Chapter 22
A Week Apart
Camille
One week later.
“I've got a surprise for you.”
That was the text message Beau had sent me first thing this morning. I asked him what the surprise was, but he didn't reply. It was the first time in a week he'd left me hanging.
His flight was scheduled to arrive from Montreal late this morning. I knew he'd be in town soon, and the idea of seeing him again made me feel like a nervous school-girl about to see her crush all over again.
Butterflies in my stomach.
Never-ending trips to the mirror to make sure I looked good, just in case he sprung in on me.
Panic that I'd go all tongue-tied and mealy-mouthed when I saw him again … hell, if I saw him again! Does he even want to see me again? What if he changed his mind? What if he fucked some cute French-Canadian girl last night in Montreal?
“Camiiiiile. Hey. Camille!”
I snapped out of my daydream when Piper's finger needled at my shoulder.
“Huh? Hey, what's up?”
She pointed at my hand, which continued to hypnotically wipe at the counter-top.
“Dude, I think you've got that counter-top pretty clean by now. You've only been wiping it for the past, oh, ten minutes.”
I gave a chuckle, dipped my rag into the sanitizer bucket and wrung it out again.
“Sorry. Just a little mentally out of it.”
“Mm-hm. Just like you have been for the past week. I'd ask you what's on your mind, but I know you'll just mumble and bumble around and say 'I dunno' some more.”
“Ha … Piper …” I mumbled, and bumbled around to find some other surfaces to wipe down. “You're right. I don't know what's gotten into me.”
“Yup. Sure.” She clicked her tongue and sidled next to me. “You know how I know you're lying?”
I swallowed. “How's that?”
“Well, first of all, you're a terrible liar. But second, and most importantly?” She held the sales report from our morning shift in her hand, and took a gander at the numbers. “You're not even freaking out about our numbers anymore. Used to be your favorite hobby. And now you're just eerily calm about it all.”
She was right: business wasn't bad, per se. But sales weren't where we wanted them yet. We were still chasing that elusive daily profit.
The difference was, I wasn't quite as high-strung or anxious about it as I was before last week.
“Hey, not that I mind,” Piper added. “Because like I've been telling you since the beginning, we weren't going to be insanely successful right out of the gate; it's going to take time. And the important thing is that we're still trending upward. But the fact that you've been strangely cool about it, ever since last week, sure makes me think …”
She didn't finish her thought.
“M-makes you think what?” I asked.
“Oh, I don't know,” Piper demurred. “I'd ask if you were getting laid on the regular, but then, I know that Beau's been out of town and doesn't return until … today, is it? It is today! Isn't it?”
“How'd you know that?” I asked. “I mean—oh, is he really? I er, didn't know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, you are such a terrible liar. It would be funny if it weren't so sad.”
I gave a sigh.
“Alright. So as you've probably guessed, yes, I haven't been totally honest with you about Beau and I.”
I did tell her that I spent the night with Beau after our date. But what I hadn't told her was the part where we agreed to be exclusive for a week. But all week long, I could tell she knew there was more to the story.
“No,” Piper gasped sarcastically. “Really?”
“I didn't want to jinx it! I didn't want you to think that I was this pathetic girl getting my hopes up over this man-slut who doesn't give a damn about me … which he might still very well be, by the way.”
“He's not, by the way, because he's crazy about you, which is exactly what I've been telling you since the very beginning.” She grinned like the Cheshire cat. “But okay, proceed.”
I gave her the full story. How Beau and I hashed out our differences at dinner. The shocking surprise that he knew about the Beau Bradford Blandwagon all along (which did not surprise Piper one bit). How we'd both had crushes on each other throughout school, but convinced ourselves that we hated each other instead.
And, lastly, I told her how Beau spilled his heart and declared that he wanted to reach his potential as a hockey player. Like he was ready to become a man—to commit himself to his job and be the best person he could be. It was convincing. I got swept up in the moment.
Even if I wasn't totally sure I was ready for him. All along I thought that Beau's commitment would be the problem—but suddenly he was saying the right things, and then it was me with the cold feet.
But Beau got me to commit to one week. One week to see how things would go—to see if I could live with the idea of dating a professional athlete, or if the jealousy and paranoia would drive me insane.
I came up with a few secret ground-rules. They were secret because I didn't want Beau to follow them just so he could keep me wrapped around his finger. Guys like Beau can't exactly be trusted, after all.
So, if my phone calls ended up suspiciously going straight to voicemail—especially around, say, party o'clock on his off days? It'd be time to cut the cord.
If he didn't answer a text within 48 hours and didn't have a good excuse? Done-zo, see ya, Beau.
If he reinstalled that MeatMarket thing for any reason, and I happened to find out about it? Oh, hell no.
“So?” Piper asked. “It's been a week! How'd things go?!”
***
How'd things go? Never before in my life had seven days felt so painfully long!
