Sidelined: A Sports Romance (21 page)

She debated offering him something to drink, but he snaked his arms around her waist and his mouth was hot on her neck. He peeled the jacket from her arms, tossing it on the floor. She tried not to worry about the hundreds of wrinkles forming in the silk. Reckless girls didn’t worry about insignificant details.

“I like the librarian look. Just wish you had some glasses.” He growled. “I’ve always had a librarian fantasy.”

She gasped as he spun her against his chest. All night they had flirted and told funny stories about their fake identities just to get to this moment. The moment when they could dive into the attraction that had held them at the table for hours. She had gotten lost in his pale blue eyes at first glance. Now she was ready for her body to give in to the rest of him. She wanted to dive in head first more than anything.

Her hands searched for the buttons on his shirt and flicked them to the side. The lights from the courtyard below glowed through the blinds, and Skye marveled at his arms and his chest. Dangling around his neck was a necklace with two tags. She felt them between her fingers and searched his eyes for answers. Tonight wasn’t supposed to be about answers she reminded herself. It was supposed to be about getting lost. She pulled the tags over his head and tossed them on the floor, letting her fingertips graze the space on the chest where they used to be.

This guy was unreal, and suddenly she felt very self-conscious. But something in the look he cast her made her shake those insecurities. He wanted her. He wanted librarian, mysterious, reckless Skye. And that’s who he was going to get.

She moaned as his mouth took hers, and she tasted the combination of bourbon and wine on his tongue. He held her face with one hand while the other pulled the camisole from her skirt and worked its way along her stomach, trailing the soft skin until he reached her bra.

She reached behind her back to unclasp it for him. He pulled the cami over her head and with it the bra. She realized it was the only sexy thing she was wearing, but it didn’t matter anymore as it landed on the floor.

Her head rocked back as he kissed along her throat and his tongue made a line straight to her breast. He rolled a nipple between his fingers before his mouth covered it with heat and lightning strikes of sensation. The place between her legs began to respond with a pulse that was driving her wild.

“Damn, I want to take you right here.” He nodded toward the couch.

“Do it.” She breathed.

He yanked on the zipper to her skirt and it fell to the floor in a puddle. She stepped to the side, kicking it out of the way. She lay against the cushions, her body on fire with anticipation. This was a first. She had never had a one-night stand. She strictly adhered to dating for a solid month before sex. It was the golden rule she never broke, but right now that seemed like the most absurd rule ever created. Why wasn’t she doing this all the time, she thought as he hooked his thumbs on the edge of her panties and stripped them off her skin, leaving her naked on the couch. Reckless felt good. Reckless felt empowering.

She watched as he unbuckled his pants and chucked them on the floor. The only thing separating them now was a pair of black boxer briefs. She tugged on the waistband, ready for what was inside.

He kissed her deep and hard. Instinctively she wrapped her arms and legs around him, willing him to press into her.

“Hold on.” He shifted on top of her and reached for the floor. She heard him rustle through his pockets. She laid there, her legs locked against his waist, her chest heaving, the fire in her core burning for him. “Dammit,” he mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” She didn’t want to unwind from him, but she released his waist as he sat back on his heels.

“This is awkward.” He ran his fingers over the top of his hair. “Do you have any condoms?”

Sudden panic and full-on embarrassment ran through her. Condoms? If she had them did that say she had sex all the time and therefore kept an ample supply in close proximity? Or if she didn’t, did it say she was a lonely spinster who never had sex because she was a total workaholic? Since she couldn’t bullshit her way out of her desperate spinster status, she sat back on the couch, her palms pressed against her forehead.

“No. I don’t.”

“Shit.” He breathed heavily. “Sorry, I thought I had one.”

The shadows from the blinds, slashed across his face. “So, you usually keep them with you for medical emergency trips?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Yeah, something like that.” He turned toward her. “I guess sex is out, but that doesn’t mean everything else is.” He grinned as he pulled her under him.

“Wh—what are you doing?” She wiggled under him, not sure what was happening. Without a condom, she assumed her hormones would have to go back in check. It was a disappointing thought.

“There are other ways we can make each other feel good.” He smiled as his head dipped toward her breasts, and his tongue began a slow delicious torture that had Skye writhing under him.

“Oh,” she sighed. “Ok. Keep. Doing. That.” Everything that came from her mouth was breathy.

