Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“You better give me a big blue cock. Bigger than Beau’s.”
COLTON
Beau said to eat crow, and I’d rather.
I bet it tastes better than the words I have to swallow, listening to Amber. For her, trauma is a hangnail that requires an emergency room visit. Perspective escapes her.
“I lost a sponsorship because of you!” she exclaims. “I lost the Faux Sun account and followers because I was contracted to go to the ESPYs with you, wearing my white Balmain dress and a fresh Faux Sun tan.”
Amber tosses back her Prosecco for emphasis. So, I swig my beer, fighting not to say it.
But I do.
“Maybe it was a blessing in a Balmain disguise because that Faux Sun left real brown stains on every white bedsheet and towel I owned.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re a millionaire. You’ll be fine.”
“Is that what you want? My millions?”
“I deserve to be compensated for what I lost.”
“Yeah,” I scoff, “me, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I glance around the trendy Atlanta bar where I agreed to meet Amber after practice. Of course, she picked a spot where everyone’s snapping pics of us. Our first pre-season game is Friday, and Atlanta is buzzing about it.
Me and the whole city want that Super Bowl ring on my finger so bad, it feels naked without it.
I want to blame Amber for that loss, but I won’t. I gotta own my shit.
“It means we were toxic, Amber. We fought all the time. We wasted months together when I should’ve been focused on the game.”
“Fights are how people show their love.”
“No, that’s how people show they’ve lost their goddamn mind.” I huff, “If I want to live on the edge of my seat, worried about what daily argument is going to jump out and give me a mindfuck, I’ll watch a horror flick.”
She sighs. “We weren’t that bad.”
I cock a brow. “We weren’t that good.”
She snaps her fingers at the bartender. This is her third glass of Prosecco, so she’s either about to get nicer or nastier—it depends on her shapewear.
Yep, I’m serious.
She flat-out blamed three of our fights on her bad mood due to Spanx. Or was it Skims? Fuck, I don’t remember which brand she was wearing, but her brand of bullshit was unforgettable.
“Look,” I soften my voice, “I’m sorry we didn’t work out and I’m sorry I ended it so abruptly. We should’ve talked about it.”
“Why?” She tosses her blonde hair. “It wouldn’t change anything. Once that gothic freak got her nails into you, you were pale pussy whipped.”
“I’m not with Blair.”
Amber smirks while the bartender replaces her empty glass with a full one.
“Yes, you are.” She’s got those super long fake lashes glued on today. I stare at them, reminded of a black widow waiting in her web. “You’re fucking Blair Monroe, you and your best friend. I know how close you are and that you’re living together. I have my sources.”
I try to hide my deep inhale while forcing my eyes to stay on hers. While I make myself lie when I hate to.
But unfortunately, I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it.
“Beau’s in love with Blair. They’ve been in love since college.” The trick is to pepper in some truth. “Hell, they’ll get married soon. They belong together, and I’m happy for them.” And pepper in some authentic emotion because I wish I could marry Beau, too. “I’m only living with him until my house is done. And… ” But here’s the real gamble. Pepper in a diversion. “I’m kinda seeing someone.”
“That little redhead?” Her smirk drops. “The one on your arm when Blair fell on her ass? Gawd, that was priceless: her touchdown panties. My posts about it go viral, and I bet your new girlfriend hates her guilt by tacky association.”
Shit, I lit her fuse. I just hope she doesn’t blow. An Amber bomb is really ugly.
She likes creating collateral damage. Like smashing glass and throwing phones.
My favorite was when Amber threw my phone at my car window, pissed by a text she thought was another woman, but it was my cousin, Alicia.
And it was karma calling.
My Range Rover has bulletproof glass. My phone only bounced back, hitting Amber’s shimmery Hermès nose like a beacon light and making it bleed.
Yes, I was a gentleman and gave Amber my sweatshirt to catch the blood. And yes, I’m only human because I wanted to laugh my ass off the whole time.
