The Chase

  Her head slants, sending her silky hair cascading over one shoulder. “You said you don’t go around showing it to just anyone.”

  “I don’t.”

  “So I’m special.”

  “Very much so.”

  Her fingers wrap around the base of my aching cock. The instant she makes contact, a shudder rolls through me, and moisture forms at my tip. Jesus. I’m leaking. That’s how turned on I am.

  She slides her hand up and down a few times. And then she actually tugs me forward by the dick and crushes her lips against mine again.

  I grunt, thrusting into her closed fist. My tongue fills her mouth and we exchange the hottest kiss I’ve ever experienced. Once again I’m lost in the fog. I’m lost in her. I barely feel the pain in my eye anymore. Right now, I’m kissing Summer and she’s stroking my cock and I’m in frickin’ heaven.

  When I drag my hands up her body to cup her tits over her thin V-neck sweater, I promptly lose the ability to think straight. Even through her bra I can feel her nipples, hard little buds that make my mouth tingle with need. I’ve always been a boob guy, and I desperately wish I was sucking and nibbling on her tits. The fantasy has me groaning loudly against her lips. She strokes me faster, and just when I think it couldn’t feel any better, she pushes my hands away and sinks to her knees.

  “Let me make you feel good.”

  I gaze down, but it’s hard to see her expression. It’s too dark. But I feel every last sensation when her warm, wet mouth engulfs me.

  “Oh fuck,” I grind out.

  She sucks me all the way to the root, then licks her way back up. Her tongue teases my tip before gliding along the underside of my shaft, and I almost black out.

  “God…fuck, that’s good…”

  Her answering moan vibrates all around me. I swear I feel it in my toes. She takes me deeper and sucks harder, pumping me with her hand while she torments me with her tongue.

  In the back of my mind I hear alarm bells. Stop this, they warn. But stopping is impossible when Summer’s blonde head is moving up and down on my dick. My fingers tangle in her hair, but I don’t seize control. I let her go at her own pace, trusting that she’ll get me where I need to be.

  And she does. As the suction tightens and her pace quickens, my balls throb and the tip of my dick tingles and then I’m there. “Coming,” I choke out.

  She doesn’t release me. I bite the side of my thumb to stop from groaning out loud as I rock my hips and shoot in her mouth. She swallows every drop while I shudder in pleasure bordering on pain.

  When Summer rises to her feet, I pull her close and rest my chin on her shoulder. Still shaking from that climax.

  “I needed that,” I say hoarsely.

  “I know you did.” She plants a kiss between my pecs and brings her hand back to my dick, petting it softly.

  I break out in shivers. “You’re killing me.”

  Her laughter tickles my collarbone. “Sorry. I just really like touching you.” She pauses. “I should probably go.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  I feel her trembling as she kisses me again, this time the fleeting brush of her lips over my shoulder. “What just happened here, Fitz?”

  You blew my dick and my mind? I almost say. But I know what she means. She wants to know what this means.

  “I—”

  “Hoo-hooo! Hoo-hooo!”

  My head snaps up in alarm. Was that an owl?

  “Oh shit,” Summer blurts out. “That’s the signal.”

  “Signal?”

  “Yeah. Brenna is in the hall. I asked her to keep an eye out and make sure nobody catches me in here.”

  She’s barely finished speaking when we hear the voices. And the footsteps. A lot of voices, and a lot of footsteps. My teammates are coming down the tunnel.

  Summer snatches my fallen towel off the ground and hurriedly wraps it around my waist. Her fingers brush my dick, and I swallow a groan. I’m still hard.

  I take a breath and nod to a doorway on the far end of the showers. “The PT room is in there. It leads to the coaches’ offices, and there’s another exit to the arena from there.”

  The footsteps grow louder, accompanied by animated male voices and raucous laughter. My teammates sound happy, which means we won.

  “Summer,” I say when she doesn’t move. “You gotta go. And you better do it fast, before the boys get in here and start pulling their dicks out.”

  She hesitates. “We need to finish this conversation.”

  “We will,” I promise. “At home.”

