I know this kind of verbal diarrhea. My dad and uncles all have it too and I know enough to keep quiet, not correct them, and just let them vent. They don’t want solutions. They just want to get it all off their chests. When the knots are gone, Nash takes the greasy bag, balls it up, and tosses it, and it lands right beside the stairs to the bedroom.
“When you lose, do you question your rituals?” I ask because I’m genuinely curious. “Like do you ever think of changing them?”
“No. Never,” he replies without hesitation. The salty air from the ocean a few blocks away lifts my hair so I tuck it behind my ear. “Truthfully I haven’t been able to do all of my usual… routine. And I worry that’s part of my issue.”
“You scored two goals.”
"Yeah, but I wasn't on. I didn't feel like I was in the zone like I do when I can… I was stiff out there. Intense in a bad way," he mutters and sighs. He scrubs a hand over his face and I watch a water droplet leave his pinky and slide down his strong neck, stopping in the well of his collarbone.
"Am I fucking up your routine?" I ask softly. "By being here? Is there music you like to blast in the loft before a game? Blast what you want. I promise no teasing or complaining. Do you like to walk around naked or something before you put on your suit? Because I can leave and give you alone time?"
He laughs but it’s short and strained. “It won’t matter where you live because I still won’t be able to keep doing this thing. Because I can’t risk someone finding out this marriage is a fraud.”
“What is it that a fake marriage stops you from…” I don’t finish the sentence because my brain starts to conjure up all the things that he couldn’t do and the first one stops me cold.
Sex.
I lift my eyes from the water to his. He stares back at me with an embarrassed glint in his eye that says it all. But he confirms it anyway. “I’m the odd, small percent that doesn’t abstain before a game.”
I gulp in some air. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“So you like to fuck someone before every game?”
“When I can, but in playoffs… well it was a must last year. And we won.”
“And you think you can’t win this year without it?”
“I’m superstitious,” he replies. “And horny as all hell.”
Chapter 12
Nash
Telling Tenley this little secret is a really stupid idea, I realize, as I stare at her and wait for some kind of reaction. Right now she’s just blinking and staring at me like she’s never seen me before. Like she just woke up from a coma or something. I know she can, and likely will, tease the shit out of me. And besides that, I don’t know why I told her because there’s nothing she can do about the situation.
“O…kay,” she says slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “You have my permission to sleep with whoever you want.”
“Doubt that.” I turn my gaze to the sky.
“What?”
I close my eyes. “I’m a rule follower, remember?”
“You make it hard to forget.”
“So real or not, I’m not fucking someone else while I’m married,” I explain and reach up to pinch the bridge of my nose. My leg is aching again. It’s annoying. Almost as annoying as this conversation.
“Okay, well then, if you won’t fuck someone else, then your only option is to fuck your wife.”
I wait for her to laugh at her own joke, but my ears hear nothing but the rustle of the palms nearby and the bubbles of water from the jets. I open my eyes and find her staring at me. She doesn’t look like she’s joking. “Your sarcasm knows no bounds.”
“It’s an art form I’ve perfected,” she agrees and my shoulders are about to sag in relief when she adds, “But I’m not being sarcastic.”
“Yes. You are.” I say it with a growl. It’s a warning. A chance for her to back the hell out of this. Because she is going down a road I don’t think she should.
She stands up. I watch water droplets slip and slide over her tits and hips and down those smooth, strong thighs I gripped earlier. She gets out of the tub. “It’s getting late and we’re both turning into prunes.”
