Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Laney
Roll, Kiss, Counter
My teeth started the job but now I’m picking at the flake of lip skin I’ve peeled loose in all the worrying. Miguel leaving me in the kitchen while he showered gave me time to review the play.
I wasn't expecting to tell Miguel about my Dad.
Aside from devoting my life to becoming a professional endurance athlete because of his dying wish, I don’t let myself go back to those heartbreaking days.
Dee was there with me, she saw everything, but her "here and now" approach to life has helped me to stay present.
And infrequently talking to my mom helps too.
Every few months we check in with a phone call.
I tell her about nights at Curryosity and Dee’s latest romantic drama TV show obsession.
I don't mention race results or any training updates because I’ve got nothing to report without wins, the pro card, or sponsorships in hand.
It isn’t worth it if I haven’t made it viable.
She tells me about the avocado farm she’s working on, or the plans for her next move.
We have come to an understanding. And that understanding is pretty much we can exist in the world and focus on our own lives. I process my grief with training and she processes hers with the adventure she felt she was denied while my dad was alive.
The flake of skin comes off with a sting and I walk to the trash can because it feels weird to just flick it into the air in Miguel’s condo.
An advantage of hanging out with an older man I didn’t anticipate?
He owns a condo. Like with a mortgage. He owns furniture he picked out from a store. He’s not sitting on a hand-me-down sofa from your roommate’s grandmother’s friend who died.
I do love that funky floral sofa though.
And, like I knew he cooked. And that his cooking was good.
But the man made my favorite food out of the blue. At home. Without needing to go to the store.
And dinner was delicious.
I want more nights like this.
I want him.
The shower turned off a minute ago and I’m simply standing in his kitchen with my hands folded on the cold marble countertop.
But tell that to my heart rate.
The organ is pounding in my chest like I am in the middle of the swim leg of a race.
I probably shouldn't have invited myself to stay over. Presumptuous much?
But he also could have told me no. He’s an adult. He knows "no" is a full sentence.
Then again, so is "yes".
I get the feeling I'll need to push him to where I want him to go. He's too cautious, too controlled.
"Ready?" Miguel asks and I turn to him.
Fuck. Me.
He's in just a pair of short black gym shorts and nothing else. His hair is still wet from the shower. He didn't shave so the shadow of a beard hangs across his face. My lion friend peeks out from the hem of his shorts and the line of ink staining on his ribs has a hypnotic effect as I stare.
"What?" I chirp, coming back to attention because I don't remember what I'm supposed to be ready for.
"Foam rolling." He says with a maniacal smile and I chuckle.
"Oh right, no pain no gain."
"That is absolutely true when it comes to foam rolling. Ladies, first."
I cross over to him and settle in on the yoga mat he laid out on the floor. I position the roller at my calves and lift up to roll across them.
"Oh gods," I groan because the foam meets the first inch of muscle at the base of my calf and immediately save yourself from this torture messages burn through my nervous system. My right foot twitches in response to the pain.
"Find the spot?" Miguel laughs.
"It's not funny, count!" I demand urgently because the sooner he gets to thirty, the sooner I can move and release the acute pressure on my tight muscles.
"Done," He says after an agonizingly long count to thirty. "Hamstrings."
"Yeah, yeah," I mumble as I roll higher up my leg.
I move through my butt, back, and then endure the acute torment of rolling out my IT bands before lying with a leg open in a half frog position to get my inner thighs.
When I finish, I roll to my back on the mat. Miguel is sitting next to me on the floor with his arms propped up on his knees.
"How do you feel?" He asks.
"Honestly, a little nauseous."
"Yeah, that's all the lactic acid you worked out. It'll be better in a bit."
"Okay, I'll just lie here while you put yourself through this torture too.
" My teasing is rewarded by the low rumble of his laughter but my moment of joy turns into something else entirely when he turns over onto all fours and crawls over to the mat.
My chest rises and falls as he stalks the short distance to me.
"Laney." He says darkly as his face hovers over mine.
"Yes," I say on a shaky exhale.
He smiles slowly and says, "move."
I almost headbutt him as I roll up quickly to get out of his way.
"Your turn to count."
"Okay." I mutter. He extends his legs and positions the roller under his calves. He rocks back and forth and works the knots in his muscles.
He moves the roller up his body and I drink in his movements and notice where he pauses to focus on a particularly troubling spot and I count out to thirty.