  Her teeth dig into her lip. “Brenna and I are meeting friends at the bar.”

  “Then we’ll talk at the bar. Or afterward. Right now, you need to go.”

  Summer nods. She stands on her tiptoes, gives me a kiss on the cheek, and then she’s gone.

  I’m a pussy. I don’t go looking for Summer after the game, and I don’t go to Malone’s. I also don’t go home.

  Like an asshole, I get in my car and drive to Boston.

  My friend Tucker bought a bar in the city this past fall. I helped him with the reno, getting it ready for its big opening in November. Doesn’t surprise me that the only person I want to confide in right now is Tuck. He’s easy to talk to and has a good head on his shoulders. Gives really smart advice too, and right now I’m desperate for some advice.

  I’m reaching the freeway exit when my phone rings. My car is an older model and doesn’t have the Bluetooth feature, so I’m forced to use speakerphone. If it wasn’t my mother’s number flashing on the screen, I’d probably press ignore. But ignoring Mom is never a good idea.

  “Colin! Sweetie! Are you all right?” Her greeting holds a hefty dose of concern.

  “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Your Uncle Randy was at your game tonight, and he just sent me a phone picture of your face!”

  “You can just say ‘picture,’ Ma. You don’t have to specify ‘phone.’”

  “But he sent it from his phone to my phone.”

  “Yes, but—” I stop myself from continuing. Pick your battles, man. My mother isn’t an old lady and therefore has no excuse for her total lack of knowledge about anything tech-related. But she’s also set in her ways and arguing with her is pointless.

  She still uses a BlackBerry, for chrissake.

  “I promise, I’m fine. Got stitched up and now I’m good as new.”

  “How many stitches?”

  “Only two.”

  “Okay.” The worry leaves her tone. Unfortunately, it’s replaced with anger. “This is all your father’s fault.”

  Here we go again.

  “How do you figure?” I don’t know why I’m playing along. I already know the answer.

  “Because he forced you into hockey.”

  “He didn’t force me. I love hockey.”

  I may as well be speaking to my car windshield. “What a selfish prick that man is,” she gripes. “Come on, Colin. You don’t think it’s pathetic that a grown man is trying to live vicariously through his son?”

  My jaw tenses. No use in asking her to stop, though. Or vice versa. The pair of them never stop. “In other news,” I say in an attempt to steer the topic into safe territory. “My job interview went well.”

  “You had an interview?” She sounds startled.

  “Yup.” I quickly fill her in on Kamal Jain as I get off the freeway and stop at a set of red lights. “I guess he’ll make his decision after this fundraiser thing in New York.”

  “There’s no decision to be made—you’re clearly the best candidate,” she replies with the kind of unshakeable confidence only a mother can feel toward her son.

  “Thanks, Ma.” I turn onto the street that houses Tuck’s bar and click my blinker to claim the last available parking spot at the curb. “I just got to my buddy’s and need to parallel park. I’ll call you later this week.”

  “Sounds good
. I love you.” Does she? Sometimes I wonder.

  “Love you too.”

  We hang up, and I experience the same sense of overwhelming relief as when I got off the phone with my father last week.

  I hop out of the car and glance at the neon signs lighting the front of Tucker’s bar. And there’s actually a line at the door. Business is obviously booming. Good for Tuck.

  As I approach the sidewalk, I send him a quick text.

  ME: Dude, I’m outside your bar. Not gonna make me freeze my nuts off in this line, are ya?

  Three dots appear as he types a response.

  TUCK: I’m upstairs. Come up. And 4 future—tell bouncer ur name and he’ll let u in. Ur on the perma guest list

  Sweet. I’m a VIP.

  I bypass the front door and walk to the side of the building, where a narrow door buzzes open the moment I reach it. I know Tuck is staring at me on a camera right now. I helped him set up the system, which he can control entirely from his smartphone. It makes it easier to get in and out of this place. Plus, he takes security seriously. His baby girl and baby mama are the most important things in the world to him.

  “Hey,” I say when I reach the second-floor loft.

