We’re lying on the berth in the Boomerang. The hatch is open above us, and the night breeze is cooling the sweat on my skin. I’m lying on my back, looking up at the stars and listening to Anna’s breathing as she dozes beside me.

Ever since the first time I met her, something deep inside my skin has been telling me that eventually this would happen. It’s been a long time coming, but it was inevitable.

What I didn’t bargain for was how goddamn unbelievable it was. I came so hard inside Anna that for a few seconds there I was afraid I’d burst a blood vessel in my brain or something. And I don’t think it’s only because I had to wait so long to have her. It’s never been like this with any woman. And I’ve had a lot of women. Enough to know this is something special.

Anna stirs and snuggles against my chest for warmth. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a woman on this boat. I’ve had a couple of buddies out here with me to go for a sail a few times. But the boat’s like an extension of my house. It’s my place. And more than that. Even more than the house, this boat’s been my refuge. I’ve put all my frustrations, all my fears for the future, all my anger about what might have been, into the physical labor of restoring this thing. It’s part of me.

Somehow, it seems right that Anna’s here with me. After all, she’s the reason I’m back with the Rockets. If she hadn’t agreed to this fake relationship with me, I’d probably still be unsigned, and facing another year of wondering whether I’d ever play pro football again.

“What are you thinking?” Anna murmurs beside me.

I look over to see her sleep-heavy eyes looking at me. “I didn’t know you were awake,” I tell her.

“I wasn’t. But I am now.” She gives me a coy look, and slides her hand down my stomach to my cock, which hardens instantly at her touch.

I'm quick to give into her tempting. In one fluid movement, I’m on top of her, one hand moving down between her legs. She gasps while I groan, as she tightens her hand around me and strokes a couple times.

With a growl, I pull her hand away. My fingers are wet with her juices as I grip her by the hips to lift her up a bit, moving her so the head of my cock positions at her entrance. I grit my teeth, and hear her breath hitch.

“Fuck,” I growl. “Condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” she tells me, her eyes locking on mine. “If you’re clean.”

I pause a second, then nod. “I promise.” I don’t do sex without condoms, so I know for a fact I’m clean. But right now, all I can think about is being inside Anna, so I don’t ask twice as I sink myself into her.

There’s nothing soft about the sex. Almost immediately, we’re both moving, thrusting, rolling, and twisting, our hips meeting in harsh snaps as we fuck, my cock moving in and out of her. Though the berth in this boat is large, it’s still a little cramped in here. But that doesn’t stop either of us.

Anna’s hands grip my thighs, nails digging in, and I brace against her as my hips snap, hard and fast, with every thrust. I mouth her neck, nipping, licking, and biting.

It’s hot and dirty. My body is shuddering before I'm ready for it, but then I hear her muted scream, and I feel her insides convulsing around my cock. I bite down on a moan as the rhythm of my hips stutters, and I climax right behind her.

I lower myself back onto the bed, panting heavily, and she falls against my chest. My arms wrap tightly around her. We don’t speak at all.

* * *

After that first night on the boat, we keep having sex. But we don’t talk about what it means. Anna starts staying over at my house sometimes, and we tell ourselves it’s a good idea for the remaining paparazzi lurking around to see her car parked in my driveway overnight.

The exclusive interview with us airs on WSPR. It’s a big hit. We’re media darlings. Anna’s moved to a better slot at the station. I start training with the team. Everything’s going great.

Which I suppose means that it’s inevitable something will come along to knock me down from the high I’m on.

It’s the week before the first game of the season. I’ve been spending a lot of long hours at the stadium, with practices, weight training, and making sure all my equipment is in good working order. I haven’t seen much of Anna, but we’re planning a quick dinner at my place this evening. After tonight, I probably won’t see her again until game day. She’s promised to be there, in the stands, cheering me on. And even though I know it’s just for show, I’m excited to have her there.

I just got done with a weight training session and I’m walking through the maze of corridors in the basement of the station, heading toward the massage room, when I see a group of cheerleaders coming toward me from the opposite direction. Kayla is among them. I haven’t seen Kayla since that night at the Penalty Box, when she stormed off and took an Uber home because I wouldn’t take her back to my place. She sent me a couple of angry texts the next day, but I didn’t respond. That was the end of it. For me, anyway.

When Kayla sees me, she stops in her tracks and stares daggers. I give her a brief nod and keep walking, but it’s pretty clear she’s not interested in playing nice. She says a couple of words to one of the other cheerleaders and detaches herself from the group as I walk by.

“So,” she hisses, her face contorted into an angry, accusing grimace. “Is the reason you never wanted to take me back to your house because you were cheating on me with that whore you’re engaged to?”

Oh, Jesus.

I guess maybe I’m a dumbass, but it never occurred to me to worry about what I was doing in the months when I was supposedly dating Anna before our engagement. Of course, the timeline would suggest to Kayla that I was fucking her while I was with Anna. I don’t really give a shit what Kayla thinks. But standing here looking at her angry face, I realize she could blow our cover and fuck with the ‘reformed family man’ image Anna and I are trying to portray. My position on the team could be on the line if she goes public and says that I was seeing two women at once.

