Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Miguel
Show and a Dinner
Holy shit, she fingered herself in my shower. I went to check on her after she'd been gone for a while. The powderroom door was wide open so I poked my head into my bathroom. I froze when I saw her reflection in the mirror.
Forearm braced on the wall to hold her up. Head thrown back in ecstasy. Her other hand disappearing between her legs. Her shoulder flexing as she rubbed herself in my shower.
The steam and condensation on the glass did little to obscure my view. I drank in every stunning inch of her and nearly cracked a molar holding myself back.
When her breathing shuddered and she whispered a word that sounded suspiciously like my own name I backed out of the room. In a daze, I returned to the kitchen and chugged a glass of water.
When really, I’m craving something much stronger.
And that is why Laney is dangerous. She makes me want to lose control.
I can't let that happen.
I’ve worked too hard, for too long, and have kept myself in line. I’ve excelled physically and have mastered my mental demons.
I am a new man but Laney Mattenson threatens it all.
Am I willing to risk the years of improvement for a woman?
For this woman?
Her light footsteps come down the hallway and I school my features to try and hide my half hard cock caused by seeing, and hearing, her come undone.
And hide the fact that I am desperate to see her that way again.
I breathe deeply and try to push that thought out of my mind.
But instead, a new thought rings clear.
I want to be responsible for it.
As much as I want to keep my control, I want her to lose hers more.
"Hey, dinner smells great." She says so I turn to face her.
Oh shit.
Big mistake.
She's barefoot and wearing one of my t-shirts. An inch of black sticks out under the hem banding her thighs and I think she might have put on a pair of my boxers as shorts.
I almost swallow my tongue.
"Thanks, ready?" I manage to say and lift a hand to indicate the table where I've laid out the steak fajitas, complete with tortillas, sour cream, and salsa verde.
"Fajitas? Seriously Miguel?"
"Is that okay?" I ask, suddenly concerned I might have made the wrong call.
"Yes. Oh my gosh, I love fajitas. I've only had them at restaurants when I go out with Dee for birthdays or breakups."
"You celebrate breakups."
"I celebrate Dee's, she is usually the one doing the leaving."
"How about you?" I ask, unable to quell the desire to know her better and figure out if there are any men in her past I need to pay a visit to on her behalf.
"I haven't dated anyone, well, really ever. I had a few flings in college but not much since. Too busy." She shrugs as she starts to pile peppers, onions, and steak onto a tortilla. I feel satisfaction warm my chest having provided for her.
"How about you Miguel, why aren't you seeing someone?" She asks through her swallow.
I shrug. "It never really occurred to me to date." I say, being truthful. "I've been training and racing full time for over a decade."
"And before that?"
"Wasn't in a place to seriously date."
"Too busy sowing wild oats?" She jokes.
I let out a humorous laugh, "Nah, just not the right headspace."
Again I brush over the severity of my past but she’s too vibrant to be burdened by my history. It's for me to carry.
"Why did you start running TitaniumPerson?" I ask her, trying to turn the spotlight on her.
"I ran mid-distance track in high school and college. And, umm, well the Olympics were the year after I graduated so I was training to qualify. A week before trials I sprained my knee and couldn't compete."
"I'm so sorry Laney, that's awful."
"Yeah, it wasn't great." She shrugs casually but I can see the pain in her tense shoulders. I hate seeing the painful memories in her body language. I would give anything to take the pain away. To carry it for her.
She focuses on making herself another fajita as she speaks. I'm only halfway through my first, having forgotten to eat as I become even more completely drawn to Laney and her story, her composure.
"How'd you get to TP races though? Did you start with a triathlon?"
"Yeah, my umm," she inhales deeply and exhales. "My Dad passed away from cancer. It was rare and really sudden. He ran triathlons, even won a silver medal at The Olympics when he was in his twenties."
"He must have been such a good role model for you."
"He was, yeah, for sure. But after I missed trials, I dunno, I sort of quit." Shadows pass across her face and I want to know why. Laney clears her throat and she continues, "he asked me to get back into it before he died."
