I SLAM MY locker shut, the sound barely heard over my teammates catching up after practice. It’s so loud I’ve considered bringing noise-cancelling headphones with me just so I can hear myself think.
Despite my workout efforts over the summer, my body still aches like a motherfucker. Every part of me contests every movement I make, each muscle fiber begging me to stop. Although we’ve practiced every day for the last week, the soreness just gets worse.
I kind of love it.
It reminds me that I’m alive, that I’m doing what I love, that my body, while not a young stud anymore, is still capable of competing with them. Six years in the league is long enough to take a beating that makes every penny I make fully earned.
“What’d you do this offseason, Best?” Chauncey slips on his shirt and grins. “You always have the craziest stories, man.”
“I just played it cool, you know? Did a little of this, a little of that . . .” Knocked up Finn’s sister . . .
“Look at you being all discreet,” he says, closing his locker. “Nah, I got you. You’re keeping a low profile.”
“You could say that. What were you up to?”
“Hangin’ around the house, painting the baby’s bedroom, doing some fishin’. Just basic shit, ya know?”
“Life with a wife,” I kid.
“Hell, no,” he says, bursting out laughing. “My girlfriend had me painting. My wife don’t give a shit about paint. She’d just hire someone to come in and do it. Ain’t her money, you know?”
I try to smile, to come up with a joke like I’d usually do, about his girlfriend and his wife taking all his damn money if he doesn’t watch it, but I come up empty. There just doesn’t seem to be a lot funny about it.
I instantly think of Layla and what color she’d choose for our baby’s room and if this is something she’s even thought about.
“You okay, Lucky?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I grab my bag and heave it up on my shoulder as we head towards the door.
“What do you think Coach’s surprise is on Monday? ‘Bring your best selves,’” Chauncey says, mimicking Coach. “If he fucking brings out that Godzilla drill, I might feign a pulled hamstring and sit it out.”
“I bet it is. That or Hammer Time. He hasn’t killed us with that yet.”
“Don’t even talk about that,” he laughs. “I hate that thing. Fucking Miller beat everyone last year. Remember that?” He looks around the locker room. “Speaking of, where’s Finn?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wanted to say hey, get back into the flow of things, but he disappears every day as soon as the reporters leave.” We stand at the bank of elevators, Chauncey needing to take the right one, me the left. “Tell Miller to find me tomorrow.”
“I will.”
The ding is my opening and I nod to my teammate. Getting into the elevator, I hit the “close” button before anyone can join me.
The ride down to the parking garage is quick, and I’m in my car before I have to talk to anyone else. Practice was good, but the high is over and I feel antsy.
Sitting at the gate, waiting for security to let me through, I play a game of chicken with myself.
I can go home and call Layla, or I can do what I really want to do: see her.
She sounds so tired on the phone, I wonder if she’s getting any rest. I was checking out a few web articles about pregnancy and some women want to sleep half the day or more. How can she do that if she’s working and living alone?
Not only that, I miss her. I’ve told myself I don’t, but I do. The Branch that’s with her is different from the Branch on the field or the Branch in public. He’s calmer. Happier. The Branch from before I got into the league. I kinda like him.
I kinda like her.
Glancing at the passenger’s seat, the coffee cake I picked up this morning at the bakery still sitting there, I make up my mind.
The guard releases the gate and I make a last-second decision. I go right when I should probably go left.
I PRESS THE doorbell, clutching the coffee cake, and wait. The hallway is small, more confined than comfortable, with cheap brown carpeting and cold white walls etched with deep, random scratches.
Her laugh sounds through the door, followed by a deep male voice, before she undoes the lock. Her eyes go wide when she sees me. “Branch,” she breathes, gulping.
“Am I interrupting something?” I grind my teeth together, looking over her shoulder. A tall, dark-haired man stands near the sofa, smiling brightly at me. “Who the fuck is that?”
She opens the door and I walk in, squeezing the plastic tin so hard it crackles.
“Branch, this is Max Quinn,” Layla says. “Max, this is Branch.”
“Nice to meet ya.” Max sticks his hand out, his Southern drawl deeper than mine. “I’ve heard a lot about ya. Congratulations on the baby.”
Tossing a glance at Layla out of the corner of my eye, I shake Max’s hand. “Thanks. And who are you?”
“I’m Poppy’s cousin. My buddy, Cane, and I are up here with our wives for a wedding. Poppy left her sunglasses over here and I was in this part of town, so I offered to grab ’em.”
I attempt to control the exhale of breath, but Max notices and grins.
“You’re gonna be fine,” he almost whispers. “Just relax a little. And ease up on the cake, son, or you’re gonna have a mess on your hands.”
