4. Millie #4
With the bathroom light casting him in silhouette, he plants his hands on his hips and watches me. “I know it was your first time.”
My skin heats with morbid embarrassment. “Is it that obvious how inexperienced I am?”
Gavin stalks toward me, completely naked.
When he approaches, he brushes my hair from my face and slides his hand to my neck.
Lowering his head, he forces me to meet his eye.
“No, Peaches. You were perfect. And because I’m livid with myself for having taken that from you after only just meeting you, I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me take care of you.
I ran a bath for you. You’re probably sore. ”
“Cocky much.” The humor I’m going for falls flat because of the tears clogging my throat. God, I didn’t expect this to be so emotional.
“Maybe,” he murmurs, though I think we both know he’s just being kind. He sees I’m emotional, sees the tears welling in my eyes, and scoops me up and carries me into the bathroom.
The space is massive, all black marble and specks of gold. There’s a shower big enough for at least two and an oversized jacuzzi tub filled with bubbles.
Gavin settles me on the edge of it and then leans in to feel the water. “Not too hot. You want to get in?”
I nod and almost cry out the second my body hits the water, the heat burning my sensitive bits.
“You okay?” The lines in his brow are deep with concern.
How many times is he going to ask that, and when will my answer actually be honest?
“I’m fine. You going to get in?”
With a smirk, he slides in behind me, and as soon as he wraps his arms around me, holding me against his chest, the first tear breaks loose. Like an avalanche that I can’t possibly stop, another one falls, and then another until I’m silently crying in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m not sure why I’m so emotional.”
“That’s okay,” he says far too gently for how this night began. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” I hiccup.
“Jesus.” He sucks in a harsh breath and then squeezes me tighter.
“That bad?” I let out a trembling laugh.
“No, I just—Fuck, my best friend’s kids are twenty-two. Makes me feel old is all.”
I wince. Shit. He’s talking about my brother and me and he has no idea. Swallowing back the guilt, I tip my head back and eye him above me. “Believe me, you can keep up.”
His chest rumbles behind me. “You bet your ass I can. Why do you think I’m pampering you now? Gotta get you ready for another round.”
I hum as he lathers me with soap and washes me gently.
“Will you tell me your name now?”
“I rather like Peaches.”
This laugh is laced with a little resignation. “I happen to like you too.”
I spin and drape my legs over his hips so we’re face to face, and my heart trips over itself at the sight of him. His dark brown hair is mussed and his cheeks are flushed from the heat of the water. The gold flecks in his brown irises make his eyes sparkle.
“I didn’t say I like you . I said I like the nickname.”
His tongue slides against his bottom lip, and then he bites down on the same spot. “But you do.” It isn’t a question, so he doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he angles in and gives me a gentle kiss.
He’s right. I really do. But it doesn’t matter, because soon, he won’t like me very much. I swallow that thought down and decide to enjoy what little time we have.
“If you could do anything in life, what would it be?” he asks.
The question surprises me, though the answer comes easily. If my father didn’t own a wildly successful music label, and if he wasn’t about to marry the biggest pop star in the world, I’d write music.
I’d planned to tell my father about my dream, but on the night we were set to have dinner together, he announced to the world in a fucking stupid display of lust that he was sleeping with my brother’s ex-girlfriend.
A woman who is only four years older than me and the biggest musician on his label.
So fucking cliché.
I was mortified, but it was so much more than that.
On top of the embarrassment, it felt as though she’d taken my place. Because I’d dreamed of being involved in the music industry, working alongside my dad, who had seemed lonely. I thought I’d be enough.
But now he has her and little time for me.
Sure, he still invites me to meet him—or worse, them—for dinner, but I know they’re pity invites. He’d rather be with her. He merely feels obligated to me.
He’d rather make music with her. Spend time with her.
For so long, I had no one but my father, and I always thought he only had me—which made me feel not so alone in this world. But now…
“Write music,” I admit, because my mind is so jumbled there’s no way I can come up with a credible lie.
Gavin gazes down at me warmly. “You have talent. Why don’t you do that?”
“Because I played an old tune in a bar to a crowd of intoxicated people, you think I have the talent to write good music?” My tone is all humor. I enjoy sparring with this man.
He shrugs. “Yeah. Your voice was incredible. You’re mesmerizing.”
“He says while I’m naked and sprawled across his lap.”
His laughter echoes off the bathroom walls as he shakes beneath me. “No. That was the first thought that came to me when I stepped into the bar. I’d barely seen you, and I was utterly bewitched. Besotted.”
“Besotted?” I tease, relishing the joy dancing in the air between us.
“Besotted,” he says, firmer, brown eyes glazing.
“And what about you? If you could do anything, what would it be?”
He arches one brow. “I see you’re just going to ignore my question.”
I press my lips together, silently imploring him to keep going, because yes, I’m doing just that.
He sighs and rubs circles against my back, the water sloshing around us.
It’s warm in the bath. Against his chest. I’m not quite sure I’ve ever felt so comfortable.
Or so comforted. It’s unexplainable, that a stranger could put me at ease this way.
For now, I can’t dissect the implications, so I push the thoughts away, determined to live in the moment.
“I’d coach hockey.”
I try to hide my surprise, because I happen to know he owns a team.
Not that he knows that I know that. Why would he prefer coaching a team when he can—and does—own the whole damn thing?
If I asked him about what he does, maybe he’d explain, but if I ask, then I’m only adding another infraction to the list I’ve committed tonight.
Now that I’ve gotten to know him, I want to lie as little as possible.
Because I like him.
A lot.
“Why hockey?”
“Oh god, why not?” he says with a laugh. “Best sport ever.”
“So why aren’t you coaching?”
He shrugs. “I was groomed to work in an office. I guess I never considered coaching as a real option for a profession.”
The furrow in his brow makes it obvious that even now, he’s thinking of all the reasons why he’d love to coach and all the reasons why he can’t.
Like me, he can’t go after what he wants, and I hate that for him.
I hate it for me too.
But I can’t solve those problems for either of us. And soon, he won’t care one bit about my opinion. For now, I just want to see him smile at me for a little while longer. And I want to bring him the kind of joy he’s brought me for the last few hours.
“So tell me, Coach, how do you feel about blow jobs?”