CHAPTER 9

SKYLAR

Jordan’s parents have a beautiful home that sits right on Grand Traverse Bay. Despite it already being on the water, they also have a pool in their backyard. Jordan gave me the grand tour yesterday afternoon. Enormous kitchen. Formal living room decorated with expensive paintings and collectible knickknacks. Man cave complete with 60-inch television, pool table, and a bar. Five large bedrooms are split between two levels. When I ask why so many bedrooms, Jordan informs me he has two siblings, both of which are older.

Last night was nice. We spent the evening sitting around a campfire down by the water. Scott’s friends entertained me with stories of how they met and became best friends. I heard all about their time playing hockey at GLU, the university they’d attended, and how it felt to win the championship two years in a row. They laughed, reminiscing about parties thrown at the house they’d all shared. Laney and Cassie sat back and listened, even though they’d probably heard these same stories a few times. I heard mention of a former girlfriend, someone by the name of Ashley, but Scott was quick to change the subject. I got the impression things between them hadn’t ended on the best note, and it left me wondering if bad breakups were a pattern of his?

Now, I’m lying on a chaise lounge positioned a few feet away from the lake, snapping one photo after the other. The sun is shining, and the girls have joined me. Drinks in hand. Sunscreen slathered on. We lie here and watch the show out on the water.

A short time ago, the guys jumped in the boat and drove off. Chanting something about the need for speed and doing something manly. Cassie goes on to inform me they are merely going waterskiing. I watch with great interest, shielding my eyes to get a better view. With my prescription sunglasses, I have a clear image of their boat and the bodies inside. So far, I like what I’m seeing.

“He looks good out there.” I nudge Cassie and angle my head toward the water, where Brantley is putting on quite the show. “He’s got some impressive moves.”

“Ugh! I swear, I don’t think there’s anything that man can’t do. You should see him in a pair of skates on the ice.” She gets this dreamy look on her face.

“It really is a thing of beauty,” Laney chimes in.

“I’ll admit I may have watched some footage of their games that first night I arrived in Detroit. A man who moves that confidently on the ice must be confident in other areas as well.” I smirk.

“You’ll get no complaints from me.” Cassie smiles like the cat that ate the canary before taking pity on me and giving me a few details. “Okay, I’m not usually one to kiss and tell, but there is this one thing he does that makes me weak in the knees.”

I rest my chin on my palm and listen as she divulges a few details of her sex life with the raven-haired sexual powerhouse that is Brantley Cage. By the time she’s finished describing ‘the move,’ I’ll admit I’m a little damp between my legs, and when I look back out at the man being pulled behind the speedboat, I have a new appreciation for the male form.

After a few moments of appreciative silence, I decide to prod Cassie for some inside information on Scott.

“So, what’s he been up to all these years, besides hockey? I mean, have there been any serious relationships?” I’m curious to know and want to hear that he’s been happy, but I secretly hope her answer is no.

“Well, there was one girl, Ashley, who was really sweet at first, but then things got weird between them. They dated for nearly two years before he broke it off.”

“Wow, two years? That’s a long time…” My voice trails off. “Was he in love with her?”

“I believe he was, to an extent. Look, I’m not going to lie. Scott changed after you left Chicago. Truth be told, he’d changed even before that. But after you left, he became more and more distant. It’s just a guess, but I think he regretted letting you go, and he felt guilty. I don’t know. He never told me what happened between you two, but you know how the rumor mill worked at Leland. I heard enough to put a few pieces together and come up with my own assumptions.” She smiles sadly. “I hated all of it. Hated those asshole friends of his. Hated him for not being man enough to shut them up. Hated you for running away and not fighting for him. I missed you, and I think he did, too, but he didn’t know how to fix it, so he let it eat away at him instead.”

Her words hit me, and for the first time, I look at all of this with a new set of eyes. All this time, I’ve been so focused on how his actions affected me. I never once stopped to consider how my knee-jerk reaction had affected him. I’d broken him, too.

My voice shakes when I ask my next question. “Why do you think he broke up with Ashley?”

“Honestly?” Our eyes meet briefly, and I can only nod. “I don’t think he ever got over you,” she whispers, and we continue watching the guys in silence.

When it is Scott’s turn to ski, I find myself mesmerized by the muscles rippling in his back. I’ve always found Scott to be incredibly good-looking, but time has only made him sexier in my eyes. Having him in a pair of swim trunks affords me the perfect opportunity to soak up every last detail. And being this far away allows me to do it without his knowledge, which seems to embolden me. I stare unabashedly and find that I like everything I’m seeing.

