Olympic crown bellerive.., p.14
Olympic Crown (Bellerive Royals #1), page 14
“Posey can do whatever the fuck she wants,” I mutter.
“You’re right. Posey will do whatever the fuck she wants.” He takes down the tequila from a cabinet above the oversized fridge.
I shake my head and gulp back my beer before setting my empty on the island. The rest of the party is buzzing around us. The house keeps getting fuller, and I’m surprised no one streaming into the house stopped to gawk at my domestic with Posey outside.
“For what it’s worth, I was making my way through the crowd to intervene when you showed up.”
I wave him off. “I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing. What am I doing, Deacon? What am I doing?”
He slides a shot of tequila across the granite countertop. “Falling in love with Posey Jensen?”
I stare into the clear liquid. Falling in love with Posey Jensen. Seems impossible. It’s been a week. Who falls in love in a week? Whatever I felt when I saw the result of Chet pressuring her, it wasn’t normal. Val and I were together for over a year, and I never felt anything close to the desperate rage that seized me at the realization he might have hurt her.
“I have two more Olympic runs before I can fall in love with anyone.” I hold out my glass for a refill. “You and Destiny can’t be serious with her being drafted to the WNBA.”
“Not serious? Man, what gave you that impression? This is our last year here, and then I’m following her wherever she goes. We’re going to be the power couple of the WNBA. I’m going to run her brand like a champ.”
“You sound like Val.” I hold out my shot glass for a third. Beer I can handle fine, but hard liquor goes to my head a bit faster. “Brand, brand, the fucking brand.”
Deacon chuckles. “Don’t hold back.” He pours himself some tequila and raises it toward his lips. “You could build an empire off your swimming accomplishments already. Two more appearances and you might be revered as a god.”
I roll the shot glass between my hands before sending it sailing toward him across the granite. “To do that, I can’t get distracted.” I glance over my shoulder to where Posey has gravitated to a group of women and is laughing like we didn’t get in a fight outside. “Can’t get swept up in unnecessary drama. In six years, I can do whatever I want.”
“She’s not going to be around in six years. I can guarantee that. She might be a tough nut to crack, but someone is definitely going to think she’s worth the effort. No doubt about it.” Deacon drops our shot glasses into the cluttered sink.
A tight band twists around my chest, and I stretch my arms toward the ceiling in a bid to dislodge it. Must have pulled a muscle.
He perks up at something happening behind me, and he grins. “Destiny waits for no man.” Then he steps around the island, and I turn to see him loop his lanky arm over his girlfriend’s shoulders, and she squeezes him tight.
Posey is standing beside her. There’s a looseness to how she’s standing that tells me the alcohol is getting to her. When our gazes connect, her brown eyes are lit with a familiar desire, as though she could melt into me with very little effort.
Instead of going to her, I head to the chair near the front door that my coat is draped across. She didn’t answer my question about any other guys she might still be seeing, and she got irrationally angry with me for defending her.
Drama. It’s the last fucking thing I need.
Twice I’ve turned Val’s advances down with Posey nowhere in sight. This fake dating idea is a crutch I no longer need. Cut it off. Cut her out. Someone else can try to crack the tough outer shell she’s cultivated to keep men out. I don’t have time for that shit.
I open the front door, and I leave the party without looking back.
The next morning, I expect a text or phone message from Posey, but there’s nothing. Sundays start with dryland training, and the whole time I’m there, all I can think about is Posey. Though drunk me decided last night that ending this fake relationship was the right course of action—Val isn’t a legitimate temptation—sober me is struggling to hold the line. Ever since I woke up, thoughts of Posey circle and swirl.
Either way, I have to see her after practice to deliver her latte. Then I need to man up and tell her I am no longer in need of her services as a fake girlfriend. No matter what Val dangles in front of me, I don’t want to be with her, and I’m even more sure of that after this week. Other than her deep aversion to anything resembling real feelings or commitment, Posey has been incredibly easy to be around. Despite what Posey believes and what I let myself buy into with Val, relationships might be better when there’s more than desire between two people. Other than good sex, Val and I had very little in common. And I’m not sure Posey and I have more in common, but we’re more compatible.
Coach Brown appears at my shoulder when I screw up another set of reps. “You feeling okay today, Faulkner? I’ve never seen you have so much trouble counting to twenty before.”
I do another two biceps curls because I have, in fact, lost count again. My brain isn’t functioning on a high level. “I was out last night,” I say. “Bit tired today.”
“You went out?” Coach’s eyebrows rise. “Ethan told me you went to Jessica’s for drinks after practice the other night too.”
