Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Yep, we’re back in college, back to frenemies who want to fuck again.
BEAU
The June heat in Charleston, South Carolina, makes anyone sweat. My white cotton T-shirt is already soaked.
Damn, don’t let my deodorant fail me, too.
Because it’s not the brutal Southern humidity or the burning sun that’s drenching my pits.
No, it’s the steps I’m taking up the side porch to the exclusive adult shop to see the woman I can’t throw out of my mind.
And trust me, I’ve tried.
The truth is she’s been there for years.
Then, I made it worse.
Now I know my college fantasies about Blair Monroe were a thumbnail tease to the night of the most erotic, real-life, passionate porn we created months ago.
It doesn’t help that we made a video of it. And yes, I watch it. Nightly, I moan to it. Hell, I feared I ruined my phone when I got my happy juice on it.
Five times so far.
My dick keeps threatening to pop boners remembering Blair at the most inappropriate times. Like when I took my niece and nephew toy shopping, and the Hello Kitty toys threatened to turn me on.
What the hell?
After our Valentine’s together, after the Bad Kitty collar and cat tail butt plug Blair wore that night; every kitty reminds me of her.
And every time I eat peanut butter, I remember her, too. How she’s the hottest damn woman who likes it on her cheeseburgers. How she’s the friend who’s kept my secret since college.
How Blair’s the beautiful woman who scored my heart.
Fuck, getting sacked by huge linemen dozens of times to the point my ribs are bruised doesn’t scare me. I’d rather have that crushing pain than confront this.
Delta’s
Where satisfaction is guaranteed
That’s what the brass plaque on the black door reads, and it’s true.
I found satisfaction beyond my wildest dreams here. I found it deep inside Blair Monroe, but I had to leave.
And now I’m back, and my lonely dick is very happy about it.
But my worried mind? I’m dragging in a cocky-as-fuck breath so I can do this. I have to do this.
When I press the doorbell, a chime fills the air. When the heavy, wooden door opens, a behemoth man greets me, “Good afternoon.”
I recognize him. He’s the same guy who was here Valentine’s night.
I step inside, almost nervous to be caught in a high-end sex shop. My paranoia is at epic levels now, and I have every justified reason why. I’m so hunted by the press and fans; it’s insane. Literally, my sanity is slipping over it.
I hide under vintage ball caps, like the TEXACO one I wear.
But I glance left, and thankfully, Blair’s gorgeous twin is the only one in the front parlor. Yeah, we’ve met. Like an angry Uber driver, she delivered the sex toys Blair requested to our suite at The Mercier Hotel. And maybe I should’ve given her twin a tip then because she scowls at me now.
“Hey,” I wave, “nice to see you again.”
Her glare kicks my balls. “Third floor,” she hisses.
Then I turn, and the bouncer at the door growls, “Hurt her more, and I don’t give a fuck if I’m your biggest fan. I’ll break your golden arm.”
Hurt her?
What is he talking about?
Blair and I weren’t a thing.
We were a one-night-only, and she wanted it that way. She insisted. She made me leave.
And yes, I needed to. I had shoulder surgery the next day in Boston. And no, I didn’t want to leave her because I’ve wished for Blair since college.
Do you have an ultimate vacation you dream about? One that would make all the shit worth it? That gives you hope, but secretly, you fear you’ll never go?
That’s Blair.
When I close my eyes, she’s my paradise. She’s where I want to be.
But who in the hell gets a perfect place? Or life? No one. We just get teases of bliss while reality shits over the rest.
“Yeah, man,” I huff. “I’m not here to hurt her.”
I’d never hurt Blair.
Fuck her until I come seeing stars? Yes.
Play pranks on her that make me laugh-cry? You bet.
Hold her all night and never want to let her go? Twice, I’ve done it because she’s the only woman for me.
But hurt her? I’d rather chop off my golden arm.
Trodding up the grand wooden staircase in this historic home, its traditional exterior hides its interior temptations. And though I’ve been no angel when it comes to sex, I met the woman who put me on my knees for it here.
Blair Monroe fucked me into a new man months ago, and I don’t know what to do with him. He’s hungry. He’s lost. He’s determined.
He’s desperate.
I’m a goddamn mess over her, and there’s only one way to survive it again. Just like we did in college, I need to make her my frenemy again because I won’t win loving her.
Winding past the second-floor showroom where I’ll never forget the night I ran into Blair again, I turn and wind my way to the third floor.
I never went up here.
And holy hell.