He grips my shoulder as he walks by me, telling Layla goodbye. I don’t get involved with them, just work on settling the adrenaline that had me ready to come to blows with Max.
As I listen to her giggle and tell him to come back and visit, it dawns on me this is a real thing. Probably not a one-time deal. How many times will I walk into her home to get the baby and another man will be in there?
The plastic pops again.
What if it’s her husband and he tells me I can’t see my kid? Or didn’t give him a Popsicle and made him cry?
Fuck that guy. I’m gonna kill him and he doesn’t even exist.
I’m losing my damn mind.
“Here,” she says, taking the coffee cake from me. “There’s no sense in abusing a poor dessert.”
Releasing the container, it’s dented and the cream cheese icing is stuck to the top. “Sorry,” I offer sheepishly.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, carrying the cake to the kitchen.
“Why do you think something is wrong?”
“Well, you’re here, for one. And for two, you look like you’re ready to brawl.”
I shrug because I’m not completely sure. Instead of answering, I watch her grab a plate and fork.
Her legs look toned in a pair of white shorts, her yellow top tight against her chest. Her hair is messy in a half-up, half-down thing and her eyes shine even more golden next to her shirt.
Watching her, I can’t help but acknowledge the tightness in my chest. She’s beautiful and sexy and sweet and sincere. But it’s how she makes me feel that’s crazy.
I don’t want to just undress her and lick every part of her body. I want to kiss her, take my time and adore her. I want to take her to a stupid movie or get her coffee cake in the middle of the night.
But why? What’s the point?
“You gonna offer me a piece?” I ask.
“Maybe.” She shoves a forkful in her mouth. “God, this is so good.”
“I love hearing you say that.”
She rolls her eyes, but cuts me a piece anyway. “Here. That’s all you get.”
“Stingy.”
She smiles and goes back to her cake. I take a bite and look around.
Her apartment is small with white walls and muted, feminine touches. The couch is a simple grey with so many pillows I don’t know how she even sits on it. There are images of beaches and skylines and simple artistic drawings adorning the walls, helping to make them not look so dull.
It’s a one-eighty from my house with its large, barren rooms and black and white canvas. I thought modern and sparse was my jam, but I’m not entirely sure now.
“What do you think?” she asks. “I loved the light in here. That’s why I chose this apartment.”
“It’s nice. It’s what I thought your apartment would look like, actually. Pretty. Tasteful.”
“I hope you thought it would be cleaner,” she laughs. “I hate cleaning. Hate it. I’m not good at domestic crap. Callum used to say . . .” She stops when she sees my reaction. “It doesn’t matter what he used to say.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“So,” she says in an attempt to change the subject, “want a drink? Pop? Tea? Decaf?”
“Water?” I ask.
“I’ve drank my weight in water today,” she says, swiping a bottle from the refrigerator. “I read that drinking more water keeping swelling down. Does that make any sense to you?”
“The therapist we use at work says the same thing. It seems counterintuitive, but the owner only hires the best, so I’m assuming she knows her shit.”
I take a long, cool drink and use the time to try to settle my nerves. Being in her home feels different than I thought it would. The cabin felt more like neutral ground. This is completely her domain and I wonder what she would look like in my kitchen.
“How was your first week back?” she asks, getting an orange out of the basket beneath the microwave. “Did it feel like home?”
“Yeah, it did. It was good to get out there with the guys.” She tosses me the fruit. “What’s this for?”
“You should eat it. It’s good for muscle fatigue.”
Layla walks by me and heads back into the living room. I follow, unsure if I’m supposed to bring the water and fruit with me or not. I set them on the counter to be safe.
I hate that I don’t know the rules here, that I don’t know all her little idiosyncrasies. As we sit on the sofa, I look around.
“What color do you want to paint the baby’s room?” I ask, thinking back to the conversation I had with Chauncey.
“What a random question.”
“I know,” I say, feeling a little silly. “I was just curious, that’s all.”
“Well, I thought a pretty light grey would be nice, if the room is bright. If it’s not, then maybe a pale yellow to make it a little cheerier. Both are pretty neutral colors.”
“If the room is bright? You don’t know which you’ll use as the nursery?”
She bites the inside of her cheek and shakes her head. “I’ll be moving before she arrives, so I’ll wait and see.”
My stomach bottoms out, hits the floor, before lodging itself in my throat. “You’re still thinking about moving?”
“I have to, I think. I’ll stay around Chicago,” she says softly. “I just can’t afford the rent here with a baby.”
This time, it’s my heart that hits me over the head. I follow her gaze to the floor, feeling like a complete dipshit for not considering that. Babies are expensive, or so everyone says. She’s a fucking blogger. She can’t make much.
