CHAPTER SEVEN
Becca
I open my email, face still burning with humiliation and rage. I’ve thought about it all weekend, and I just need to admit to Rob that I won’t be doing that quarterback story after all. I can’t face Cole James again. I’ll do the fluff piece on the team and be done with it.
I think about going to Mia’s again, but I can’t handle her ‘real talk’ or her messy apartment when I’m hurting. It’s going to be a quiet night at home doing school work and soaking in the tub. It’s hard not thinking about Cole, but every time his face swims through my memory, I shut it down, think about something else.
I send a quick email to Rob in what I hope is a humble enough tone. Not that I feel humble, he just behaves better when I act that way. He was like that in our relationship too. I was never sorry enough. I was always wrong. Living that way is far more damaging than I realized. Is that why I’m willing to accept so little from a man? I shake my head. The whole thing with Cole just seems like a fantasy taken too far. I have to stop.
If only I can shake the disappointment in myself. How can I be so stupid?
Not expecting Rob to respond right away, I’m surprised when my computer pings with his incoming message. I click open the email and stare at my screen in surprise. He says he wants to take me out to dinner, emphasizing that it isn’t in a romantic way, which is a relief. He just wants to have some company during dinner and wants to go over a new article idea. He also apologizes for assigning me the sports story in the first place. He realizes it probably came off as shitty. It did.
I sit back, a little stunned. Rob has been acting like a big, childish man baby ever since the breakup. I don’t quite know what to make of this email. He wants to have dinner and be professional? I read it again, hardly believing the words. I want to pinch myself.
Part of me realizes it’s likely a ploy, but how can I turn down a dinner and conversation about work? He knows how to reel me in. At the same time, I don’t want to get carried away. Maybe Rob is getting over us at last. Maybe he’s make peace with it, and this is how he wants to make it up to me. After a great deal of consideration, I decide to accept the olive branch.
At six, I step into Maria’s, a wonderful little Italian restaurant, glad that the place isn’t too crowded. Rob is already there, and I join him in a booth in the back. He looks nice, I can’t deny it. Smells nice too. He’s a clean cut guy. No tattoos. He works out but isn’t built, just lean. He wears stylish, thick framed glasses, and he has beautiful, warm brown eyes. I’ve missed him a little, though I wonder if I’ve simply missed intimate, male company. There are many things about Rob I don’t miss at all.
“Hey, Bec,” he says as I sit down. He’s already ordered me a glass of wine. A dark, dry red. Not my favorite. It’s a disappointing reminder of how little attention he always paid to what I actually liked.
“Hey,” I say, trying not to sound too glum.
He takes a sip of his own wine and waits for me to settle in my seat and take off my coat. “You look beautiful,” he says, and when I glance up, he looks earnest and sincere.
I don’t feel beautiful. I feel dirty and used, but I thank him anyway.
“Got your email. I should have known that Cole James would refuse an interview. Seems like even a pretty face couldn’t get him to loosen his lips. The guy won’t talk to anyone.”
That had been my excuse. That Cole had simply refused the interview, which is completely true. I just left out the bit where I sucked his cock in his car and went home with him and fucked all night. Nope. I’m not telling him that, not ever.
“It’s okay, Rob,” I say, downing my wine in a few gulps. I try not to shudder and go ‘bleck’ but it’s hard. I’ve never had a taste for dry, red wine. I like the sparkling whites. Sangria. Fruity things. “He just seems like a very private person.”
He shrugs. “Still. He has a reputation for being an asshole. It feels like I threw you to the wolves.” Rob frowns, running his hand over the back of his neck.
“Again, it’s okay.” I just don’t want to argue about it. He has a way of arguing with everything I say, even if I agree with him. “It isn’t going to be a front page article anyway.”
He cocks a brow at me. “No? I think it can be. Why can’t it?”
I feel on edge now. We’d argued about this before. I’m not writing front page material, that’s what he tells me, even though he’s the one assigning me non-front page stories. I’m not about to have that old hat argument again. Just thinking about it makes me tired.
“Look,” he says, smoothing his hair back again. He does that when he’s nervous. “I know things have been… strained between us. But we were friends once, Bec.”
I try not to cringe. He’s being nice, in his way. I’ve told him twenty times if I’ve told him once that I don’t like to be called Bec. “I know,” I say, trying my best not to sound defensive. Again.
Our food comes even though I haven’t ordered. He used to do that when we were dating. I sigh. Maybe my friends are right. Rob is essentially a decent guy and sometimes tried hard to please me. No one is perfect. I’m feeling a little tender and vulnerable after what happened with Cole. I have to remind myself not to fall into the old trap of going back to Rob for comfort. Rob has never made me feel really comfortable. Not that it’s his fault really, he just isn’t home.