His hand slipped between her legs and parted her so he was touching her where she hadn’t been touched in forever. She tried to bring her knees together, but it felt good the way he stroked and moved his fingers inside her until she was rocking her hips toward him faster. She didn’t care how it made her look or that she was going to ask for more. Being with a total stranger stripped away inhibitions that usually kept her on the safe and quiet side of her sensuality. She’d never see this guy again.

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Please.”

“You like it?” he whispered in her neck.

“More, give me more,” she pleaded. She gripped on to him with her life as she thrust against his hand. “I want it.”

Was almost-sex with a stranger supposed to feel this incredible? She didn’t know, she just wanted to take it. He could kiss her, lick her, touch her anyway he wanted if it felt like this. She felt her core tighten and pulse as he moved against her.
Why weren’t there any damn condoms?
She held on as long as she could, but he was skilled and she was no match for his fingers. At first it was a slow wave that shook her until finally she was trembling and panting underneath him from massive waves of electric heat.

“Oh my God.” She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

He kissed her, his tongue working its way into her mouth. Just when she thought she had hit the highest level of embarrassment, he made her forget all about it with a kiss that made her drunker than the moscato wine.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He broke from the kiss.

“Really?” she winced.

“Absolutely. I can now scratch making a librarian come off my bucket list.” He winked, then kissed her shoulder.

Skye slinked deeper into the couch. What had she just done? Making up a fake identity and having drinks with a total stranger was one thing. Bringing him back to her apartment, getting naked, and letting him give her the most explosive orgasm she’d had in a year was something entirely different. But damn, it was incredible. Her entire body felt relaxed and fulfilled in his arms.

He was still hovering over her. Was he waiting for something? He bit his lower lip as he scooped her in his hands and flipped her onto his chest.

“Whoa—what?” The room spun as she tried to catch her new bearings. It was a whole new perspective sitting on top of this incredibly hot stranger.

Even in the dark, she could see his killer smile. “My turn.”

He positioned her legs over his waist as his fingers dug into the soft flesh above her hipbones. His thumbs pressed down causing her hips to rock back and forth. She began to grind against him to relieve the pressure.

“Oh my God.” Her head flew back and she cursed the condom situation again.

“Like that.” He groaned. He grasped at her breasts and the rocking quickened. “Come for me again.” He clutched at her lower back and Skye heard the moans rising from her throat as his breath quickened. For not-sex, this was fucking amazing.

B
olt could smell
the coffee before his eyes were open. He shook his head and sat on the couch.

“Good morning.” He grinned. It came back to him. Last night he had gone home with the librarian. Of course they both knew she probably had never stacked a book in her life. She was in the kitchen, her dark hair pulled in a ponytail. It had hung loosely on her shoulders at the bar. He wondered how long she had been awake.

“Oh, hey.” She kept her head down and was busy with something over the sink.

He stretched his arms toward the ceiling before dropping to the floor for pushups. It cleared his head. After a count of thirty he hopped up from the floor and walked toward the kitchen where she was furiously scrubbing a water glass.

“Last night was fun.” He winked at her.

“Uh—yeah, it was great.”

“I think you missed a spot.” He pointed to the glass covered in bubbles. It was perfectly clean, but she seemed nervous. He noticed there wasn’t a crumb on the counter. It didn’t look like anyone lived in the place.

She shot him a look. “You don’t have on any pants.”

He saw the way her cheeks turned a deep crimson. “I think you took care of those last night.” He didn’t know why, but something about her made him want to test her. She was a bundle of contradictions that he wanted to unwind. Last night felt like only the beginning of what he could get her to do.

He walked back toward the couch and dug into the cushions until he retrieved his boxer briefs. He slipped them on and reappeared in the kitchen.

“This better?”

“Uh—sure.” She reached near him for a coffee cup.

He felt her elbow graze his shoulder. “Can I have a cup?”

She nodded, then handed him a mug.

This was unchartered territory. Bolt waited for her to pour a cup then he tipped the pot toward his cup. Usually, women clamored for his number or gushed about the night before. The silent treatment was a first.

“Why don’t we go get some breakfast?” He placed the cup on the counter. “You like pancakes?”

