Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Breslin POV
A short time later, in the parking lot . . .
E verything hurt—my lungs, my jaw. Pain buzzed around my head. Every muscle stung and throbbed. An itchy patch on my forehead. Skin wasn't there. Just ooze on my fingers and stabbing behind my eyes. I tried to sit up, but moving my head split it into sections. I didn't know 'up'.
Just rapid grunting breaths and some garbled words I didn't understand. I just wanted to sleep.
Light glared, then fell away. There was motion, I was moving. Then it all stopped. Wavered, shook. The sound of an engine fading in the distance.
“Stop bleeding all over my truck, pendejo.”
A blurry man grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me into chilled night air. It stabbed icy fingers into a stinging warmth on my forehead.
Pinpricks of light slurred across my vision. A door opened. A gasp. More words I didn't recognize. Then I was flying, tripping, stumbling. I laid on my back while a hammer pounded on my brain.
Hazel eyes stared at me and then faded. Icy, biting, knee-jerking cold pressed into my face. I thrashed, but it remained fixed against my skin. Knitted itself into my forehead. Eased away.
“You drunk hijo de la gran puta. I thought you were dead,” said a voice I knew, and had heard a thousand times.
“Let me finish stitching. You're in the light. Back away.”
“Mireina, your doctor thing is so sexy in action.”
“Stop. We'll need to test him for a concussion. This lump's pretty bad.”
“I am not watching his feo culo all night.” The voice grumbled.
My eyes sewed themselves shut, and wanted to stay that way. But fingers that weren't mine pried them apart. Light seared into my brain. I tried to shrink away. Sleep. Soft, beautiful sleep—with warm arms . . .
Pat pat pat. An insistent, irregular rhythm beat against one side of my face. I couldn't make it stop. I tried to push it away.
“Coop, come on. Hey.” A soft, sweet hum vibrated inside my chest. I frowned and lifted my hand. But it met soft skin. Fingers, a palm, pressed against mine. I whimpered. Why couldn't they leave me alone?
“Hey, tough guys don't whine. I need you to sit up,” the voice said. Her voice. “If you don't, Hilda's going to make Antonio take you to . . .”
Her voice faded out.
More patting. A shake. “Coop, come on. You'll miss the game.”
Game? Baseball. I lifted pounds of eyelids. Blinked sore, bleary eyes. A girl, woman, with hazy features and a furrowed brow stared into me. Her skin and golden hair glowed.
Glossy pink lips parted. The things were mesmerizing—thick and perfect and like they'd taste . . . so sweet. My heart thumped hard and loud. I hoped to God she was here to kiss me.
“Coop?” The word puckered her lips. My hand closed around her fingers. I used the connection to pull her closer.
“. . . probably have a concussion.” Her free hand pushed against the aching muscles of my shoulder. “We've got to keep you awake?—”
I groaned. If I could just pull her into my lap.
“You ok? Where's it hurt? Do you need me to get Hilda?”
Who are you? I wanted to ask. My brain was empty, offline. Nothing existed before this moment. “You should kiss me. I'm injured.”
Her eyes widened and she flushed a deep pinkish-purple color. She glanced down at our hands, folded together in my lap, and it was like someone lit a fire under her. She twisted and shook, trying to pull away. Pain marched through mushy parts of my brain, and I had to let her go.
I’m going to kiss her. The thought made me smile amidst the pain.
The next morning . . .
I woke to throbbing, stabbing pain . . . in every inch of my body. A strange weight on my shoulder. Moving any part of my body made me want to scream.
The weight shifted. A soft groan, and my numb hand pricked its way to life. Fingers small and soft settled against my palm. They threaded with mine.
Blue green irises met my gaze. Dark lashes blinked. Blinked again. Her eyes widened. “Ah! No, no, I fell asleep and—” She winced. “Ssssth. Oh, ugh, the size of that bump on your head.” Her eyebrows shot up and she bit her lip. “How do you feel?” She touched a burning lump of red-hot pain on my forehead. I hissed between clenched teeth.
“Ice. I'll get more ice. We've got to get the swelling down.”
