Stop.
The word won’t leave my mouth. It’s trapped behind my teeth. Anything that would stop this, would stem this, even my fear of getting caught, being seen, freezes and everything else runs hot. Goes green. Begs him to floor it. With the strings untied, he nudges my dress down with his lips, and cool air kisses my nipples. He stares at them, swallowing so hard I see his throat move in the dimmest moonlight.
“God, Banner,” he says hoarsely, lifting his eyes to penetrate mine. “How could you not see how beautiful you are?”
His words undo what’s left of my resistance, and I pull him down to my breast, needing to give myself to this man who has always seen me. He opens his mouth completely over my nipple, pulling on me in a steady rhythm. Biting my breast, rubbing my clit, pumping his middle fuck-you finger into the hungry hole between my legs. My hips roll into him, seeking him, urging him to do his worst. He shifts to my other breast and adds another finger.
“Come on my hand,” he says, his voice confident and pleading. “Show me how you look when you come. I’ve never seen it.”
In the dark. We made love in the dark before, and we’re in the dark now, but there’s just enough light for me to see his beautiful face and just enough light for him to see mine.
So I show him.
“Ah,” I cry out, heedless of the few cars parked around us while my body dissolves for him. I bite my bottom lip and frantically ride his hand, pleasure spilling from my body onto his fingers.
“Say my name,” he demands. “Who’s doing this for you, Banner?”
“It’s you.” Helpless tears slip over my cheeks, tears of passion and regret and shame and joy. “God, Jared, I know it’s you.”
17
Jared
Banner is avoiding me again. Sending my calls to voice mail, ignoring my emails, not replying to text messages. Saturday night should have been a step forward, but we backslid like a wayward believer, and I don’t know how to move us in the right direction.
Right direction may not be accurate. There is nothing right about systematically plotting to take another man’s woman. I won’t call it the right direction. It’s my direction, and I know it’s ultimately where Banner belongs. And after what happened at the drive-in, I have no doubt it’s where she wants to be.
Here’s the thing about falling for a good girl: they have all these rules. And qualms. And the worst? Guilt. She has all this integrity that gets in the way of what she wants, which is me. But I won’t allow it to get in the way of what I want, which is her. So we’re at an impasse where she avoids me, slinks back into her comfort zone with Alonzo.
Fuck that shit. If she thinks I’m letting this go, letting her go again, she’s delusional. I know. I’m the one who sounds crazy, but that is not the case. What’s crazy is denying yourself something this special. I’m living proof that ruthless people who don’t give a fuck want special things, too. And I’m taking mine.
As soon as I get her to talk to me.
I’ve been camped out here at the Seven Grand for an hour, nursing this same Jameson and Coke. I don’t do this. I don’t sit around thinking about women. I don’t let them disrupt my rhythm. They are generally the solution to a problem, which is that I like to fuck. And when I don’t fuck, I get agitated and lose focus, which ultimately costs me money. This is a problem since the only girl I want to sleep with won’t return my calls. Won’t leave her damn boyfriend. Won’t yield. And I’ve determined that sleeping with Banner isn’t enough. Leaving Zo isn’t enough. I want her to yield. I want her as preoccupied with me as I am with her. As fixated on me as I am on her. Anything less than her feeling as obsessed as I do just doesn’t seem fair.
I check my phone one more time in case she deigned to actually respond. Nothing from her, but a text message from Tanya asking me to call. She runs a strip club I take prospects to all the time. I ran into her at Titanium. I had no idea she taught Quinn’s pole dancing classes at the gym. She keeps her eyes peeled for ballers and gives me tips on where they are, what they like, shit they do that might come in handy. When her recon pans out, I grease her palm.
“What’s up, Tan?” I ask, using my handsfree and knocking back the last of my drink, giving the table a good slam with the glass.
“I wondered if you got my message,” Tanya says. “Took you long enough to call.”
“What’s up?” I repeat. No time for bullshit. Get to the point. My patience is ice-thin tonight.
“I got something.”
It’s the first time in days my heart rate has increased.
“Whatta you got?” I signal for the bar tender to bring my tab.
“That guy who’s leaving Dallas. What’s his name, Lim or Lyn or—”
“Link,” I cut in, dropping some cash and standing. “Link Pullen. He recently became an unrestricted free agent. Biggest name available in free agency season.”
Also on the outs with his current agent. Opportunity, meet need. Supply, say hello to demand.
“He’s here,” she whispers. “Everybody’s here tonight. Biggest party of the summer.”
“Where is here?”
“I’ll text the address.”
“Will I have trouble getting in?” I know so many players, that’s rarely an issue, but some parties are more exclusive than others.
“You’ll be fine,” Tanya replies. “Some of your guys are here, too.”
Not surprising.
“Headed over now.”
I’m nearly at the door when someone calls my name. I turn, irritated to find Cal Bagley wearing his permanent cocksure grin and a pathetic suit. He should know better. I mean, the guy’s making millions. You can’t buy one decent suit? And what’s he even doing on my coast? He’s supposed to be in New York.
“Cal, good to see you.” Lie. “How are you?” Don’t care.
“I’m good,” he replies, shooting me a speculative glance. “I’ll be even better if you keep your hands to yourself.”
“Excuse me? No idea what you’re talking about.”