He eyed her legs. She was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a cropped T-shirt. He knew last night when he spotted her at the bar she had an incredible body under that suit, but it was like unwrapping a present when he got her home. Each layer he took off surprised him by revealing something more gorgeous and sexier than the last. He wasn’t ready to admit that last night was a first for him too. He had never spent the night with a woman and
not
had sex. True, it wasn’t platonic by any means, but it still wasn’t sex and that hadn’t happened since high school.

“Breakfast?” she questioned.

“Yes, you know the meal that people eat in the morning. Usually comes before lunch.”

“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “I’ve got the literary conference thing.” She stared at the floor.

That was all he needed to hear. “Ok. Well, enjoy your conference.” He walked to the living room to redress. His clothes were piled under the coffee table. He debated whether he should try again, but he had dated and slept with enough women to know when the game was over. This one had climbed back into her shell. She must be one of those buttoned-up proper types who goes crazy after a glass of chardonnay and wakes up with instant hangover remorse. He smiled, glad even if it was only for a few hours, he had pulled her out of her comfort zone. She was like wildfire under his touch and he had enjoyed every second of it.

He walked toward the door. “Last night was fun.” He waved as he pulled on the handle. “Nice to meet you.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah.” She barely smiled.

Bolt closed the door behind him and walked toward the elevators.
Nice to meet you?
What kind of line was that? He shook his head. Three days in a row he had left a woman behind as he walked toward an elevator, but for the first time he left with something—regret. He hesitated in front of the elevator bay. Maybe he should go back and ask for her number. Maybe he should ask her real name. No. That wasn’t part of his plan. Fly straight, he reminded himself as the doors shut and he descended to the lobby.

* * *

“
D
ude
, you haven’t hit a straight shot all morning.” Hollywood laughed as he placed his beer on the cooler and put his ball on the tee.

“Whatever. Shut up.” Bolt stepped back and assessed his shot again. They had been at the driving range for an hour and there wasn’t any improvement in his swing.

Hollywood watched as his ball landed near the two hundred yard marker. “See? Like that. Hit it like that.” He reached into the cooler for another beer. “You missed a good time at the O-club.”

“Oh yeah? Nurses again?” Bolt accepted a cold bottle from his friend.

“Nurses, you name it, the girls were there.”

“How’d you do?” He and Hollywood shared the same philosophy when it came to women—have a good time, but don’t get attached.

Hollywood shook his head. “Eh, I got a few numbers, but we leave in a month so I don’t know if it’s worth it. I don’t want to deal with the whole dating thing, then she’s going to get upset when she finds out I’m leaving for six months. It never goes over well.”

“Nope. Never goes over well.” Bolt wiggled his hips into position and glared at the ball. He was going to hit this sucker three hundred yards. He pulled the club behind his back and swung forward.

“WESTPAC is going to be epic. Korea, Thailand, Japan. We are going to be like rock stars over there. I’ve heard the strippers are unbelievable.” Hollywood chuckled.

“Yeah, I’ve heard something like that. I’m just ready for the flying. It’s going to be unbelievable flying over there.”

“Six months of nothing but beautiful women and perfect flying. I’d say we have a pretty good gig.”

“I agree.” Bolt tossed another ball on the tee and grimaced as the shot curved to the far left of the range.

“Ha! Man, you suck.”

“Shut up, Hollywood.” He threw the driver in his bag and reached for an iron. Maybe he just needed to change up his clubs.

“You didn’t say anything about last night. How was the Gaslamp scene? Touristy?” Hollywood asked.

Bolt tried to focus on the ball on the tee and not the scene of the nameless psuedo librarian under him that flashed in his head. He breathed through his teeth.

“That good, huh?” Hollywood wasn’t going to let it go.

“Yeah, kinda met someone.”

“Met someone? What in the hell does that mean?” Hollywood hit another perfect shot.

“Nothing. I didn’t get her number, so I won’t see her again.” Bolt still wondered if he should have at least asked.

“Alright. Glad you had fun.” Hollywood returned to his club and ball. “Want to hang out tonight? I was thinking about going to PB. You up for a few beers?”

“Sure. Sounds good.” Bolt threw the iron in his bag. He was always up for a few beers. “I think I’m calling it, man.”

His friend laughed. “Yeah, you suck today. What, is that girl in your head?”

“Nah.” Bolt picked up his clubs and slung them over his shoulder. “Just an off day. Hey, I’ll see you tonight. What time?”

“Nine.” Hollywood lined up to take another shot. He didn’t look ready to leave.

“See ya.”

