Chapter 46
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
boston
I wrap the towel around myself and walk back into the locker room.
Lowesy and Forker are dressed but are shooting the shit as usual.
Saltzy and Caulfield fucked off pretty quickly—Caulfield’s been a little bit off since everything happened with Eej, and that got even worse with the Morgan situation.
Oz and Took shout their goodbyes as they leave, the door closing behind them.
I let out a breath, using my spare towel to dry my hair.
It’s been a couple of days since the incident.
Saltzy has stayed pretty quiet about it, but we’ve all decided that we’re going to tackle this pretty directly once preseason starts.
This season is going to be full of tension and issues.
All of us hating a teammate’s wife, and possibly even a teammate—it’s a recipe for disaster.
None of us know what Tom actually knows. We can only guess.
I pull on my clothes, listening to the conversation.
Forker mentions that Ari is starting school in September and my ears perk up.
Business school. Good for her. I wonder, with a pang of disappointment, if that means she’s high-tailing out of the city, but he clarifies pretty quickly that it’s all online. She’s not going anywhere.
I smile, and I hate that I do.
When I get home, I tackle all my nightly duties on the farm.
I feed the cows because they’re on a later schedule than the rest of the animals, and then bring the dogs into the house to give them their dinner, too.
Wanton crashes right into his bowl because he still hasn’t figured out his brakes, and he sends his food all over the floor.
I just shake my head, because he loves running around to clean it up like a vaccuum. Who am I to stop him?
I start to prepare my own dinner when my phone vibrates on the counter.
I catch one glimpse at her name and am swiping it open before I can blink.
Ariana
Shame. Doesn’t smell like you anymore.
Attached is a picture of her, neck down, in my t-shirt. Her one hand is gently pulling up the fabric, showing me a sliver of bright pink underwear. I bite out a curse, dropping the phone and leaning against the counter by my hands.
She’s trying to kill me. Or provoke me. I’m not sure which is worse.
Me
You know that you shouldn’t be sending me stuff like this anymore.
Ariana
Would you prefer this?
My shirt is now pulled over her chest, being pushed up by a lacy, see-through pink bra. It matches the underwear. I wonder if she bought that set with me in mind, specifically to send these pictures right to my hands.
Me
I’m trying to be good here, sweetheart.
Ariana
Fine, let me come over instead. We can try to be good together.
I drop my head, swearing at myself. What did I start? Why can’t I stop it? Why am I even hesitating before I shoot her down? What if Fork stops by, or Lemmy, or even Lowesy?
I slide the chicken into the oven and finally find the gall to answer.
Me
That’s not a good idea.
She types and deletes, over and over, until she finally responds.
Ariana
Those kinds of ideas are my favourite ideas. Suit yourself, though. I’ll find someone to enjoy this outfit.
I clench my phone in my hand so tightly that I swear it might turn to dust. I lock it, tossing it down the counter.
Now I’m picturing that idiot from the restaurant, that idiot Jared, or any of those idiots she surrounds herself with getting to see her in that.
Getting to touch her in that, like they deserve even a hint of it. Like she bought it for them.
I finish making and eating my dinner, stabbing my fork into my vegetables with vigor.
I almost crack the plate in two at one point.
I eat it in utter silence, nothing but the roaring in my head to entertain me.
I do all the dishes by hand to resist touching that phone.
I dry them and put them away, too. Hours have passed by the time I’m finally on the couch with a glass of whiskey, glaring at the TV screen. It’s then that I admit defeat.
I grab my phone and send her the pin to get to my house.
Me
That better still be on your body when you get here.
Ariana
It better not stay on my body once I do.
She arrives in the car she’s leasing, dressed in leggings and an oversized Pittsburgh sweater. I yank open the front door as she climbs up the porch, eyes burning into mine. She launches herself at me. No discussion. No hello. Just her legs around my waist and her mouth against mine.
I haul her into the house, slamming the door behind us, and book it for the stairs.
