The flat-screen over the airport bar showed highlights from the quarter-final game the Wildcats had played last week. Wyatt’s heroics featured prominently, and I grinned. He stalked the line of scrimmage with pure menace, blowing through the line when the quarterback hiked the ball. That was a side of him I hadn’t noticed when I’d watched him play in person, but seeing it on the big screen was so sexy. His exuberance following the sack was pure Wyatt. How someone with an artist’s soul could find so much joy in so violent a game was a mystery, yet it suited him.
After ordering a lemon drop martini, I settled in to enjoy my drink and some football. I’d strategically chosen a seat on the end of the bar and pulled my carry-on against the barstool next to me. To make sure other people took the hint, I dropped my jacket on the seat too. I didn’t want a repeat of the night I’d met Wyatt, even though I was pretty sure Charlie had his hands full with Phillipa and wouldn’t bother me as I watched the game.
Two lemon drop martinis and a hamburger later, I was cheering my hardest for the Wildcats’ passing game. In the middle of the fourth quarter, we were down two scores, and it seemed nothing our team tried would work. On the few occasions when the camera panned the sidelines when the offense was in, I avidly scanned the screen for shots of Wyatt. The two times I saw him, he was staring at the turf in front of where he sat on the bench, his entire demeanor vibrating, like he was willing the offense to score. I’d never seen him like that. I had this strange notion I should be on campus when he returned home from the game to comfort him, help him through what was looking more and more like a devastating loss.
When the final whistle blew, I sat back on my stool with a bone-deep dejection at how close the team had come to the national championship before falling short. The camera swung to Wyatt as he walked out onto the field with rest of the team to congratulate the Buffaloes, and my heart twinged at the brave face he put on. Though his insulated cape covered his pads, his sweaty hair was plastered to his head. The eye black he always wore high on his cheeks had slid down almost to his jaw. Even in defeat, he was a badass, a gridiron warrior who’d left everything he had out on the field.
I wished I could tell him how proud of him I was.
You could do that,a little voice in the back of my head said.You didn’t delete the picture he took of hisnumber.
I signaled the bartender for my bill and rummaged in my purse for my credit card. If I texted him, he’d have my number, and that would open up a Pandora’s Box I wasn’t ready to deal with—especially not now with what I had waiting for me at my parents’ condo.
The thought of spending Christmas with the dysfunctional mess that was my family had me dragging my feet out of the bar to the taxi stand in front of the airport. While I’d been watching my college team lose their last game of the season, darkness had fallen. Little snowflakes danced in the streetlights, giving the area a festive atmosphere utterly at odds with my mood.
When I arrived at the condo, the usual array of tasteful white lights put up by the homeowners’ association decorated the eaves and around the windows and the front door. A spray of pine branches held together with a massive black-and-white bow hung in the middle of the door. An unlit tree shadowed the picture window looking out onto the street. Looked like we were trimming the tree on Christmas Eve day. Bummer. I’d had the idea I’d be out the door and on the slopes before the rest of them strolled down to the kitchen for breakfast tomorrow and Christmas Eve morning. But I might be out of luck.
I typed in the code, stepped through the front door, and stopped to listen. The condo was eerily quiet, a lone lamp throwing light into the foyer from the open door to Dad’s office. It was enough for me to make my way to the stairs. The plush dove-gray carpet underfoot dampened the sound of my footfalls as I hustled up to my room.
Out of curiosity I glanced down the hall to Pippa’s room and saw her door was ajar, but no light slipped through the crack. Letting out a pent-up breath, I stepped into my room, closing—and locking—the door firmly behind me. I flipped on the bedside lamp and tugged my carry-on over to the love seat beneath the bay window. Since I was only staying until the morning after Christmas, I didn’t see the point of unloading it, so I set it on the seat and zipped it open. My ski clothes waited in the closet, so I’d only brought along a few essentials.
Grabbing my toiletries bag and comfy sweats, I headed into my en suite bathroom for a nice soak in the tub while I scrolled through social media on my phone. Right as I slipped beneath the bubbles, I heard Phillipa’s giggles coming up the stairs. Charlie’s bass counterpoint chuckled behind her. Mom’s voice echoed up the stairs next. “Drinks are in the den.”
Gah!
Even when Charlie and I were dating, I’d never brought him home with me for holidays, though we sometimes met after the event, so of course he’d met my family. The one time I went home with him had been Thanksgiving last year. His mom had invited me for all the domestic activities—cooking dinner, setting the table,waiting on the men. It was such a 1950s perfect family vibe, except all the life had leeched out of her, leaving a plastic husk of a person who barely said a word. Charlie, his brother, and his dad hadn’t seemed to notice. Whenever I’d tried to join the conversation during dinner, his dad had shot me a look over the rims of his designer glasses, and by dessert, I’d become as quiet as Mrs.Chase. They’d invited me back for Christmas, but fortunately, Dad and Mom had wanted to holiday in Switzerland last year, so it was easy to decline. My family may not be the poster children for happy, but only a moron passes up on a ski trip to Switzerland.