When he rolls to his stomach and lifts a leg to roll out his inner thigh, mine clench.
His hips roll back and forth at a mesmerizing pace and when I see him tilt his pelvis up to reach a deeper spot, I almost squeak.
He slowly switches sides and this time he places a hand up on his hip as he basically thrusts forward on the roller.
How do I trade places with that foam cylinder?
"Oh, that feels so good." He says and I just nod and try to keep the drool from slipping out of my mouth.
"Thirsty?" Miguel asks and I realize he's watching me absolutely gobble up his backside with my eyes.
"Umm yeah, I guess so."
"Can you get both of us some water while I clean up?" He asks and I nod woodenly.
I stumble to the kitchen and start opening cabinets looking for glasses.
Fuck, I’m so horny.
If Miguel doesn’t snap, inviting myself to stay over was a serious mistake. I’m built for endurance sports, not enduring immense lust over my coach.
I'm opening the third cabinet when Miguel slides up behind me. "Here." He says in my ear as he reaches over my head for two glasses.
I'm a tall girl, 5'7'', but Miguel is taller. And broader. His shoulders box mine in as he lowers the glasses to the counter in front of me.
I look down at them, still unable to get the image of his undulating hip movements out of my head.
"Laney?" His breath caresses my exposed neck and I squeeze my thighs together to give myself a hint of the friction I desire.
When Miguel places his hands on my hips and begins rotating me to face him, my body cracks open and the wonton insides take control.
Before he can finish turning me all the way I whip around and crash my mouth to his.
Fireworks explode from my lips to my toes. A grande finale’s worth of gunpowder ignites through my entire being. The air around us warms and if Miguel wasn’t holding my hips I might float away.
I throw my arms around his neck and open my mouth to him when his tongue presses against my lips. He tastes like the dinner we had, but earthier, and the hint of cinnamon I will forever associate with him. Spicy, slightly sweet, and delicious.
Miguel leans forward and my ass cuts into the edge of the counter. The hard press of his body reveals Miguel is as turned on as I am.
Hands wander, bodies connect, and before I can decide between getting naked or falling to my knees, Miguel leans down and lifts me by the thighs onto the counter.
He steps between my open legs, I tuck my chin to keep kissing him, and after a deep, sensual moan lifts from my throat, Miguel takes a full step backwards.
His amber eyes are black and they’re drinking me in with awe, and flickers of apprehension. His hand shakes as he raises it up to weakly point at me like I’ve broken some universal hold he’s clung to.
Miguel’s head shakes in tiny twitches from side to side.
All the air in my lungs sits suspended as I wait for his response.
"Laney," he says, chest heaving. His hand leaves the space between us and he touches his lips, like he’s confirming they were pressed against mine moments ago. His eyes burn into me and I see the confusion there.
I feel it too.
I never knew a kiss could feel like every star in the universe shone brighter the moment we connected.
"Princess," he whispers as he gathers himself. I see him wanting to shutter himself closed while the nickname pulls at my heart to stay open to him. "If we do this. I won't be able to stop, I'm not strong enough, so if you don't want this to go any further you need to say something right now."
"No." I insist.
"No? We’re done?"
"No!"
"We’re not done?" His eyebrows collapse together in confusion.
"Yes."
"Laney, help me out here. I need more than one word."
My lips are buzzing so I lick them and force myself to breathe as normally as possible.
"I kissed you." I report.
"Yes."
I smile because he’s just as dumbstruck as I am.
"So, yes, I want more."
"How much more?" His Adam's apple bobs in his throat.
I spread my legs a little wider, feeling like a fucking goddess. Miguel's gaze falls to my core and his whiskey eyes somehow darken further.
"Be a good girl and take my shirt off." I cross my arms in front of me and grasp the hem of his t-shirt. "Slowly."
With each inch I lift the shirt I see his grip tighten on the counter across from me. There is a chance he snaps the marble clean off.
I lose sight of him for a moment as I drag the cotton over my head. My braid falls from the collar and brushes against my back and I toss the shirt on the counter next to me and pull my braid over my shoulder.
My skin tingles with the awareness of my nakedness, of the sudden exposure to the air conditioned room, and with the knowledge his eyes are on me.
All I can do is remind myself to breathe as Miguel drinks up the view in front of him. His face remains stoic and I can’t tell if he likes what he sees or not.