Glitz & Goals (Venom Next Gen #2)

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Vivian

In theory, I should be feeling amazing. The guy I’m not-quite-dating just gave me a near-continuous string of orgasms and then fucked me into next week. I got to try out a kink that I’ve been interested in for years but have been too chickenshit to try with an actual human, and it was so goddamn hot. I feel like I just emerged from a sex-based spa, with every one of my chronically tense muscles finally relaxed for once.

And then he had to go and ruin it.

I love you. I love you so much, Viv.

Ugh, major cringe. That’s not the kind of thing you spring on a person after a mind-blowing sexcapade. I suppose I can forgive him since he’s probably feeling as satisfied as I am. People say all kinds of shit after sex. You’re feeling good, and something silly just slips out.

“I wish you could have been my wife back then.”

I play possum, because what. The. Fuck. What the fuck! My warm fuzzy feelings are blown away in one fell swoop. I’m suddenly, painfully, aware that I’m lying in the bed of a man I barely know, who is currently untying my legs and whose dick was just inside me. We’re not even dating. We’re not at the “I love you” stage yet. We are one thousand percent never going to be in the “I wish I could go back in time and marry you earlier.” Um, hello, age gap? When the fuck did he get married?

Three sentences, and my night of debauchery and bliss is ruined. I need to get out of here.

There’s just one problem: I have just come approximately eleventy-billion times, and all my body wants to do is curl up into a little shrimp shape and pass out. Also, more water. I’m undoubtedly dehydrated.

My opossum act turns into an actual snooze between Grady’s unwelcome confession and the last knot being untied. I’m distantly aware of him leaving the room and a faucet turning on in the bathroom.

Time to make a break for it, I think, but this pillow is so soft, and these sheets are really nice. Next thing I know, Grady’s carrying me to the bathroom where the tub is full of steaming water and bath salts that smell like lemongrass.

He removes my rumpled, sweaty jersey and lowers me into the tub, then climbs in after me, facing me even though there’s not quite enough room for two. He takes one arm and massages my wrist, then works his way up my forearm.

“Shibari can mess with your circulation,” he says. “Are you feeling okay?”

I nod. “I’m good. But that feels nice, so don’t stop.”

Grady laughs. Shit, I’m supposed to be escaping, aren’t I? His hands are so gentle, though. It really does feel amazing.

He massages my legs, too. When he sees that I keep drifting off, he laughs to himself. “I’ll let you finish washing up, okay? Unless…”

I am not going to ask him to help me wash my hoo-ha, and I should pee. I wave him away, and he grabs one of the giant fluffy towels he pulled out for us before kissing my forehead, just like I kissed his the other night, and leaving me to finish up.

I take my time getting ready, still planning my exit strategy. Only I’m not sure what I’m running away from. Would it really be so bad if this sweet, sexy older guy fell for me?

Yes, yes, it would . But I don’t feel it in my chest. Instead, I feel happy. Is that a side-effect of shibari? Am I in some kind of weird post-kink headspace? Is that a thing?

I chug the rest of my bottle of water and decide that, yes, I’m definitely leaving.

In the bedroom, Grady has stripped down the bed and replaced the sheets. “In case you want to stay,” he says, looking so hopeful that only a monster would say no.

“That sounds nice,” says my mouth. What the hell, mouth?

Grady lies down and opens his arms. I could say that I changed my mind. I could leave without an explanation. Hell, I could make something up.

But all that sounds like a lot of effort. Why bother when I could just climb between those fresh sheets and let Grady hold me the way he so clearly wants to?

The way I want him to?

I put a pin in my personal crisis and do exactly that. Tomorrow I’ll worry about what all this means.

* * *

“What’s wrong?” Mia asks the next morning, about three seconds after I walk into work.

I hunch my shoulders to my ears. “Nothing.”

She elbows me in the ribs. “Liar. Jaime? Hey, Jaime? Get over here, we have a Defcon One, and we all need to talk.”

I’m pretty sure Jaime isn’t here yet, but I guess he’s a fucking genie, because he appears at her side as if summoned from thin air. “You rang?”