And then she was gone. I tried to lift my half-dead carcass from the floor. I had no recollection of how long I'd been propped up against the sofa. Or how long the nice blond chick had been pressed up against me. “Wish I could've enjoyed that.” I grumbled as my leg muscles ached something fierce. Like I'd over-exerted myself in a workout the day before.
“Hey. Hilda'll be back in a few minutes. She'll put you through a series of tests.” She chewed on her lip and extended a blue ice pack before depositing it in my hand.
“Tests.”
“Yeah, like the ones they did at the start of baseball camp—for concussion protocol. She’ll ask if you’re feeling nauseated or having brain fog?” She chattered at a rapid pace. “Or vision problems. Any other type of difficulty. Like remembering basic things.”
“Sure.” I frowned. Basic things. “So we’re here alone?”
“I'm sure you're fine. Right? Like you remember your name?”
“I will if you come sit on my lap. Why does it feel like I’ve missed you?” I pressed the ice pack to my head. My eyes slid closed.
“Coop?”
Her voice brought me back to the surface. “Huh?”
“Oh, thank God. I thought you were going to say you don't know your name.” Four or five faces slid across my vision. My stomach turned like I'd been on a merry-go-round too long.
“Do you have some ibutab?” I fought my body for control. “Some water.”
“Um, ok. I'll be back with that. Keep putting ice on that thick, stubborn skull of yours. Antonio said you headbutted a longhorn.”
“What the hell?”
Her fingers brushed hair from my forehead, setting off hundreds of tingling shivers. Don't stop. I wanted to say, but then the ice pack was back in place. “It was a mechanical bull, but you should stick with the other explanation. I don't think anything else would be able to damage your hardass head.”
I grabbed her arm before she could pull away. “Are you my girlfriend?”
“What?”
“Hm. You’re hot.” My eyes closed again. It took such work to keep them open. “And definitely should be kissing me.”
“You don't remember . . . me?”
“You should sit in my lap so you can keep the ice on my forehead.” I lifted my head again. “I’ll repay the favor.”
“Ah. But.” Her eyes darted away. She took a step back.
I held out the ice pack and tried to smile, but even that hurt.
“What's my name?” She accepted the cold pack and sat beside me.
“So, if I guess your name, you'll sit on my lap?”
“This isn't good.” She breathed against my cheek. Heat fluttered from my chest to my stomach.
“Yeah, could be great. Amazing, even.”
“You have concussion symptoms.” A cool hand slid over my forehead, like I might have a fever instead.
She blurred then came back into focus. I found her hand with mine. “I promise I won’t feel taken advantage of. I like having your hands on me.”
“What?” She pulled away. “What are you talking about?”
I blinked. Tried to get two images of a pacing, frowning blond chick with amazingly long legs to—Wait. Where am I? Oh, there was only one hot girl who needed to sit in my lap. Not a . . . kaleidoscope of them.
“Coop!”
My head snapped up, but getting my eyes to open, again, was taking extra effort. “What coop? Are there chickens? Am I back on the farm?”
“Oh God. Breslin Cooper?”
I frowned up at her. “Don’t know him.”
“And we’re in deep shit. If coach finds out, I’ll get in trouble for not taking you straight to the ER. You and Antonio could be suspended.”
Sounded bad. Maybe I said it out loud. All I know is she finally sat back down beside me. Not exactly where she should be, but closer. Light colored eyes met my gaze.
Those lips glinted. I leaned toward them. Toward her. God, I needed a taste. My head pounded, but everything clicked into focus. “I want you.”
Her breath puffed against my jaw . . .
(Olivia)
The hottest contestant for “idiot of the week” stared at me from inches away. I swallowed as my heart jumped into my throat, only to figure out it was too big to fit there. It pounded and ached. My whole body ran hotter, somehow, with my heart in the wrong place.
“Coop. This isn't?—”
Bleary blue eyes held my gaze. Skin crinkled near his temples as his mouth turned up into a smile. This was wrong. I could not do this. I should not do this.