To my left is a long hallway at the top of the landing. Its polished, wooden floors are pristine. Its white walls gleaming. But the antique black door at the end of the hall hides secrets. You can sense it. I can hear it, too. Spanking flesh and moans fill the air.
“In here.”
But a voice beckons me into a third-floor parlor on my right. It’s full of black leather sex furniture and a swing and stools to watch or fuck.
And shit, I’m sweating even more because…
There she is.
Her beauty punches my heart every time.
Ivory legs crossed, sitting on a padded sex bench. Long raven hair, glamorously draped over one shoulder. Silver, enchanting eyes framed in thick, long lashes. Plump lips painted red like a siren. Curves I crave, ample breasts, and full hips bound tight in a French maid’s lingerie costume.
I stifle my sudden growl, my cock instantly rousing and hungry for her.
She knows that’s my kink.
Blair’s my kink.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bronson.” But she sounds pissed and looks it, too. “Your text said you needed a wild favor from me, so here.” She tosses something. “It’s all you’ll score today.”
Of course, I do a basic catch. On instinct, my eyes radar-lock, my hands forming a diamond shape, soft and big, receiving the box flying into my grasp. I glance down at it.
Fleshlight Stamina Training Unit Lady
in Endurance Gold
Yep, we’re back in college, back to frenemies who want to fuck again.
Like when I got a voicemail saying I was “voted Bama’s best quarterback and won a crimson red Toyota.”
So, when I showed up on May fourth as instructed at the mall entrance for the press and gift, all I found by the glass door was a box with my name on it and a Star Wars toy Yoda doll painted crimson red.
“May the fourth be with you!” Blair jumped out of the bushes, snapping pics, dying of laughter.
So, the following fall semester, Blair would randomly open the door to her dorm, bathroom, or even the library office where she worked and run into cling wrap covered in Vaseline to moisturize her pretty face.
Good times. Good times.
“Thanks.” I tuck the fleshlight under my arm, eyeing her role-play costume. “Will you be cleaning my lady when I’m done?”
She purses her tempting lips. “I don’t do small jobs.”
“Good, because I have a very big one.”
“That’s your infection, not mine.”
“You’re the one who gave it to me three, no, four times in one night.”
“And yet here we are,” she says. “Four months later. I’m cured and not looking for another yeasty problem.”
I chuckle, actually worried if our fucking gave her a yeast infection. But with the way Blair made my dick lusciously sore for days afterward, I bet it was worth it, too.
But the afterward?
“I have another problem,” I tell her.
She bats her lashes. “Can’t find a kitty better than mine? Told you. And sorry, not sorry.”
True, so true.
“And your kitty can’t find a dick better than mine,” I taunt. “I remember lots of moans and squirting and screaming my name. Even got a video to prove it.”
She grins. “I remember giving you pussy so good you almost passed out.”
I grin back. “I remember giving you cock so good; I’m the first you swallowed and took raw.”
“And I’m the first to thrill your virgin ass.”
“And I’m the one who fulfills your kinky, alien fantasy.”
Damn, I love this. There are no filters, no shame between us. I hold nothing back with Blair. But everything else?
I’m struggling.
I love our games. I love our pranks and banter. I love everything with Blair, but I don’t have time.
“And I really loved our new book.” So, I get real with her. I lock to her gaze and share my heart with her. Deep down, she’s always had it. “It was really good, Blair. Like really good. Thank you. I’m honored. I’ve read it five times already.”
This hidden, tender feeling between us?
I fight it, and suddenly, it wells in her eyes, too.
She looks away, casting her gaze over the sex chaise. “Thank you, Beau,” she mutters, her pretty lips trembling, fighting back tears. “That means a lot. And thank you for doing it. You made our book number one. You made my dream come true.”
But something hot bites at my eyes, too.
Like we’re living our dreams.
We should be happy…
But we’re not.
Damnit, I’ve been here mere minutes, but I’m right back in that dorm room with Blair. I’m right back in the hotel suite with her, too. I’m right here again, where I’ve always been with her from the moment she opened her door to me.
I held her roommate, passed out in my arms, while Blair stood there, answering my knock in Hello Kitty pajamas, thick black glasses, and a tattered copy of To Kill A Mockingbird in her grasp.
I’ve loved her ever since.
And I’m right here again, wanting to hold her, wanting to try with her, but my life is too complicated. It’s not as simple as hugs and kisses and fucks and love.
I sold that for a football dream and twenty-two million a year for the next three years.