I flinch away from him and look around to see if he came through a trapdoor or something. “How did you do that?”

“Skills,” he says. “So, where’s the fire? And why do you look like you haven’t slept in two weeks when I saw you yesterday and you were fine?”

I lower my arms and sigh. There’s no escaping these two. It’ll be easier to come clean. “Grady told me that he loves me.”

Mia makes the face most people reserve for when they see extra-cute puppies. “Aww!”

I rub my temples. “No, it’s not aww. It’s too soon!”

Jaime looks at Mia. Mia shrugs.

“What?” I glare at both of them.

“He’s really into you,” Jaime says. “Just because it’s too soon for you doesn’t mean he’s jumping the gun. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who runs around declaring himself all the time just for shits and giggles.”

“Maybe not, but he also said he wishes he’d been married to me back when he was in the NHL. And don’t you dare aww again, I was a teenager back then!” I jab a finger in Mia’s face.

She waves me away. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. More like he wishes it had been you instead of his ex when his career ended. He didn’t give me the ick, and trust me, I get it all the time.” She waves to her tiny frame. “I’ve met guys who are into the fact that I look super young, and Grady isn’t one of them. When he came to the opening, he only had eyes for you.”

“I’m still failing to see the problem,” Jaime adds. “You’re into him, too, right? Maybe not enough to drop the L-word yet, but this is the first time I’ve seen you take this much interest in a guy. Normally, after a few trips to Bang Town, you’re running for the hills while checking off all the reasons why.”

I rub my hands across my face. Darn my friends for making valid points. I roll back my thoughts and try to make sense of them. “He can’t have kids,” I blurt. “He told me so.”

“Oh.” Jaime crosses his arms. “Okay. So you are into him, and that scares you.”

“Did you hear me?” I demand.

“Sure I did. You want kids, he can’t have kids—allegedly—and you’re using that to make excuses.”

“But—!”

“You, of all people, should know that family doesn’t necessarily mean the people who gave you life.”

Jaime might as well have smacked me. The truth hurts, but damn it if he isn’t right.

Mia hops aboard the rational-thinking train. “What does it mean that he can’t have kids, anyway? No sperm? Low sperm? Bad motility? And when was the last time he looked into it? There are so many options now, and there are advancements all the time. He was probably divorced well over a decade ago.”

“If you want to be a mom, fertility issues won’t stop you,” Jaime adds. “And if your only complaint about Grady is his sperm, then you’d be crazy to throw that away.”

“Don’t let this keep you from happiness with someone who clearly makes you so happy!” Mia pumps her arms over her head like a cheerleader.

My friends are a lot, but that doesn’t mean that they’re wrong. I think about how much time I spent last night wanting to run away, even though a larger part of me wanted to stay. Grady makes me happy. I’m not sure I love him yet, but I’m pretty sure I could. I’ve met guys I click with sexually and guys whose personalities align with mine, but very few who fall into both categories.

And I want a family. I do. But I’m afraid of throwing my whole heart into something with the knowledge that I could lose it at any time.

I lick my lips. “Do you think I might have commitment issues?”

Jaime groans and lifts his hands in the air. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. Come on, Mia, the choreographer said she has notes.” He spins on his heel and stalks away.

Mia giggles and gives me a big hug. For such a tiny person, she’s strong enough to make them count. “Don’t talk yourself out of a good thing, Viv. You deserve to be happy, okay?” She turns and trots off after Jaime to join the rest of the performers. “And don’t hate me for saying this, but maybe a few sessions with your therapist might help. You could work through whatever’s holding you back.”

I spend the rest of the morning in a sort of fever dream, wandering around like a Roomba and bouncing off things.

If I was more attentive, I would have seen that Jaime and his performance partners are practicing their banquine timing. But I’m not, which is why I walk face-first into the path of Jaime’s flailing arm. His elbow collides with my face, and before I realize what’s happening, I’m on the ground.

“Oh, my God!” Jaime says from someplace faraway. I blink a few times in an attempt to get my bearings. My head is ringing, and I’m not entirely sure how I got here.