“It was just a date,” I tell Amber about Ruby. “We’re not serious. The truth is, I never really grieved my mom last year, and now I’m taking the time to do it.”
See? That was true, too. It’s Blair who’s helping me heal.
“So just leave Blair alone,” I tell her. “Quit dragging her on your socials.”
“If you’re not with her, why are you here defending her?”
“Because she’s my best friend’s girlfriend. She did nothing wrong. And honestly, I’m defending you, Amber.”
Her chin shocks back. “Defending me from who?” Her neck weaves. “That bitch can’t do shit to me.”
“She doesn’t need to. You’re doing it to yourself. Talking shit about other people says more about you than them.” I pause. “It’s making you look bad. It’s hurting your brand.”
She purses her lined lips because I’m right.
So, if I can’t appeal to her better half now, I’ll appease her bottom line.
“Look, I’ll pay you back. I’ll give you some money to cover what you lost in sponsorships over me and a bit more to start something new. You used to tell me about all kinds of makeup you wanted to create, so do it.”
“That costs millions.”
“Come up with a business plan, and I’ll silently invest the seed money. Then, court other investors. You’re a businesswoman. You can do it.”
Will I probably lose my money? Yes.
Is it worth it?
I’d give it all away to protect who I love. To have a chance with them. It’s all I want.
When I politely escort Amber to her car, I peck her cheek goodbye. I hope I’ve inspired her to leave Blair and Beau alone. Don’t tell her, but I’d give her all my millions to move on.
Because I can’t.
Once I jump in my Rover, I don’t leave. I’m suffocating in lies. In secrets. In shame. So, I make a call. I reach out for some good news.
“Hey,” Reese answers.
“Hey.” I stare at my steering wheel. “How’s he doing?”
“He just made a second base hit.”
“Just like his dad. Teeball leads to baseball, then football one day.”
“Hmmm,” she answers. “He has talent.”
I smile. I can hear happy kids screaming in the background. “Send me more videos.”
“I will.”
She’s not saying much, so I whisper, “Is he there?”
“No, it’s just me at evening practice. Jake had to work.”
Jake is Reese’s husband. He’s the man who thinks he’s the father of her son.
“Can I come see him again? Before the season starts?”
Reese’s sigh is long, and my heavy heart hangs by a thread. Her whim holds it. She’s always had control of it.
“Colton, he’s getting too old. He asks too many questions, and you’re too famous now. We can’t just sneak around like before.”
“But… ” I almost choke on my words. They strangle and burn in my throat, tears biting at my eyes, “I miss him. I want to see him. I need him to know I love him.”
I do. I don’t care how that little boy came into this world. He’s just that—an innocent little boy I love.
“I know.” Reese sighs, “And I’m sorry, Colton. You know I am. For everything. It’s just not safe anymore.”
“Reese, we can just tell everyone. We can just tell the truth. Please, it’s fucking killing me.”
“No. That’ll hurt Jake, and that will hurt Forrest. He loves his dad so much.”
I clench my jaw, throwing my chin up, fighting the tears that want to fall. “Jake’s not his dad.”
But he is.
It’s like what Blair yelled to her father.
Jake is Forrest’s dad because he’s there. He was at the hospital when he was born. He held him, giving him late-night feedings. He bandaged skinned knees, packed kindergarten lunches, and taught him how to throw. He’s a real man. He raised his son.
Yes, I’ve done everything I can for Forrest. For the rest of his life, he’s set. But Reese won’t allow the one thing that boy deserves, too.
He deserves to know who his father is.
And so do I.
“Colton, I’ll send more videos, I promise.” Reese has always felt guilty about this, and she should. It’s her fault.
“Bring him to our games,” I make myself answer. “I got more season tickets for y’all this year. They’re closer. He’ll be able to see us better.”
And I’ll be able to see him.