There’s a large tattoo running down his left side; it looks dark and mysterious, and before long, I find myself longing to touch it. Touch it with the tips of my fingers. Run the flat of my tongue over it on my way to other places… His six-pack abs ripple as he hits wave after wave and swerves from side to side like a pro on his skis. Cassie’s last words hang deliciously in the air, and I find that I can’t bring myself to look away, nor do I want to. Geez, Skylar. Get a grip and just breathe. I know what it is. It’s just been a long time since I’ve had sex. Good sex. Panty-ripping. Heart-pounding. Earth-shattering. Hot-as-hell sex. Shaking my head to clear the image of Scott Rivers naked and wet beneath me as my hips gyrate over his hard body, I look up to find the guys have returned to shore and Scott is walking straight toward me.

I bring the camera to my eye and snap at least ten pictures before lowering it back to my lap.

Flashing me a sexy smirk, he stops in front of me and runs a hand through his wet hair. “Let me guess, for posterity’s sake, right?”

I give a non-committal shrug of my shoulders. “Nope. That was for my spank bank.”

The look on his face is priceless, because I know he wasn’t expecting me to say something so crass. His shock turns into laughter as he grabs the towel behind my head and drapes it over his broad shoulders. “Skylar Dennison, whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you want to do,” I murmur to his retreating form. I can’t help but stare as he walks away. Don’t judge. Trust me. You’d be staring, too.

By the way, have I mentioned that he’s soaking wet?

***

I’m still sitting by the water long after Scott went inside the house. I watched him walk away. Wet and hard. Hung. God, he’s SO hung… The way his suit clung to his body, leaving nothing to the imagination as he strolled by, throwing me a cheeky wink because, despite the dark sunglasses I’m hiding behind, he knew where my eyes were glued. It was all I could do to not chase after him and beg him to take me against the door.

Now that Cassie has planted the seed, I can’t stop wondering if maybe he still wants me. What if we’re both thinking the same thing, but we’re both too afraid to admit it? Is it crazy to think that maybe, just maybe, we could treat these two weeks as a free pass? A second chance to finish what we started all those years ago? No strings. No commitments. No promises.

The guys convince Laney and Cassie to join them in the boat for a tour of the bay. They try to tempt me, but I wave them off, needing some time to myself to figure some shit out. It’s not long after they pull away that I find myself moving on autopilot, and before I know it, I’m standing in the hallway outside the room where Scott is staying.

The door is pushed closed, but there’s a two-inch gap where it didn’t shut all the way. Music plays faintly in the background, and from what I can tell, it sounds like The Chainsmokers. Man, I love this song. Scott comes into view, hair wet, towel draped low on his hips showing off the deep indentations that point to the promise land. I lick my lips. Watching while he stands with his back to me, staring out the window. The wet towel hits the floor with a soft thump before he stretches out across the bed. All that gorgeous skin on full display for me to ogle.

I watch, my mouth gaping open wide, as he grasps his thick cock in his hand and gives it an agonizingly slow pull. Stretching it to its full impressive length. With the moves of a fully trained Special Forces agent, I creep forward, careful not to draw attention to myself, or worse yet, end what is about to be the single best thing to ever happen to me in all of my twenty-two years.

For the record, I’ve seen guys touch themselves. But none of them ever looked like Scott Rivers. None of them were made of solid muscle and sexy tattoos. And none of them were sporting the kind of heat that this man is packing south of the border. If you know what I mean.

His bicep muscles flex when his grip tightens and he pumps faster. His hand reaches the end of his straining erection and he pauses to circle the crown of his penis with his thumb, spreading precum all around the tip until it’s slick and shiny and oh so tempting. He resumes pumping, his lean hips flex, and the muscles in his legs and abdomen tighten as his eyes close and a low moan falls past his lips. Lips damp from where the tip of his tongue keeps wetting them. I stare, transfixed as his hips flex up and down as he pumps into his own hand. My own sex throbs painfully between my legs, and for a second I even consider touching myself while watching him work toward his climax. My breathing grows heavy, and when Scott sucks his lower lip between his teeth, I have to cross my legs to ward off my own release. His hand stops, his muscles tightening, as the orgasm takes over. Milky white semen coats the backs of his knuckles, and then I hear moaning followed by the sound of only one name being whispered.

Skylar.