We chat over our meal and talk about better times between us. It isn’t something I find particularly enjoyable. Those times are over, and I don’t understand why he wants to walk back down that road. Maybe something has happened to him, and he needs this for closure. That’s fair. When the conversation finally turns to work, he gets a phone call.
Usually, during outings with friends, I don’t take out my phone. Nothing annoys me more than people playing on their phones while I’m trying to talk to them. But since Rob is already on the phone, I take mine out to check my email. Much to my surprise, there’s a message from Cole James.
After I pick my jaw up off the floor, I stare at it. Do I answer? Should I just mark it as spam and move on with my life? I open it. I can’t help it. If I don’t, I’ll always wonder what it says.
Becca,
I got your email address from the school paper’s website. Sorry for how I acted. Going through some stuff. I’ll do your interview.
I make a face. Gee, he sure sounds so very sorry. His insincerity pushes all my buttons. I wish the email was a physical object so I can shove it up his ass. I have to take a deep breath and tuck my phone away before I fire back a mean-spirited email. Maybe I can salvage a story out of this anyway. Rob doesn’t have to know until the story is actually done.
And besides, I shouldn’t be so hasty, I try to reason with myself. He says he’s going through some stuff and I’m more than a little peeved at myself for taking that as any hope that he and I...
I cut myself off right then and there. No. It was a mistake in the first place. I blew off some steam, had some fun, and now I’m moving on. Cole was a great fuck, and maybe now I can salvage some pride too. I need to. It sure has gotten knocked around a lot lately.
Rob finally finishes his phone call and gives me a rueful smile. “Sorry, Bec. Girl I’m seeing doesn’t like that I’m out to dinner with you.”
Sometimes I wonder if men have a book they pull this crap out of. “If I were your girl, I wouldn’t like that much either.”
“We’re co-workers now,” he reminds me even as he looks a little sheepish.
I shrug. “Sure. People sleep with their co-workers all the time.” God, I have to stop thinking about Cole. “And we used to be together. Go get her, Rob. And apologize. And mean it.” I stand and throw a twenty down on the table, making damn sure he knows this isn’t a date. “Now.”
He laughs and holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. You’re right. You’re a real lifesaver. She’s sure pissed off.”
“Then stop by the grocery store and get some flowers too. Chocolates. Bottle of wine. The works.” I give him a smile. Maybe he isn’t malicious, just terminally dumb sometimes. Like an affable puppy who piddles on your carpet. It’s cute for a minute, but not forever.
Home feels way lonelier than I want it to. I turn on some music, and it still feels empty. I have a nice, off-campus apartment, but like Mia is fond of saying, it’s lifeless. I maintain that it’s just neat and orderly, two things she isn’t at all familiar with, but she’s right. There isn’t any art on the plain, white walls. It’s just sterile.
Feeling a little depressed, I decide that a bubble bath and glass of wine is in order. Soft music, candles. Sometimes, a girl needs to treat herself as if she was dating herself is the advice my aunt gave me back in high school. I stick to it to this day. Date yourself. Take yourself out. Pamper yourself, even with small, inexpensive things. It makes being single bearable.
As I sink into the steamy water, fragrant bubbles tickling my chin, I wonder if knowing that Rob has a new girlfriend bothers me. I don’t think so. I don’t miss him like that. Maybe I miss having someone around at times like these, but that isn’t fair to Rob, and it feels dishonest. No, it isn’t that.
I know what it is, I just don’t want to admit it. I want him. Cole. I think of his rough hands and his smoldering, stormy blue eyes. Half a bottle of wine later, and I can’t stop thinking about his thick, hard cock. I love the way he smells, even love the way he tastes.
I know, too, that I can’t have a repeat performance, but I’m going to allow myself to indulge in fantasy. I think of him ordering me onto my hands and knees, his firm, hard body completely nude, every muscle taut. He makes me spread my legs wider so he can look at me, all of me. I feel so vulnerable, even in this fantasy, but that’s what I want. I want to be open and raw and bare before someone.
Someone who knows what they’re doing. I picture his rough hands on my ass, spreading my cheeks as he dips his head in, breathing in my scent before lapping at my pussy. His tongue is firm and warm and wet, and he knows just how to use it. He starts light and teasing, just flicking the tip of his tongue against me.
I moan, the visual too perfect. Perfect because it’s just what I want. I can feel myself getting so turned on. When my phone dings and breaks my reverie, I want to pitch it across the room. It’s sitting on a small chair by the tub. I dry my hands off and see that I’ve received another email from Cole. This time, it makes me blush. Oh, if only he knew what I’ve been thinking.