"So you did."
"Yeah. But it’s been two and a half years and I’ve got nothing to show for it.
I’m out of the little money he left me. No pro card, no ranking, no world championship invitation, no sponsor.
" Her tone is despondent. The defeat I saw in her after the finish in Chattanooga falls heavily on her shoulders again now.
Was it her dad who had her feeling like she’s not enough exactly as she is?
How can she not give herself credit for how strong she is?
Getting enough points to earn a pro card takes a nearly insane level of commitment. Most people can’t hack it.
But Laney Matteson isn't like most people.
"You'll get it, you're so talented." I insist.
"That's the thing about triathlons though, like everyone can swim, bike, and run. I just happen to do it faster, I guess."
"It's more than that." I tell her and I gaze at her deeply wishing she'd look up from the food she’s moving around her plate. "You have to be crazy."
That earns me a smile and the heavens sing.
When her bright blue eyes meet mine, time stops.
In them I see her resolve, her vulnerability.
I can feel the mutual understanding and respect we’ve built in our short time together.
She knows what it takes to excel, even if she hasn’t reached her goal yet.
And there is no doubt in my mind she’ll get there. I can’t be the only one who sees how spectacular she is.
"You know what is crazy," she says and I hum a response, "these fajitas."
I chuckle, and let her off the hook after her confessions. "Thanks, I make them once a week or so. It's actually pretty easy."
"Well then I'll have to come over at least once a week because these are delicious."
My dinner flips in my stomach at the idea of having Laney more often.
The vision of having her with me every day flashes in my mind and I don’t hate it as much as I should.
"So what's the training plan for tomorrow?" She asks when I let the silence linger between us for too long because I’m imagining a life with more Laney in it.
"Well, today was a swim, we could do a VO2 bike ride."
"Down to the same coffee shop?" She asks.
"Yeah, that works."
"Okay, let's do it, I liked that place." She takes a final bite. "Do it first thing in the morning?"
"Do what?" I will not let my body be affected by the uninvited image of warm, lazy, morning sex with her in my bed.
"The bike ride." Her smile is feline, she’s not doing a very good job hiding her desires.
But then again, neither am I.
"Oh, yeah, sure."
"Might be easier if I just stay over, my bike is already here." She shrugs.
"What about clothes?" Because that's obviously the only thing stopping her from staying here.
She looks down at my t-shirt and shrugs.
"I'll be alright." She stands and picks up her plate, I watch as she rounds the table, and I clench my abs to suppress a shiver when she trails a finger along my shoulder as she passes. "I think I'll stay."
I am frozen to the spot as Laney continues to clear the table.
She’s invited herself to stay and I can’t come up with a valid rebuttal. Why can’t I come up with one solid reason for her to go?
Because, you actually like having her here. You want her to stay.
"What do you typically do after dinner?" She asks as she loads my dishwasher.
"Um, after a swim? Shower and run through a foam roller routine."
"Well, why don't you go shower while I clean up, and then we can foam roll together, I'll admit I haven't done it since college. It's a special type of pain." She laughs.
I'm experiencing my own special kind of pain with Laney in my space.
In my clothes. Smelling like me. Looking so comfortable in my kitchen.
All I want to do is feed her, care for her, help her be the best she can be.
I'm still sitting at the table, processing how I got myself into this situation when she comes and stands behind me.
Her magnetic pull has me rooted to the spot and the desire to experience her fully, just once, clouds my thoughts. My reflexes slow. My breathing shallows. I am at her disposal.
"I know you’re the coach but we’re going to follow my plan tonight." She says as her hands firmly massage my shoulders. She leans closer and my brain short circuits smelling my products on her skin blended with her essence. It unlocks a level of possession I was only toying with before.
Her hands burn a trail of sensation over me and there's no way we're spending the night together and keeping our hands to ourselves.
I won’t recover from having her, but not having her is killing me anyway.