Beautiful Player

  “You thought I started without you?” I asked, laughing. “That would be rude.”

  She didn’t answer and I realized too late that what I had done—not shown up, not even bothered to call—was just as bad.

  “Shit, Ziggs, I’m sorry.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “So I’m Ziggy today. Interesting.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled, and then hated myself immediately. “No. Fuck, I don’t know who you are this morning.” I kicked away my sheets, willing my groggy brain to wake the fuck up already. “It messes with my head to call you Hanna.”

  It makes me think you’re mine, I didn’t add.

  Laughing sharply, she started walking again, the wind whipping even louder through the receiver. “Get over your man-angst, Will. We had sex. You’re supposed to do this kind of thing better than anyone. I’m not asking for a key to your apartment.” She paused, and my heart dropped into my stomach as I understood how my distance was coming across to her. She assumed I was brushing her off. I opened my mouth to backpedal, but her words came out faster: “I’m not even asking for a repeat, you egomaniacal jerk.”

  And with that, she hung up.

  * * *

  I requested we move our regular group lunch from Tuesday to Monday on the basis that I’d lost my balls and my mind, and no one argued. It seemed that I’d reached a level of moony lovesickness that made giving me shit a lot less fun for my friends.

  We met at Le Bernardin, ordered whatever we always ordered, and life seemed to move on as it had for the past nine months. Max kissed Sara until she batted him away. Bennett and Chloe pretended to hate each other over the salad she insisted they split for lunch, in some confusing form of flirty foreplay. The only thing that seemed different was that I drank my alcoholic lunch beverage in less than five minutes and then earned a raised eyebrow from our regular waiter when I ordered another.

  “I think I’m the Kitty,” I said once the waiter left. When conversation came to a screeching halt, I registered that my friends had been happily babbling on about whateverthefuck while my brain was practically melting next to them.

  “With Hanna?” I clarified, searching each of their faces for any sign of understanding. “I’m the Kitty. I’m the one saying I’m fine with just fucking around, but I’m not. I’m the one saying I’ll be happy to fuck only on the third Tuesday of odd-numbered months just so I can be with her. She’s the one who’s like, ‘Oh, I don’t need to hook up again.’ ”

  I was met with Chloe’s flat palm held up in my face. “Hold up, William. You’re fucking her?”

  I sat up straight, eyes wide and defensive. “She’s twenty-four, not thirteen, Chloe. What the hell?”

  “I don’t care that you’re fucking her—I care that you’ve fucked her and she didn’t call one of us immediately. When did this happen?”

  “Saturday. Two days ago; settle down,” I mumbled.

  She sat back, expression softening somewhat.

  Relaxing, I reached for my new drink almost as soon as the waiter put it in front of me. But Max was faster, pulling it out of my reach before I could get it. “We have an afternoon meeting with Albert Samuelson and I need you sharp.”

  I nodded, bending to rub my eyes. “I hate all of you.”

  “For being right?” Bennett correctly surmised.

  I ignored him.

  “Have you actually ended things with Kitty and Kristy?” Sara asked gently.

  Fuck. This again.

  I shook my head. “Why should I? There’s nothing going on with Hanna.”

  “Except you have feelings for her,” Sara pressed, eyebrows drawn together. I hated her disapproval. Of any of my friends, Sara only gave me shit when it was fully deserved.

  “I just figure why create more drama right now,” I reasoned, lamely.

  “Has Hanna actually said that she doesn’t want anything more with you?” Chloe asked.

  “It’s pretty obvious from the way she acted Sunday morning.”

  Already nodding, Max added, “I hate to state the obvious, mate, but why haven’t you had the Will Sumner sit-down with her? Aren’t you sort of proving the long-suffering point you always throw at us regarding your hookups: that it’s better to discuss things up front than leave questions?”

  “Because,” I explained, “it’s easy to have that convo when you know what you want and don’t want.”

  “Well, what do you know?” Max asked, shifting to the side so the waiter could place his food down in front of him.