As heart-felt and promising as our goodbye was, I wasn't completely convinced that this whole situation was real. What if we were just experiencing the golden glow that followed some really great, mind-blowing sex? After all, two people can convince themselves of anything after they've shared that part of themselves.
And in the span of only two nights? We'd started as 'enemies' that somehow lured each other into bed for a wild and downright dirty hate-fuck. We'd ended up as, errr, whatever we were the next night—but we were desperate to taste each other's flesh in as many different ways as we could. We climbed out of bed and fucked hard and dirty on the hotel carpet, like we were acting out a replay of the last night's hate-fueled fuck session. We climbed back into bed and fucked slowly, gently, with our eyes locked on each other—almost as if we were dumb enough to actually starting falling in love with each other.
… Yeah. Fair to say, a lot of emotions were involved. And I knew better than to trust those emotions one bit.
So I made sure to give Beau a long leash. Or maybe it wasn't a leash I was giving him, but rather enough rope to hang himself. To see if the bad boy's old habits resurfaced as soon as he got a little distance from his shiny new toy.
But I have to give Beau credit. I wasn't the jealous, crazy mess I was afraid I'd be, and it was all because he stayed well within the bounds of my secret ground-rules.
Towards the end of the first day, he texted me to let me know he'd arrived safe in Boston. I sent him a simple thumbs-up.
Later that night, I was pleasantly surprised when Beau called me and wanted to chat. I told him about my day, even though I was worried it'd be too trivial for a professional athlete. He made millions of dollars being a famous sports star—the hell did he care about the day-to-day of a small-time vegan bakery owner?
But he listened to my worries, my struggles. And he asked questions about the business. And, craziest of all, he cared what I had to say—I could hear it in his voice.
Could he actually be serious?
He told me that he'd already told Hunter he was taking the rest of the year a lot more seriously. He wasn't going to any more clubs, because he didn't want to 'fuck this up.'
This, meaning me and him. I could barely hold back my glee—but still it was a lot to process. I was riding on the post-hookup high and I knew I couldn't trust my feelings.
Then Beau said he had to go—he was wiped from last night and needed to catch up on his sleep. We said goodbye and hung up.
A moment later, my phone buzzed with a text message from Beau. I opened it to see—
“Ohmygod!” I blurted out, laughing uproariously.
Beau had sent me a picture of his pretty cock, fully erect. Fuck he's big, I muttered under my breath as I closely studied him in all his veiny glory. And I actually missed it. Ever miss a body part? I didn't think it was possible until then. Of course I missed the guy it was attached to, too … but … y'know. At the moment, I could've really gone for that dick.
Anyway. The caption read: “Can't sleep. Thinking about you. You said I could send you one dick pic, remember?”
“Yup. Hope you got it out of your system,” I joked back.
“Don't lie Cammy. You know you want more.”
I grinned. “Well, if you feel like sending more, okay …”
He fired back a message immediately: “Show me some tits first.”
Giggling at my wit, I googled a pair of 'some tits' and sent him those instead. “Here's some tits.”
“I meant your tits, obviously,” he answered. “I don't want random tits. I want yours.”
“I don't do nudes,” I answered him.
… But I followed that text by sending him a sneaky shot—with my shirt lifted up to show off my breasts in a red lace demi bra.
Beau replied a few minutes later with a picture of his own: his cock, looking a little less hard, as it laid flat against his muscled navel. A huge, sticky mess of cum splattered his abs and chest.
His message read, “Damn. Thanks. Came so hard to that pic.”
“Oh my God Beau,” I replied, followed by ten tongue emojis.
“Like that?” he answered, wink-face.
“Yummm,” I replied.
“Now I can pass out. Good night for real,” he texted again.
Still staring at the picture of Beau's cum, drizzled all over his clenched abs, I went straight to my bedroom. I hopped under the sheets, snuck my hand under my panties, and ran my finger-tips along my silky folds.
Yow. He gets me worked up.
***
The next day he had his hockey game against Boston. I went to a sports bar and watched, just as I watched the next three games he played on the road.
He played a great game in all three zones. And I don't say that because I'm a hockey analyst or have an eye for the sport, nor could I even tell you what the 'three zones' are, exactly! But I say that because the announcers kept repeating it all night long. They said they almost didn't even recognize him anymore.
Versus Boston, Beau scored the game-winning goal for the Blizzard. A couple hours after the game, Beau called me.
“Did you watch?” he asked, sounding chipper.
“Yes!” I told him. “You were a force out there, Beau! The announcers couldn't believe it! Where are you now?”
“Back at the hotel,” he answered.
“You're not going out tonight?”
“Pff, no. I told you, I'm done with that.” He paused. “So where are you?”
“At my place.”
“What are you wearing?” he asked, and I could hear the sneaky smile that I knew was spreading across his cheeks.