  Tuck greets me with baby Jamie on his hip. “Gaaah!” she shrieks when she sees me.

  I can honestly say she’s one of the most beautiful babies I’ve ever seen. The kid belongs in diaper commercials and on baby-food jars. She inherited the best of both her parents, who are disgustingly attractive to begin with, especially Sabrina.

  Jamie’s pink rosebud mouth opens, and she gives me a huge gummy smile. Her arms flail in my direction.

  Tuck sighs. “She’s such a little attention seeker.”

  “Aw, I don’t mind.” I hold out my arms, and the six-month-old practically somersaults into them. “She’s gotten so big, man.”

  “I know. Swear to God, I turn around for five seconds and I look back and she’s doubled in size.”

  Jamie wiggles happily in my arms, her chubby hands instantly seeking out the stubble on my face. She loves textures and is fascinated by colors. The last time I saw her, she was in total awe of my tats.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind that I stopped by?” I ask as he shuts and locks the front door.

  “‘Course not. You’re welcome here any time, man.”

  “Where’s Sabrina?”

  “Study group.”

  “So late?” It’s almost ten o’clock.

  “Yup. That woman works her butt off.” Deep pride resonates in his voice.

  Sabrina is in law school, and, truth be told, I have no idea how she manages to be a mom while studying to be a lawyer. Fortunately, she and Tuck have help—his mother moved up here from Texas in December. Apparently she lives in an apartment a few blocks away.

  “How’s your mom liking Boston?”

  “She hates the cold with all her heart.”

  I grin. I imagine that February in Texas is a tropical paradise compared to these frigid New England winters.

  “But her place has a gorgeous view of the Charles. She says it’s pretty to look at, and she gets to see her granddaughter whenever she wants, so she’s happy. We all are.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a good arrangement going on.”

  Tucker nods. He looks so blissed out as he stares at his daughter, who’s still running her teeny fingers all over my chin. She squeals every time she encounters a stubbly whisker. “Want a beer?” he offers.

  “Sure. But just one. I’m driving back tonight.”

  “We’ve only got cans. Jamie’s really grabby lately, and she knocks shit off the counters when we walk by. I’ve had to pick up broken glass enough times that we just decided, fuck it. We’re a beer-can family now.”

  “Cans are fine,” I assure him. Still holding the baby, I accept the can of Peak IPA, and we wander over to the couch.

  The apartment features an open-concept layout with the living room on one side, kitchen on the other, and dining area in the far corner. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a decent view of the small playground across the street, and a hallway off the dining room leads to the bedrooms. I helped Tuck renovate one of those rooms into a nursery for Jamie, and as I settle on the couch cushions and reposition her in my lap, I wonder why she’s not currently in that nursery.

  “Shouldn’t she be asleep?”

  “I was getting ready to feed her. Actually, she was screaming her lungs out about thirty seconds before you got here. She literally just settled.”

  “Liar. This beautiful angel could never scream her lungs out,” I retort as I tickle one of Jamie’s socked feet. “Look at how sweet and calm she is.”

  Jamie chortles in delight.

  “Fuck off. She’s acting sweet and calm because we’ve got company. She’s a little terror in real life. Aren’t you, darlin’?”

  The baby gazes at her father with pure adoration.

  Tuck immediately caves. “I take it back,” he tells his daughter. “You’re not a terror. Fitz, entertain the princess while I prep her bottle.”

  That’s no hardship. I bounce Jamie on my knee and tickle her tummy over her pink onesie while she makes the cutest noises. Damn, this kid is frickin’ cute.

  “So what’s going on?” Tucker calls from the kitchen. “It’s not like you to show up out of the blue. Especially on game night. That shot to your eye looked brutal, by the way.”

  “You saw it?”

  “Yeah, I was flipping between your game and Garrett’s. His is still on. Second period.”

  “G’s playing tonight?” I look over at the TV, but a commercial for laundry detergent is flashing on the screen.

  “Yeah. He has a series of road games coming up. Playing LA tonight.”

  “What’s the score?”

