Chapter Nine
Victory
Early Wednesday morning I’m pushing myself hard on the elliptical machine in the hotel gym as I thumb out the word PIQUED on WordLink.
I can hardly believe I have been spending all my free time playing this silly game with Wells, but it’s as fun and addicting as he is.
We played Monday night until I could no longer keep my eyes open, and I woke up yesterday morning to another game invitation.
The thing that shocks me the most is that I’m not only playing during my free time, but I’ve been fitting in turns between meetings, and my usual hyperfocused-on-work brain has become sidetracked, anxiously looking forward to each notification.
We played late again last night, and I woke up this morning excited for another game, which I know has less to do with the actual game than the man on the other end of the airwaves. I look forward to our banter as much as I do the challenge of the games.
Me: You’re going down!
WellsSpells: Is that an invitation?
It’s a struggle not to type yes . We’ve fallen into some sort of flirty friendship that feels safer and less guilt inducing than when we’re in the same physical space and can act on those impulses.
Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself because I don’t want to stop playing or chatting with him.
Although, when he texted me a picture of himself standing on the beach this morning, one arm around a surfboard, his hair wet, his wet suit stripped down to his waist, and his bare chest glistening in the sun, my thoughts were anything but safe.
Me: You wish.
A devil emoji pops up.
WellsSpells: Still on the elliptical?
Me: Yes. Two more minutes.
I take a selfie and send it to him.
He sends a flame and a heart-eyed emoji.
WellsSpells: It should be illegal to be that beautiful at 6 in the morning.
I look at the picture I sent. There’s sweat dripping down my face. I forgot to pin my hair up before leaving my hotel room, and it’s a mess, with several strands stuck to my cheek and neck, which makes his compliment feel even bigger.
Me: Always the charmer.
He plays CLIMAX .
Me: Now I know you’re rigging our games.
WellsSpells: Why?
Me: Climax?! Really?
WellsSpells: You’re the one who told me I should read more. The climax is the high point of a story.
Me: If I believe that’s how you meant it, will you sell me a unicorn, too?
WellsSpells: Geez, Braden. What did you think I meant?
Me: Don’t toy with me, Silver.
WellsSpells: You want to play with a toy with me?
A drooling emoji pops up.
My mind immediately conjures that scenario, and my cheeks grow hotter. Ugh . Wells Silver, what are you doing to me? I climb off the elliptical as I respond.
Me: You’re a fool. I have to get ready for work.
WellsSpells: Try not to think about me too much in the shower.
Me: That’s not a problem.
A voice in my head sings, Liar, liar, pants on fire .
WellsSpells: You’re right. You can never think of me too much.
I head up to my suite for a cold shower, hoping it’ll wipe yet another ridiculous grin off my face.
Half of my day is spent at the recording studio and the other half, in meetings, with welcome doses of flirty games in between.
The anticipation throughout the day is energizing, and I’m itching to get my toes in the sand before going back to the concrete jungle of the Big Apple tomorrow afternoon, so I pick up a burger and fries after work and drive straight to the beach.
I leave my heels in the rental car and revel in the feel of the warm sand between my toes as I make my way toward the water. There are a lot of people at the beach and in the water. I find a quiet spot and sit in the sand.
With the late-afternoon sun on my face and the salty sea air filling my lungs, my whole body relaxes.
I miss the beach, and grass, and not staring at four walls all the time, and I really miss relaxing.
Letting my mind drift to things other than work or guilt.
If I’m honest with myself, I miss living outside my box as much as I like living inside it—or need to, for my own sanity.
As I eat my dinner, I gaze out at the waves crashing along the shore, people watching.
A dark-haired guy jogs out of the water toward a woman standing on shore with a dog, and my mind tiptoes back to the picture Wells sent me earlier.
I’m pretty sure that gorgeous shirtless image is burned into my brain.
We’ve had so much fun lately, it probably isn’t fair to flirt with him when I’m not really looking for more, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
Is it leading him on if we’ve acknowledged it’s just a friendship?
My phone rings, stirring the nervous anticipation that has been humming inside me all day.
Wells and I finished our last game of WordLink before I left the office, and I was hoping he’d start another.
But he’s been surprising me so much lately, I wonder if he’d call.
Do I want him to? I don’t give myself time to answer that question and pull my phone from my skirt pocket.