  “I know I don’t want Hanna fucking anyone else,” I growled.

  “Well,” Bennett began wincing slightly, “what if I told you I saw Kitty clearly hooking up with someone else the other night?”

  Relief inundated me. “Did you?”

  He shook his head. “No. But your reaction sure is telling. Fix things with Hanna. Figure your shit out with Kitty.” Picking up his fork, he said, “And now shut up so we can eat.”

  * * *

  I was up at five fifteen the next morning, waiting outside Hanna’s apartment building. I knew that now that she had a taste for running she wouldn’t miss a day. I had to fix things with her. . . . I just wasn’t sure how to do it yet.

  She drew up short when she saw me, eyes widening before she put on a calm, unaffected mask. “Oh, hi, Will.”

  “Good morning.”

  She started to walk past me, eyes straight ahead. Her shoulder brushed mine as she passed, and I could tell from the way she winced that it had been unintentional.

  “Wait,” I said, and she stopped but didn’t turn around. “Hanna.”

  She sighed. “And today it’s Hanna again.”

  I walked to where she stood, turning to face her and putting my hands on her shoulders. I didn’t miss the way she shivered slightly. Was it anger or the same thrill at contact I felt? “It’s always been Hanna.”

  Her eyes darkened. “It wasn’t yesterday.”

  “Yesterday I fucked up, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t show for our run, and I’m sorry I came off like a dick.”

  She watched me, eyes wary. “An epic dick.”

  “I know I’m supposed to be the one who knows what I’m doing here, but I’ll admit that Saturday night was different for me.” Her eyes softened, shoulders relaxing. I continued, my voice quieter, “It was intense, okay? And I realize that this sounds insane, but I was a little taken aback when you were so casual about it the next day.”

  I let go of her shoulders, stepping back to give her space.

  She looked at me as if I’d sprouted the head of a lizard from my forehead. “How was I supposed to be? Weird? Angry? In love?” Shaking her head, she said, “I’m not sure what exactly I did wrong. I thought I handled it pretty well. I thought I acted just like you would have told me to if it was anyone else I’d had sex with.” She blushed, hotly, and I had to push my hands into the pockets of my hoodie to keep them to myself.

  I took a deep breath. This was the moment I could tell her, I have feelings for you I haven’t had before. I’ve been struggling with them since the first second I saw you, weeks ago. I don’t know what these feelings mean, but I want to find out.

  But I wasn’t ready for that. I looked up at the sky. I was clueless and had no idea what I was doing. For all I knew, this was nothing more than what I’d feel if I were having sex with anyone whose family I’d known forever; a protectiveness, a yearning to take caution with both of our feelings. I needed more time to sort things out.

  “I’ve known your family for so long,” I said, turning back to her. “It isn’t the same as hooking up with some random person, no matter how much we want it to be casual. You’re more to me than just someone I want to be sexual with, and . . .” I ran my hand over my face. “I’m just trying to be careful, okay?”

  I wanted to punch myself. I was pussing out. Everything I’d said was true, but it was a flimsy half-truth. It wasn’t only just about knowing her for so many years. It was wanting to know her, like this, for so many more
.

  She closed her eyes for a beat, and when she opened them, she was looking to the side, to some unknown point in the distance. “Okay,” she murmured.

  “Okay?”

  Finally she looked up at me and smiled. “Yeah.” Tilting her head in indication that we should get moving, she turned and soon our feet were slapping the pavement in an easy, steady rhythm, but I had no idea what conclusion we’d just reached.

  It was gorgeous out, for the first time in months, and even though it was probably still under forty degrees, it felt like spring. The sky was clear, no clouds or gray shadows, just light, and sun and crisp air. Only three blocks from her house, I grew too warm, and I slowed slightly, pulling my long-sleeved thermal up and over my head and then tucked it into the back of my track pants.

  I heard the sound of a toe butting into pavement, and before I knew what was happening, Hanna was sprawled out on the sidewalk, the wind knocked from her in a forceful gust.

  “Holy crap, are you okay?” I asked, kneeling next to her and helping her sit up.

