Chapter 48
CALLUM
Using Mateo’s advice as a crutch, I reach Alia’s building while the sky overhead is still pink. Two hours and a lonely sunset later, the roses I picked up on the way feel like rocks in my hands. I glance up at the fifth floor where Alia and Irsia live, the unlit windows as dark as nightfall.
Alia hasn’t responded to a single text message. I gather my courage and call her, wishing with every unanswered ring that she’ll give me a chance.
“Hi—”
“Hi, baby, thank god you—”
I’m cut off abruptly when Alia’s sweet voice talks over me and instructs me to leave a message.
Her voicemail.
Disconnecting the call, I lean against the side of the building where I’ve spent my evening hoping to see Alia again. Hopes that are dwindling by the second.
I curse myself for not calling her earlier seeing as I have no idea where she is.
What if she left for India already?
The thought is like an arrow straight to the heart.
I force myself to take deep breaths, suppressing the panic swirling within me.
It’s more likely that she’s out or visiting the Moore house.
With one last look at her apartment, exhaustion settles into my bones.
My emotions have taken a toll on me and I feel physically spent.
The loss on ice topped with the inability to reach the woman I love excoriates wounds I don’t know how to heal.
Throughout the drive home, my mind is mired in thoughts of how to get Alia back. By the time I park on my driveway, I’m both drained and contemplating my options in case I need to follow her across the world to win her over.
I heave my bag out of the trunk, grabbing the roses so I can throw them in a bucket of water. I’m so wrapped up in making plans, I almost miss the huddled form on the porch outside my front door.
“Tots?”
Her head whips up, brown eyes catching the exterior lights that had turned on at sunset.
She scrambles to stand up, swiping her hair out of her face.
There’s dirt on her leggings from where she was sitting on the ground.
I scan her face, noting the slightly wan pallor of her skin.
Without makeup, messy hair in a bun, dressed in her preferred leggings, an oversized sweater, and her Toms, she looks beautiful. Stressed, but beautiful.
Every muscle in my body relaxes at the sight. She’s here. She’s actually here.
“Hi,” she whispers with an awkward wave that makes my heart clench. God, I love her.
“Hi,” I reply, my voice thick and raspy. I step toward her and she does the same. My heart pumps furiously, excitement, hope and elation driving blood to every listless organ. That exhaustion I was battling before? Gone. Turns out, all I needed was one look at Alia to feel alive again.
“I’m sorry I showed up without asking. I. . . I already knew your schedule and I watched the game. Figured you might want. . . I don’t know.” She notices the bouquet I’m still holding. “Why do you have flowers?”
“I went to see you. No one was at the apartment.”
“Irsia’s away for a shoot. And I. . . well. . . I’ve been here.”
“I called you.”
I watch, mild disbelief still lingering while Alia pulls her phone out. Her brows knot momentarily before she answers me.
“It’s dead. I didn’t realize,” she admits, sheepishly gesturing to the device in her hand. I’m still processing her presence. All I can do is keep staring, too afraid of blinking in case I’m having an incredibly realistic fever dream.
She fidgets with her crossbody bag, nibbling at her bottom lip.
“I know we left things unresolved,” she says, tired of waiting for me to open my mouth.
“The thought of you coming back to an empty house didn’t sit well with me.
But I didn’t want to intrude so I stayed out here instead of going inside. If you don’t want me here, I can lea—”
She doesn’t get to finish her sentence. My bag drops from my hand and before it hits the ground, I close the distance between us and sweep her into my embrace. She hangs onto me, arms sliding around my shoulders as I hide my face in her neck. Finally, I can breathe.
“Do you want to talk about the game?” she asks, drawing her open palm up to cup my neck.
I shake my head, nuzzling harder into her. I don’t ever want to let her go. I don’t even want to move. This, right here, with her in my arms? I’m happy to stand like this all night long.
“Are you tired?”
I hum.
“I can come back after you’ve rested.”
“Stay,” I mumble, squeezing her gently once again before straightening. “Stay with me.”
Her expression grows shy. With the tiniest smile, she nods. I don’t bother releasing her hand as we make our way inside. I turn to look at her every few seconds as I lead her up to my bedroom. If I’m being too clingy, Alia doesn’t comment.
“Do you mind if I use your shower?” she asks, gesturing to her pants. “I’d like to get cleaned up before sleeping.”
