27. Whatever You Want
WHATEVER YOU WANT
CHELSEA
The rap at my door is unexpected.
Opening it to find Brett standing there—rumpled, exhausted, wrecked—is a bigger shock than the knock itself.
While I’ve changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, he’s still in the tan suit he wore to the casino, but all his suave sophistication is gone.
His hair’s mussed, like he’s been running his fingers through it constantly since he left me in the stairwell.
His shirt’s rumpled, and the first three buttons at his collar hang open.
The knot in his tie is tugged low and askew.
“Are you all right?”
“Huh?”
I gesture in the general direction of his chest.
“Oh, yeah. I... it was too tight on my neck.” He exhales, seeming defeated. “Look, I just came here because you’re right. My focus should be on making the playoffs. It’s better for me, and for the team, if we stay under the radar. And because I wanted to tell you okay.”
I frown, shaking my head, uncomprehending. “Okay?”
“I’m in. Let’s do this your way.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. My voice is just a whisper. “What way?”
He steps farther inside, turning to shut the door with an almost nervous precision I’m not used to seeing from him. All his easy-goingness is gone.
I wrap my arms around myself at the way he’s looking at me. The cold winter air radiating off his coat makes me shiver.
“You want to suck my cock, right? You want to do this dirty?”
My breath leaves my lungs in an audible rush.
That’s what I asked him for. Daring and dirty and sexy. That’s what I want.
My nod is stiff.
Brett pulls off his coat and the suit jacket beneath it before stepping into the living room. He drapes them over the chair on his way past. The same spot I put his coat the first time he came over. When we watched a movie and used popcorn for target practice and laughed.
There’s none of that levity tonight. The air is thick, crackling with an energy that sets me on edge. Brett’s standing in front of the couch.
Uncrossing my arms, I watch him. He’s already rolled his left sleeve up his forearm, and is working on the right, revealing his tattoos as he goes. Seeing them usually sends something warm sliding through my tummy, but tonight, I’m distracted by the vaguely down-to-business feel of the action.
When he’s done, we stand there in the silence. My breathing is stilted. I’m suddenly and inexplicably nervous.
Brett shoves a hand through his hair, confirming my earlier hypothesis of its disarray. “You want me to order you around or something?”
“I, uh... is that what you would…” I stop myself before I ask if that’s what he’d do with someone else. He’s here for me. He's doing this for me, so I should just tell him to get on with it. Dirty talk is sexy, right?
“Yes.” I lick my lips. “I want you to order me around.”
“Come here.”
I obey, walking toward him, my bare feet almost silent on the hardwood floor. I stop in front of him, waiting like a robot for his next order.
“Take off your shirt,” he says, and it strikes me that he doesn’t quite sound like himself. Not like he sounded in the stairwell, when he told me to turn around, when his voice quaked through me, commanding, but tempting, too. Like a plea wrapped up in an order, one I couldn’t help but grant.
I pull my shirt off and let it fall to the ground.
His gaze drops to my breasts, and his jaw flexes as he swallows. For the first time since he showed up at my door, something flares in their gray-blue depths as they rove my curves, pushed up courtesy of a pink bra.
It’s not overly sexy, just a racerback with a front-closure that I picked up from a sale bin once, but it’s doing the job, holding Brett’s attention, and lighting a spark in my abdomen.
When he raises his eyes, there’s a connection again, and that spark in my belly flickers into a flame.
He places his palm against my cheek, brushing his thumb along my bottom lip.
My breath catches at the soft touch, but as though the slight sound has penetrated his consciousness, he drops his hand, shaking his head like he’s just woken up from a dream. He feels farther away than he did a second ago.
“Get on your knees for me.” Despite the harshness of the order, he reaches back and grabs one of the throw pillows off the couch, tossing it on the ground in front of him. A thoughtful gauntlet.
One that my sore knee thanks him for, but the sweetness of that small consideration gets lost in the wave of uncertainty that sweeps through me as I lower myself to my knees.
His fingers brush the top of my head, and I look up at him.