I have to keep Kayla from taking this any further. But I instinctively know that the more I act like I want her to keep quiet about it, the more likely she is to smell an opportunity to hurt me. I can’t let her realize how much power she could have if she wanted to.

I have to make it seem like a non-issue.

“We never said we were exclusive, Kayla,” I say casually. “You knew things between us were just for fun. I never pretended otherwise.”

“I wonder if your fiancée knows you were fucking me at the same time you were fucking her?” she sneers. “Maybe I should let her know. You think that’s a good idea, Mason?”

“Anna knows everything about me. I don’t keep secrets from her.” I shrug.

She snorts, but a flickering look of disappointment in her eyes shows me I’ve stuck a pin in her idea. “Yeah, I bet,” she murmurs sourly.

“Have a good one, Kayla,” I nod, and keep going toward the massage room. I don’t let out the deep breath I’m holding in until I’m around the corner.

“Motherfucker,” I mutter to myself when I’m out of her sight and hearing range. Let’s hope that worked. Shit, if I didn’t need a massage to relieve the tension before, I sure as hell need one now.

After an hour of having my sore muscles worked on, I head to the locker room for a shower, then back out to my car to go home and start dinner. I stop off at the store for a few last-minute groceries, and when I get back to my place I text Anna and tell her she can stop by anytime.

On the menu tonight is a lot of lean protein, vegetables, and plenty of carbs. I bought one chicken breast for Anna and three for myself. I’ve been eating like a horse lately, which I always do when I’m training hard. I’ve put two pots of water on, one to steam the vegetables and another to boil some pasta. I’m digging out another pan for the chicken when my phone buzzes on the counter beside me. At first, I think it’s a text from Anna, but then I realize it’s actually a phone call.

I pick it up and glance at the number.

It’s my brother Derek.

My stomach flips. Derek never calls me just to chat.

“Little bro!” he yells into the phone when I answer. “How the hell are ya?”

Shit. He’s drunk. I can tell right away.

“Uh, I’m good,” I say, putting down the pan I just took out and leaning against the counter. “How are you?”

“Doin’ great! Doin’ great!”

“Good to hear,” I reply cautiously. He’s got that overly-exuberant tone in his voice that he uses when he’s been drinking. He thinks it will mask the slurring. It doesn’t.

“To what do I owe the honor of this phone call, Der?” I ask. “I’m kind of right in the middle of something.”

“Dude, don’t you have time for your own brother?” he shoots back, sounding hurt. “I haven’t talked to you for months.”

That’s true. And if he was sober, I’d be thrilled to hear from him. But when he’s been drinking, he only calls me for one reason.

“Of course I have time for you,” I say tiredly. “What’s up, Derek?”

“Well, I’ve run into a little bit of bad luck,” he begins, putting on his best aw, shucks act. “Work’s been a little slow, so I got temporarily laid off until things pick up a little.” Translation: he got fired. “And I’m havin’ a little trouble coming up with rent money for this month. I was wondering if you could help me out, little bro. Considering you’re a big pro football player again. Congrats, by the way.”

There’s an implicit reproach in his tone now. An undercurrent of blame that points to me as the brother who always gets everything handed to me, while Derek always gets the shit end of the stick. It’s a couple decades of sibling rivalry, which somehow manages to seep into every conversation we have.

While I’m trying to think of what to say, the doorbell rings, followed by the sound of the front door opening. I know without having to look that it’s Anna. I told her a while ago that it would look weird to the paparazzi if she waited for me to answer when she came over, so she just lets herself in now.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lent Derek money. Or hell, even the dozenth. But I know damn well, without even having to ask, why he got fired from yet another job. And I know damn well what he’s already spent his rent money on.

But if I don’t pay his rent, he’ll be out on the street.

“Give me the name and number of your landlord,” I finally say as Anna comes into the kitchen. She gives me a questioning look, and I shake my head and motion for her to sit down in one of the chairs on the other side of the island. “I’ll send him a check or have the rent money deposited directly into his bank account. Whichever he prefers.”

“Oh, dude, that’s not necessary,” Derek says quickly. “Just put it in my account. I’ll give it to him myself.”

“I don’t think so, Derek.”

“You don’t fucking trust me, do you?” he sneers into the phone. “Mister fucking Perfect thinks he has all the answers. Thinks his shit don’t stink.”

“Derek, I know you’ve been drinking,” I say, making an effort to keep calm. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“So fucking what?” Derek yells, all pretense of why he called abandoned now. “Why do you get to judge every goddamn thing I do? You have no idea what it’s like to be me. You know what? Forget this shit!” I hear something slam in the background on the other end. “I’m not gonna beg you to give a shit about whether I get kicked out of my place. You just sit there in your goddamn mansion and enjoy feeling superior, you piece of shit!”

A second later, a sterile beep signals that the call has ended.

Forgetting for a second that Anna is there, the floodgates of anger finally open. I just manage not to throw my phone against the wall.

“Fuck!” I yell, banging my hand down hard on the countertop.