This wasn’t about feelings. “No,” she said.
Inch by glorious hard inch slid in until his hips pressed hard against hers, until she couldn’t breathe. He took her like that, slow, calm, steady, kissing her when her eyes closed, looking deep into her eyes when they opened. As the minutes passed and the tension coiled hot and tight inside her, she found she craved the eye contact as much as the kisses.
He didn’t stop when she came, thrust through the contractions. Only after her muscles went slack did he release her hands so she could wrap herself around him while he tipped over the edge.
She drifted on a haze of endorphins while he cleaned up, physically unable to get out of bed and take a shower after the massage and the sex. “Athletic shower sex doesn’t turn you into a puddle of goo but a massage does?”
One corner of her mouth lifted in response. “Are you staying?”
“Depends on how early you’re getting up.”
“I’m teaching a basketball fundamentals class at the East Side Y at nine.”
“Do you ever sleep in?”
“Sundays,” she murmured. “Sundays I don’t work out. Sometimes I don’t even leave the house. You should hang around for a Sunday.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said, and crawled under the covers, groaning as his bare skin made contact with the sheets.
She was half asleep when he spoke again, his voice aching with a pain she never would have guessed he could harbor. “I wish it had been me.”
*
Jamie stood with his brother on the sidelines of the East Side Y basketball court watching Charlie and her two assistants—Coach Grace and Coach Lyssa—lead a group of elementary school kids through a co-ed basketball fundamentals class. The kids, all somewhere in that “not baby but not teenager” pack that Jamie found difficult to label, vied for attention from Charlie and her assistants; more importantly, her two high school girls blossomed in the leadership roles. Jamie could see them hold themselves a little more self-consciously, aware of the role they were playing in the kids’ lives, proud of the opportunity, eager to help and to please Charlie. All these subtle things she did—watching Grace intently as she talked the kids through a layup; demonstrating respect, attention; showing the give-and-take between adults and kids. It was almost enough to get his mind off something he rarely thought about: regrets.
Almost.
Normally he didn’t waste a second on regrets. What was done was done, couldn’t be undone. All he could do was learn from his decisions and go forward more aware of who he was, what he wanted. But this was different from a mistake. This was an ache deep inside his chest for something he’d not been able to have, an opportunity gone forever. The chance to be Charlie Stannard’s first lover was gone, and he ached with loss and a simmering anger, not with her, but with himself. Other men meant so much to her, taught her everything, and not just sex. Food, wine, trips. Life. They’d had a decade of Charlie’s life, a decade he’d never have.
Most of all, he regretted what he’d said last night. Because she’d said nothing at all in response. Her breathing caught ever so slightly, maybe a slight hitch as she sank into sleep, or maybe a tightly controlled reaction. Either way, she hadn’t brought it up that morning.
No regrets, he told himself firmly. He’d make a future with Charlie, no matter what.
“Earth to Jamie,” Ian said.
“Yeah,” Jamie answered, still focused on the game. The boys were all over the court, while the girls listened closely. They were more tentative, too, paying attention to her instructions, taking careful shots. When she was teaching them about offense and defense, she guided them with her hands on their shoulders and a smile on her face.
“We’re on for the meet at the Met tonight,” Ian said, his voice low. “You remember what she looks like?”
“Yeah,” Jamie said again, somewhat absently. He’d had eyes only for Charlie when they were kids, but Eve Webber was an unforgettable girl. He had no doubt she’d grown into an unforgettable woman. They’d known her peripherally because her brother had been a basketball star, gone on to play for Duke, turned down a shot at the pros to go to law school. “We’ve got this. Relax.”
“I’ll relax when it’s over,” Ian said.
“I thought she’d agreed to be an informant. Don’t you trust her?” Jamie asked. He could barely hear his brother over the organized chaos of balls bouncing, whistles blowing, and coaches talking. Parents chattered quietly on the bleachers, and younger kids ran along the sidelines playing an impromptu game of hide and seek. No one could overhear them.
“I trust her as much as I trust anyone,” Ian said.
Jamie snorted.
“It’s not just that. Talk on the street is there’s a hit out on her.”
Jamie’s head swiveled to look at Ian. “On Eve?”