Chapter Twelve Carter
Chapter Twelve
Carter
Three days.
That’s how long I last before I break.
Three days of watching Olivia from across the practice facility, never close enough to touch. Three days of seeing her professional mask slide back into place, all sharp edges and careful distance. Three days of text messages that say everything and nothing.
Me: How are you holding up?
Olivia: Fine. You?
Me: Missing you.
Olivia: Carter…
Me: I know. Just saying it anyway.
On the fourth day, I snap.
We’re at a team event, some charity gala Mark’s been planning for months. Black tie. Press everywhere. The kind of thing where Olivia and I are expected to be professional, distant, appropriate.
I watch her work the room. She’s stunning in a floor-length black dress that hugs every curve, hair swept up, diamond earrings catching the light. She’s smiling, shaking hands, doing her job.
But I see the cracks. The way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The tension in her shoulders. The way she keeps glancing at her phone as though she’s expecting bad news.
I’m standing with Derek and Tank, nursing a whiskey I haven’t touched, when she walks past. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second. Something passes between us, heat, longing, frustration.
Then she’s gone, swept into conversation with a group of donors.
“You’re staring,” Derek mutters beside me.
“No, I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.” He takes a swig of his beer. “And so is everyone else. You two aren’t as subtle as you think.”
I tear my gaze away. “We’re not—”
“Save it.” He shakes his head. “Look, I get it. She’s hot, you’re into her, whatever. But Mark’s watching. The press is watching. Everyone’s waiting for you to slip up.”
“I’m not going to slip up.”
“Really?” Derek’s eyebrow arches. “Because you look like you’re about two seconds away from dragging her out of here.”
He’s not wrong.
I down my whiskey in one gulp. “I need air.”
“Storm—”
I’m already moving, weaving through the crowd toward the exit. The ballroom opens onto a terrace, and I step out into the cool night air, grateful for the space to breathe.
The city sprawls below, all lights and noise and life. I lean against the railing, hands gripping the cold metal.
“You okay?”
I turn. Olivia stands in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself against the chill.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
“I saw you leave. Thought I’d check on you.” She steps closer but keeps her distance. Always keeping distance now. “Derek said you looked like you needed air.”
“Derek talks too much.”
A small smile. “He’s not wrong though.”
“No. He’s not.” I turn to face her fully. “I hate this, Olivia. Watching you across a room and not being able to touch you. Pretending we’re strangers. It’s killing me.”
Her expression softens. “I know.”
“Do you? Because you seem fine. You seem like nothing’s changed.”
“That’s what I’m good at, remember? Pretending.
” She moves closer, and now there’s only a few feet between us.
“But I’m not fine, Carter. I’m miserable.
I wake up every morning reading comments about what a terrible person I am.
I go to work and everyone looks at me differently.
And the only person I want to talk to about it is the one person I can’t be seen with. ”
The pain in her voice breaks something in me.
“This is bullshit,” I say, low and fierce. “We shouldn’t have to hide.”
“But we do. At least for now.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.” She glances back at the ballroom. Through the glass, I can see people dancing, laughing, completely unaware of the battle happening out here. “Mark says until the heat dies down. Could be weeks. Months. Maybe—”
“Maybe never,” I finish.
She doesn’t deny it.
I close the distance between us in two strides. “I’m not waiting months, Olivia. I’m not pretending you don’t mean everything to me just because the internet has opinions.”
“Carter—”
“No. Listen.” I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “I know the risks. I know what we’re up against. But I also know that life’s too short to waste time on ‘maybe later’ when I want you right now.”
“Someone could see—”
“Let them.”
Her eyes widen. “You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?” I search her face. “What’s the worst that happens? More photos leak? More comments? Olivia, I’ve already lost my privacy. I’ve already had my name dragged through the mud. The only thing I can’t lose is you.”
Tears glisten in her eyes. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’ve never been more clear.” My thumb brushes her cheek. “Come home with me tonight. Please. I don’t care who sees. I don’t care what they say. I just need to be with you.”
“Carter—”
“Please.”
For a long moment, she just stares at me. I can see the war in her eyes, duty versus desire, professionalism versus need.
Then she makes her choice.
“Okay.”
We leave separately. Her first, citing a headache. Me fifteen minutes later, claiming exhaustion from the week’s practices.
