Chapter 11 #2
"You weren't wearing panties."
"It was laundry day," she lied, a smirk playing on her lips.
I reached her. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed her waist and lifted her, backing her against the soundproofed wall.
She wrapped her legs around me instantly, burying her hands in my hair.
"Hi," she breathed, her nose brushing mine.
"Hi."
I kissed her. It wasn't gentle. It was a collision of frustration and desire. I devoured her mouth, biting her lower lip, tasting the mint of her gum.
She tasted like trouble. She tasted like the only thing that mattered.
My hands roamed over her body, memorizing the shape of her through the bulky hoodie. I slid my hands under the fabric, finding warm, bare skin.
"Did you...?" I asked against her neck.
"Did I what?"
"Wear panties today?"
"Check," she challenged.
I slid my hand down her leggings. I hooked my fingers into the waistband and pulled.
Lace.
"Liar," I growled, nipping her earlobe.
"I changed my mind," she gasped. "I thought you might want to take them off with your teeth."
"Don't tempt me."
"Do it."
The challenge hung in the air.
I looked at the door. Locked. I listened. Silence.
I sank to my knees.
Georgia let out a soft whimper as I pulled her leggings down, taking the lace with them.
I buried my face in her.
The taste of her—sweet, musky, mine—filled my senses.
She bucked against the wall, her hands gripping my shoulders to keep from sliding down.
"Toby," she hissed. "Someone will hear."
"Soundproof walls," I mumbled against her. "Scream all you want."
And she did. She muffled her cries in her sleeve, but I felt them vibrating through her body as I worked her over with my tongue.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was the best high I had ever experienced.
When she finished, shaking and breathless against the wall, I stood up and kissed her hard, tasting myself on her lips.
"Now we're even," I said, adjusting my shirt.
She slumped against the wall, looking wrecked and beautiful.
"I hate you," she whispered, a smile tugging at her mouth.
"No you don't."
"No," she admitted. "I really don't."
The crash came on Friday.
It wasn't a physical crash. It was a collision with reality.
We were leaving the athletic complex separately, per protocol. I had walked out first, heading to my car. Georgia was supposed to wait ten minutes and walk to the bus stop where I would pick her up.
I was unlocking the Rover when a voice called out from the shadows of the parking garage.
"Kincaid."
I froze.
It wasn't Jager. It wasn't Coach.
It was a man in a gray wool coat, holding a briefcase. He looked sleek, expensive, and out of place in Duluth.
My father’s personal attorney. Marcus Thorne.
My stomach dropped to the concrete.
"Marcus," I said, keeping my face blank. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Did my father decide to liquidate another subsidiary?"
Marcus didn't smile. He walked toward me, his heels clicking on the pavement.
"Your father sends his regards. And a query."
"A query?"
"He's noticed some... irregularities in your expenses," Marcus said smoothly. "Specifically, a spike in utility usage at the penthouse. And security logs showing the guest key fob being used daily."
My blood ran cold.
I had covered my tracks with Henri. But I had forgotten about the automated logs sent to the family office in New York.
"I have a roommate," I lied. "A teammate. Needed a place to crash during rehab."
"A teammate," Marcus repeated. He pulled a file from his briefcase. He opened it.
Inside was a grainy photo. It was taken from a distance, probably with a telephoto lens. It showed the Rover pulling out of the garage. In the passenger seat, clearly visible, was a platinum blonde woman.
Georgia.
"Your father is concerned, Toby," Marcus said, closing the file. "He's concerned that you are distracted. He's concerned that you are harboring the daughter of a man he considers a... business rival."
He knew.
"Richard Sterling is the GM," I said, my voice tight. "It's not a rivalry. It's a professional relationship."
"Not anymore," Marcus said. "Rumor has it Sterling is blocking Kincaid Shipping's bid for the new arena logistics contract. Your father is not pleased. And he certainly doesn't want his son sleeping with the enemy."
The threat hung in the air, sharp as a guillotine blade.
"She's not the enemy," I said through gritted teeth.
"To your father, everyone is either an asset or a liability," Marcus said. "Miss Sterling is currently a liability. A very expensive one."
He stepped closer.
"Your trust fund disbursement is scheduled for the day after the draft. That is ten million dollars, Toby. Freedom money. Your father wanted me to remind you that the disbursement is discretionary. It requires his signature."
I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.
"What does he want?"
"He wants the distraction removed," Marcus said simply. "He wants you focused. Alone. If he sees another photo of that girl in your car, or in your apartment... the signature won't happen. And you'll be answering to him for the rest of your life."
Marcus patted my shoulder. It felt like being touched by a snake.
"Think about the long game, Toby. Don't throw away an empire for a college fling."
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.
I stood there, paralyzed.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Georgia: Waiting at the bus stop. It's freezing! Hurry up, driver.
I looked at the text. I looked at the spot where Marcus had stood.
The bubble had burst.
I had promised to catch her. I had promised we were a team.
But now, the price of keeping her wasn't just my career. It was my freedom.
And for the first time since I met her, I wasn't sure if I could afford the cost.
I got into the car. I gripped the wheel.
I had to lie.
I had to lie to Marcus. I had to lie to my father.
And worst of all, I realized as I put the car in gear, I was going to have to lie to Georgia. Because if she knew she was the reason I was going to lose everything... she would leave. She would run to protect me.
And I was selfish enough—desperate enough—that I couldn't let her go.
I drove toward the bus stop, the taste of bile in my throat.
The sneaking around was over. The war had officially begun.