“I’m just gonna…”
He twists his hand, fisting my hair, and the tug on my scalp isn’t unpleasant. “Is that okay?” he asks.
“Yes.” I reach for his belt again, but with none of the heat and fumbling of earlier.
In the stairwell, I was so full of emotion—anger, insecurity, desperation—that I hadn’t actually been there, not fully. And right now, I get the distinct impression that Brett and I have swapped places.
The brown leather of his belt goes lax on the first try.
“That’s right, baby.”
His button and zipper part easily.
“See how big and hard I am for you?”
He is big, and he is hard, yet something about his words ring hollow. There’s no fire in them. It’s like we’re actors in a really depressing porno.
Was this how he felt when he called things off earlier tonight? This lack of connection?
“I’m gonna fill you up so good.”
When I glance up, he’s not even looking at me. Just staring straight ahead.
“Brett?”
At the sound of his name, he squeezes his eyes closed, exhaling before he looks down at me. I pull my hands back from his pants. Everything feels wrong—not the good kind of dirty. This is the kind that leaves a stain on your soul.
“I can’t do this.”
He lets go of my hair immediately and drops onto the couch.
Seated, he’s almost at eye level. As he searches my face, I can read the defeat there. “I thought this was what you wanted.”
I thought so, too.
“Not like this.” Not like strangers.
It’s never been like that between us before... not even that first night, when we actually were strangers.
His hand cups my cheek, strong and warm, but his voice is hoarse. “Just tell me how you want it, Chels, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll do whatever you want.”
The words come out broken. They remind me of our discussion about his ex-wife. About trying to be what she wanted. About playing the role.
I did that to him. And it breaks my heart. I don’t have the words to apologize, but I try anyway.
“I just want you.”
He stills. Blinks. Then our eyes meet, for real this time. He’s not looking through me anymore, and I’m so relieved to have Brett back, to have him here with me that I lean forward, pressing my lips to his and winding my arms around his neck.
His big hands span my ribcage and he pulls me up into his lap. His kiss fills the cold places inside me, reminding me how good we are together.
It’s the softest meeting of mouths. Unhurried. A leisurely re-acquaintance that doesn’t feel so much like being wanted, as being cherished.
brETT
I never want to let her go.
I pull her even closer, desperate not to lose whatever the hell is happening between the two of us right now.
I came over with some insane notion of giving her what she wants—letting her prove whatever it was she needed to prove in that stairwell.
There are worse things in the world than having an incredible, gorgeous woman use your body to get you both off, right?
But what started out as about the shittiest sexual experience of my life has morphed into something I’ve never felt before. I’m used to women wanting me, but this, whatever this is with Chelsea right now, is so much deeper than just sex.
I’m pretty sure I could sit on this couch with her in my arms for the rest of my life, but my phone’s not about to let me test that theory. It buzzes in my pocket, caught between our thighs. Chelsea laughs, pulling back.
“Is that a phone in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
My hands tighten on her hips. I’m not ready to lose this moment yet.
“You should get that.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to—”
She cuts off my protest with a kiss, even as she reaches into my pocket and pulls out my phone. “Cooper,” she announces, turning the screen to show me.
I frown. Damn. It’s late for him to be calling, and they’re an hour behind. A trickle of unease worms through the peace that filled my chest a moment before.
Chelsea gets to her feet and hands me the phone. “I’m going to give you some privacy. Call if you need me.”
My hand shakes as I accept the video chat.
“Hey, man. It’s past midnight. Are you okay? Is Lainey?”
My brother-in-law looks shell-shocked. “There’s someone here who wants to say hi.”
I catch a glimpse of hospital room, before my sister’s tired face fills the screen. But her winsome smile eases my worry.
“Hey, Uncle Brett.”
Everything in me freezes as she angles the camera down.
“Meet Chloe.”
My heart turns to gelatinous goo and almost oozes through my ribcage at the sight of that squishy little face with a shock of black hair sticking out in every direction. My niece yawns, her tiny fists balled up by her chubby little cheeks, and I’m a goner, all the way in love.