“Vivian? Are you okay?” The flyer kneels beside me and peers into my eyes.

“Yeah, I just…” I struggle up onto my elbows. “Sorry, guys, that was my fault.”

Jaime looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Are you hurt? Are you concussed? How many fingers am I holding up?”

I roll my eyes. “It helps if you actually hold up your hands when asking that question. Come on, give me a boost.” I hold out my arm, and Jaime and the rest of the trio pull me to my feet. I dust myself off and take stock of my person. My cheek hurts, but not so much that I’m worried about it. I should probably ice it when I get home, but it’s nothing to get worked up about.

“See?” I pinwheel my arms and spin in a circle. “All good. And I’ve learned an important lesson about situational awareness.” I grin at Jaime, who isn’t fully convinced, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s going to carry me to the Mona Lisa’s on-site medic.

True to my word, I find a seat and spend the rest of the morning staying out of the way. When Grady texts to ask if I’m available for a late lunch, I reply with a thumbs-up. Not to jinx it, but for once, nothing seems to be going awry in the costuming department.

The ache in my face has dulled to the point that I’ve almost forgotten about it by the time Grady walks in. But the moment he sees me, his expression shifts. His stride lengthens, his jaw tightens, and before I can say a word, he’s standing in front of me, cradling my face like I’m something fragile.

“Who did this to you?” His voice is low, dangerous. And the look in his eyes flips my stomach.

I try to play it off with a wave of my hand. “It’s not a big deal. Jaime just—”

“Jaime!” As his voice raises, his eyes narrow, scanning the room like a predator looking for its next meal. “Where is he?”

“Grady, no.” I grab his wrist, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. “It was an accident. I wasn’t paying attention, and—”

“What kind of accident leaves a mark like this?” His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, and I flinch—not from pain, but from the intensity in his touch. His voice drops even lower, rough and barely controlled. “You could have been seriously hurt, Viv. And that is something I won’t accept.”

Before I can reply, Jaime bursts out from backstage, his face a picture of guilt and panic. “Oh, my gosh, Vivian, I’m so sorry!” He throws his hands over his face like he’s shielding himself from a firing squad. “I can’t believe I hit you that hard—”

“Why the hell did you hit her at all?” Grady’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, sharp and unyielding.

“It was the stunt!” Jaime wails, peeking out from behind his hands. “My timing’s been off, and we wanted to nail it, and we were practicing backstage, and she got too close, and—”

“So you hit your friend in the face?” Grady takes a step forward, and for a terrifying moment, I think he might actually grab Jaime by the collar. “She’s swollen and purple!”

“Grady.” I tug at his arm, forcing him to look at me. “It wasn’t his fault. I was bumbling around with my head in the clouds, and I wasn’t paying attention. Accidents happen all the time in this business. Nobody’s to blame, okay?”

He doesn’t look convinced. His jaw works, his bicep flexes under my hand, and for a moment, I think he might explode anyway. But then he exhales, his shoulders dropping slightly as his gaze softens. “Okay,” he says, though the tension in his voice suggests he’s far from satisfied. “Maybe I overreacted a bit. But if anyone else lays a hand on you—accident or not—they’re answering to me.”

A shiver runs down my spine, one I can’t entirely blame on the lingering ache in my cheek. His protectiveness is overwhelming, almost suffocating, and yet… I don’t hate it. In fact, I feel a strange pull in my chest, like some deeply buried part of me is waking up, reaching for him.

I glance at Jaime, who’s still hiding behind his fingers. “Go tell the director I’m heading home to get some ice on this. He can call me if there’s an emergency with any of the costumes.”

Jaime nods, salutes, and scurries off without another word. When I turn back to Grady, his eyes are still on me, dark and unreadable. “Let me drive you home,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix lunch while you ice that bruise.”

I hesitate, but only for a moment. “Okay.”

As we walk backstage to grab my purse, I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me—like the thought of anything happening to me physically hurt him. It’s terrifying, yes, but it’s also… intoxicating. He meant it when he said he’d do anything for me. And for the first time, that thought doesn’t make me want to run. Instead, it makes me want to hold on tighter.