21. Holy Fuckballs
OLIVIA
Oooh, holy fuckballs.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.
He’s in a suit. A full suit. Three-piece, midnight blue. My God, it could not fit him any more perfectly. Hugging his broad shoulders, tapered around his sharp, lean waist. Holy crap, those thick, muscular thighs. I remember those bad boys pinning me to the mattress as he—
I fan at my face with two flappy hands.
I need to stop. I need to not. I need to…Crap, I don’t know. I think I need to mount that man in a bathroom. My head cranks, looking for said bathroom.
“Hot?” Cara asks, leaning down to whisper in my ear. She’s stunning tonight in her skintight white lace, the female equivalent to Carter. They’re both otherworldly beings. It’s not fair.
“Yep. Super hot in here. Is the furnace on? You should ask them to turn it down. Air-conditioning, maybe. Hot.”
She hits me with one skeptical, squinty eye.
“We’re in the middle of a deep freeze that Vancouver hasn’t seen in years, you have no heat at home, and you want them to turn on the air-conditioning?
” She follows my darting eyes and smirks at my still-flapping hands.
“Maybe you need someone to put out your fire.”
“Huh?” I snap my head in her direction and then back at Carter. My eyes nearly roll out of their sockets when he catches me staring, and unfortunately flapping, so I yelp and grip Cara’s arms. “Help me. I’m supposed to be in control. He’s the one that’s supposed to give in.”
“No can do, Livvie-pie. I don’t have the body parts required for the kind of help you need.
I’ll tell you what I can do, though.” She stops a waiter with a tray of champagne, pours one glass into another, then repeats.
She swipes both full-to-the-brim glasses off the tray and hands one to me. “I can get you drunk.”
I chuckle as my glass clinks hers, and as soon as that first sip of bubbly slides down my throat, I let out a deep breath.
By the time I’m finished with my second double glass of champagne, Cara disappears to mingle.
I should probably slow down, but then Garrett ambles over with a frosty beer in each hand, and I happily accept one.
“You look gorgeous,” he says, pulling me into him. He smells nice, and I wonder what Carter smells like tonight. Fresh lime and man, that’s my guess. Manly man. Throw-me-over-his-shoulder-Viking-style man.
“Thank you, Garrett.” I smile up at him as he pulls back, his hand slipping slowly from my waist. His gaze darts over my shoulder and he clears his throat, jerking his hand back to his side.
“You hockey men sure clean up nice, don’t you?
” I fix the knot of his tie, which is hanging too far to the right and too low. “It’s nice to see you.”
He’s got such a great grin and seems so happy all the time, carefree, kinda like a cute dog. “Yeah, we’ve missed seeing you around. Some slightly more than others.” He leans closer, mouth next to my ear. “Hey, wanna spike Carter’s blood pressure?”
“What did you have in mind?”
He sets our beers down on the bar and holds out one hand, a sneaky smile spreading. “Dance with me.”
With a giggle, I slip my hand into his and let him lead me out on the dance floor. His palm rests gently on my lower back as he starts twirling us slowly across the space, and I feel the heat of Carter’s gaze as it touches my spine.
“Can’t take his eyes off you,” Garrett whispers. “I’m pretty sure he’s currently deciding which of my body parts he should remove first.” When I laugh, Garrett grins, and he spins me out before pulling me back in. “You been keeping up with the team?”
“Of course. Your goal against Vegas on Tuesday? Chef’s kiss.”
His face lights, chest swelling with pride. “Yeah? Right through the five-hole. What about you? Carter told me you coach the girls’ volleyball team at your school.”
“He talks about me?”
“When he’s not being a mopey ballsack? Yeah, he talks about you all the time.”
I can’t imagine a mopey version of Carter. He’s so upbeat all the time, charismatic and boisterous. That I made him that way has a wave of guilt rushing over me.
“Yeah,” Garrett whispers, tapping the corner of my mouth where I’m frowning. “That’s exactly how he looked. You two are made for each other.”
“I—I don’t—are you—my volleyball team lost in the semifinals, and do you think we’re really made for each other? He’s Carter Beckett and I’m Olivia Parker and I’m so short and he’s so tall so are we even all that compatible, body parts that don’t line up and stuff like that?”
Garrett’s watching me, grinning like a bit of a jackass. “That was the most impressive round of word vomit I’ve ever heard. But I’m gonna need you to get it together and get your head in the game. I’ve got money riding on Carter being the first to crack, not you.”
“I’m scared you made the wrong bet.”