  “Two all. G’s looking good.”

  “One of those goals his?”

  “No. One assist, though.”

  “Sweet.” I’m thrilled for the success Garrett’s been having in his rookie season with Boston. He’s so frickin’ talented, and he also happens to be a genuinely decent guy. A bit cocky, sure. Definitely a smartass. But he’s got a big heart, and he’s a good friend.

  “Dammit, Fitz.” Tuck’s southern drawl rears its head as he chastises me. “You managed to distract me again. Why aren’t you celebrating tonight’s W at Malone’s?”

  I shrug. “Wasn’t in the mood for people.”

  “Okay. Then why aren’t you at home?”

  Because one of my roommates gave me a BJ tonight, and I don’t know how to act around her.

  “I… It’s complicated.” I keep my gaze on the top of Jamie’s head. “Dean’s sister lives with us now.”

  “I heard.” Tucker’s tone is cautious. “How’s that working out?”

  Well, she gave me a BJ tonight, and I don’t know how to act around her.

  “Pretty good.” I keep my own tone vague and smatter kisses on Jamie’s soft cheek, making her giggle again. But it isn’t long before my baby shield is taken away from me.

  “You ready, little one?” Tuck drawls. “Mama pumped this yummy goodness out just for you.”

  I snort loudly.

  At the sight of the bottle, Jamie’s face lights up. A few moments later, she’s sucking happily on a nipple. With a pillow propped under his elbow and a contented baby in his arms, Tuck grins at me.

  “She still into you?” he asks.

  “Jamie? Yeah, she loves me.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about Summer Di Laurentis. I remember last winter she had a thing for you. Is that still the case?”

  “Yup.”

  “I see.” He looks like he’s trying not to smile. “What about you? Do you return the sentiment?”

  After a reluctant beat, I dip my head in assent.

  His smile breaks free. “Then what’s the problem? You worried about how Dean’s going to react?”

  “No. I…” I puff out another breath. “I don’t know if I want to go there.”


  Then you probably shouldn’t have let her blow you tonight.

  Maybe not, but clearly I don’t possess any control when it comes to Summer. She makes me do the most uncharacteristic things. Well, she doesn’t make me. It just happens. I let her blow me in the locker room, for chrissake. Anyone could’ve walked in on us, and for a dude who hates PDA, drama, and attention, a public hookup definitely doesn’t top my bucket list.

  And it’s funny—because wasn’t I telling myself the other night that if Summer was throwing herself at me, then I’d be challenging Hunter’s claim to her? Well, there’s no misinterpreting her intentions toward me anymore. I haven’t been friend-zoned. Her actions tonight proved that.

  But rather than stake a claim, I ran away.

  I drag both hands though my hair, which is getting too long for my liking. I prefer it out of my eyes when I’m drawing. “Hunter has a thing for her too,” I tell Tuck.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. And she kissed him on New Year’s.”

  His reddish brows shoot upward. “Oh?”

  “But tonight…” I stop.

  “Tonight what?”

  “She showed up in the locker room after I got stitched up and we kissed.” I pause. “And maybe a bit more.”

  “Define more.”

  “She sucked my dick in the showers.”

  Tucker jerks in surprise, and the nipple pops out of Jamie’s mouth. She squawks in outrage.

  “Aww, I’m sorry, baby girl,” he croons. “It’s okay, keep eating. Daddy was being a big doodlehead.”

  “A doodlehead?” I snicker.

  “Oh shush. You’re an even bigger doodlehead. You hear that, little one? Your Uncle Fitzy is the king of the doodleheads.” He nudges her lips with the bottle’s nipple and she latches on again. Then he frowns at me. “This happened tonight?”

  I nod.

  “And instead of sticking around to talk to the girl who suc—” His gaze drops to his daughter. He promptly rephrases. “—the girl who did stuff to your body, you came here instead?”

  Guilt sears into me. Fuck. I’m such an ass. That beautiful, amazing girl knelt on wet, uncomfortable tile for me tonight and rocked my world. I should be blowing up her phone with apologies right now.