A big part of me wants him to know. I want to email back that I’ve been fantasizing about him licking my pussy while I’m on all fours. I know such a message would appear desperate, but I don’t care. I want to be desperate and needy. I want him to come and show me that I’m not wrong, that he wants me but is just scared for whatever reason.
He asks for my address for the interview. I reply and figure he’ll tell me a time and date later, but another message doesn’t come. I go back to enjoying my bath, though the moment is gone. Reality has put a damper on my fantasy. In reality, he rejected me, and there isn’t anything sexy about that. It just makes me feel sad and pathetic. Surely, I can find another guy to be with.
Depressed now, I finish off my wine and step out of the tub, pulling on my favorite bathrobe. I plan on watching some trashy television with a pint of ice cream, but there’s a knock at the door.
My heart leaps in my chest.
Is it him? Did I miss an email or not read the last one carefully enough? I look down at my thin, silk robe, touch my hair. God, I don’t want him to see me like this.
The knock comes again, louder this time, and I give up. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m a little annoyed with myself for getting so flustered at the very thought of Cole coming to my place.
Placing both hands on the door, I lift onto my tip toes to look through the peephole. I’m not that short, but whoever built my apartment must have been a giant. All I can see is a man’s back. He’s tall, dark haired, wearing a leather jacket. I have the chain on the door, so I crack it open. A girl can never be too careful.
He turns around and I’m right… it’s Cole, surprising me. Maybe that is part of the attraction. I don’t know what to expect from him. Unlike Rob, who’d been so painfully predictable.
“Hey,” he says, voice gruff. He looks exhausted. He has dark circles around his eyes and a couple days worth of stubble. I’m momentarily struck dumb. How do guys manage to look so sexy when unkempt?
“Oh… um, I didn’t know you were coming over now,” I manage to say.
He shrugs. “Gonna open the door? It’s fucking freezing out here.” He has his hands jammed in his pockets, a scowl on his face.
And in record time, he manages to annoy me, push my buttons. With a huff, I unlatch the chain and let him in. He lingers in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over me. It’s an invasive look that makes me flush, and I want to tug my robe tighter… or take it off. I can’t decide.
“I didn’t know you were coming over now,” I repeat like a fool, unable to meet his gaze. I hope that my annoyed tone conveys the message loud and clear. I don’t appreciate the visit.
“That explains the robe,” he says, dark humor touching his tone.
I really don’t want to find that as charming as I do. “Make yourself at home, I guess,” I say a little surlier than I intend. “Want some wine?”
He blows out a breath and slings his jacket over the arm of the couch before flopping down on it. “Got any beer?”
I wrinkle my nose. “No. Wine or water. Pick one.”
When I finally feel brave enough to look at him, I catch him staring at my legs. It’s a nice ego boost, but I remind myself that I really need to behave. Finally, his eyes make it to mine, lingering on my body along the way.
“Fine,” he mutters.
I assume that means he wants wine too, so I get a couple glasses and pour them both nearly to the brim. I sit across from him in the big, comfy chair I usually use for studying, the coffee table between us. I think it’s a good, safe distance. I know that if I sit on the couch, the temptation will be too great. It’s hard enough as it is, but he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t want a repeat of last night, even if his eyes say otherwise.
For a moment, I imagine sitting next to him. I think of how it would feel to run my hands up his thighs and… nope. No. I have to stop. I take in a deep, steadying breath and look away.
“So…” I say, trying to break the tension. “You’re going to do the interview?” There is always a little thrill that accompanies interviewing someone. I love that moment when people open up, and you really get to know them. I don’t want to admit it, but I want to know more about him.
He rolls his eyes as though it’s the first time I’m making the request. “I guess. But you need to do something for me.” It isn’t a request, it’s a demand. His arrogance is astounding.
“What?” I ask, just as snappy as I intend on being.
He runs his tongue over his teeth and puts his feet up on my coffee table. Was he raised in a damn barn? “I’m having some trouble in a couple of my classes.” A flash of hurt crosses his face. Or is it embarrassment? Yes, that’s it. He looks ashamed and defensive, shoulders hunched down, making him seem like a little boy. His brow is drawn low, and I can tell he’s a powder keg about this particular subject. I wonder if it’s hard to ask me for help, which is why he made it a demand instead of a request. As a reporter, I have to read between the lines a lot. People say things, but sometimes, it’s the things they don’t say that can be the most meaningful.
“So… you need some help?” I ask, my tone gentle this time. He isn’t being a dick to me on purpose. I get that now.
“I guess,” he says. “I’ve been really busy, you know? I don’t have time for this shit. Coach makes us train constantly. It’s a lot of pressure.” He runs his hand over his eyes and leans back. I notice the bruises on his arms as well as a swollen finger and wondered if he’s always this beat up during the season.
