Chapter Ten

Karrie

I glare at him, knowing that he knows I’m right but won’t say anything. The smirk says it all. I avoid standing next to him. I even avoid sitting with him on the bus, instead going to sit next to Robert, who is already on the bus. Just when I think he is going to go sit in the back, he sits in the same aisle on the other side. He puts his ear buds in and watches something on his phone and by the time I look around we are headed home, back on the plane after winning in Philly three to one. He didn’t score this time, but he did have two assists. His third line is on fire. The reporters are all waiting for them to interview them after the game. Matthew stays out of most of them, choosing to let his other teammates get the spotlight.

I’m standing by the bus thinking this when a reporter comes on with the highlights of the game. While they talk about the new addition, they also point out some of the key top line players that are slacking. There’s also a close shot of Max yelling something at the ref. I can’t make out what he says, but I’m sure it isn’t words of love. There’s another shot of him telling Matthew to fuck off clear as day. Matthew just looks at him, shaking his head. Mr. Cool. That is what the reporters are dubbing him. I smile to myself while the door to the bus opens. I get on, sitting in the front again, grabbing a magazine, this time to read while I wait for the team to get on. Slowly they trickle in. When I feel someone sit next to me, I look up expecting it to be Matthew, but the snide smile of Max makes my insides flop down.

“What? Expecting Mr. Perfect?” he says a bit loud so everyone can hear.

“I’m not expecting anyone actually and if I was expecting Mr. Perfect, he’s definitely not the one sitting next to me,” I tell him, flipping pages on the magazine, not even reading anymore.

“That was funny,” he says, picking a piece of lint off his jacket. “So what did you think of the game?” he asks me, and I’m not sure where he is going with this. I also don’t want to be a bitch either.

“It was good, a great win, especially since their goalie was on a five-game winning streak.” I repeat the statement that I just heard watching the highlights.

“Yeah, it was good to fuck with them.” He smirks when he sees Matthew get on the bus with Phil following him. He takes in the sight of Max next to me and I see a vein in his neck tic. He takes the seat behind me while Phil sits next to him.

The conversation with Max ends the minute I feel two eyes staring through the seat. When we get off the bus at the plane I slow my steps, pretending to be searching for something in my purse, till Max walks ahead of me, walking up the stairs.

“Let’s go.” I hear growled beside me and feel his hand at the base of my back. I’m about to argue with him, but I feel the anger radiating off him.

“I didn’t.” I don’t even finish saying anything before he turns almost black eyes on me.

“Not now.” Is all he says while I climb the stairs to the plane.

I’m almost tempted to go and sit somewhere else, but something tells me this would not bode well for me, so I sit in the first available row. He puts his bag up in the overhead compartment and sits next to me. I look around before I say something, but there are just too many people here, so instead I grab my earphones and put them in, leaning my head against the side of the plane, closing my eyes.

By the time we are dragging our bags into the house, it is way past three a.m. I’m dead on my feet. “I’m so tired,” I say, dumping my bags at the door and kicking off my shoes. I don’t get past the doorway before I’m turned around and I’m in Matthew’s arms. His whole body engulfs me. His smell invades me.

“Don’t do that again,” he hisses out before he kisses me. Actually that’s not a strong enough word. He claims me, he swallows me, he invades me. And I let him. He grabs my waist, picking me up. My legs wrap around his waist while he carries me upstairs to my room. Our lips never leave the other. One of my hands is in his hair, the other around his neck, trying to get closer to him. His tongue plays me like a fiddle. He lets go of my lips to drag his tongue down my neck where he sucks a touch, making my core shiver to his touch.

“Mine.” Is all he says when his legs hit my bed, and my legs come off of him, my knees going into the bed in front of him. My face meets his chest.

I look up at him. His hands push the hair behind my ear, the touch soft and lingering. His thumb then traces my cheekbone.

“Beauty,” he says while his thumb rubs my bottom lip, which still tingles from his kiss. “Get ready for bed,” he says, walking away from me and leaving the room.

I get up, following him to see him walk up the stairs. Well, I guess that answers that question. I close the door softly, going into my bathroom to change and wash the makeup off. I feel like a vampire these days, sleeping most of the day and up at insane times of the night.

I close the light while I rub cream on my hands, walking to bed. I stop in my tracks. There he sits. His back to the headboard, sheets at his waist.

“What are you—” I say, walking to him in my long shirt nightgown.

“Do you have a side you sleep on?” he asks while I stand here staring at his chest. His chest of perfection, I might add. His chest that I would like to sleep on. His chest I would like to put my hands on while I ride him, hard. His chest that I would bite if he were on top of me. “Babe?” he asks me with a twinkle in his eye, like he knows I was thinking about him.

