Restraint, p.12
Restraint, page 12
Blake glanced around Pat’s Pub. “Where’s Coulton?”
“Said he had something to take care of,” Tank said. “I told him after the way he played tonight, Padraig would probably give him every round for free, but the dude was in as much of a mood as you are. What happened? Did your menstrual cycles sync up?”
Blake smirked. “You’re a dick.”
“And you’re killing my buzz. What’s wrong?” Tank asked again.
“Erika is out on a date.”
Tank frowned, confused by his response. “So?”
“So, I think she’s really into this guy. Doug,” he added, the man’s name tasting like manure anytime he was forced to say it.
Tank studied his face for a few seconds, then slapped him on the back. “It’s about damn time. Hey, Preston, Victor. Come here,” Tank called out, waving their teammates and buddies over.
“What’s going on?” Preston asked.
Tank tilted his head in Blake’s direction. “Einstein here finally figured it out.”
Victor’s and Preston’s expressions were blank until Tank added, “Erika.”
Preston smiled widely. “It’s about damn time,” he said, echoing Tank’s exact words.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Blake asked.
“It means you’ve had the hots for her since about five minutes after she moved in,” Preston pointed out.
Blake hadn’t exactly hidden his interest in Erika when they’d first met, so it wasn’t like that was news. “I know. And she shot me down because she’s always been looking for a relationship, and I’m not.”
“Jesus,” Tank muttered, shaking his head.
Blake’s temper had been skating just under the surface all night, so the fact they were saying a bunch of shit that didn’t make sense wasn’t helping. “If you have something to say, just say it!”
Victor gave him a look. “That woman has been your fucking girlfriend for three years. You’ve just been too fucking stupid to see it.”
Blake scowled. “No, she hasn’t.”
Tank rolled his eyes. “Man, I love you like a brother, but you can be blind sometimes. You and Erika eat dinner together at least three times a week. You keep food in each other’s refrigerators. You bring her to every single party, every pizza and game night, and even last week’s fundraiser.”
“You go to the grocery store together, spend holidays together,” Preston chimed in. “You have coffee with her almost every morning, go running with her in the off-season.”
Tank swiped at his phone screen, pointing to a picture of Corky. “You adopted a fucking dog together, for God’s sake.”
“She’s your fucking girlfriend,” Victor growled, repeating himself. “A girlfriend without benefits, which is totally fucked up.”
“We all agree that’s pretty fucked,” Tank added.
Blake listened as they rattled off their lists, dumbfounded by how right they were. He leaned forward, resting his forehead in his hand. “She’s my girlfriend,” he muttered.
Tank slapped him on the shoulder again, like he was congratulating him for doing something great, rather than finally opening his eyes to something that should have been obvious. “She’s a great girl. We all love her, and she’s perfect for you, man.”
Preston nodded. “The two of you are good for each other.”
“She’s a hell of a lot better than Mindy,” Victor added. “I don’t know how the fuck you can stand that woman’s fucking grating voice and laugh.” While Blake, Tank, and Preston—pre-Chelsea—had always enjoyed the company of puck bunnies, Victor had never invited a single Rays groupie home with him.
“Erika is great,” Blake said miserably.
“What’s wrong?” Preston said.
“She’s out with another man. Doug,” Blake spat out. “I think it might be getting serious.”
“So fucking make it unserious,” Victor proposed, as if that was a simple solution. “She’s your fucking girlfriend. You gonna let some douchebag take her out?”
Tank gestured toward Victor like every word he’d said was pure genius. Not that Blake was surprised. Victor and Tank were bulldozers, neither man shy when it came to getting what they wanted.
Blake glanced over at Preston, expecting him to be the voice of reason, but he was nodding as well.
“She’s your soul mate,” Preston said. “I could see that right from the beginning.”
Victor rolled his eyes, just like he always did when Preston started talking about true love and soul mates. “I need another fucking beer before Romeo here starts reciting poetry.” He stood, looking around the table. “Who else?”
Tank stood as well. “Let’s get another round for the table. We need to come up with a plan of attack for our guy here.”
Blake appreciated his friends’ support, and if Erika was sitting at home right now with Corky, he would have already blown out of this place, driving straight home to clue her in on the girlfriend thing.
Another teammate called out Preston’s name, calling him over to ask him to repeat some funny story.
Preston gave him a questioning look.
“Go ahead,” Blake said. “I’m fine.”
Preston rose, grabbing his beer to join the other conversation.
Blake took another swig of beer then winced. He’d been sitting here with his head up his ass for so long that the beer had gone warm. Putting it back down on the table, he tried to figure out when things had changed between him and Erika. Because, despite his teammates’ assertions, she hadn’t always been his girlfriend.
Sifting through the past three years, he had to admit that once she’d shot his flirting down, insisting they weren’t going to be anything more than friends, the friendship blossomed fast. While he would concede to the idea that she was his girlfriend now in almost every way, Blake didn’t think that was true the first year they’d been neighbors.
