15. Parker
Parker
Leah is freaking out. It’s written all over her face—the crinkle between her brows, mouth in a straight line as she gets ready for the arena.
Silently, brooding in ways I never do, I watch as she finishes adjusting her riding jacket and steps out the door, without so much as a word uttered in our direction.
“Fuck, this is bad.” I rake my fingers through my hair, cataloging the change in Grady’s demeanor. This man has never, in the months I’ve known him, looked so at peace. Great sex with a firecracker of a woman will soothe even the most troubled soul.
I sure hope he’ll stop being so cold toward her now, even though it is my fault that he has been in the first place. Still, it was all to avoid this. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. The lines were growing blurrier by the day. Now they’ve damn near dissolved.
All of my carefully laid plans went out the window the instant I saw Grady’s face in the low light of our room—eyes glittering as he looked down at her, body visibly relaxed despite his clear awkwardness from being so close to her.
The amazement on his face as she took every spectacular inch he had to give.
He’ll definitely remember it forever. Being here while he experienced the love of a woman for the first time, sharing that moment with him, is something that I’ll certainly never forget.
Stop daydreaming and get going.
Grady is already dressed, wearing a nicely fitted button-down and black jeans. This cleaned-up look is unfair. I can’t help but gawk. His face heats as he catches me.
Interesting.
He kissed me without a thought in the moment, but until now, I could only assume it was just that—acceptable because Leah was involved.
Now? I can’t help but walk toward him, still in nothing but my boxer-briefs.
He doesn’t move, not even a twitch of uncertainty.
When we’re chest-to-chest, I tip my head up to look him in the eye, silently challenging his conviction.
With an audible gulp, his attention falls to my mouth.
Fuck.
“Did you like kissing me?” I keep my voice soft as I lean into him.
He nods, dragging his tongue along his lower lip. I follow the movement, breathless, aching.
Punctuality be damned, this is happening. “Do you want to do it again?”
Our gazes meet for a mere second before our mouths connect. He’s timid, but the pressure is delicious. Slowly, we feel each other out, testing how much we each want this—how much is okay. Only, I know what is comfortable for me, but he won’t give it without guidance.
As I open my mouth, he finds his confidence, tongue slipping between my lips, exactly as I’d hoped.
We groan together, his gravelly voice rumbling in his throat.
My fingers trail a blazing path over the soft fabric of his shirt, descending to his waistband to feel out his reaction.
Kissing is one thing, but I don’t want to scare him off if he’s not ready for more.
The faint jerk of his hips and a nibble on my lower lip are all the confirmation I need.
This man will be my undoing.
Moving both hands to his zipper, I free him from his jeans. Frenzied lust blazes in his eyes as I drop to my knees. When I take him into my mouth, his legs nearly buckle. Fortunately, we’re against a wall so he can steady himself. Something in the way he laces his fingers through my hair breaks me.
I want nothing more than to savor this, revel in how warm he is, cherish the sounds and groans as I drag my tongue along his shaft. But at the moment, we’re not afforded the luxury.
With a free hand, I work myself steadily, building toward my own orgasm as I help him get to the peak.
When he’s close, growing harder than ever, he tries to push me off.
If he thinks I’m not going to swallow everything he has to give me, he’s wrong.
I shake my head and double down, forcing him into the back of my throat.
With a few shallow thrusts, he groans and lets go, pulling me closer.
That’s right, give me everything.
Trembling from the intensity, I moan around him, coating my fist and stomach with my cum. When I pull back, he’s wearing a sated expression, veiled by a hint of surprise.
“Fucking delicious.” I wipe my mouth with a smirk, stepping into the bathroom to turn the shower on. “Let me clean up, then we’ll watch our girl kill this event. Shall we?”
“O-okay,” he responds, eyes hooded.
“What? Did I not do a good enough job? Do you want to fuck me while I shower?” I ask with a slight chuckle.
He bites his lips and exhales. “Wh-wh—” Swallowing his nerves, he grabs his phone.
I say nothing and get mine off the nightstand while the water heats. His text comes immediately.
Hulk:
What is this? What if she doesn’t want us?
He scans my face for a second, troubled gaze dancing across my skin.
“We don’t need to worry about that right now.
After the event, we’ll talk about everything.
And I do mean everything. You need to tell her the truth, and she needs to tell us the truth.
What has happened between us can’t continue if there are still secrets.
Nothing should have happened while there still are.
But that’s neither here nor there. I don’t know about you, but I want this.
” I motion between the two of us. “And that includes Leah.”
“M-me too,” he confirms.
With those two words, the deal is sealed.
I gently press my lips to his cheek. “Let’s just hope she does, too. Now, I really do need to shower, and fast. We’re going to be late.”
He watches me step under the spray and I make sure the glass doesn’t fog up so he can enjoy the show.
We exchange playful, heated looks, and my body tingles under his observation.
