18. What Have I Done?
Chapter 18
What Have I Done?
Lo
Mickey offered to close up tomorrow night, and I told him I’d get back to him. Right now, I’m thinking no. Why? Walking into my place now, I am hit with how lonely it feels and want to throat punch or drop kick myself in the head … maybe both.
I all but pushed him back to The Stables. It’s the right thing to do, though.
Hell, I don’t know any of his routines, except I did hear he talks to himself under his breath and gets all angry in the tunnel before they take the field.
I know I did the right thing, for him, for the team … but grrrrr .
And then, my phone chimes.
#68:
I’m not going to sleep until I know you’re home. Safe. Inside. In bed.
Me:
You’re impossible. And bossy. And I’m locking the door now.
#68:
Send proof. Not you locking the door. You. In bed.
Me:
So now you’re security and a perv? Multitasking king.
#68:
Only with you. And yeah. I’m both. Send the damn photo, Brooks.
I send a pic of one leg under the blanket, one sock half off, the edge of the pillow in the frame.
Me:
Satisfied?
#68:
Not even close. But I’ll take it. Sleep.
Me:
You, too. Lights out. Deep breaths. No pacing.
#68:
You make it sound like I’m a madman.
Me:
You’re not. It’s what I’m picturing. And I’d like to know you’re in a peaceful place.
#68:
Come Sunday, I’m coming back to your bed. Just so you know.
Me:
It’ll be ready. But for now … rest. You’ve earned it.
#68:
Goodnight, Lo.
Me:
Goodnight, Grimes. Go win the damn game.
When I get out of the shower, my phone chimes. It’s from him.
#68:
Love you, Lo.
Me:
Love you
Sleep comes easier than I thought it would, and yes, I believe it’s because I’m wearing his tee.
* * *
I wake up to the kind of quiet that feels intentional. Like the world is holding its breath.
Sunlight filters through my curtains in soft gold slants, warming the edge of my sheets and the tip of my nose. For a second, I consider rolling over and pretending it’s Sunday. But my stomach growls, and habit wins.
I drag myself up, pad into the bathroom, and throw my hair into a braid that’s half-presentable. No makeup. Just moisturizer, lip balm, and the sweatshirt Kolby left behind that smells like cedar, sleep, and him.
The stairs creak under my feet like always.
But when I turn the corner into the kitchen, I stop short.
There, on the little round table tucked under the window, sits a jar of wildflowers. Some picked, some probably snagged from the farmers’ market. Bluebells, daisies, those tiny purple things I can never name.
They’re messy. A little overstuffed.
And completely perfect.
Next to them, folded in half and weighted with a smooth river rock from my porch is a note.
My name is written in his handwriting—blocky and bold, like he didn’t trust himself to write something soft.
I unfold the paper, and my breath catches.
Been wanting to get you these since the very first night that perfect storm brought us together.
Haven’t had the chance until now.
From now on, I won’t miss another moment with you.
I am yours,
K
I sink into the chair, heart thudding against ribs. My fingers curl around the note like if I don’t hold tight, it might float away.
Because this … this little slip of vulnerability from a man who built his life out of walls and grit and silence, this is everything.
I take my time basking in this love I’m falling, falling, falling into. So happy that I didn’t force myself to feel even when I questioned if I ever would, if I were even capable.
Mom always told me to trust myself because she did. I’m so glad FOMO didn’t take hold …
I take a picture, wearing his hoodie, holding the flowers, and send it with a text.
Me:
Good morning. And thank you. For the flowers. For the note. For wrecking my heart in the softest way.
#68:
You have no idea what that photo just did to me. I was already up, already stretching, already focused. Now I’m wrecked. Again. I love you in my clothes. And in my world. I meant every damn word. No more missed moments, Lo. Not with you. Not ever.
Swoon …
* * *
The Brewery is packed—wall-to-wall people, the hum of conversation about the game, and locals saying how nice it was to have the team back out and about. Every table’s full, the bar’s double-stacked, and the kitchen is swamped.
It’s good. It’s great. Business is booming, and everyone’s hyped for Sunday. But all I can think about is Monday. When this is over. When the noise dies down. When I can breathe without checking a list in my head or fighting off the ache in my shoulders.
I tell myself to be grateful. I am. Still, I wish the season away. Just for a second. Just for rest.
And Mickie knows it.
He corners me behind the prep counter around seven thirty, drops a hand on my shoulder, and says, “You’re done. You’re going home. Don’t argue. Don’t even look at me.”
“I have the bar and tables?—”
“Maggie took your tables, Riley has the bar and is going to train Iz, and yes, she’s old enough. Go.”
“I have?—”
“Home, Brooks. Now.”
So I go. Begrudgingly.
But when I open the door … the scent hits me first—rosemary, garlic, something warm and slow-roasting. Then the sound—music, low and soft, something old-school and smoky. Sinatra maybe. Or Sam Cooke.