“We will,” gently, she agrees. “Atlanta’s his favorite team.” She gets quiet. “Forrest wears your jersey to sleep. Or Beau’s. That’s all he’ll wear.”
I nod, swiping away tears. I can’t speak. I’ve never had much say in this. But when it comes to football, I do.
I take control. “Come to our home game against Philadelphia, and I’ll set something up with our publicists. I’ll get you club seats, field level, behind our bench. We’ll say you won them. Then he can meet me and remember me. I want him to feel special because he is. I want to give him a game ball and take a picture with him and?—”
“Colton, that’s too risky. What if Beau sees?—”
“Reese,”—I stifle my rage; I always have—“you owe me this. I’ve always been good to you despite what you did to me.”
“Okay.” That makes her softly agree. It always does, so I end our call in a storm of emotions.
Reese is a good mom. I’m sure she’s a good wife, too.
But she was a troubled young woman with a drinking problem, and that still doesn’t make it okay.
Because it’s not.
I didn’t want to have sex with her. I thought I was dreaming. I thought I was with Beau. We were finally friends again, and I’d missed him so much.
It was our senior year in college. I was in Beau’s apartment. We’d played beer pong with Reese all night, and I was still half drunk. I woke up on his sofa, smelling his cologne in the fabric and thinking it was him touching me, getting me so hard, and about to come, but it wasn’t.
It was Reese on top of me. She had me inside her with no condom.
If the tables were turned, and I did that to her? My ass would deserve to rot in jail. Then hell.
But she did it to me, and it was too late by the time I realized what was happening. And I hated her for it. I worried I’d lose Beau again over it, too. That he wouldn’t believe me.
Weeks later, Reese told me she was pregnant and begged me not to tell anyone. She realized what she did was wrong and hated herself. So she went to rehab, where she met Jake. They’ve been together ever since.
When Beau called me to visit again, I wanted to tell him. I almost did, but then he said we could never be together. We were about to be drafted by the NFL.
And I stood there, losing all hope.
I couldn’t have the truth. I couldn’t have him. I couldn’t have a baby that may be mine. I had no control over my heart, so I snapped, and we fought.
That’s the night Beau and Blair talk about. The night I busted his lip, and he busted mine. I’m glad Blair was there for him. I love her for it. I always will.
Because I drove home and found the only support I had back then, too. I went to my mom that night. I told her my two secrets—Beau and the baby—and I’ve been hiding them ever since.
By the time I get home from my evening with Amber, Beau’s on the sofa. He fell asleep studying our playbook, so I lift it off his chest and set it on the coffee table before tucking a blanket over him. And I can’t help it; I kiss his forehead.
Then, I search the house for Blair and see a light shining under her office door. Gently, I knock.
“I’m writing about you,” she answers, and I smile.
“You better give me a big blue cock. Bigger than Beau’s.”
She laughs. “Enter and find out.”
I adore the sight I find: Blair on her chair, her hair piled in a cute messy knot, glasses on the tip of her nose.
She sets her laptop on the side table. “How did it go?” she asks, patting the spot for me to sit beside her. “Did you bring me more makeup tips?”
“No. But I threw Amber a big enough bone to chew on instead of you.”
I plop down on the end of her chaise, and she crawls my way, her hands landing on my T-shirt, giving me the shoulder rubs I love. I close my eyes and let her. I let Blair heal me the same way Beau does.
“Thank you,” she whispers, kissing my cheek.
I grin at the floor. “You owe me the next two movie nights.”
“Done. I’ll watch Fast it’s her warmth and care. It’s who I share with her, too. It’s everything I don’t have to hide from her except…
“Did you hear from your dad?”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “He said he was sorry. That he’s not a biphobic asshole. He’s just worried we’re doomed, so he swore he won’t say anything.”
“Do you trust him?”
“We have to.”
“I know it’s easy for me to say, but give him a chance. At least he was here. At least he’s trying. His dick may not be in the right place, but somewhere deep down, maybe his heart is.”