“Beau!” I wailed playfully. But I lowered my voice and gave him his answer. “Just a t-shirt and panties. I'm already in bed.”
“Ooh. What kind of panties?”
I peeked down, modeling my panties as if he could somehow see. “Pink. It's a thong.”
He growled. “Wish I could see them on you.”
“You're going to ask me for a picture now, aren't you?” I teased.
“You know me so well.”
I faked a sigh. “Fine, Beau Bradford.”
I struck a pose, snapped a shot, and sent Beau his picture.
He liked it. A lot. I know because he kept telling me over the phone.
And the two of us got to talking about how we couldn't stop thinking about our little weekend tryst. That led to us talking about how we couldn't wait for the week to be up. Soon, we were talking about what we couldn't wait to do once we saw each other again.
And, before I knew it, the dirty talk had started.
That was the third time Beau managed to get me to try something new. I always thought phone sex sounded so corny. I refused to believe that anyone actually had phone sex, besides the poor women that had to work those depressing hotline numbers.
But with Beau?
“I'm gonna come, Beau,” I panted into the phone, my toes curling. I rubbed my hardening clit in circles, picturing Beau, feeling him, tasting him. “Oh my God I'm coming!”
Beau timed his orgasm with mine. “Oh yeah, yeah!”
***
Imagine five more days like that, and you get the picture.
Hockey-wise, Beau and the rest of the Blizzard were both doing excellently. I didn't miss a single second of any of their games. The announcers were now really starting to take notice of the changes to Beau's approach. I even wrote down some of my favorite comments I heard on the broadcast:
“What in the heck has gotten into Beau Bradford this past week? He looks amazing out there. He looks like a new man.”
“Beau's a player who, in his first few years in this league, rightfully earned himself a reputation as a pest; a player who gladly stooped to chicanery to help his team win. But … look at his play on this goal. Look at the determination he showed. Look at the foot speed, the soft hands, the skill we never even knew he even had! Normally at this level, what you see is what you get with a player. But Beau is showing us he's added a new dimension to his game. This is so rare, folks, we're witnessing something special.”
“It's like Beau Bradford woke up one day and decided to stand up and declare to the hockey world: 'Look at me. I'm serious. I'm the real deal. I can play this game just as good as anyone else in the world.'”
They seemed just as shocked and disbelieving as I was, watching it all unfold.
But it was real.
It was happening.
He was becoming a great player before the world's eyes … and maybe a great boyfriend, a great man, in front of my eyes.
***
Piper clapped her hands giddily. “That's so great, Cammy. But I wish you wouldn't keep things like that from me.”
“I told you why: I'm so afraid of jinxing it.”
“Jinx? Damn, girl, the way things are going, I don't think you have anything to be afraid of.”
“Shhh!” I shushed her.
“Anyhow, I knew you two were a thing, by the way.”
“How the heck would you know a thing like that? I haven't told anybody.”
“I've got a source.” She sealed her lips.
“Sure. Of course you do.” I gave a doubtful laugh. “Unless your 'source' is one of Beau's teammates, I don't think so.”
But Piper's cheeks began to blush and she quickly turned away from me and busied herself.
Wait a minute.
I rushed to her side and yanked on her shirt sleeve. “Piper Eaglestorm!”
She passed me her guilty eyes. “Yes?”
“Are you talking with one of Beau's teammates?”
“Um.” She averted her eyes. “Maybe?”
My jaw fell wide open. “Who?!”
“Jack Cameron,” she muttered.
I remembered him: the hulking, baby-faced defenseman we'd met at the club. The guy whose shoulder she'd fallen asleep on.
“Jack Cameron! Oh my God!” I squealed. “For all the grief you've given me over keeping secrets! You've been secretly dating a Blizzard player of your own?!”
She clicked her tongue. “Well, we're not dating, first of all. We're just friends.”
I folded my arms. “Oh. Right. Sure.”
“Seriously! We haven't done anything together at all. We've only talked, and mostly through texts.”
“Mmm-hm.”
The interrogation would've continued, but the doorbells jangled as the shop door opened.
We both whipped around to see the two men enter.
This time I saw him walk in? My heart swelled fondly and I felt as light as air. Beau, dressed casually but fashionably, wore a huge smile and couldn't keep his eyes off me.
“Camille,” he said at last—and I could barely hold his gaze. His eyes were so ravenous, so powerful, so demanding that I had to look away.
I knew it then: he couldn't wait to get me all to himself. He couldn't wait to run his hands, his mouth and tongue over every inch of my body—instead of just his eyes.
“Hi Beau,” I answered quietly, my throat aching shut. “Good to see you again.”
I turned my eyes to the guy Beau had brought with him. I'd expected Piper's boyfriend, but the man wasn't Jack Cameron. He wasn't Hunter, either.
“And who's this?” I asked.