“Piper! Are you in there?” Pippa called through the door to my room.
I continued mindlessly scrolling social media on my phone and ignored her.
“We’re all gathering in the den,” she unnecessarily shouted loud enough to be heard throughout the condo. No doubt her antics were for my parents’ benefit.
My attention snagged on a post about the game, and I stopped scrolling about the time she yelled again, “It’s only ten. We know you’re not sleeping.” Another, lower voice sounded—Charlie no doubt—and she blessedly stopped her caterwauling.
But I’d stopped paying attention to her. The fan page for the Wildcats showed a montage of moments from the game. When the camera found Wyatt after one of his big tackles, I paused the feed to stare at him. His pads only enhanced his gorgeous body, a body that experience had taught me could deliver a kaleidoscope of delights. His thick jersey couldn’t disguise the ridges of his defined six-pack. Showing off his manliness, he’d gone without an undershirt in the freezing North Dakota afternoon, which meant when he flexed his arms as he stepped away from the downed running back, I worried his biceps might rip the short sleeves of his uniform.
Charlie sported the long, lean, athletic body of a college tennis player. Before I met Wyatt, I’d thought Charlie’s defined arms, powerful legs, and fit torso were sexy. But after spending a night with a naked linebacker, I couldn’t imagine going back to someone whose shoulders didn’t fill out a man’s extra-large T-shirt.Gah!The thought made me feel shallow.
Along with the image of Wyatt filling out a T-shirt came another of the slogan on the T-shirt he wore the last night we were together: “Bad choices lead to good stories.” Setting my phone aside away from the water, I slid down until the bubbles covered my shoulders.
The bad choice had been following him up to his room—not for what we’d done in there but for what it had revealed about him. Wyatt’s art showed him to be so much more than a hot football player. Across nearly every available space on the walls of his bedroom, he’d displayed a depth of thought and wonder, a love of stories, and a deep knowledge of the history of his major. Juxtaposed with the rest of his decorations, the poster of Jenna Ortega seemed more a gratuitous nod to being a college guy living in a house with a bunch of other college guys rather than her being his fantasy girl.
Under the water, my hand found its way down my body as images of Wyatt and me flowed through my mind like a movie montage. I’d loved the expression of agonized bliss on his face as I’d dropped to my knees and put my mouth on him. His body had shaken with the desire to take over, but he stood there and took only what I wanted to give. Of course, that had meant I wanted to give him more. Swallowing had never been my thing, yet with him, it became my Holy Grail. Afterward, when I glanced up at the expression of surprise and wonder on his ruggedly handsome face, I wanted to start over, give him that experience again right then.
My core flooded at the memory as I circled my engorged clit with the pad of my finger. The way he’d taken me against the wall was so deliciously dirty, I moaned as I let the scene play out in my head, my bath water sliding up and down the tub as my hips moved with my hands on my body. By the time I’d replayed the wild and rough event that had taken place in his bed, I had to shove a wash cloth in my mouth to keep from crying out as I climaxed.
After I floated back down, I sat up in the now tepid bath water and choked on a giggle at the mess on the floor beside the tub. Grabbing a towel from the warming rack beside the walk-in shower, I dried off and pulled another from the stack in the closet behind the door. I blotted up water, wrung out the towel, and folded it over the edge of the tub for the housekeeper to find in the morning.
When I crawled into bed, I glanced at my phone and saw a text from Dad:We expect to see you atbreakfast.
Throwing myself against the pillows, I let out a low growl. That word “we” was the problem. If it only meant my parents, I could handle it, but I had the uncomfortable feeling it meant Phillipa and my ex too.
Sigh.
I’d come to bed relaxed and happy, my head full of hot no-strings sex with a man who knew exactly how to rock my world. One text later and decidedly unpleasant visions were clouding my thoughts. When I finally fell asleep, my dreams were a confusing and terrifying tangle of nightmares and bliss that left my body rigid. Rather than refreshed, Christmas Eve morning I woke up tired, sore, and more than a little bit grumpy.
Sean Maxwell’s success in business derived from an acute observation of detail. Unfortunately, that meant even though he hadn’t spent more than a year or two total with me since I turned sixteen, he still knew me quite well. I’d inherited that trait from him. Someday, I would be a better businesswoman than him. Good thing for him I didn’t share his interest in international finance. All of which meant I wasn’t surprised to find him in the kitchen ahead of me. I was sure he’d expected to see me first in the soft light of morning as well.