As I look back up at her, my chest tightens and I realize I don’t want her to be too far from me. The thought of not being able to drop by like I did tonight after work or have dinner delivered to her when she says she’s tired like I did on Wednesday really bothers me. Really bothers me.
“It’s fine,” she says, shifting on the sofa. “Really. I wanted to move anyway.”
“I thought you loved it here? You were just telling me how you like to look out the window and watch the people.”
“I do, but not that much. It won’t be that big of a deal. Besides, I might move in with Poppy since she and Finn are still on the outs.”
“They still aren’t talking?”
“Nope. She refuses until he apologizes to her,” she laughs. “She’s so stubborn. Finn met his match with her.”
Warring over what to do, what to offer, what to say, I fiddle with the hem of my shorts. “You know I’ll help you with rent—”
“No.”
My gaze flips to hers. “I can give you what I make a year if you want to make an estimate about child support. You know I’m Branch Best, right?’
“I don’t give a fuck who you are.”
Her words are cast off with an angry tone, intended to cut a little with the sharp edges. Instead, a light has been switched on inside me and I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m not kidding,” she warns.
“I know you’re not.”
She bends her neck and grimaces.
“Your neck still hurt?”
“A little. Not as bad.”
“Face the wall,” I say, guiding her around with my hands. She does as I instruct and moans as I start to work the tense muscles in her shoulders. “How does that feel?”
“Amazing.”
She moves her body so I can get a better angle. I push and pull, kneading and pressing, working her little shoulders around in my hands. Every now and then she sighs or moves in a way that throws a scent of pineapples my way.
It takes everything I have to stay focused on the task at hand and not the task between my legs, as I touch her gorgeous body.
Her back arches as she stretches over her head, her ass scooting back against the couch towards me just enough to catch the spark that’s always ready to go off around her into full blaze. The burn is slow, the embers starting to smolder, as she sits upright again.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice breathless.
“Any time.”
She looks at me over her shoulder, her eyes radiating the same heat that’s coursing through my body. There’s a hunger there, a desire that’s unmistakable.
“Layla?”
She sucks in a breath of the air that’s changing between us more every second. Her lashes flutter, her lips part. Without thinking, my fingertips fall down her spine.
“I’m not sure,” I say, “if I’m not supposed to say this now, but goddamn it if you aren’t fucking beautiful.”
I lift the hem of her shirt just enough to touch the small of her back. She sucks in another breath at the same time as I do, her body flexing against my hand. Both hands grip her waist, the curve of her hip causing me to almost lose my mind.
“Careful, Branch,” she warns breathlessly.
My hands shake, fingers tremble, as I fight with myself about what to do. I want her. Maybe I even need her. But if I do this, it’s gonna blur the fuck out of even more lines that I’m having a hard time seeing as it is.
“If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” I say, letting my finger dip into her soft skin.
“I didn’t say stop. I said—”
Leaning up, I capture her mouth with mine. It’s like an explosion on Independence Day, every firework going off in quick succession.
She moans into my mouth, the sweet taste of her breath causing me to shudder. I bite her lower hip, holding it between my teeth, as I work her shorts down her delectable body.
Arms are flailing, legs moving, as she gets rid of the fabric separating her from me. Off goes her bra and her panties, her mouth moving ferociously against mine.
“Damn it,” I groan. She sucks my tongue into her mouth, nipping at it with her teeth in a way that makes my cock ready to blow.
My pants fall to the floor along with my boxers and my t-shirt goes sailing, landing on the shade of a lamp. The light rattles around on the table. She giggles, never breaking the kiss.
I roam her body with my hands, cupping the globes of her ass, running up the arch of her sides, until her breasts are sitting in my hands. The weight of them, the gentle weight of each, causes a groan to rumble from the depth of my desire to be buried inside this gorgeous woman.
Leaning back on the sofa, I wrap my arms around her and pull her down with me. As her rounded body lies on top of mine, my palm resting against the back of her head, she kisses me like there’s nothing else to do.
The tempo slows, the licks of her tongue coming in longer, thicker strokes. Our lips burn from the onslaught, but not enough to make either of us stop.
As she moves her knees up along my sides, the heat from her pussy hovers over my thickened length. Her wetness leaves a trail down my shaft as she slips her body up.
Gripping both sides of her face, I press my lips against hers in the hardest, most forceful way I can—in a way that causes my chest to pull.
Both palms plant on my chest, she pushes away and sits upright. Her nipples are peaked, her hair spilling around her shoulders. Then she gives me my favorite thing of all: her smile.
“I THINK A condom is pointless, don’t you?” I move my hips against him, watching him grit his teeth. “I mean, I was tested again at the doctor. You?”
He squeezes my hips and his eyes close. “I’m clean.”
Planting my hands on either side of his head, I grip the armrest. Tilting my hips until the head of his cock is positioned at my opening, I toy with him for a minute. “You are so hard, Branch.”