This feels so right, so natural. Everything I’ve ever wanted is coming to life, and it only took one shitty hotel room to make it happen.
Who would have guessed?
The crowd is massive. Which makes sense, this is the first eligible Grand Prix show of the year.
Everyone wants to get an early start in hopes of expediting their qualifications.
Our seats are close enough to see without issue, one small perk of being Bridget’s trainer.
The first few competitors run their routines well.
Generally speaking, their scores are decent, ranging in the mid-seventies.
The front-runner is sitting and a staggering eighty-two point nine-one percent.
And then Bridget is announced.
My stomach nearly hits the floor as she wobbles slightly upon entering the arena.
To her credit, she has enough awareness to correct her posture and let Champ move more fluidly than I’ve ever seen.
Still, it’s not great. If she were any other rider, she would likely be disqualified.
Pedigree and pocket lining can only get you so far.
Acid churns in my gut as she sloppily maneuvers through the routine—slightly off-beat, missing cues more often than not.
Grady shakes his head as she fudges a basic transition before the final piaffe.
As the music comes to a stop, she beams an overly confident smile at the single local judge.
Great, that’s her buffer.
Statistically, one judge can only do so much. Shockingly, her final score is a fifty-one point two-five percent. Not enough to count toward her qualification, but better than I expected. She scowls at the panel, huffing as she leaves the arena.
“That was only a mild train wreck. I can’t wait to get my ass handed to me by Henrietta,” I whisper to Grady.
He takes my hand, squeezing gently. It’s a welcome reminder that I’m not alone in my struggles. I’m so lost in the companionable silence that I nearly miss the announcer introducing Leah and Tally.
The first notes start as they enter the arena. Fierce determination is plastered on Leah’s face. Tally bobs her head, showing off as she likes to do.
“I’ll be damned. They’re fucking ready for this,” I say on a breath.
“Perfect,” Grady agrees, without a trace of his stutter to be heard.
I squeeze his hand harder, holding the air in my lungs hostage as they march out the routine.
The crowd is equally enamored, bearing witness to such a spectacle at the hands of an unknown team.
Pride inflates my chest further each time Tally’s hooves land in perfect rhythm.
They’re so in sync it’s unreal, feeding off of one another to drift almost weightlessly from marker to marker.
As the orchestral rendition of her 90s medley ends, Leah contains her emotions—face impassive as she nods to the judges.
The only one who matters today is the man from Italy.
All the rest are American. She needs two scores of at least sixty-seven percent from two international judges to qualify.
If he gives her that today—and after such a clean run, he’d better—she’s halfway there, at least on that aspect.
As the final scores pop up, I watch her chest rise, filling with air as she gasps.
“Eighty-one point five-two percent, Hulk! Holy shit! She’s a fucking rock star!” I wrap my arm around him and clap him on the back. “That’s the second-highest score of the day so far!”
He smiles wide, eyes crinkling at the corners.
This is going to work.
My palms itch, eager for the moment we get to congratulate her.
She’s got to be on cloud nine. I can’t wait to kiss her.
The last few pairs run their routines, and the finals are in for the whole show.
Leah and Tally take third overall, only bested by last year’s World Cup champions and one other well-known pair.
Grady and I shove our way through the dispersing crowd to find her at the stables. She’s in the stall, rubbing Tally down as we arrive. I nearly crush her with a bear hug from behind, and Grady immediately gets to work taking her place as she squeals.
“You did so fucking amazing, Star. God, it was a beautiful sight,” I mumble against her hair.
She chuckles and swats at me. “Put me down. I’m too heavy, you’ll hurt yourself.”
Grady turns to her with a single brow arched, arms folded as his gaze rakes over her body.
“What? You can’t lie. You’ve seen me naked now. There’s more than a few extra pounds hiding back here.” She slaps herself on the ass, laughing a bit too loudly.
“It’s just more for us to grab onto. Besides, you’re not heavy. Hell, Hulk could probably lift you with one arm,” I tease.
She huffs, smile falling into a frown. “We all know last night shouldn’t have happened.” Her attention darts to the ground.
Grady’s jaw works, biting back the sting of her words. I meet his eyes over her head and send him a silent message. Asking him to hold on, to not give up on this. She’s as confused and conflicted as we are.
“Let’s get Tally taken care of, and then the three of us will go back to the hotel, order a ridiculous amount of junk food, and talk.”
She curls her lower lip between her teeth. After a moment, she meets my gaze. “Talk about?”
“Us, our plan… our future. Don’t freak out about it, okay? You did great today and deserve to celebrate. I only hope the things we discuss tonight will boost your morale. For now, let’s take care of the real star.” I nudge her, and she flashes a bright smile at Tally.
Grady already has her fairly situated. The last few bits of her mane are still neatly braided, so we work together to undo them and comb out the long black curls. A few peppermints later, and she’s as content as possible.
Back to the hotel. For better or worse.