I almost want to squeeze my knees together, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I pull the covers up, seeing that he’s in his boxers, and his cock is ready for that riding I want to do.

“See something you like?” he asks, throwing the covers off of him so I can see him. I curse the gods for making black boxers.

I shrug my shoulders. “Nope,” I huff, pulling the covers on top of me to my neck, fluffing the pillow, “nothing at all.” I close my eyes, trying to find slumber. Instead, I feel a hard body against my back—not just the body but a hard dick. A dick I would like to be very familiar with.

“You can pretend all you want, babe, but I bet if I slid my hand down into your shorts I’d find your pussy wet for me.”

Assface, that’s what he is. Two can play this game. “You probably would. I’ve just finished masturbating before coming to bed.” I smile while I feel his body go tense.

“You didn’t?” he asks.

“You’ll never know either. Goodnight.” I turn back around and close my eyes, his groan making me smile to myself right before I fall asleep.

The next day we wake up to the sound of his alarm at nine. “Turn it off,” I mumble while I turn to face him, coming face to face with his chest that I spent the night dreaming about.

He turns the alarm off or presses snooze, I’m not sure because he turns back to face me, pulling me close to him. I snuggle into him, falling asleep again, only to be woken up to his alarm, again.

“Get out.” I push him back. One eye opens, watching him get out of bed. He’s in the same state as he was last night. Alert and saluting. “Go rub one off before practice or you’ll be really uptight.”

“You thinking about my cock?” He smiles, cupping himself.

“Not as much as my pink vibrator in the bathroom. Hey”—I lean up on my elbow—“can you close the door on the way out? You know, just in case.” I smile at him.

“I’m going to find that plastic dick and I’m going to melt it,” he says, walking to the bathroom.

“How do you know it’s plastic? It could be glass. Or it could be a replica of my ex’s.” I want to continue, but I think his head is going to explode. He turns, storming out of the room, slamming the door. Leaving me to giggle to myself. I pick up my phone, texting Vivienne.

Coffee?

Bien sur. Meet you there, same place, oui?

We always meet at the French coffee shop by my house. It’s almost like home according to Vivienne.

À bientôt. I reply I will see you later in French. I get up, going to the bathroom and then downstairs where I find Matthew sitting in the kitchen eating what looks like cereal and fruit with yogurt. He’s already dressed in his workout clothes. I walk over to the coffee pot and pour myself a cup, adding milk to it.

He lifts his gaze from his bowl with a scowl on his face.

“What’s up, buttercup? Did you not drain the snake?” I smile in my cup while he glares at me. “Are you one of those that can’t”—I make a fist in front of me, thrusting—“you know, finish things?” I laugh at him. “It’s okay if that’s what you suffer from.”

He drops his spoon into the bowl and gets up, carrying the bowl with him. He places it in the sink softly then turns around, coming straight to me. “It’s a good thing I have to leave and Phil is picking me up, because I’d show you exactly how I finish.” He leans in, whispering, “All fucking day and night I’d show you till you beg me to stop.”

I stand here mouth open. I got served.

“Bye, babe.” He kisses my lips before walking out to Phil, who has just honked.

“Assface, jerkoff.” I slam my cup down on the counter, and then wipe down the mess I made. “It’s all his fault. Comes into my life”—I rinse his plate—“bossing me around”—I swing the dishwasher open, yanking the drawer out, placing the cups from breakfast in there—“sleeping in my bed.” I slam the door back closed. “Who does he think he is?” I put away the box of cereal he left out. “I’ll tell you who he thinks he is, the boss of me.” I slam the cupboard closed. “He isn’t the boss of me.” I storm upstairs, fixing the bed. “Doesn’t even make the bed.” I throw the pillows to the end of the bed and then continue fixing it. I pick up his pillow, bringing it to my nose, smelling him. “Ugh and he smells good. Piss off,” I tell the pillow, throwing it on the bed. Then like a lightbulb in my head I run to my closet, taking my pink rabbit vibrator out. “I’ll show you fucking all day and night.” I put the vibrator under the covers on his side. “Take that,” I tell the covers.

After I finish, I walk up to my office where I open my computer. I go through the emails that the PR girl has sent me about the travel schedule. There’s a ten-day road trip in three weeks. Then we get five days off. I check the calendar and see if maybe I could get away. I pull up some vacation to Cabo, some to California. I mess around on Facebook. I’m shocked to have a friend request from his sister Allison. I ignore it for a second, wanting to talk to Matthew about this. Noticing the time, I’ve spent four hours doing nothing on the computer. I have to meet Vivienne in less than twenty minutes. I put on a coat of mascara, throw on some yoga pants with a tight camisole, a jacket, and scarf. I make it to the store in record time.