Nope, the tide had turned somewhere in these past couple of years, as they’d grown closer. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly when. Maybe there wasn’t an exact day and time, but his friends were right. He’d unwittingly put her in the role of his girlfriend, leaning on her when he needed bolstering, seeking her out when he needed advice or an opinion, taking care of her when she forgot to feed herself.
He grinned slightly when he realized Victor calling Erika his girlfriend hadn’t bugged him at all. He’d always proclaimed loudly—and to anyone who would listen—that he was happy with his footloose and fancy-free lifestyle. Now, he could see his happiness wasn’t driven by the fact he was single.
Nope.
He was happy because he already had Erika in his life. She was the first person he thought of when he opened his eyes and the last one he thought of before falling asleep. And he was ashamed to admit that was true even on nights when he wasn’t alone…because somewhere along the line, he’d started comparing the women he slept with to his neighbor as well. He was certain that was why his attraction to Mindy had waned. She simply couldn’t hold a candle to Erika.
“Fuck,” he muttered, throwing his head back. None of these revelations were helping improve his mood. If anything, he was in worse shape now than when he’d walked into Pat’s Pub. Because admitting his feelings to himself—even though it had taken him too damn long—was the easy part.
Erika was going to be much harder to convince. For that laundry list of reasons she constantly threw out at him. She wasn’t willing to risk their friendship on what she assumed would be a roll in the hay. And why wouldn’t she assume that was all it would be? His track record had been on display for three full years, proving that when it came to serious relationships, he meant what he said about being disinterested.
How could he convince her that she was the exception?
And even if he did, had he waited too long? She was on date number seven with Doug, and after the way she so easily pushed Blake away after the fundraiser, he feared that meant she really was serious about the other man, ready to take the next step in their relationship.
He looked at the clock on his phone. It was close to midnight. Which meant, chances were good her date was over.
Or…it had gone into overtime.
In her bedroom.
The thought of Doug touching and kissing his girl had Blake seeing red, irritating him enough that he considered driving home and banging on her door to interrupt anything that might be happening.
Yeah. That would go over like a lead balloon.
Regardless, he rose, struggling to hold back his inner caveman. The one beating his chest and itching for a fight.
Before he could act on that thought, two things happened simultaneously. His phone rang, and Mindy spotted him, aware he was about to make his escape.
Blake answered the phone the second he saw Erika’s name on the screen.
“Erik,” he said.
Unfortunately, at the same time, Mindy rushed over. “Blake!” she squealed. “It’s time to celebrate!”
“Blake,” Erika said.
He knew in an instant something was wrong.
Erika stood by a tree, desperately fighting back tears as she watched Corky do her business. Tonight had been a clusterfuck from the word go, and now things had gone from bad to worse.
Her date with Doug had been fine—another word as boring as nice—and for a little while, she’d debated if she was being unfair, assuming sex with Doug would be uneventful without giving him a chance to prove her wrong. Maybe the sparks that weren’t coming with his kisses would appear in the bedroom.
Sure, Blake practically set her hair on fire with just a touch, but was it fair to compare Blake—a freaking sex god—to a mere mortal?
And while she hadn’t had actual sex with Blake, he’d already proven himself to be the best she’d ever had.
How sad was that statement about her sex life? That Blake had rocked her world harder with a dildo and a dry hump than the men she’d gone all the way with.
She closed her eyes, warding off unwanted thoughts and feelings.
So what if Blake was great in the bedroom? She needed more than that.
She and Doug were compatible, like-minded, and they had a good time. Or a good enough time. It wasn’t like it was a lot of over-the-top laughter and fun, like she shared with Blake, but their dates had been pleasant.
She mentally added pleasant to her list of shitty descriptors.
By the time she and Doug had left the movie theater tonight, Erika had made up her mind to invite him in.
However, when he parked the car by the curb outside her building, her words evaporated. Doug gave her a long, slow kiss, and as always, Erika’s thoughts wandered back to Blake. To the passion, the hunger, the sheer need behind his kisses.
Doug kissed her like he was trying to win points by impressing her with his technique, all suave finesse and a gentleness that almost put her to sleep.
Blake kissed her like she fucking mattered, like she was the air, the water, the food he needed to survive, and without her lips, he’d die.
By the time their kiss ended, she’d changed her mind about sleeping with Doug—he’d given her too much time to think during the boring buss—and she had repeated the same words she’d used at the end of every single one of their dates. She’d thanked him for a lovely evening, then lied about having an early morning.
At the beginning, Doug had taken her dismissals with good grace, but that polish had become a little more tarnished every time she’d sent him away with nothing more than a few kisses. She hadn’t even let him get to second base and cop a feel.
Tonight, he hadn’t smiled and said good night. He’d scowled, point-blank asking her if the two of them were “ever going to fuck.”
His words had pissed her off. When she told him she wasn’t going to be pressured into something she wasn’t ready for, he’d called her a prude and told her to get out of his car, skidding his tires in his haste to get away from her.