  It was several long seconds before she could inhale and when she did, it was loud and desperate. I hated that sensation more than almost anything, getting all of the air knocked out of my lungs. She’d tripped on a large crack in the sidewalk and landed hard, her arms pressed to her ribs. Her pants were torn at one knee, and she was holding on to her ankle.

  “Owwww,” she groaned, rocking.

  “Shit,” I murmured, reaching behind her knees and around her waist, picking her up. “Let’s get you home and ice that.”

  “I’m fine,” she managed, struggling to keep me from lifting her.

  “Hanna.”

  Swatting at my hands, she begged, “Don’t carry me, Will, you’ll break your arms.”

  I laughed. “Hardly. You’re not heavy, and it’s three blocks.”

  She gave in, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  “What happened?”

  Hanna was quiet, and when I ducked my head to catch her eye, she laughed. “You took off your shirt.”

  Confused, I murmured, “I had another shirt on, you goof.”

  “No, I mean, the tattoos.” She shrugged. “It’s been cold. I’ve only seen them a couple of other times, but I saw a lot of them on Saturday, and it made me think . . . I looked over just now . . .”

  “And fell?” I asked, laughing despite my better judgment.

  Groaning, she whispered, “Yes. Shut up.”

  “Well, you can stare at them while I carry you,” I told her. “And feel free to nibble on my earlobes while we walk,” I whispered, smiling. “You know I like your teeth.”

  She laughed, but not for long, and as soon as I’d caught up with her and realized what I’d said the tension grew into a heavy thing between us. I moved down the sidewalk to her building and with every step in silence, the monster tension only grew. It was the unspoken oh, right, the way I’d so casually referenced how she knew what I liked in bed, the reality of where we were heading—her apartment, where we’d had sex all night long Saturday.

  I dug around inside my head for what to say, but the only words that bubbled right near the surface were words about us, or that night, or her, or my own fucked-up brain. I put her down when we reached the elevator and I had to hit the up button. It arrived with a quiet ding, and I helped Hanna limp inside.

  The doors closed, I hit the button for the twenty-third floor, and the lift jerked with the initial ascent. Hanna settled into the same corner she’d been in the last time we were in here together.

  “You okay?” I asked quietly.

  She nodded, and everything we’d said right here two nights ago filled the elevator car like smoke rising from the floor. You go down on me. You do it until I come.

  “Can you move your ankle?” I asked in a rush, my chest tightening with how much I wanted to step closer, kiss her.

  She nodded again, eyes locked to mine. “It’s sore, but I think it’s okay.”

  “Still,” I whispered. “We should ice it.”

  “Okay.”

  The gears of the elevator creaked; something just above us in the elevator shaft slid into place with a loud thunk.

  You lean over me on the couch, jerking off, and come on my chest.

  I licked my lips, finally letting my eyes move to her mouth, my mind wander to the memory of how it felt to kiss her. The echo of her words was loud enough in my head that it was as good as if she’d said them aloud: Sex in all kind of places on my body. How you like me to bite you, and how good it feels to do it.

  I stepped closer, wondering if she remembered saying, We’re having sex and I’m doing everything you want and it isn’t just good for me, it’s good for you, too. And, if she did, I wondered if she could see in my eyes that it had been good, so good for me; it was making me want to kneel at her feet right now.

  We arrived at her floor and I relented as she insisted on limping down the hall, needing to break the tension somehow. Inside her apartment, I grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and guided her to the bathroom, making her sit down on the toilet seat while I dug around under her sink for Bactine or some type of antiseptic. I settled for water and hydrogen peroxide.

  Her pants were only ripped on one knee, but the other was scuffed enough to tell me that both knees were probably pretty scraped. I rolled up each pant leg, ignoring the way she swatted my hands away at the sight of the mild stubble on her legs.

  “I didn’t know you would be touching my legs today,” she said, laughing a little.

  “Oh, stop.”