I spot Vivienne right away, her hair the color of a red velvet cake, long to the waist, in bouncy curls. She sits there wearing her black tight jeans, black shirt, and a peach color jacket. Her accessories are all black. I take the seat in front of her while she looks up.

“Enfin.” Finally, she says in French. I air kiss her from my side of the table.

“Please, you probably just got here.” I glance around and then at my phone. “I’m one minute late.”

“I’ve been here for four minutes. You know how I have a phobia about sitting alone in restaurants.” This is true. She won’t even eat in a fast food restaurant by herself. She would rather go through the drive thru and eat in the car. “So tell me”—she looks at me—“no sex yet, I can see.”

I scoff at her. “How can you tell?” I say, grabbing one of the coffee cups on the table. It’s our thing that whoever gets there first buys the coffee and croissants. I pick a piece off, chewing. “I could have spent all night having sex.”

She leans forward on the table. “Chérie”—sweetheart in French—“you wouldn’t be able to walk.”

“I would so be able to walk. Maybe his penis is small.” I cringe because it’s the opposite of the truth.

She slams her hand on the table, drawing attention from the other people in the shop. “Lies.” She pulls out her phone, typing something on it, showing me a picture that Matthew is posing for. He’s in shorts and is flipping over what looks like a tractor tire. His abs are so defined you can see each muscle. His arms are huge with drops of water shining in the sun. The sweat leaking down all over him, his stare is on the camera and not on the tire that might break his nose. “This doesn’t come avec une petit penis,” she says small penis in French in case the French owners can’t understand her.

I sit back in my chair about to answer her when my phone rings. “Hello.”

“Where are you?” is barked out.

“Well, hello, sunshine.” I roll my eyes.

“You aren’t home?”

“Wow, aren’t you Sherlock Holmes. What is the problem?”

“I’m home.”

“Okay.” I peer at Vivienne, who is snickering like she is drunk. “So you're home. I still don’t understand. What do you want?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m out with my friend having coffee.”

“Where? I’ll come meet you.”

I’m already shaking my head while Vivienne yells out the coffee shop’s name.

“See you in five.” And he disconnects.

“Great.” I put the phone down. “Thanks for that!”

“De rien,” she says I’m welcome.

I get up, going to the counter and ordering two more croissants. I sit down and am about to take a bite when I hear the bell over the door chime. I know right away it’s him because I see Vivienne’s eyes almost bulge out of her head and her mouth hangs open.

“Hey, babe,” he says, kissing my lips and sitting next to me.

“We are in public.” I point out to him. “Anyone can see.”

He shrugs his shoulders, picking the hat off his head to scratch it and then putting it backward.

“Menteuse!”You liar, Vivienne yells next to me. “He is so hot.”

I roll my eyes while Matthew puts his arm around my chair and moves his thumb against my back. “He’s not that hot.”

Vivienne laughs at me, leaning in. “Did you go to the optometrist again and they put that dye in your eye making you see blurry?” she asks me with a serious face.

“No. Meet my friend Vivienne.”

He smiles.

“The last time she did that exam she broke her foot walking into her bedroom door.” She laughs, picking up her coffee cup. “Remember you had to get that scooter for your foot?”

“Okay, so this has been fun,” I say, getting up.

“Relax, sit down,” Matthew says, leaning in to grab a croissant and chewing it. “These are awesome.”

“They are,” I agree with him, sipping my cold coffee.

“So, Matthew, tell me, we were discussing proportion,” Vivienne says. Being French, they have no qualms about discussing sex in the middle of the day in a corner store.

“We were not discussing anything like that.” I try to change the subject, giving Vivienne my narrowed eyes, hoping she gets it.

“Oh, okay. Sorry, we weren’t discussing if you have a big penis or not. Ma faute.” My bad, she ends that sentence.

“She’ll tell you I’m like a horse.”

I roll my eyes.

“Tell her.” He points to Vivienne

“I’m not telling her anything because I don’t know anything. And really, Matthew, a horse?” I watch him smirk.

“Okay, fine, not a horse, but close to it.” He motions with his hands. “Big.”

Vivienne can’t stop laughing and for the next hour the two of them trade sex jokes while I pretend that I’m not with them. By the end of the hour, we have plans to meet up the next time we are home. Which is in about a week.

When we say goodbye Vivienne whispers in my ear, “J'espère que tu vas prendre ton pied!” She did not just tell me she hopes I get properly fucked in the middle of the store.

“I don’t know what she said, but we should do it,” Matthew says, holding my hand while we walk away.

“She said she hopes that the medicine you got for your crabs works.” I smile up at him, then down at our hands. It feels like we’ve been doing this forever, yet last week I didn’t even know him.