I’m hit with an unfamiliar wave of disappointment when I see my brother Clay’s name on the screen.
That disappointment annoys me. I love my brothers, and I’m always happy to hear from them.
Kicking that disappointment to the curb, I answer the call. “Hi, Clay. Still floating on a cloud of marital bliss?”
Talk about a guy who I never thought would settle down.
Clay was the quarterback for the New York Giants before retiring and marrying Pepper Montgomery, a brilliant scientist. The media had long-ago dubbed him “Mr. Perfect.” He ate up that attention, using it to his advantage with women for many years, but somewhere along the way that changed, and I’ve never seen him happier than he is with Pepper.
“You know it,” Clay says arrogantly, and I can tell he has me on speakerphone.
“Does that mean you’re not driving Pepper crazy yet?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I like showing up at her work, bringing muffins for her staff, and getting a little something sweet for myself.”
“I do not need to know that.” I put the trash from my dinner into the bag it came in.
“There are worse things in the world than Clay being madly in love with his wife,” Noah hollers in the background.
“You’re with Noah?” I ask. “Where are you guys?”
“At the Real DEAL,” Clay says. “I’m running the kids’ football camp this week, remember?” Noah is a marine biologist. He lives in Colorado, where he and a few of our cousins run the Real DEAL (Discover, Experience, Appreciate, Learn), a total immersion exploratory park for kids.
“I forgot you were doing that. How’s it going?”
“The kids love him,” Noah says.
“Doesn’t everyone?” I say. “Clay, when do you leave for your honeymoon?” They put off their trip until one of Pepper’s contracts winds down.
“Not for another two weeks,” Clay says.
“How’re things with you, Vic?” Noah asks.
I had amazing sex with Wells, and now I can’t stop flirting with him and it’s really messing with my head. Other than that, I’m great. “Good. Busy as always. I’m in LA until tomorrow.”
“You are? Great party town,” Noah says. “Are you going to hit up some clubs tonight? Get a little badaboom badabing ?”
I laugh. “Not everyone comes to LA looking for badaboom badabing.”
“You’ve got to get out there sometime,” Noah urges. “It’s not like a great guy is going to come knocking at your hotel room door.”
“ Noah ,” I warn, and hear a phone ringing in the background.
“I need to get that call,” Noah says. “I’ll talk to you Saturday for Gram’s birthday. Love you.”
“You too, Noah.” We try to get together for birthdays, but our grandfather is a retired archaeologist and paleontologist who doesn’t know what the word retired means. He and our grandmother are currently on a dig in Alaska, which is why we’ve scheduled a family video call.
“I took you off speaker,” Clay says. “You know he just doesn’t want you to be lonely.”
“I know.”
“There’s nothing wrong with getting back out there. Wait . Scratch that. I’m a selfish bastard, and if I die, I’ll haunt Pepper for life. I don’t want another man touching her. So you do you, and if I kick off, don’t you dare tell my wife to get back out there.”
“There’s the competitive guy I know and love. How are things there? How’s Noah really doing?”
“Things here are good. The business is booming, and the camp is great. Noah’s as wild as ever. You know he’ll never change.”
I laugh. “How quickly you forget that you were once a wild boy, too.”
“I don’t miss that time of my life.” He pauses, and then his tone turns serious.
“As much as I love to joke around, if something happened to me, I wouldn’t want Pep to spend the rest of her life alone.
I love her too much, and I doubt Harvey would want you to, either.
So maybe take Noah’s advice and have a little fun. ”
“I’ll take that under consideration. Is there another reason you called, or did you guys just feel like giving me life advice?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, there is a reason. I’m hoping you can hook me up with a few celebs who get migraines.”
“Now, that’s a request I don’t get often. Have you looked in the mirror lately? Few people are a bigger deal than you, and you get migraines.”
“I know, but this is to promote the migraine device Pepper is developing. Other celebrity sponsors would go a long way.”
“Well, I have no idea which of our clients get migraines, if any, but I’m happy to put out a few feelers and get back to you.”
“That would be great.”
We talk for a little while longer, and when I end the call, a text from Wells pops up.
Wells: Busy?
Me: Not really. Why? Want to play another game, or…?
Wells: That depends what the…consists of.
I laugh softly.
Me: Keep it in your pants, boy toy.
I snap a picture of the water and send it to him.
Wells: Lucky you. Are you alone? Can you talk?