29. Corbin
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
corbin
One of my sponsors calls and asks if I can do a commercial. They have an opportunity in LA that came up. They said it will raise awareness about dog fighting, so I have to rearrange my flight and not travel back with the team, which also means I won’t see Oakley for three days.
Me: Did you find a dog sitter?
Oakley: Not yet. I can’t just trust anyone with Dixie. Why?
Me: I won't be home for three more days. I have to shoot a commercial and then head to Florida for the game tomorrow. I want you to come.
Oakley: Do you think Becca would come over to stay?
Me: Yeah but you’ll need someone to let Dixie out during the day.
Oakley: Okay, what about the director of the animal shelter? Would she know someone?
Me: On it.
I make a call to the animal shelter, and the director suggests that Dixie stay at the shelter during the day while Becca works. So when I get off the plane at LAX, I call Oakley to make sure she’s in agreement before I book Oakley’s flight to Florida.
“Sounds good. I honestly don’t understand how you do everything you do,” Oakley says with pure sincerity.
“Growing up, there were so many of us and so many chores that all of us older kids learned how to multitask. I’m booking your flight. I’ll send the details.” I pause, wanting to say so much but also don’t want to say it over the phone. “Oakley, I can’t wait to see you.”
“It’s only been two days.”
“Two days too long.”
The commercial shoot lasts four hours. Asking dogs to act that aren’t trained can be cumbersome, but they’re actual dogs that have been rescued from dog fighting gambling rings. Capone, a Boxer, is aggressive but eventually, I get him to settle down. He sits in my lap, and we film the public service announcement.
I went out to eat with a friend who played with me my first year on the Notes, and he now plays for the Los Angeles Vipers. His wife stops by and congratulates me on my marriage. It reminds me to text Oakley.
Me: Still awake?
Minutes later, she hasn’t answered, so I send a selfie with my friends.
Still nothing, but I realize she’s probably asleep. It’s eleven here but one in the morning in Nashville.
Me: I hope my wife is sleeping well. Text me when you wake up.
I have my notifications from Oakley set so that no matter what time she texts, it plays My Girl , by the Temptations. At six in the morning, the song plays.
Oakley: Slept on your pillow. It smells like you. Getting in the shower, then packing, taking Dixie to the shelter, and going to the airport. Miss you.
A goofy grin takes over my face. If I smile any bigger, my ears may end up on top of my head. I’m hoping we’re on the same page. I don’t know if she’ll want to give up her trust fund or not, but I’m giving her the option.
Me: Miss you. It means a lot to me that you’re coming.
I begin my morning with a run in the hotel fitness center, and Oakley messages me back.
Oakley: First Class, baby!
She’s attached a picture of her in the seat, holding a flute of orange juice. But I have a sneaking suspicion it’s a mimosa.
Me: Only the best for my wife.
After showering and grabbing breakfast in the hotel restaurant, I catch the plane to Florida. Oakley doesn’t answer my text, so I assume she’s still in flight. My hope is that I’ll get there in time to see her before heading to the Panthers arena. I’ll play better if I can get this weight off my chest and tell her how my feelings have always been real, and I want to have a real marriage.
I know Oakley liked the sex and that may be what it is for her—just sex or just the arrangement. My palms sweat, the entire four-hour plane ride.
When the plane lands, I have three hours before I have to be at the arena. Luckily, this private charter lands at the private airport, where the general manager, Kyle, takes me to the hotel. That’s what I call five-star service.
I check in at the hotel desk, and the man working informs me that my wife has checked in. He gives me a key to the presidential suite, and I take the private elevator. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I take a deep breath and hope Oakley feels the same way I do. The door clicks to unlock, and I step inside. “Oakley.”
Maybe she’s taking a nap, or she went to explore the hotel. I drop my bag and realize there’s a postie note on the floor, then I see a trail of them. I bend down, picking up each one and reading them as I take another step.
I missed you.
Ten notes closer.
Thanks for asking me to come. (She drew a smiley face.)
Eight notes closer to me.
I hope you ask me again.
Six notes closer to me.
You’re amazing.
Four notes closer to me.
And Hot! (She drew a fire, and I can’t help but chuckle.)
Two notes closer to me.
Open the door.
