22. Win
22
Win
Six Years Ago
C laps and whoops ricochet through the bleachers as I cut through a cluster of students in track uniforms. Parents’ cheers mix with coaches’ hollers and blaring whistles; the cacophony is static glitching out my brain. I’m drifting outside of myself, moving on auto pilot as my eyes glaze over.
I fucking hate crowds. They’re vicious riptides sucking me into a swirling, disorienting vortex of bodies and noise.
Shivering, I sink deeper into my borrowed hoodie, inhaling the remnants of Remy’s scent. The tension in my shoulders releases a bit. Wearing something of his makes me feel like I’m wrapped safely in his arms. I’ve stolen a total of five hoodies, three sweats and a fuckload of tees, only returning them when they lose his distinct smell.
He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, I think he likes seeing me in his clothes. (I’ve caught him staring at me in them and adjusting himself on more than one occasion.)
My fingers toy with the bag of M&Ms in my front pocket as I ascend the slippery metal steps. The damp cold makes my joints ache and my nose sting. It’s a fucking lie that Florida is sunny and warm year round. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dare venture out in this miserable weather let alone to a school event, but it’s the first home track meet of the season and Remy is competing.
He also doesn’t know I’m here.
I was supposed to have violin, but convincing Mom to let me skip this week’s lesson to support him was entirely too easy. She has to be onto us. The other day, we were in my room waiting for her to go into her office so we could make out but she talked our ears off. When she finally left, she made sure the door stayed open. I’m dreading the day she asks if we’re together. Or worse, tries to give me the safe sex talk.
I’ll. Die.
Suppressing a shudder, I glance up the steep stands. Scattered parents and friends stick to one side while track team members congregate on the opposite around duffle bags, snacks and an absurd amount of shoes. (Why the fuck do they need three pairs of sneakers each?) My eyes snag on a familiar bright blue bag with RS printed in white on the side.
But the boy it belongs to isn’t beside it.
I hesitate at the railing, sneakers screeching as I twist to face the track. Remy mentioned it would be a few hours into the meet before the mile race. Not wanting to throw off his pre-run ritual, I've shown up right before his scheduled event.
Did I miss it?
Panic strangles my lungs as I frantically scan the football field in the center of the track where huddles of athletes warm up. The announcer calls out a five minute warning for the next race but my ears are ringing and my eyes are blurring from the needling drizzle—
My heart fucking skips (more like seizes) in relief when I find him. Ankle in hand, Remy stretches a quad clad in black spandex beneath his flimsy track uniform. Saliva fills my mouth as he switches legs, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Jesus Christ, I can’t pop a boner right now, but fuck he looks good.
He freezes the moment he spots me, jaw going slack.
Then a giant smile overtakes his face.
Instantly, we’re moving: him jogging across the track, barely dodging a cluster of guys doing kinesthetic exercises, and me rushing down dangerously slick stairs, skidding through a puddle until we meet at the waist high fence. The chain link rattles as we both grasp the freezing metal bar. His thumb bumps my pinky, hazel eyes shimmering.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks breathlessly.
Just being close to him thaws the chill. I nudge his thumb back, grinning like a fool.
“I think it’s pretty obvious.”
He shakes his head, cheeks flushed and dewy.
“You hate these things.”
“Yeah, but I like you .” My shaking hand pulls the candy out of my pocket. “And I thought you might need some sugary motivation.”
A pained look crosses his features, throat bobbing. “Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad right now,” he whispers.
I’m going into cardiac arrest. Goddamn him for making me actually consider devouring his perfect mouth in front of everyone. Instead, I suggest something equally idiotic.
“We could go under the bleachers.”
Black pupils swallow all hazel.
A grating crackle shrieks over the loud speakers.
“One minute call for the mile!”
Remy’s head drops back. “Ugh! I wanted a good luck kiss.”
My cheeks heat as I glance around. Athletes jog toward the starting line, taking the attention to the far end of the track. No one is even within earshot.
So I make yet another impulsive fucking decision.
“I’ll make a deal with you.”
His adorably upset pout vanishes.
“I'm listening.”
Biting my lip, I peer up at him through my lashes.
“You win and I’ll give you more than a kiss under the bleachers.”
The corner of his lips lifts. It’s dangerous. Delicious. He takes a step back, fingertips brushing mine as they slip from the railing, our eyes locked.
His tongue skims his teeth.
“Now I have no choice but to win.”
I’m on fucking fire.
He retreats, jogging down the track, throwing one last glance over his shoulder, hazel eyes mirroring the flames consuming me. I should take a seat in the stands but I’m hypnotized by the shift of muscles beneath his loose tank and the curve of his firm ass beneath his shorts.
“Would you look at that? Remy’s suddenly got some pep in his step.”
If I wasn’t already blushing, I certainly am now that I’ve been caught thirsting over Remy by his best friend. Sighing, I side-eye Andrea, who pops a Cheez-It in her mouth, chewing with this annoying smirk that’s steadily grating on my nerves.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She sucks a piece of cracker out of her teeth. “Oh, nothing, Pooh, just the fact that he was sulking and bitching until you showed up and now he’s skipping like a leprechaun with a pot of gold.”