“She’s perfect. Jesus, Lainey. She’s perfect.”
My mind is racing. I need to get to Portland. She needs a hockey jersey. Do they make jerseys that small? What the hell am I talking about? They make anything if you pay them enough.
“Hi, Chloe.”
She snuggles against Lainey, her little mouth puckering like a guppy’s.
“She’s like a little anime baby. Look at all that hair!
Do you think there are flights to Portland right now?
” I glance at my watch. “It’s going to take me at least an hour to pack and get to the airport, but if there’s something leaving in the next few hours, that would get me there before breakfast. And I—”
Lainey’s laugh cuts me off. “Brett, no. I know you’re excited, but even if you could hop a flight this second, Chloe and I aren’t allowed to leave the hospital until the afternoon.”
The announcement jerks my head up. “What? Why? Is something wrong?”
“Just routine observation. Nothing to worry about, I promise. We’ll be home before dinner.”
My breath comes out in a rush of relief. “Okay. See you for dinner.”
“Honestly, you don’t have to—”
“I’ll see you for dinner,” I repeat, and Lainey’s smile is pleased in the second before she tamps it down.
“Fine. If you insist. But if you think I’m cooking for you, you can forget it.”
“What? Do you even understand what I’ve been through since finding out I’m an uncle?
I have to buy a plane ticket, throw some clothes in a suitcase.
Someone’s going to have to chauffeur me to the airport.
And you’re, what, lying around with my adorable niece while people bring you Jello? Selfish, Elaine. Totally selfish.”
Lainey puts Cooper back on, and after a few more minutes of congratulations and baby fawning, I hang up.
Chelsea’s lounging tentatively in the doorway to the living room. “You sound happy,” she ventures.
“I’m an uncle.” I can tell my grin is goofy, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I fucked up the illusion of cool the second I walked through her door tonight, so why start now?
She smiles. “That’s so great. Congratulations.”
“She’s amazing. Definitely the cutest baby on the planet. That’s a totally unbiased opinion, by the way. Her name is Chloe. She’s so little. I’m not sure if Sillinger is going to fit across the back of her Wolfpack jersey. She’s probably too little for a hockey stick, right?”
Chelsea laughs, joining me on the couch and giving my arm a squeeze. “Seeing as how she’s not even a day old, probably. But maybe tomorrow we can go find something a little more age appropriate?”
The fact that she wants to run errands with me, to do such a small, mundane thing, feels really freakin’ big to me right now. “Are you serious? You’ll go shopping with me?”
“Sure. If you want me to.”
“Yeah. That would be great. We’ll go tomorrow morning. I mean, later today. You know what I mean. It’s late, and I’m tired.”
Chelsea stands. “Me too.”
That’s my cue to leave.
I get to my feet, but before I even take a step toward the door, Chelsea wraps my hand in hers. “Let’s go to bed.”
Stunned, I let her tug me down the hall and into her bedroom.
I take the new toothbrush she pulls out of the medicine cabinet, revel in the simple routine of preparing for bed with her beside me—washing her face, brushing her hair, changing into a tank top and shorts, applying some of that strawberry-scented Chapstick of hers.
By the time we crawl into her bed, with her curled up next to me, the backs of her thighs pressed against the front of mine, and my arm slung over her waist, I get the sense we’ve just unlocked a whole different level.
Which is why I’ve got a belly full of nerves when I finally get around to asking her the question I’ve been considering asking since she put her hand in mine and invited me to spend the night.
“Hey, Chels? Did you want to... I mean, you don’t have to or anything, but... would you come with me? To Portland?”
She stiffens in my arms.
“It’s just a quick overnighter,” I assure her, wondering if I’ve overstepped. I’m notorious for rushing shit when it comes to my personal life. This time just feels... different. “I’ll have you back here Sunday afternoon.”
It takes forever for her to answer—the longest ten seconds of my life. But she finally says, “I’d love to,” and my muscles relax. I pull her closer, the faint scent of strawberries teasing my nostrils.
Tomorrow, me and Chelsea are going to meet my niece.