  Dabbing at the cuts with a wet cotton ball, I was relieved to see they weren’t too bad. They were bleeding, but there wasn’t anything that wouldn’t heal in a few days, and without stitches.

  Finally, she looked down, straightening one leg as I cleaned up the other. “I look like I was walking around on my knees. I’m a mess.”

  I grabbed a couple of clean cotton balls and dabbed her cuts with hydrogen peroxide, trying—but failing—to tamp down a smile.

  She leaned down to get a better look at my face. “You are such a pervert, smiling at my scraped knees.”

  “You’re such a pervert, knowing why I’m smiling.”

  “You like the idea of getting my knees all scraped up?” she asked with a growing smile of her own.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head with absolute insincerity. “I really do.”

  Her smile dissolved slowly and she ran a finger over my chin, studying the little scar there. “How did you get this?”

  “Happened in college. A woman was giving me head and freaked out and bit down on my dick. I slammed my face into the headboard.”

  Her eyes widened in horror: her worst oral sex nightmare realized. “Really?”

  I burst out laughing, unable to keep up the story any longer. “No, not really. I was hit in the face with a lacrosse stick in the tenth grade.”

  She closed her eyes, pretending she wasn’t amused, but I could see her swallow a laugh. Finally, she looked back down at me. “Will?”

  “Mmm?” I put down the last cotton ball and screwed the cap back on the hydrogen peroxide bottle as I blew gently across the cuts. Once I had it all clean, I didn’t even think she would need a Band-Aid.

  “I heard what you said about wanting to be careful because of our history. And I’m sorry that I came off as too casual.”

  I smiled at her, absently running my hand slowly down her calf, before realizing how familiar that was.

  She sucked on her bottom lip for a beat before whispering, “I’ve thought about Saturday night almost constantly since.”

  Outside a horn blared, cars sped down 101st, and people rushed off to work. But in Hanna’s apartment it fell completely silent. She and I just stared at each other. Her eyes grew anxious and wide, and I realized she was getting embarrassed the longer I took to reply.

  I couldn’t push any air past the tangle in my throat. Finally, I managed, “Me, too.”

  “I never
thought it could be like that.”

  I hesitated, worrying she wouldn’t believe me when I said, “Me, either.”

  Her hand lifted at her side, pausing before reaching out. Sliding her fingers into my hair, she followed forward with her body, eyes wide open as she slid her mouth over mine.

  I groaned, and my heart slammed against my sternum, skin growing hot as my cock lengthened; every part of me felt tight and stiff.

  “Okay?” she asked, pulling back, eyes anxious.

  I wanted her so fiercely I was worried I wouldn’t be able to be gentle. “Fuck yes, it’s okay. I was worried I wouldn’t ever have you again.”

  She stood on wobbly legs, reaching for the hem of her shirt and pulling it up and over her head. Her skin shone with a thin sheen of sweat, and her hair was a mess, but I wanted nothing else than to bury myself in her and feel her give in to me for hours.

  “You’re going to be late to work,” I whispered, watching as she pulled off her sports bra.

  “So are you.”

  “Don’t care.”

  She shimmied out of her pants. With a little ass wiggle, she turned and hopped on one foot to her bedroom.

  I stripped as I walked, pulling off my shirt, kicking off my pants—and leaving it all in piles in the hallway. I found Hanna on her bed, lying on top of the covers.

  “Do you need more first aid?” I asked, smiling as I climbed over her, kissing my way up her belly to her breasts. “Does anything else hurt?”

  “One guess,” she said on an exhale.

  Without needing to ask, I stretched, reaching for the drawer where she’d kept her condoms. Wordlessly, I tore one from the pack and handed it to her. Her hand was already extended expectantly.

  “Fuck. We should fool around a little first,” I said into her neck even as I felt her begin to roll the condom down my length.

  “We’ve been fooling around in my head since Sunday morning,” she whispered. “I don’t think I need more warm-up.”

  She was right. When she positioned me and then reached for my hips, pulling me deep in one, slow move, she was wet and ready, quickly pulling on my ass to get me moving fast, and hard.