“I’m glad I could help.” I shove the words up my strangled throat. “I staged it. I mean, I’d already read the book twice and knew fans were filming me, but my smile was legit because you’re a good writer. You made me horny and cry and laugh and love at the same time.”
She quickly swipes a tear off her cheek, still not looking at me. “That’s the power of romance.” Humbly, she shrugs, like she’s embarrassed, barely muttering, “Of pure fiction, right?”
I swallow. I don’t know what to say because it’s not fiction between us.
It’s a fact.
“Beau,” she finally sighs, “what do you want? We were one night only. You’re not supposed to come back.”
She’s right. If I could stay away, if I could resist the temptation of Blair Monroe, I would. I should.
But I can’t.
“I need your help.” And she’s the only person I can say that to and not feel like a shriveled dick about it.
She looks back at me, surprised. “With what?”
For the past three days, I’ve practiced this. I’ve feared this. “I need you to go on a vacation with me. Like a work retreat. We’d leave Monday.”
Her eyes widen. “This Monday? Why? Where? And why the hell are you asking me?”
I glance over my shoulder. The door’s open, so I move to close it behind me. No one can hear this, and my hand, holding a male masturbator, starts sweating as I scan the room.
“Are there cameras in here?” I ask.
“No, it’s totally private.” Her brows furrow, her tone worried. “Beau, what’s going on?”
I vomit it out. It’s been sour in my gut for days.
“My coach is making me go on a retreat before we start training camp in July. It’s like a vacation, but it’s not. I have to go. He’s making me do some counseling and shit since the Super Bowl.”
She shakes her head, confused.
“The counseling is with this guy. He’s a sports guru,” I explain. “I have to do video sessions every morning with him and journal all day. I’m supposed to explore my feelings about my performance.”
I use a mocking tone. It’s how I felt when my coach gave me no choice.
“Can he do that?” Blair asks. “Can your coach make you go on some psycho-babble retreat?”
“Fuck yes,” I scoff. “As he reminded me, when you’re paid twenty-two million a year, you do what you’re goddamn told to do to win games.”
“But what does that have to do with me?”
“Because I’m not going alone.” My stomach knots. I swallow hard. “I’m going with Colton Hawke.” My pulse races. “You know, my wide receiver, my best friend—the one who missed my final throw, the interception that cost us the Super Bowl.”
I plop down in the sex swing, not giving a damn how many people have fucked on it because, I guarantee you, I’m way more fucked than they ever were.
“Hawke and I have to spend ten secluded days together, exploring our feelings, like we’re fucking married,” I explain. “That’s what our coach says because he knows us too well. He’s had staff watching us in the off-season. We haven’t spoken since the game. We haven’t seen each other. We own restaurants and shit together, but I don’t want to see him.
“Colt feels the same way, and our coach smells it like a fart in church. And there’s no fucking way he’ll let us start training camp until we fix the stench. We’d be toxic for the team, and he’s right.”
“So,” Blair’s voice eases, trying to understand. “You need me to go with you? Why? Am I even allowed?”
“Yeah,” I answer, “because Hawke is allowed to bring his girlfriend, Amber. He insisted on it. His manager pushed back against the coach and got him to compromise, and like fuck if I’m going stag now. It’ll make the fucking awkward even worse. I need a girlfriend.”
Blair flinches. I search her eyes. Suddenly, they look scared.
Like she’d rather date Satan than me.
“Like a fake date, a fake girlfriend,” I blurt. “Just for ten days, that’s it. I need someone to be a buffer between me and Hawke.”
It lands in Blair’s eyes, those silver, breathtaking eyes that could always see right through me—the ones that feel like home.
“Beau,” she aims them right at me, “why do you need a buffer from Colton Hawke?”
Why I even try hiding it from her, I don’t know. I’ve always been safe with Blair.
Only Blair.
“Because,” I confess, “he’s the one. He’s the guy I told you about in college.”
Slowly, Blair nods, letting my past and present shitshow rain over her too. She gets it. I need to tell her so much more, but she already understands. “So, I’m your beard?”
“Yes.” I shake my head. “I mean, no. You’re way more than that, and you know it. I’ve had my beard buried in your pussy, and I fucking love it, too, Blair. I can’t forget you, and trust me, I’ve tried. That’s not what this is.”
If you think secretly loving one person is hell, try loving two—for years. One would be a distraction, the other your destruction. And all you do is dream about her and him every lonely day because actually being with them would be a nightmare for all.
But hey, at least you can have football.