This being the one secret dream I'd had for at least two years. Since the first time I saw him play on tv. I was a stupid teenaged girl with a crush on a not-quite a celebrity high school ballplayer I'd never met. One I'd probably never meet, but I would kiss my teddy bear at night and pretend . . .
His lips, his real ones tasted so much better than cloth and fake fur.
They were sweet and salty with the tang of bitter hops. I didn't like beer, but I didn't mind it when it was on his tongue. Sweetening the rapid puffs of his breath. Thick and whisper-soft, his lips caressed mine.
I couldn't move. Something nagged in the back of my brain that this wasn't right. Breslin in possession of all his Storm Cooper-ness would never stand for it. Because he couldn't stand me. Right? Right. So, this was bad and I needed to put a stop to it.
Yes. No. Definitely a stop . . .
Our kiss broke. My mouth opened to say words. Something that would deter him, or at least myself. “Ah, that is . . .” I tried. I did.
And then my whole body betrayed me as I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him like I would drown and die without his mouth on mine. He didn't fight it. His lips thinned and opened. I clutched the back of his head and pulled him closer. His tongue darted into my mouth, stroking mine as he deepened our kiss.
A torrential heat welled inside me. It surged through my limbs as I clutched him tighter. His shirt bunched beneath my fingertips. And the hidden dark part of my brain wanted to know what it would be like to feel every inch of his skin against mine.
His fingers tightened against my ribs. I felt myself slipping, sliding to the floor. His knee caressed the inside of my thigh. His lips biting against my chin, scruff scraping at my throat. He groaned—like he wanted me just the same as I'd always wanted him.
My head spun in circles as he moved lower, his hands traveled higher, sliding across the cup of my bra. His other leg fit between mine, his hand guiding my knee up to curl around his waist. He settled into me, the me that was selfish and needy, wanton and desperate. His mouth claimed mine, again. So insistent. So warm and lush, I wanted his lips on every part of my skin.
His bulge pressed into my stomach. “God, you're sexy,” he hissed against my ear. His breath puffed oxygen into a starving fire, and I burned. I closed my eyes, whimpering as my body arched, pleading and aching for him.
Only him.
His hand found my breast beneath my bra. I tightened my legs and rose up to meet his lips. Our mouths reckless, biting, heated. His shirt on the floor, my back against the couch. I found his belt with my fingers and pulled. He paused and sat back, that smirky grin of his in place beneath dazed eyes. He tugged my shirt over my head. My bra fell away, and he surged forward, pressing me up and into the couch as his legs fit beneath my rear.
Skin to skin, our mouths met again. Softer, sweeter. His large hand fit over my thigh, thumb drawing tingly circles into the soft, so-sensitive skin. “Breslin . . .” I moaned. I tried to pull him closer, my hand slipping behind his head as I kissed him with everything I had . . .
Footsteps clicked and a loud jangle of metal. Keys in the door lock. My heart froze mid-contraction. “Hilda. Ohmigod. She can't—Ohmigod.” I shoved Coop, hard. I tugged on my shirt and pushed his tee and belt into his perfect and wonderfully warm chest. I managed to scramble to my feet just as the front door hedged open. Shaking hands smoothed my clothes, hoping nothing was so out of place it screamed: we were about to have sex on the floor.
“Hey.” Coop's voice rumbled. I didn't look at him. I met Hilda's eyes and flashed her a smile like nothing was wrong.
“How's the patient?” She called out as she turned, setting her purse on the entry table. My heart pounded. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of my face. I caught sight of my bra lying on top of the couch cushion and gasped.
“Let me guess. Stubborn as fuck?” Antonio closed the door. He leaned back against the panel, then straightened. A lop-sided, full-of-mischief grin slid over his features. “Well whaddya know? It only took being headbutted by a metal bull, but finally, some sense was knocked into him.”
I chuckled. “Oh, I dunno, what makes you think—” I couldn't lift my hand. I meant to run it through my hair, but it was caught.
In Coop's palm.
Where he was kneeling, and holding on to me.
Hilda tipped her head and frowned. “So when's the wedding?”
“Say cheese.” Antonio snapped a picture with his phone.