“Of course,” I reply, pointing toward the attached master suite and the closet nearby. “Pick whatever you like from the closet. I’ll grab you some fresh towels and a toothbrush.”
I get Alia situated with everything she needs and shoot out of the bathroom before I drop to my knees and beg her to let me join her in the shower.
I’m pulling on a clean t-shirt and shorts when I hear the muted rush of water slapping against glass.
Images of a wet and soapy Alia fill my thirsty brain.
I stand at the entrance to my closet, staring at the partially closed door behind which stands the hot, naked woman I’ve lusted after for months.
I’m not proud of the solid minute I spend debating with myself why I shouldn’t push that door open. I backtrack before I lose my man card by acting like an unhinged creep and sit my ass down on the bed.
“She’s doing you a favor by being here, Finnigan,” I mutter to myself.
My traitorous cock twitches at the sound of Alia moving around in a room where I’ve invited no other woman.
My whole leg bounces restlessly as I remind myself of the game-plan.
I can’t afford to screw this up by letting my dick lead the way.
“No orgasms for you until I grovel first,” I declare, glaring at my crotch.
I’m still talking to myself when Alia emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and silk.
The gust of humidity and the scent of my soap distracts me from my thoughts.
When I glance up, my heart skips a beat.
The apology I’d been diligently practicing vanishes in a wisp of smoke, replaced by one word only.
“Alia.”
My voice is reduced to gravel, my body responding to the vision in front of me because Alia stands in my bedroom, shyly picking at my bedroom floor with the tip of her toe, dressed in my jersey. Only in my jersey.
“Hi.” She clasps her hands behind her back and rocks bashfully on her heels, the action causing her delectable tits to bounce gently.
Holy fuck. I never understood why the guys on the team made a big deal about their wives and girlfriends wearing their jerseys. I get it now. I don’t want Alia wearing any other name except mine.
“Is it okay if I borrow this?” She grasps the edge of the jersey between two delicate fingers to gesture to it, the action revealing more of her long legs.
Electric heat sparks at the base of my spine when she saunters towards me, hips swaying.
My eyes draw up the length of her body, taking in her damp hair, the glow of her supple skin, her chocolate gaze soft and molten as they capture mine. “Answer me, Hockey Boy.”
“You can keep the jersey, baby. I’ll buy you ten more. Twenty more. Wear it every day if you want. Wear only this forever.”
She huffs out a quiet laugh, her lips curling as patches of pink color the apples of her cheeks.
“God, I missed your smile,” I confess without shame. “I missed you.”
My hands automatically reach for her hips when she straddles me, sinking her weight onto my lap. I’m iron-hard under her softness, and it is testament to my respect for her that I don’t abandon my plans to talk in favor of spreading her legs and fucking her until her pussy is fused onto my cock.
“I’m sorry you lost the game,” she says, her fingers raking the hair at my nape. She gazes at me with such genuine affection that it acts as a balm over the scorching burn of my loss.
“I played like shit. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“You were distracted because of me?”
“Fucking devastated. Alia, losing the game didn’t hurt as much as thinking you might not want to see me again. I know you’re still mad, and we need to talk. . .”
With a finger pressed against my lips, she gently shushes me. She shakes her head once, displaying the sort of confidence I have not yet seen from her. My pulse skyrockets at the look in her eyes.
“Tomorrow,” she murmurs, tugging my shirt up.
“Wait! I haven’t groveled yet.”
“Later.”
“What the—” My weak protest dies when her fingers chart the contours of my chest, flirting with my nipple.
“I told you I’d be the consolation prize if you lost because of me.
So let me console you.” She bends down to lick the hardened tip and my vision blurs.
My hands fist the comforter so I don’t grab and pin her beneath me.
Heat crawls up my spine when she swirls her tongue along my flat nipple and drags it up. Fuck, she’s good at this.
She kisses me over my heart and I almost blubber out everything I’ve been holding in. That the ache behind my ribs only lessens in her presence. That I’m addicted to feeling wanted by her.
That I love her.
I love her.
I love her.
Taking a deep breath, I find a sliver of control and slip my fingers into her hair instead. She sits up and I hold her steady. Somehow, I find the courage to say the one thing I need to before I lose all sense tonight.
“Thank you for coming home to me.”
Her eyes glaze over with emotion but the smile that stretches across her lips takes my breath away. She glows from the inside out when she laughs, a sound of pure joy and relief.