I pick up the last note and even though it appears we’re feeling the same way, nerves still prick up my spine, and my chest pounds wildly. With my hand on the knob, I turn and ease the door open. The curtains are drawn, and there are flameless candles on the nightstand and dresser, but Oakley is sitting up on her knees, not in lingerie but in my jersey.
“Jesus, Oakley. I’ve never seen someone so beautiful.” She makes my mouth water, and there’s no skin exposed except her neck and face.
The candlelight flickers across her face, and she blushes at my words. “Can we talk?” she asks.
She doesn’t look like she wants to talk. She wants to drive me crazy in my jersey.
“Yeah. We’ve put this off long enough.” I climb on the bed with her and take her hands in mine. “The moment I picked you and Dixie up at the truck stop, I felt weird inside. That’s the only way I knew how to describe it to myself. The connection we had was incredible, and I had never felt it before, but…”
“Then I made you an enemy by stealing your truck,” she finishes my thought. I wasn’t going to say enemy; angry is closer to the right word.
“You challenged me at every turn. Made me consider that my feelings wouldn’t be so potent if I didn’t feel something more than an arrangement. Answer one question. Do you want your trust fund?”
She shrugs.
“Because you don’t need it. Be my wife—my real wife. I’ll give you everything you need.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I love you, Oakley James Shearer. I honest to God love you.”
The Notes logo on my jersey rises as her chest inflates. “You love me? Then why did you not speak to me for a week?”
“I was working through my feelings for you, and I was scared. Afraid you didn’t feel the same way, so I pulled together a wedding reception so you could meet my family. I realized at the party when I was talking to your father that you didn’t need his money.” I turn over her wrist and bring it to my lips, pressing a lingering kiss on her skin. She leans forward and pushes her forehead to mine. “So it comes down to whether you feel the same way about me.”
She folds her lips, and her face trembles. “I was going to tell you that I wanted to terminate the agreement.” Tears roll down, over both cheeks.
“You don’t want to be married… to me?”
She shakes her no. Damn, I read the room wrong.
“Not under those conditions. I don’t want to divorce in ninety days. I love you too.” Her hands cup my jaw. “I love you, and I want to stay married to you forever.”
We kiss, and each one gets sloppier and hungrier. “I love you and for your information, I’m going to fuck you silly in my jersey. Then you’re going to wear my jersey at the game tonight.”
“Prove it.”
“You asked for it.”
“That I did, now kiss me.” She lifts off my shirt, and her warm hands travel over every nook and cranny of my core. I kiss her like she asks. “Stand up.”
She pushes down my shorts, and I kick off my shoes. Standing in front of her with my body bare but my heart so full, it might explode, and my dick so hard, staring at her hair falling over her shoulders.
Crawling over her, she lies back and stretches out. My large palm caresses her thigh while we explore our connection. She grabs my hand and places it between her thighs and squeezes. “Make me come.”
“I’ll do my best.” I work my fingers through her center already drenched with arousal. “So wet.”
“All it takes is the sound of your voice.”
“Should I talk you into an orgasm? Like a couple of nights ago.”
“No, we’ll save that for when we’re apart. Right now, I want to feel you,” she says as her hands roam over my back and down to my butt. “I want to feel those powerful hips. The softness of your lips. I want you to feel my love.”
Her eyes sparkle, and her lips glisten as I scrunch the jersey up under her chin and suck on her breasts. When I quit sucking on one, I roll the other nipple between my fingers. She arches. “Yes. Yes.” I lower myself and kiss her belly button, teasing her. Her hands thread through my hair. “Please,” she asks in a broken whisper.
Not a problem, I would lick her all damn day. She cries out my name when I finger her and suck on her firecracker. As I keep coaxing her, she detonates, coating my tongue and lips. And I think we may need to rename her clit to “Volcano,” she spews so violently.
She tastes so good, I would order her juice off a menu.
Oakley’s Sweet Tangy Cream Sauce.
I can’t help but laugh at my thoughts, and she says, “What?”
“I was thinking we should bottle your sauce and sell it. You wouldn’t need your dad’s money or our money. You’d be rich.”
We burst out laughing, and she pulls me closer. “I don’t want anyone to know how I taste but you. Got it?”
“Don’t worry. You’re mine and only mine.”
She guides my erection and says, “Will you do a little slip and slide?”
I lift a questioning brow.
“When you slide your dick through my folds, hitting the firecracker. I love that. Can you do it again, like before?”