Butterflies attack my insides. My surprise worked! The swarm transforms into poisonous moths. He was sulking and bitching.
“What upset him?”
Chomping on another Cheez-It, she twirls her finger. “Nothing in particular, he’s just in a mood.” She taps the cardboard box against her lip. “Though he did get snippy when Keenan skipped warm up to make out with his girlfriend.”
Remy’s words from minutes ago ring in my ears. I wanted my good luck kiss. The blush returns in full force. I have no fucking idea how to respond to her so I don’t.
She leans her elbows on the fence next to me as we both watch the cluster of runners at the end of the track line up. Seconds later a whistle blares and they’re off. It's impossible to distinguish one guy from the next between the mess of legs and arms, let alone find my boy. Though, it doesn’t take long for them to spread out, allowing a few to shoot to the front.
My heart flutters like I’m the one running as Remy rounds the bend.
Our eyes connect.
He winks.
I melt.
The rest blow past in a clamor panting breaths and rubber on pavement. Remy maintains the lead through the second lap with two others right on his heels. My fingers dance anxiously on the chain link.
Andrea jabs my side.
“What?” I hiss.
“Are you a demon?”
When I simply stare at her in response, she flicks a cracker at my head. I barely dodge it.
“I’m not a fucking demon.”
She's now on her tip-toes, top half bent over the fence. “Did he make a deal with you for a personal record?”
“No...”
Though we did make a deal of some kind.
“Well you’re something because whatever spell you cast is going to have him winning this race, Witchy the Pooh.”
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve continued glaring at her, but there’s an electric pulse of excitement in my veins and my heart has swollen to the point of bursting. So when I smile and roll my eyes, she blinks at me in shock for a second before grinning back, her shoulder pressed against mine as we crane our necks to watch Remy round the bend for the fourth and final time.
I have tunnel vision and it’s solely focused on Remy’s lengthening strides.
One guy hanging off his right speeds up.
Andrea grasps my wrist.
Remy’s arms pump faster.
The bastard keeps pace.
Come on, baby.
“You got this, Rem!” Andrea shouts.
It’s too close. They have less than five feet.
A collective gasp—
Chants become excited cheers and stomps shaking the stands as Remy pulls ahead over the finish line. Andrea throws her arms around my neck, bouncing and shrieking.
“Holy shit, holy shit!” She laughs. “He beat their top runner!”
My entire face splits into the biggest fucking smile. Pride swells in my chest. Before I know it, Andrea is dragging me through a maze of excited parents and sweaty athletes toward a ray of pure sunlight.
Hazel eyes find mine in the crowd and everything else falls away.
But it comes crashing back when Andrea releases me to pounce on him, babbling nonsense. He catches her with a laugh that both warms and bruises my heart.
Because I wish my arms were wrapped around his neck. My lips kissing his cheek as I tell him how incredible he is. My body clutched tightly against his heaving chest, his hot pants in my ear.
As if reading my mind, his smile falters.
My knuckles brush his hip. “First place, huh?”
He wets his lips and I can’t look away.
“I was given some pretty sweet motivation.”
Fucking hell, I need to get him alone.
Andrea peels off my boy and squints suspiciously at him. “What are you talking about?”
Remy shoots me a knowing look. “Don’t worry about it."
Her brow furrows further. “Since when do you keep secrets from me?”
Rather than answer, he slings an arm around my shoulder, steering me toward the parking lot as I pass him the M&Ms. Snickering, he rips the bag open and chomps away. The ground becomes clouds. I’m lighter than air, sparks igniting at every point we connect.
“Remy Sullivan!” she barks. “Where the hell are you going?”
He cranes his neck back. “Can you give Ma my bag? I think she’s still sitting with Coach Mills!”
“That’s not an answer!”
He winks at me for the second time tonight. I’m a puddle.
“You’re the best!” he calls around a mouthful of chocolate.
“You owe me, asshole!”
Laughing and stumbling like drunks, we cut out the side entrance to the student parking.
“Didn’t you ride with Andrea?” I ask.
His hand slides into the back pocket of my jeans. It’s a brand dialing up the heat beneath my skin.
“Yeah, but plans changed when this cute guy showed up.”
“Oh, so you’ll ditch everyone for a cute guy, huh?”
Remy switches to my front pocket, leaning into my neck as he murmurs, “Not just any cute guy. My cute guy, who if I remember correctly promised me something under the bleachers.”
This flirt has me swooning like a Victorian woman.
“But the bleachers are that way,” I protest.
He ignores me and frees my car keys from the tight denim, clicking the fob twice. The taillights of my used Ford glow red. (Mom insisted on the damn boat of a vehicle over the Mustang I begged for because she didn’t want me ending up as ‘ground meat’ in an accident. Her words, not mine.)