No one questions it. No one sees.
But half an hour later, when I open my front door and find her standing there in that black dress, all pretense falls away.
“Hi,” she says softly.
“Hi.”
I pull her inside, and the moment the door closes, my mouth is on hers. She kisses me back with the same desperate hunger, hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer.
We stumble toward the living room, knocking into furniture, breaking apart only long enough to breathe.
“Carter,” she gasps against my mouth. “Are you sure—”
“Yes.” I kiss her neck, her jaw, anywhere I can reach. “Are you?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
I pull back just enough to look at her. Her hair’s coming loose from its pins. Her lipstick’s smudged. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“I’ve thought about this,” I admit. “Since that night in my office. Since the parking garage. Every single night.”
“Me too.” Her hands slide up my chest, over my shoulders. “I told myself I could resist. That keeping my distance was the smart thing.”
“And now?”
“Now, I don’t want to be smart anymore.” She kisses me again, slower this time. Deeper. “I just want to be with you.”
Something in my chest cracks open. “Olivia—”
“No talking.” She steps back, reaching for the zipper on her dress. “We’ve done enough talking.”
The dress pools at her feet.
And every coherent thought I have evaporates.
She’s standing in front of me in black lace and heels, looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had, and I’m frozen, just staring.
“Carter?” A hint of uncertainty creeps into her voice. “Say something.”
“You’re perfect,” I manage. “Absolutely perfect.”
A smile curves her lips. “Your turn.”
I shrug out of my jacket, loosen my tie. She steps forward, taking over, her fingers working the buttons of my shirt with a confidence that makes my pulse race.
When the shirt hits the floor, her hands slide over my chest, tracing scars, muscles, the evidence of seventeen years of football.
“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs.
I catch her hand. “I’m scarred and broken and—”
“Beautiful.” She kisses the scar on my shoulder from a surgery two years ago. Then the one on my ribs from a brutal hit in my rookie year. “Every single part of you.”
I pull her close, skin to skin, and the contact is electric. She sighs against my mouth, and I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist.
“Bedroom?” she asks.
“Upstairs. First door.”
I carry her up, kissing her the whole way, and when I lay her on my bed, she looks up at me with so much trust, so much want, it nearly undoes me.
“Last chance to change your mind,” I say, even though it would kill me.
“I’m not changing my mind.” She pulls me down. “Make love to me, Carter.”
Her words hit harder than any tackle I’ve ever taken.
I lower myself over her, bracing on my elbows so our bodies touch just enough to make her breath catch. Her fingers slide into my hair, guiding my mouth back to hers, and the moment our lips meet, something inside me gives way.
The kiss deepens, slow at first, until her soft gasp sparks something hotter.
Her hands skim down my back, tracing the lines of muscle like she’s memorizing me by touch alone. Every glide of her fingertips sends a shiver through me, tugging me closer, deeper.
I trail kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips.
Her legs tighten around my waist, drawing me in until there’s barely any space left between us.
“Carter…” she whispers, and the sound of my name on her lips nearly ruins me.
My hands explore her slowly, her waist, the curve of her hip, the warm skin beneath me. She arches into me, meeting every touch like she’s been waiting for it… for me.
I kiss her again, hungry now, but trying to hold onto whatever restraint I have left, my thumb brushes her cheek, my forehead resting against hers when we finally pause for air.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I murmur, breathless.
Her smile is soft, certain.
“Carter… it’s perfect.”
Except it’s not. There’s too many layers between us.
Slowly, I peel her black lacy bra from her shoulders and marvel at how perfect her breasts are.
I take one of her nipples into my mouth as my other hand massages her breast. Olivia arches into me as I kiss down her body, then I grip those lacy panties and pull them down her thighs.
Standing, I let my boxers hit the floor and she sits up, undoing her bra and playfully throwing it at me.
There are no scars on her beautiful body as I kiss, suck and bite every inch of her. I part her thighs, slipping two fingers inside her to find she is wet for me. Moving up her body, my cock at her entrance, I kiss her again.
“You’re sure?” I whisper.
Olivia’s answer isn’t spoken, it’s felt.
Her hands slide up my chest, pulling me closer with a certainty that steals my breath. The way she touches me… God, it’s all the permission I need. Heat flares between us, sharp and overwhelming, and when our mouths crash together again, the world drops away.