“Baby, I’ll do whatever makes you feel good. Always tell me your desires, so we do what each other enjoys.”
I lift my hips, gliding my dick back and forth, and she shuts her eyes, saying my name on repeat. Oakley’s legs stiffen for a moment. I look down in the candlelight, and my dick is glazed and glistening with my wife’s juices. Pressing into her slowly, our eyes lock while we make love. Long and slow. She winces a few times but assures me it feels good.
“Harder,” she pants and when I thrust into her with sweat dripping from my hair onto her face, she calls out, “I love you.”
I slow down and let her ride out her climax. Even in the dim, incandescent glow of the candlelight, I can see her face is red. “I love you too, my little thief.”
A few minutes go by, and I say, “Stay. I’ll be right back.” I walk into the suite’s kitchen, grab an ice cube, and take it into the bedroom. I spread her legs, place the ice cube in my mouth, and press it against her center. She jerks but then lets out a sigh of relief. Then I come back to her face and suck it into my mouth.
“No fair, I’m thirsty too,” she whimpers.
So we trade the ice cube back and forth until it’s melted, and it’s just our tongues dancing. I lean up and flip her over. “I want to see my number, thirteen, on your back as I enter you.”
I push my Notes jersey up on her back and inch inside her hot, juicy center. “Be easy,” she says, her voice laced with fear.
“I promise this will feel so good, you’ll want to do it this way every time.” I go slow and easy and once I’m fully inside her, I circle my hips to stretch her out so I can make us both feel the euphoria.
With my hands on her perfect hips and me on my knees, I pull her hips back to me as our skin slaps together, faster, and harder. “Yes. Yes,” she cries.
“Baby, I love being inside you.”
My body locks up, and I know I’m going to blow any second, but I don’t want to end in a position that feels like just sex. I want to make sure she knows this is about our connection and the new beginning to our marriage. So, I push on her back to where she’s lying on her stomach and sneak one forearm under her waist. I play with her clit, and I move in and out at a snail’s pace.
Whispering how good she makes me feel—making love—to my wife. The little thief who stole my heart.
Afterwards, we take a shower and clean up. Before I leave for the arena, I give her a warm, long kiss and hand her a manila envelope.
“I had Becca rewrite our arrangement. It states that everything of mine is yours. If you want your trust fund, it won’t be a problem because I’m never dissolving this marriage. Look it over and make sure I’m what you want for a lifetime because I don’t want to go through what Becca is.”
“I don’t have to read it because I don’t want anything to do with my dad, certainly not his money. I trust you and love you.”
We can’t stop grinning at each other, but she opens the door to the presidential suite and says, “Go. The guys won’t let me live it down if you’re late because of me.”
“Love you. Wear my jersey.”
There aren’t too many feelings better than scoring during a hockey game but looking up in the crowd and seeing my wife in the stands tops it all.
I shake off a defender, slap the puck, and it rockets toward the net, slicing through the air. Anticipation surges in my gut as I watch it soar. The goalie doesn’t see it coming, and it floats into the back of the net.
The horn goes off, and I celebrate with my teammates before I look into the stands and see Oakley wearing my jersey, jumping with joy and her hands in the air, high fiving the other wives and girlfriends who made the trip.
It doesn’t take long for the noise to die down since we’re on the opponent’s ice. And I hear my girl yell, “That’s my husband!”
The most satisfying feeling washes over my body, and I skate to the boards where she’s sitting a few rows up.
Removing my helmet, I yell back, “And that’s my beautiful wife.”
In the end, I score again and when I see her outside the locker room, I whisk her into my arms. Embracing the woman I love has new meaning, knowing she loves me too.
She says, “I’m so proud of you.” And as I ease her to the floor, she takes a deep breath. “Will you wear this?”
She holds a thick gold band in her palm. I pick up the simple band, and it has something engraved on the inside. It reads, “Always, Your Little Thief.”
My voice cracks, “It’s perfect. When did you get it?”
Oakley slides it onto my finger. “Today, and I used money from my little hair business.” She beams with pride, which makes her even more stunning.
I whisper, “Thank you. I tried so hard to ice you out and make you the enemy, but each day, you took up more space in my heart. There’s a fine line between love and hate.”
She presses her luscious pink lips to mine and says, “But we chose love.”
“Yes, we did.”