“Blair, you’re not my beard.” I plead, “You’re the only woman I trust, and I’m so fucked if you can’t help me. My career, my dream is over if you don’t because there’s no way I can make it ten days around Hawke without shit going sideways forever.”
A tender smile ghosts her lips. “Well, I guess I owe you, don’t I? You made me a bestseller, so now I’m your best beard.”
Fuck, she’ll be saying that for the rest of my life.
But is it true? No. I’m not closeting that I’m gay. I’m closeting I’m bisexual.
What’s the name for that?
In my sport, it’s called “survival.”
So I roll my eyes, go with it, and smile. “Yeah, you owe me. And maybe you can write another bestseller about us while we’re there.”
“Where?”
A thousand pounds lift off my chest.
Is that a yes?
“Belize,” I answer, almost relieved. “Our team owner has a friend who owns a private island there. No press. No cameras. No tourists. No one but a chef and maid who don’t know us from Adam’s house cat. We’ll be trapped on it. Just the four of us, trapped in paradise.”
“How many bedrooms?”
“I don’t know. Why? You have to stay in mine. Fake girlfriend, remember?”
“I’m not sleeping with you, Beau.” Blair shakes her head like I’m threatening her with a pit of snakes. “And I’m not fucking you again, either.”
Why does that sound so sweet and sour?
“Why not?” I smirk. “We can make fake real fun, too.”
“Because fake doesn’t fuck,” she says. “And you don’t do real girlfriends, and I don’t do broken hearts. Not again. I’ll do this to help you, Beau, to make your dream come true, too.” She draws a deep breath. “But I have to help myself as well. If we fuck, I’ll feel too much again. It’ll hurt too much when we have to say goodbye.”
Why does her vulnerability melt my heart and surge my cock?
Oh, I know.
Because Blair Monroe was the fuck of my life, too. And though I have all kinds of feelings, a past, and a secret with Colton Hawke, when it comes to women? Blair Monroe is the one I’m supposed to be with.
I haven’t been with anyone else since our Valentine’s night. I know she’s the one for me—the other love I can’t have.
But hang on…
Tempting her?
Now, that’s a game I can win. That’s a distraction I crave.
“So,” I stand up, “you admit my cock is king and your kitty can’t handle more?”
We can’t admit the truth, the real feelings that overwhelm us. But games? Like hell, we can’t play those.
“We both know I won,” she says. “I’ll always win our kink game.”
“Wanna play another round? Just for fake fun?”
“No,” she chuckles. “I told you, Beau. No fucking, and I mean it.”
“Can I tease you?’
“No.”
I step closer. “Can I taunt you?”
She licks her lips. “No.”
“Can I tempt you?”
“I’ll win that game, too.”
“Wanna bet?”
Usually, I have to be cautious, careful, and straight-laced, but not with Blair. She’s my freedom. She’s my survival. If Blair is by my side for this, I can win.
“I tell you what.” Like she knows it, she says, “We’ll make a bet.”
I lord over her, sitting on a sex bench, one I’m dying to strap her to before I rip that maid’s costume apart, fucking her sweet cunt again like the animals we are.
I can’t forget Blair’s pussy. Her thin black landing strip. Her bare ivory lips. Her soft pink petals. Her clit, a perfect blush pearl. Her opening, a dark rouge heaven. Her taste, tangy sugar until she comes, her little ocean like sweet watery milk pouring over my tongue.
Goddamn, I’m obsessed with her.
Always have been.
Hell, yes, I’m getting hard.
“What’s the bet, Blair?”
I lift a raven lock of her hair, twirling it like ebony silk around my finger, and she falls silent. Her lips part, eyeing my thick erection. I can’t hide it in my jeans inches from her lips.
Yes, it’s June and hot as balls to wear jeans, but I wore them for her. Because I fucked Blair on these jeans like a sacred sex sheet under us.
She remembers, and so do I.
It’s branded on my soul.
When the world of football falls away, I don’t know why I fight this. Why can’t I be with Blair when she’s the one I need?
Well… one of the two I need?
“I bet I can resist you for ten days,” she says.
I hook my finger under her chin, lifting her gaze. “I bet you won’t make it five.”
Fuck, I’m leaking for it. I’m the one who’s tempted. I want everything with Blair.
She wagers, “And if I win?—”
“Us fucking again is the only win, Kitten.”
“No,” she says. “If I win, you have to stop fighting with Colton Hawke. You have to finally kiss and make up.”
Years ago, that night with a busted lip, I told Blair I was in love with Colton, and she held me and my secret.
So, through my tears, I finally confessed that I loved her, too.