She tried to convince herself she’d made a lucky break, that Doug obviously wasn’t the man she’d thought he was, but her guilty conscience kept rearing its head, suggesting that, number one, she hadn’t really given Doug a fair shot, and number two, she probably shouldn’t have kept going on dates with him if she wasn’t truly interested.
The thing was, she thought she should be interested because of all those stupid “we’re well-suited” reasons that had seemed so fucking important at the beginning. Now, she was starting to wonder if she’d been using Doug as a buffer, as a way to keep Blake at arm’s length.
Because she was in serious danger of giving in to her best friend’s desire to take her to bed, even though she knew doing so would be the biggest mistake of her life.
Blake didn’t do commitment, didn’t do girlfriends, didn’t want marriage for at least twenty more years. She didn’t even know if he wanted kids. Worse than that, he lived across the hall.
She knew exactly how the whole thing would play out. She’d succumb to his charms, they’d have amazing sex for one, two, maybe even a few nights. And then, when he was done, Mr. Casual would expect things to return to normal, which meant, she’d be forced to pretend he hadn’t broken her heart while watching puck bunny after puck bunny leave his apartment every morning.
Erika would probably try to maintain the friendship—for Corky’s sake—but in the end, she’d lose the battle, they’d have some huge blowout fight, and eventually the strain would get so bad that she’d have to move out of the apartment she loved.
And even knowing all of that wasn’t helping her resist him. Because his kisses, his charming smiles, and his wicked, teasing touches, combined with the way he genuinely cared about her, was all too much.
Her emotional breakdown was interrupted when a flash of lightning split the sky, followed by a huge crack of thunder.
“Shit!” Erika jumped, raising her hands to cover her ears at the same time, Corky jolted.
Erika heard a snap and felt the leash go slack—then Corky sprinted across the grassy park area behind their building.
The grassy, unfenced area.
“Corky!” she screamed, taking off after the dog as the skies opened, a heavy downpour soaking her to the skin in less than a minute.
Another flash of lightning struck, and she stumbled when a loud rumble of thunder boomed overhead. Her heart was racing, more from fear than exertion, and she panicked when Corky disappeared through a small grove of trees. Her apartment complex maintained the commons for residents, and while there had been some talk of adding a fenced-off dog park area, that hadn’t happened yet.
“Corky,” she yelled again, tears mixing with the rain streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t see the dog at all anymore, the night and the heavy rain limiting her view.
“Please,” she cried. “Oh God, please, Corky. Come back!” True terror took hold when another loud roar of thunder cut through the night, and Corky was nowhere in sight.
She continued running, yelling the dog’s name, but every time another flash of lightning struck or thunder boomed, her fear continued to grow until it was nearly paralyzing.
A sob fell from her throat, opening the floodgates as she raced around, desperately searching for Corky.
Blake.
She needed Blake.
Erika pulled out her phone. He hadn’t been home when she returned for her date, which meant, he’d probably gone out with the team following tonight’s game. Either to celebrate or drown his sorrows. Once again, she’d missed the game. She had no idea if they’d won or lost.
Fumbling with her cell, she opened her contacts and hit his number. Mercifully he answered after just two rings.
“Erik,” she heard him say, the noise in the background proving her guess about him going out with his friends.
“Blake! It’s time to celebrate!”
Erika would recognize Mindy’s voice anywhere. The idea that he was out with the other woman only added to her pain.
“Blake,” she said, her voice hoarse. She swallowed heavily. “Please.” The second she said the word, she started crying again.
“What’s wrong, Erik? Where are you?”
“Park…behind…the building.” Every word she spoke was broken by a loud gasp for breath. “Corky,” she said, her voice breaking.
The noise behind Blake faded, and she thought she heard a horn honk. He must have left the bar. “What happened?”
She was grateful for the strength in his voice, the steadiness of his tone. Considering she was completely falling apart, it was good one of them was able to function.
“She broke free from the leash. The thunder scared her. I can’t find her. I can’t find her!” she repeated, still tromping around the area, zigzagging from one end of the park to the next, perfectly aware the dog had kept running. She could be down any of the dark streets surrounding them.
Why hadn’t they gotten her chipped at the vet?
“I’m on my way now.” She heard his car start, and she prayed he’d been at Pat’s Pub because it was the closest bar to their building.
Another flash of lightning lit the sky, and she screamed.
“Jesus, Erik…calm down, baby. I’ll be there as quick as I can. It’s going to be okay. We’ll find her.”
She’d never told Blake about her fear of storms because the catalyst for that phobia was a story she wasn’t proud of. Blake only knew the super-straight, rule-follower Erika, and she’d never filled him in on her early wild-child reputation, ashamed of who she used to be.
“I was trying to take her out before the storm started,” she said. “But I got distracted.” By thoughts of him and Doug and how she was screwing up her life.
Blake stayed on the line with her while he drove home, his calm voice soothing her enough that she was able to stop crying.
They hung up when, ten minutes later, she saw him sprinting across the grassy field toward her. Erika ran to him, meeting him halfway, so grateful when he wrapped his arms around her, comforting her.