“I believe in you, Ollie.”
That’s great, but as the song ends and he leaves me with my beer, it’s becoming more and more clear I don’t believe in myself. I’m unraveling, falling apart at the seams, and I haven’t even spoken to the man responsible for my demise.
With a sigh that seems never ending, I scrub a hand over my eyes and spin back to the bar so I can glue myself to a stool before I cause any more self-inflicted damage.
Of course, I bounce off something hard on my way, my drink splashing over the edge of my glass, coating my fingers, pooling on the floor.
“Shit, I’m so sorry. I’m a mess tonight. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Did I get you…wet… Oh-God-shit .” Those last three words come rushing out in one puff of air.
Oh God shit is right.
“Oh God shit,” Carter hums, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other holding a crystal glass filled with amber liquid as he towers over me. “That’s a new one.”
My legs are shaking. I’m not joking. My body is legitimately trembling right now, and when Carter reaches out and brushes his fingers over my collarbone, sweeping a curl off my shoulder and letting it slip through his fingers, I squeeze my eyes shut.
What the fuck is happening right now? I was perfectly fine last night, and so utterly in control when I walked through this door earlier. Is it the alcohol? It’s the alcohol. Carter’s definitely not making me weak. He’s not… winning .
“You got your hair cut.”
I smack my glass against my head, which I grab with both hands, as if to ask, this hair? “Today.”
“Today?”
“Yeah, I got it done today.” When Carter’s brows quirk, I realize I’m borderline yelling, the way he did the other night.
I touch my throat, feeling the way it bobs when I swallow, and try again, this time in a whisper.
“I got it cut this morning.” I make scissors with my right hand and snap them twice. “ Snip-snip .”
Oh God. Carter might be winning.
“Hm.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, the tip of his finger skimming my sparkly gold barrette.
His eyes don’t leave mine as he swirls the liquid in his glass and tosses it back, letting it fill his cheeks before it slides down his throat.
He slams the empty glass on the bar before taking my half-full beer and ditching that too.
And he walks forward.
Not walk. He prowls . He prowls forward, and I slink backward until I hit a wall.
His fingers ghost over the dip of my waist as he looms over me, and my heart slams against my sternum like it hopes he might kiss me, but instead, his lips pause at my ear.
“Excuse me, Miss Parker.” His breath is warm and spicy with sweet notes of vanilla and caramel as it rolls down my neck, and his gaze falls to my lips as they part on a shuddering inhale.
The wall behind me suddenly opens, and I stumble backward into complete darkness.
Carter flips the light switch, illuminating the extravagant bathroom we’ve entered.
And then he hits the lock.
My heart sputters like a slowly dying car.
His broad hands seize my hips as he spins me toward the vanity, slapping my palms down on the counter.
I’m acutely aware of the way my exposed skin singes at the feel of him, the heavy weight that presses into my lower back.
The tips of his fingers dance up my forearms, circling my biceps when he grips me.
His nose touches the spot where my shoulder meets my neck before coasting up, settling at the shell of my ear.
“You started off so good,” he murmurs. “So strong. You walked in here like a woman with all the confidence in the world, batting your lashes at me, running your hands over your body, and I thought for sure I was done, a goner. All my self-control flew out the window.”
He drags his mouth down my neck, one hand splayed over my belly, the other gliding over my hip, down the outside of my thigh until he fists the hem of my dress.
The lace scrapes softly against my skin as he pulls it up, and my breath catches in my throat as I arch away from his body, pushing myself toward his hand.
Fuck control and fuck slow. I just want him to fuck me .
I feel his smile against my shoulder, and when my eyes meet his dark ones in the reflection of the mirror, I know he’s got me. He knows too.
“But then you gave yourself away. You’re adorable when you’re a mess, you know that?”
The pad of his thumb traces the edge of my silk panties, and a trembling breath escapes my lips, sparks fluttering throughout me as he teases me.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Please.”
A satisfied hum crawls up his throat, and his mouth closes over the edge of my jaw. I sink into him, fingers finding his perfectly styled waves.
Then he pulls back, taking his scorching touch with him, leaving me gaping in the mirror.
I twist, watching in horror as he adjusts the lump in his pants, straightens his tie, and fixes his hair. “What are you doing?”
He inclines his head toward the door. “Heading back out there.”
“But you…you said…I said…”
His large hand brackets my jaw. “You said you wanted me to touch you. And maybe I will. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“After we go for lunch.”
“L-lunch?”