She rubs my neck, squeezing hard as hell at the topic of her father. It feels so damn good, her voice softly lulling, “Okay. For you, my sweet Colt, I’ll give him a chance.”
I hang my head and let the silence settle around us until I feel her arms try to circle me from behind. It’s cute. She can’t because I’m too big and she’s too small.
“Hey,” she whispers in my ear. “What’s wrong?”
Everything.
But this…
I reach, turning to guide her around me, to let me pick her up until she’s straddling my lap. Snapping her hair clip out, I toss it on the floor before lacing my hands through her raven silk.
I wonder if she hates my nickname for her—Raven—but I love it. I love Blair’s every color, curve, and come back.
“Just promise me one thing.” I anchor to her eyes.
“Anything but the laundry.” She grins. “Because you guys are Pure-T filth after practice. No human alive should have to clean that nuclear waste you call your socks.”
I laugh. “I’ll always clean up my mess… if you promise you’ll always forgive me for it.”
She cocks her head, suspicious. Like she can see my secret but doesn’t ask because she sees my pain, too. How I’m hanging by a thread for her now.
“I promise.” Softly, she kisses me. “I’ll always forgive you if you’ll always believe in me. Just like you believe in Beau. I love how you love him and how he loves you.”
“I love how he loves you, and I know why.” I softly kiss her back. “Because I love you, too, Blair.”
Our next kiss is slow. So is the way I tug off her dress. So is the way she reaches inside my shorts, finding me needing her. So is the way I ask to be inside her. I want this with her. I want her yes, and I want to give her mine, and she takes it. She takes me deep and slow and with kisses that don’t stop until she’s gasping and I’m grunting, giving what I want her to have—my body, my heart, my smile when we’re done. When I insist, “Tell me what you’re writing about me.”
She’s still wrapped around me. I’m still inside her. “You’ll only want to fuck me again,” she beams. She’s so beautiful. She’s right, and she’s all ours.
“Only if you make my alien cock bigger than Beau’s.”
“It’s not bigger.” She laughs, and I raise a brow. “It’s longer. Like to his knees.”
“Whose knees?”
Did she just blush? Did she just get shy?
“Raavveennn, tell me my alien name.”
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“No, I won’t. Just don’t give my character a long nose to match his long cock, and I’ll be happy.”
She presses her lips together, so I tickle her waist. “Stop!” She blurts, giggling. “What if I pee?”
“What if I get hard again when you tell me?”
“Fine.” She smashes her hand over my mouth. “But not a word once I do.”
I nod, kissing her palm.
“Beau was Valen, the Vulgarian, but in my new series, he’s Willuf, the Wilder, and now you’re Valr, the Vicious.” I wrinkle my brows. “Valr means ‘hawk’ in old Norse, what the Vikings spoke. You seem to have a thing for them. Hell, you look like one.”
I sputter against her hand. “How is Valr vicious?”
“He kidnaps our heroine, Falcon, the woman Willuf loves. He holds her hostage and falls in love with her, too, while trying to tempt Willuf to his lair, where they can form a truce. They’re attracted to each other but hate each other. They’re rival warlords. But they’re tired of fighting, of the pain of war, and the only way to seal their peace is?—”
I grin. “Plant their seed inside her.”
“Yep.” Shamelessly, she smiles, removing my muzzle.
“Now, who’s cliché?” But I pinch her nose, loving her story—our story.
“Touché to my cliché.” She shrugs. “But romance readers love a good, hot breeding.”
“You love a good, hot breeding.”
Yep, she blushes again. Yep, she makes this fun. Blair makes me feel right. She makes me want to take and give, and we do.
We fuck again, and like her book, our love summons Beau to her lair. We finish just in time to find him rustling his hair in the doorway of her office.
“When y’all are done writing her next chapter,” he smiles, “it’s time for bed.”