mine, his tongue sweeping between my lips.
His hands spread over my back, pulling me closer. I let out a soft gasp, as his erection throbs against my belly.
Still, we kiss, teasing, like we have all the time in the world.
I entwine my arms around his neck. He cups my ass and stands as though I hardly weigh anything, our mouths still fused. My skirt bunches around my hips as I wrap my legs around him.
Without breaking the kiss, he carries me upstairs, each step sure and unhurried. If it weren’t for his thick cock pressing against me and his uneven breathing, I might not realize he’s as affected as I am. Lust, warm and liquid, pulses through me, leaving me needy. I want him—the pleasure of our connection—but I don’t want to rush.
When we reach my bedroom, I squirm down and pull away long enough to yank the shirt off his body. I drink in the amazing perfection of his chest and shoulders, letting my gaze roam shamelessly. I trace the defined ridges of his abs, reveling in the involuntary twitching of his powerful muscles.
CJ tugs at the straps and side zipper, and my dress pools at my feet. “How did you know it has a side zipper? Most guys would’ve gone for the back.”
“I’ve been studying it for hours, thinking about stripping you naked as soon as we were alone.”
I give him an impish smile. “Can’t say I wasn’t doing the same.”
I unbuckle his shorts and push them down his legs, along with his underwear. He steps out of his shoes, standing totally, gloriously naked.
“I’ve been thinking about all the things to come after I strip you naked,” I say.
A grin pops up, along with the dimple on his cheek. The effect is devastating. “Did you also fantasize about what your underwear does to me?” He presses a kiss on the swell of my breast. “I never gave a damn about them before. They’re wrappers—pretty doesn’t hurt, but they’re going to come off anyway. But you… I sometimes can’t decide which I like better—you totally naked or you in your killer lingerie.”
“Why don’t I make it easy for you?” I push and arrange my bra so my nipples are out.
CJ curses, staring at my breasts with near-reverence and pure lust. “They’re perfect.” His gaze rises to meet mine. “You’re perfect.”
I flush.
He comes closer and unhooks the clasp. “But not tonight. I don’t want anything between us.”
Then he reclaims my mouth as he lays me gently on my bed and pushes my thong down my legs. Sweetly, slowly, he brands me with soft, lingering kisses, chin to neck to breasts to belly. My breathing is uneven, and sweat mists over me as sweet ache and longing fill me. I move restlessly, helpless against the slow seduction of his mouth and hands.
When he finally moves back up and kisses my nipple and pulls it into his mouth, while rocking against my slick core, I cry out, my back arching. Pleasure settles over me like thick honey, and I’m desperate for more.
He gives the other nipple the same devoted attention before putting on a condom. He cradles my face in one large, strong hand, while bracing his weight on the opposite forearm. Our eyes locked, he sinks his cock slowly into me, letting me feel him all the way. I gasp at the pleasure of the invasion, the bliss of being stretched and filled by a man who kisses me like I’m the center of his universe.
The pace he sets is leisurely. With each thrust, I feel like we’re melting into each other and together creating something too precious to be named.
When he slips the pad of his thumb against my clit and rubs it just so while driving into me, I grit my teeth, wanting to last, to stay with him in this moment a little longer.
“Come for me, Michelle. Let me feel your pussy tightening around my cock.”
That and a couple of harder thrusts is all it takes for me to let go with a wild cry, a stunning climax breaking over me.
CJ shudders into me, tendons standing out in his neck.
Afterward, he stays on top, holding his weight with his forearms so he doesn’t crush me. I wrap around him and bask in the afterglow while our breathing settles. He kisses me on my forehead.
“That was great. Now I only have nine hundred and ninety-nine left on my list.”
“What list?”
“The list of all the ways we can pleasure each other.”
I flush, absurdly thrilled with the idea. Nine hundred and ninety-nine is a helluva large number. Surely it’s a sign he is open to trying a long-term relationship, isn’t it?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Michelle
“Good morning.”
A cheery greeting repeats again as I burrow deeper into bed. It’s Saturday, and my internal clock tells me I shouldn’t be up yet.
“Come on, sleeping beauty.”
I open an eye. CJ is peering at me, looking disgustingly happy. My brain’s slow to engage. His smile makes it look like there’s nothing urgent happening, but he is waking me up early. So… “Fire?”
He shakes his head.
“Blood?”
He shakes his head again.
I sniff. I don’t smell anything weird. As a matter of fact, I smell…CJ, who is nestling closer. He’s topless, the muscles in his body shifting as he moves. Despite the lack of sufficient sleep, I approve of the view. “Why don’t you come back to bed?” I mumble, then hug my pillows, closing the eye.
“It’s already eight thirty,” he says.
“Crack of dawn,” I mumble.
“You show up at work at ten till nine.”
“Monday through Friday. Today’s Saturday.”
CJ laughs. “Can I tempt you with breakfast in bed? I have some right here, all ready for you.”
“You know I’m going to be worthless without sleep today, right?”
“It’s okay. I’ll do all the thinking and processing.”
“Urgh.” I sit up grudgingly. There’s no way I can keep sleeping when CJ’s determined to be cheery. “I can do my own thinking and processing.”
Once I’m sitting comfortably, settled against my pillows, he carefully places a tray with a granola bar, strawberry-flavored Greek yogurt and a cup of coffee across my lap. Then he sits next to me and gets a tray with yogurt, a cream cheese-laden toasted bagel and coffee for himself.
“When did you get up?” I say after a sip of the coffee.
“Six. Same as always.”
I shudder.
“You’ll feel better if you go to bed and get up at the same time every day. It’s the best way to fix sleep problems…even though it takes a while.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I munch on my granola bar. Yum.
“You aren’t going to even try it?”
“I can’t go to bed at the same time every night.”
CJ pauses in the middle of reaching for his bagel. “Why not?”
I wave my partially eaten granola bar. “My part-time gig, remember?”
“Wait. You aren’t quitting?”
“Why would I? It pays well, and I don’t have to go to an office or anything.”
CJ stares, his eyebrows drawing closer and closer as the seconds tick by. “Doesn’t Alexandra pay you enough?” he asks finally.
“She does, but I can always make more. You don’t think that lingerie you like so much came from a bargain bin, do you?”
He processes that, then nods as though he’s come to a decision. “Okay. I’ll make up for the pay you’re going to lose from your honeypot gig. Problem solved. Now you can quit.”
It’s a good thing I don’t have food or drink in my mouth because I’d spew them both. “Why would I take your money?”
He gives me a look reserved for the silliest of questions. “I have lots of it, and I don’t like you displayed like some…some hot hooker in front of those cheating assholes.”
I roll my eyes. “The term you’re looking for is ‘hot bait.’ I’m not a hooker.”