Remy climbs into the driver's seat.
“Get in, Cute Guy.”
I snort, “It’s my car, idiot,” and rush to the passenger side. The truck groans as it rumbles to life and aims for the practice field shrouded in darkness behind the stands. The cab bounces as Remy parks beneath the metal labyrinth.
Then he’s hopping out again.
“What are you—”
I’m barely out of the vehicle when he slams into me. One hand fists my hair, yanking my head back while the other possessively cradles my jaw. I gasp as his mouth collides with mine in a desperate kiss.
He tastes like sweat and chocolate and heaven .
“Fuck, I’ve been dying to do that since I saw you,” Remy breathes against my lips, nipping and licking his way to my ear. I shiver, my fingertips digging into his biceps.
“What else?" I pant as his tongue plays with my hoop earring.
A little growl releases from his throat. He rips open the rear passenger door, grasps my waist and hauls me in with him. We’re a tangled, breathless mess, bumbling in the limited space of the backseat. Eventually, I end up straddling him where he reclines in the center seat with his legs spread.
Hooded hazel eyes scan me from my disheveled hair, down my throat, over my heaving chest, to the sliver of space between us.Splayed hands smooth up my thighs.
“I lied,” he whispers, his gaze slowly dragging back up my body. “You’re not cute.”
My stomach twists—
He yanks me flush against the rigid evidence of his arousal. A strangled whimper leaves me as his teeth skim my Adam's apple.
“You’re irresistible.” An open mouthed kiss. “Unreasonably sexy.” A light suck on my pulse. “Fucking gorgeous.”
Each husky word has my cock throbbing against the confines of my jeans. But I can’t voice what I need. What I want. I rock against him, desperate for him to read what my body is demanding as I take his mouth again.
Touch me, touch me, touch me .
One hand glides up my spine and grips the back of my neck, the other tracing the waistband of my jeans beneath my hoodie. Rather than moving toward my fly, he wanders around my hip… to my lower back.
Goosebumps erupt across my skin in sheets. Anticipation sends my nervous system into overdrive. Late night fantasies rush to the surface. Things I’ve only recently started to explore on my own. Does he want them too?
A finger dips into my jeans but not past my briefs.
I bite his full bottom lip and grind against him, encouraging his exploration with a moan. Precum leaks out when he groans, his curious touch pushing my boxers into my crease.
Our tongues dance between open-mouthed pants. The hand on my hip slides to my ass, kneading and urging me to move faster. But all my focus is still zeroed in on that finger inching closer and closer—
There .
My eyes roll to the back of my head at the tentative, featherlight pressure on my hole.
“Good?” he rasps.
I’m too high off the addictive sensations he’s giving me to respond with more than a gasped moan.
“Words, Win.”
Groaning, I arch my spine, forcing his finger to rub me through the briefs again. Fuck .
“I— Y-yeah. Yes. I—”
“You what?” This torturous teasing isn't enough. I want. I want. I want.
“I wasn’t sure if you—”
He circles my rim and thrusts up at the same time, kicking a whimper out of me.
“ Oh god .”
“If I what?”
My nails dig into the skin of his neck, my breath coming in quicker as he repeats the movements over and over.
“Wanted to— yes— touch me— there.”
His fingertip nudges my hole, the rigid length of his cock rutting against mine as his teeth scrape my jaw. “I want to touch and learn all of you if you’ll let me. ”
It’s too much. The pent up storm inside breaks and a torrential downpour of pleasure washes through me. It's embarassing how fast I'm coming but I can't stop. Moaning and gasping into his mouth, I ride out the remains of my orgasm, soaking my briefs while he murmurs, “I’ve got you, don’t stop. I’m right there—”
I feel his cock lurch beneath me as he reaches his climax too, clutching me fully against him without removing his hand from my pants. It takes ages to return to ourselves, our breathing hopelessly erratic.
“That was way better than just a kiss under the bleachers,” he chuckles.
With a groan, I bury my face in his neck. He cradles the back of my head, stroking and swirling patterns on my scalp. Lips press to my temple. “I'm gonna make something clear to you, ok?”
I'm dazed, still floating in bliss as I nod.
“I want you.” A weighted pause. “Like that . I think about it… all the time. Touching you. Tasting you. Making you feel good in every way.”
My heartbeat stumbles over itself.
“I want you too,” I whisper. It’s true, but when I imagine stripping myself bare for him to see my secret scars, the dream morphs into a nightmare. I’m too fucking scared of what he'll think. What he'll say. How could he desire someone so damaged?
I rub my lips through the sweat drying on his skin. “I want you so much, but I don't think I'm ready for… everything yet.”
He nuzzles my hair, breathing me in. “There’s no rush. What we do is more than enough. If you need me to, I'll wait forever for you.”
Sitting back to rest my forehead on his, I graze his lips with mine in silent thanks for his patience. His understanding. His commitment.
Each kiss is a promise that he’ll have all of me. That I belong to him. That my body was made for him.
Only him.