“If you don’t sit down on me soon, I’m going to hold you down and pound the shit out of you.”
My laugh makes him open his eyes. He shoots me a slow, sly smile. “God, I love that.”
“What?” I say, still hovered over him. Every few seconds, he raises his hips, but I pull back far enough so he doesn’t part me.
“Your laugh. It’s so untainted by anything. You’re laughing because you’re laughing, not because you think something I said was funny or drawing attention to yourself.”
“I think I have your attention without laughing, handsome.”
“That you do.” He rises up from his waist and sucks one nipple into his mouth. Propping himself up with one hand, he uses the other to squeeze my breast as he works the beaded nub with his tongue.
“Ah,” I moan, my head falling back.
He scoots us closer to the arm rest so that he’s braced by the sofa. One of my knees digs between the seat and the back, the other leg dangles off the side of the couch. He’s hard, so worked up that his temple is throbbing.
Digging my hands into his thick hair, I press his face harder to my chest. He switches breasts, his hand taking the place of his mouth on the first, kneading it so carefully that I think I’m going to come.
I lift off of him just enough that I can palm his length under me. My body positioned just over the tip, I let my weight fall, crashing down on his shaft.
“God,” I moan, sucking in a hard breath. He bites down on my nipple, tugging it as he groans. We still for a moment, giving me a second to adjust to his size.
My body feels completely full, stretched to an almost painful point, but as he begins to move, I know I haven’t even taken it all.
One hand on each of his shoulders, I rock. With each motion, each subtle flick of his hips below me, a shot of fire scorches me from the inside out.
“You feel amazing,” he says, giving my tits a final squeeze and running his hands down to my hips again. “Your body is perfect.”
I close my eyes and soak up the sensations rioting through me. It’s a wonderful, chaotic feeling to have every nerve ending firing at the same time.
His cock hits the wall of my pussy as I lift and drop onto him in deliberate strokes. As if he knows what I need, he splays a hand just below my belly button and when his thumb presses on my clit, I bite down on my lip.
“Branch,” I warn through gritted teeth. “I need to stop or I’m going to come all over your cock.”
I open my eyes to see a wickedness in his that does nothing but propel me towards an orgasm. He looks at me like he could devour me, his bright blue eyes gleaming with lust.
“Just hearing you say that has me dripping inside you.” He holds the bottom of my ass and raises me up and down, urging me to take quicker strokes. “Are you ready to come, baby?”
Each movement hits the target, the need to climax so strong I can’t even hold my eyes open. I feel his gaze on me, watching my breasts bounce in his face, watching my mouth slack open as I draw closer and closer to the end. Any sense of self-awareness has long left the building as the sound of our bodies, slick with desire, rings through the living room.
“Branch!” I call out, letting him press deeper, farther into my body. “Oh God.”
My jaw aches as I bite down, the eruption starting at the base of my stomach and flowing out until every bit of my body is engulfed in the bliss of climax. A flurry of colors sparkles through my vision, and I’m only faintly aware that he’s calling my name. I only barely hear the groan of his warning, the feel of his hands biting into my skin, the thrust of his hips, or the heat of his body expelling into mine.
Any ability I had to keep moving is long gone, and I sit on top of him as he rides out his own orgasm.
We sit, both panting, our bodies glistening with sweat. At the same moment, we open our eyes. It takes a second for us to smile, for him to reach up and wipe the hair stuck to the side of my face away.
“I know you’re not supposed to say a woman is wrong,” he teases, “but I think I did just prove you wrong.”
“How do you figure?”
“This proves, despite whatever else, we can still have fun together.”
I smack him on the chest and climb off, making a beeline for the bathroom. “I’ve never said we couldn’t have fun. I just said we need to be careful.”
“That wasn’t fun for you?” he shouts after me, a laugh in his voice.
“No. It was awful,” I yell back. Before I can reach the bathroom, I hear his steps coming behind me and squeal as he picks me up and cradles me in his arms.
Looking up at his face, I see something besides the lust. Besides the need. Besides the physical attraction we have to one another. I see something else entirely and it’s that look, that feeling, that worries me.
“If that wasn’t fun, it’s only fair you give me another try,” he says, carrying me down the hallway.
“What do you propose? Blackjack? Rummy? Maybe chess?” I tease.
He kicks open my bedroom door and lays me on the bed. Standing over me, he grins. “Something more like Twister, but you can call it what you want.”
My knees fall to the side as he climbs on top of me. He surprises me by lying next to me.
“I’ve always liked Twister,” I say.
“Seems fitting,” he says, bringing his lips closer. “You know how to twist a man up.”
Before I can ask for an explanation, he kisses me again and I lose myself to him.