It’s like having a tiger in my living room. He’s docile right now, but I never know when he’s going to snap and attack. Something about that is alluring. I can’t put my finger on it.
“I’ll help. You don’t need to hold the interview over my head, you know. I’d have done it regardless.” I hate how nice I sound. I should want to be cruel to him. Cole deserves it for treating me like shit.
Not that I want to admit that, not even to myself, but it’s true. His rejection stung. He flashes a look at me, his eyes narrow. What? Does he not believe me? I narrow my eyes right back.
“I would,” I insist.
He shrugs it off and downs his wine in a gulp. “Whatever.”
I can’t hold in my temper any longer. I’m trying to be understanding, but his callous disregard hurts. I fly out of my chair and stand before him, hands on my hips. I can feel my face grow hot. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” I say. “Demanding my help after the way you treated me? I ought to throw your ass out of here.” For a moment, I have the brief victory of him looking surprised. That victory is quickly squashed when he looks amused.
He sneers up at me, laughing. Mocking. “You won’t do that. You need that article.”
Tit for tat, I sneer too. “I don’t need it that bad.”
He stands, sucking on his teeth, towering over me. “Do it then. Throw me out.” His physical presence is intimidating, but I’m used to guys being way bigger than me. I’m not going to be cowed if that’s what he’s expecting. I have a feeling he needs my help way more than I need his. I have the advantage here, I remind myself.
Something about the way he looks at me sends a delicious shiver over my skin. He looks hungry. He looks like he’s getting off on our argument. And if I’m being honest, I’m getting off on it too, but that doesn’t change the fact that he can’t come in my house and be a jerk. I won’t stand for it.
“You should apologize to me, or I won’t help you. I can always find some other meathead to interview. You’re not the only one.” I smirk as the insult takes hold. It shouldn’t have felt good to hurt him back, and I’m sure I’ll feel bad about it later, but right now, it feels fair. He humiliated me, so maybe he should have a taste of his own medicine and realize how bitter it is.
His face reddens, and his eyes burn into me. It’s the same storm brewing I saw in the bar. It’s a buildup of pressure, a tense feeling in the air right before lightning strikes.
“Shut up,” he hisses.
“No. I will not shut up!” I shout. I can’t think of the last time I’ve raised my voice at anyone. It feels good. I’m riding the wave of my anger and lashing out instead of just turning the other cheek and being the more mature person. I sink right down to his level and wallow in it.
So, he shuts me up. He’s on his feet in a flash, fisting his hand in the front of my robe and yanking me against him. His lips crash down on mine as his other hand drops down to my hip to press me fully against his body. I’m stunned but soon enough return the kiss, my tongue seeking out his mouth.
His kiss is deep and demanding, his touch rough, pinching. I don’t care. The bite of pain is delicious. I like the passionate, possessive way he touches me. He makes me feel like I belong to him, every part of me. I run my nails down his chest hard enough that I’m sure I make marks through his t-shirt. I want it to hurt a little. I want to make him gasp and moan and want just as badly as I want.
Cole’s other hand jerks my robe open, and his hand covers my breast. He kneads it roughly, fingers flicking over my hard nipple. I moan into his mouth. I’m quickly approaching the place where I won’t be able to resist anymore. Even now, it’s just a far away, dim alarm bell. He’s here for the interview. It’s hopeless, even as I protest inside my mind. I’ve had a chance to salvage this, to be professional. I know it’s dangerous to mess around with Cole.
But when he jerks the robe off my body and tosses it aside before pressing me against the wall of the living room, I know it’s over. Whatever resistance I have melts away under the assault of his passionate kisses. I throw my arms around his neck and arch my back when he touches me. I’m so wet, I’m a little embarrassed. He’ll know. I won’t be able to hide how much I want him, have been wanting him all night. His fingers deftly work my slit, flicking over the nub of my clit while he abandons my mouth to close his lips over a nipple.
My body sings under his touch, rising to meet it. It’s like he knows exactly how to touch me. There isn’t any awkward fumbling. Everything he does lights me on fire. I can’t get enough.
Sucking hard, Cole slides a finger inside me. He moans in appreciation while I gasp, squirming against the wall. I need more, but he doesn’t seem intent on hurrying. He’s going to tease me.
With a slick pop, he releases my nipple and glowers down at me. When Cole speaks, his voice is rough with desire and passion. I know he means every word he says. And once more, he is a man who expects to be obeyed, and whether I want to admit it or not, I want to fulfill his every desire. I’ve never had a man speak to me the way Cole does. Like he really wants me.
“You’re going to beg for this dick,” he tells me. “On your hands and knees. You’re going to say please. And just maybe, if I like the way you beg, I’ll give it to you.”