We are glued to each other the whole way there, not bothering to come up for air.
Once she’s on the bed, I slowly peel that sweater up her body, seeing the edges of the pink lingerie that landed us right back here, exactly where we shouldn’t be.
I curse, bending down to kiss just under her ribs, tearing that sweater off her frame.
I tear her pants off, too, wanting to see the whole picture that she painted for me in those photos.
My eyes snap up to hers. She smiles wickedly, knowing she looks fucking incredible, that she is incredible, and not caring about what that does to me.
“I want you to know that I never agreed to these coming off,” I say, my voice gravelly. “They’re staying on.”
“Oh?” she asks breathlessly.
“And I want you from behind.”
“Oh!” she says with delight, scrambling to turn around.
I take her hard and fast, my hand skimming down her spine, my fingers bruising the skin of her hips.
She comes for the first time like that. A couple of hours later, after we share a pint of ice cream in the kitchen, she pushes me on the couch and rides me.
That’s the second time she comes. Then, in the shower nearing morning, I fuck her against the tiles, and that’s how she comes for the third time.
The sun is rising as we lie in bed. She smiles over at me, tired and pretty, her hair still damp. She slides her hand against my chest.
“We’re good at sex together,” she tells me.
I chuckle, leaning downward to press my mouth to hers. “I won’t argue with you on that one.”
“Is this still the end of the sentence?” she asks, eyes searching mine. “Because I’ve tried to look elsewhere and nobody else is really doing it for me anymore.”
I go rigid, my jaw pulsing. “Looking elsewhere, huh?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Hasn’t worked out.”
“Good.” I scoff. Don’t like hearing that. Don’t like the images it conjures in my brain.
“We clearly aren’t very good at stopping this.”
“No,” I mumble, reaching over to slide my hand around her body. I tug her to me, running my touch up her back. “We’re not.”
“Can we just…keep doing this?” she asks, pulling back to look at me. “All the rules are the same. No expectations. We don’t tell anyone. Just…do this until it doesn’t feel good anymore.”
I swallow, my knuckles grazing her spine. “Just so you know, I wish it didn’t have to be this complicated. I’d have no qualms about what we’re doing if you weren’t…”
“I know,” she whispers.
“You deserve more than this, Ari.”
“I don’t want more,” she says, eyes glued to my face. “Not right now. Just you.”
I sigh, sliding my hand up her back, gathering her close. She snuggles into my body, wrapping her arms around my neck, tossing a thigh over my hip. I glide my other hand up her leg, resting it on her ass. Nice place to be, to be honest.
“I don’t want this to backfire on us,” I admit, which is much easier to say when I can’t see her face. And it will.
“We won’t let it.”
It will.
“He’ll forgive you,” I say, burying my face in her neck to kiss her there. “Me? Not the same outcome.”
“He won’t know,” she says. Her hand glides through my hair. “Just sex, Boston. That’s all I’ll ever ask for.”
That’s all I can ever give you.
I lean back, catching her mouth with mine the second that I can. This kiss is different, feels a bit more weighted. She slips her tongue in my mouth and I hoist her onto my body, and then I’m on my back and she’s on top of me, that wondrous hair tossed to one side of her head.
“So?” she asks, straddling my hips.
I shoot her a bored look. “We both know that I’ll be answering every single booty call you send me, anyway.”
She grins as I slide my hands to her hips. “Yeah?”
“Might as well admit defeat now,” I say, shrugging. Her smile widens even further, so I brush my thumbs against the swell of her legs.
“That’s the right answer, Boston Black!” she exclaims, hauling herself forward to kiss me.
And I know that I’m ruining my relationship with my best friend every single time our lips touch. I know that I’m going to have to keep lying for days, weeks, months, because of how badly I want her and how selfish I am. I know I’m destroying the people around me by agreeing to this.
We are a bomb, set to go off at the slightest of inconveniences.
But I also know that I’m not stopping, and I’ll be happy to let this be the thing that takes me out.