“Just the game. Same as usual.” He pulled me in front of him so he could wrap those massive arms around my body. I loved how tightly he held me, that I felt every inch of his muscle, all that glorious skin as his pulsed around me. “I’m thinking about getting Kenny to put out some feelers for other teams.”
That had me turning, leaning against the railing to look up at him. Ransom hated the business of playing and though his agent Kenny was good to him, the idea of Ransom asking him to do anything was a struggle. Second round draft picks got decent deals. Defensive line players, which Ransom was, less so. Usually. But I knew Ransom’s option for another season was coming up. I had hoped to convince him not to take the option. We should have been back in New Orleans. Away from the league, starting a life that didn’t involve injuries and an uncertain future. Going home would make things so much better for us.
“Where would you go?” I asked, knowing in the pit of my stomach that it had all been wishful thinking—he wasn’t even considering retiring.
“I don’t know.” Ransom slipped a finger through the ends of my hair, not seeing me, his gaze once again focused on that skyline over my head. “New York maybe, or Colorado.”
My chest ached a little and I couldn’t help the disappointment that burned like fire in my gut. “What about back home? We could go back to New Orleans”
“Nah. Their defense is terrible now.” When he looked down at me, there was no expression on his face. “I want to play somewhere that will get me a shot at a ring.”
“Oh.”
“I know you’re homesick.” That flat tone was enough to tell me he was saying what he thought I wanted to hear. New Orleans wasn’t an option. Not for him. Ransom rubbed his neck, wincing, when stretching his shoulders didn’t give him the release he needed.
“Go lay on the bed and I’ll rub you down.”
Normally, he’d refuse me, tell me not to bother. We hadn’t spent much time together and when we did, there was always something that kept us from touching—the roughness of the game doing its worst on his body, wearing him so thin that most nights he barely managed to crash on the bed when he returned from a game. But it wasn’t just Ransom. I always searched for things to do— teaching dance camps for the Miami Dance Project, filling in now and then when I was needed in a chorus line here or there. I was desperate to find my place in this damn city. But it wasn’t enough. It hadn’t ever been enough. Leann asked if I wanted to buy out her studio. I hadn't even mentioned that to Ransom, not yet. And I knew why: I couldn’t operate that studio here in Miami. I’d have to move back to New Orleans.
With my decision made, I didn’t feel obligated to tell him what I’d just decided. I’d leave him for New Orleans and submerge myself with turning Leann’s studio into something that was solely, utterly mine. I’d need the distraction. I’d heard recently from my doctor, and it was disappointing. While not life threatening, it had me thinking about what the future held for me as a woman, and a potential partner. My priorities had gotten jumbled and I needed time to sort them all out.
It was time to leave him. God, even thinking about it had made me nauseous.
His back was so wide I had to lean over him to work out the knots along his shoulders. He wore only a pair of boxers and smelled like the shea butter soap Keira had sent from their vacation to Maui a few weeks back. Ransom’s skin was drawn tight, as though the muscles underneath were clustered with knots. I worked my palms and thumbs up the long thick stretch of his deltoids, to his traps and smiled when he groaned, wincing when a particularly large knot just underneath his shoulder blade took more effort to smooth away.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he moaned, moving his head to the side. “Are you?”
“Just a little tired is all.”
Ransom went up on his elbow, tilting his head as he glanced toward the closet. Several of my suitcases were pushed inside with laundry scattered on the floor around them. “Are you ever going to unpack? That trip to New York was a month ago…”
It wasn’t time. Not just yet and so I distracted him with my mouth in the center of his back, nibbling over that slightly protruding spine and the thick muscle until I leaned over him, using my nails to scrape along his shoulders and down his sides as I kissed his neck.
“Damn, nani, that’s good.”
And it was—the way he reacted to me, how responsive he was. Stretched out on his stomach, Ransom let me play, sprawling out so that his arms were at his sides, palms flat on the mattress. I used my teeth, kissing a path over those wide shoulders, turning his head to bring his ear between my lips.
“I love the way your skin feels on my tongue.”
“There’s even more to taste on the other side.”