Candles flicker from nearly every surface. There are flowers—more wild blooms, and a few roses—in glass jars, mugs, there’s even a small bouquet in a measuring cup.
As overwhelmingly beautiful as it is, nothing is as stunning as the man in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt that clings in all the right places.
Kolby.
He looks up from where he’s turning something in my cast iron skillet, and when he sees me, he smiles. “Welcome home, Lo.”
I drop my keys—literally. They hit the floor with a clatter.
He chuckles and walks over, wiping his hands on a towel before cupping my face in his palms. His thumbs trace my cheeks, like he’s checking if I’m real.
“What is this?” I whisper.
He kisses my forehead. “We’re not doing together alone.”
I blink fast, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Kolby …”
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like he’s not melting every part of me. “And after? You’re getting in a bath. I already laid out some clothes—sweats and the fuzzy socks with the weird pom-poms.”
“You planned socks?”
“I planned everything. ”
I press my forehead against his chest and breathe him in—home, and salt, and the kind of comfort I didn’t think I’d ever be lucky enough to find … until him.
“You,” I murmur, “are ridiculous.”
“I know.” He kisses the top of my head. “Now go sit down. You don’t lift a damn finger. I got this.”
So I do.
* * *
Kolby Grimes has caused my emotions to bounce all over the place since I met him. Right now, standing in front of my bathtub as he slowly undresses me, all I feel is love.
His eyes rake over my body, and I feel like he’s physically touching me. My whole body is vibrating.
“Not sure I can proceed with the plan of bathing you until I get you a little dirty.”
I feel my chest rise and fall with my breaths. My breasts become heavier, my tummy tightening, and that low pull …
Within seconds, I’m on my back, in my bed, and he’s settled between my thighs with that hot as hell look in his stunning brown eyes. He pushes his hands under my ass and grips tightly as he lifts me to meet his open mouth.
I fist the sheets as he peers up at me, those beautiful eyes framed with thick black lashes—so stunning. My muscles tense in anticipation when his tongue darts out, licks his lips, and then …
“Kolby, ” I cry softly as he continues licking me hard and slow, avoiding my clit, teasing me.
I look down at him, chest rising and falling. “I want you inside me so bad.”
His hand moves now. He pinches my clit between his fingers. I squirm, mouth open with nothing coming out, as he licks and sucks before slowly rolling his tongue along my clit, and then he begins fingering me, but it’s slower this time than it was. And I realize it’s because …
“I’m gonna come.” My knees clamp around his ears, and I fist the sheets
“Fuck, Lo, so hot.” He pushes up onto his knees, bringing me with him, the lower half of my body no longer touching the mattress, and he continues feasting on me.
“You taste so good. I’m gonna eat your pussy every day for the rest of my fucking life.”
“Ohmygod, Kolby …”
I do not hold back, not this time as I feel my release approaching.
Within two licks, it happens.
I’m falling … and being lifted and moved onto my back.
“I want you to come … anywhere you want. Everywhere,” I whimper. “Lie down. I wanna be on top.”
“You wanna ride?”
I nod, and he rolls onto his back, and I straddle him.
I quickly line us up and start descending on his massive, thick, hard erection. I’m a little too full, and it’s a little uncomfortable, but I know what happens next …
“Hold on to me?”
He grips my hips and gives them a squeeze.
Rolling my hips in circles, spreading my legs wider, I place my hand on his hard, muscular abs, looking down at his cock sheathed in my wetness.
“Fuck, Lo, you’re soaked. Ride me faster.”
And I do. I pick up my pace, rising until he’s almost out of me and coming down hard enough that I feel our bodies slap against each other. I do this until my legs are too weak and my insides are starting to tense again. Then I lay forward, against him, and our tongues dive inside of each other’s mouth as he guides my hips back and forth.
“So fucking good.” He sits up with me still on his cock and moves down to the end of the bed.
He stands, growling into my neck, teeth scraping my skin, sending chills down my spine, all in the same moment as his cock is so deep inside of me that I can barely breathe.
I wrap my legs around him, and he turns and heads to the door.
“I want this in the office—you wrapped around me, back against the wall, coming on my cock like this.”
This filthy … beautiful man.
My back presses against the wall as he moves in and out of me so fast and so hard that I completely lose it. I come so hard I swear it’s dizzying.
“Gonna come,” he groans as he opens the door and walks down the hall, my pussy still spasming around his massive erection.
He comes, I feel him, and …
“Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh what?” he asks.
“I think … well, I haven’t taken my temp in days and …”
He slides me off him and sets me on my feet, grabs a handful of tissues, and … cleans between my legs?
“You’re not worried?” I ask.
“Nope.”
Just, nope …
“Let’s get you in the bath before it gets cold.”