* * *

B
olt stepped
from the shower and grabbed the towel on the rack. He wiped the droplets of water from his face then his chest. He reached for his tags. They weren’t there. He dropped the towel and looked next to the hook where he always put them. Where were they? He searched his dresser, the bathroom counter, and his pockets.
Dammit
. He hadn’t picked them up this morning at the librarian’s. How could he have left them? Not all Marines wore their tags. It was a personal decision, but after losing Riggs he hadn’t gone a day without them. The guilt tore through him at the thought of abandoning them. It was one thing to take them off. It was something else to leave them behind.

He glanced at the clock. If he left now he could still swing by her place in time to meet Hollywood by nine. He pulled on a pair of jeans, a gray T-shirt, and ran out the door. He prayed the librarian was at home on a Saturday night reading a book.

Bolt lived in Fashion Valley in a one-bedroom condo. He liked it. There was a local bar within walking distance, and he could be on the beach or at work in fifteen minutes. Location is everything.

He pulled onto the interstate and pointed his truck toward the Gaslamp district. The night crowd would be gathering, and he knew parking wouldn’t be easy. It had to be the most popular neighborhood in the seaside city. He slowed near the bar where he met the librarian and pulled behind it to park. Might as well take advantage of the lots where he could. Getting the tags back was worth the five dollars for parking.

In a matter of minutes he was knocking on her door. He rapped his knuckles a few times.

“Yep, hold on.” She swung open the door and he was met with the vision he had of her last night. Her hair was piled high on her head, loose strands flying to the side and she was wearing glasses. He didn’t know a woman could look so hot in a pair of specs. She was stunning. It didn’t hurt she had deep blue eyes that sparkled when she smiled.

“Hey.” He grinned.

“Oh, wow. Hey. What are you doing here?” She looked confused. For a second he worried she might slam the door in his face.

“I, uh—left something this morning. Just needed to grab it and then I’ll leave.” He motioned toward the living room.

She seemed unsure of whether or not to let him in. Her hand had a death grip on the doorframe.

“Can I come in? It’ll only take a second.” He didn’t want to go into the significance of the tags, but if it was the only way to get them back he would.

She stepped back. “Sure. I’ll help you. What did you leave? I haven’t seen anything.”

He immediately walked to the couch. It was covered in spreadsheets and graphs. “I guess you’re not working on the Dewey decimal system?” He chuckled as she rushed to stack the papers together.

“No, it’s for work.
Real
work.”

With the charts out of the way he shoved his hand between the cushions. Nothing.

“What did you forget?” She studied him while he searched.

“My tags.” He reached between the last cushions.

“Tags?” She adjusted her glasses. “Oh, that necklace you had on?”

He nodded. “Yes. That.”

He watched as she walked to the back of the couch and crouched on all fours, disappearing behind the sofa. She hopped up with the tags clutched in her hand. “Here they are.”

“Thanks.” He took two steps to the other side of the couch and reached for the silver chain. He had never been so happy to see them before.

Before she handed them to Bolt she flipped the metal over in her hand. “Is your name Riggs? Are these military tags?”

He stopped. “No. Riggs was my friend. The other one is mine.”

“Hardcastle?” She raised her eyebrows.

He opened his palm for her to drop them into his hand. “Yep. You caught me. I’m Ben Hardcastle.” He looped the tags over his head and threaded them under his T-shirt before extending his hand. Introductions seemed strange at this point. He had spent an entire night naked with this woman.

She might have wanted to hold back on the smile, but he saw it form on the corners of her mouth. “I’m Skye Stephens.” She chewed on her bottom lip.

“Skye? I like it. Fitting for a librarian.” He winked, liking the way it made her blush.

“I think we both know I’m not a librarian.” She walked to the other side of the couch. “I work for an ad agency. That’s what all of this stuff is.” She pointed to the work stacked on the coffee table.

“Working on Saturday night? That’s no fun.”

She scoffed. “Fun? I don’t even know what that is anymore.”

He was tempted to disagree with her. Last night she had been all kinds of fun. Bolt thought for a second. Hollywood would either kill him or grill him, but for some reason he couldn’t walk out with only his tags. “Come with me to PB. Let’s go get a beer.”

Skye eyed him. “Beer?”

“Please tell me you aren’t one of those girls who only drinks wine.” With her hair in that bun and those glasses, she looked like a strict coffee drinker.