For a guy who enjoys his rebel image, Ethan is also a fan of being in the coach’s back pocket with team gossip. I wonder if Coach Brown knows Ethan is salivating over Jessica. I glance over to where Ethan is leaned against a machine while Jessica does chest presses. Now that I know about the attraction between them, it’s obvious. Posey’s good-girl and bad-boy spin on their attraction also makes sense now. I really have been living in my own bubble for far too long.
I grab a heavy weight for my triceps extensions.
“You know how I feel. All work and zero play makes for a burned-out Brent. We’ve got six more years for you to hit your goal.”
Although that’s true, I prefer to take the days one at a time. If I constantly dwelled on how long I’ll need to be doing a similar rigorous schedule, I might very well burn out. Instead, if I focus on each day’s practices, I don’t have to contemplate my life a year or two or six from now.
Nothing I want more than crushing Phelps’s records. While Posey and Coach Brown might have a point about giving myself more balance, I won’t allow anything or anyone to distract me from my bigger goal. Some fake relationship with a girl I met a week ago shouldn’t even be registering on my radar.
When I realize I’ve lost count again, I curse under my breath. I start from one, and this time I count every rep with precision.
A sassy, brown-haired, brown-eyed woman will not get the best of me. Deliver her drink, cancel our fake relationship, and be well rested with a renewed focus for evening practice. Maybe then this tightness across my chest won’t bother me so much.
Posey
When Brent shows up on the front door monitor with a tray of lattes an hour after his practice finished, a flurry of butterflies that have been circling all morning flutter frantically in my stomach.
He left the party last night after I gave him my best come hither expression. I’ve never had a guy I’m sleeping with ignore me after that. It’s the sex beacon illuminating the sky. The you’re getting laid as soon as I can get your dick out signal. We were one dark corner away from me serving him my body on a platter. Guys don’t turn down sex. Brent definitely doesn’t reject sex. He leads with his dick.
Not last night.
Maybe I was too harsh with him after he shoved Chet around. Typically, I don’t let anyone fight my battles. My one disastrous relationship turned me into a warrior. The girl with the stone heart. The one who doesn’t get attached and never takes anything personally.
Brent leaving without saying a word was very personal. I can’t decide whether it was well played, but the message was received.
I even checked his and Val’s socials. My theory that he didn’t need me because he was getting it somewhere else doesn’t appear to be true. Crickets on her account, and I’m sure if she managed to lure him back, she’d be shouting it from the proverbial rooftops. Naked photos galore.
I hesitate for a moment before hitting the button to let him in. Destiny stayed with Deacon last night, and Nadiya went to have coffee with West to see whether they could sort out their issues. We’ll be alone in the apartment. Those stupid butterflies lose their shit in my stomach again.
There’s a brisk knock on the door, and I jump at the sound. God, why am I like this?
With a deep breath, I open the door. Perched in one hand is the tray of lattes, and the other is shoved in the front pocket of his jeans. I linger over his winter boots and his black winter jacket until I can’t avoid eye contact anymore. When our gazes lock, my heart sinks at the expression on his face.
No doubt I went too far last night. He looks as though he’s the one I kneed in the balls.
“I hurt your feelings,” I say. “I’m sorry.” What I said that caused his sadness, I’m not sure. A hairline crack forms in my heart of stone.
His eyebrows lift, and he shakes his head. “I’m not sur—”
Before he can say what I’m pretty sure he’s going to say, I rise on my toes and kiss him. He doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace, to slant his mouth over mine, deepening it. His free hand splays across my lower back, and he tugs me flush against him. I dig my fingers into his hair, and I can’t get close enough.
He walks me backward, and he kicks the door closed with his foot in an impressive display of balance. Once he slides the lattes onto the island, he cups my ass and lifts me against him, carrying me to my room. He sets me on the floor, and we’re shedding clothes in a blur of kisses and discarded items.
I turn my back to him to snap the lock in place, and Brent’s breath is hot against my ear. A shiver slithers down my spine. One of his hands kneads my breast, pinching the nipple while his other hand finds my clit. He trails openmouthed kisses along my neck and up to my jaw. I lean back into him, and he’s hard against me.
Except yesterday, we’ve been gorging on our desire for each other. He can make me come with very little effort, and any second this flood of sensation is going to drown me. Just before I’m about to go under, Brent withdraws, and I moan.
“No, why?” I turn to find him taking a condom out of my underwear drawer.
He rolls it on, and as he steps toward me, his impressive shaft is in his hand. “Say it.”
“Prove it.”
“Nah, I’ve already proved it. I want you to say it.”
“Give it to me, and I will.”
He smirks, but he lifts me up and braces me against the door. He teases me with the tip, easing in and out with remarkable restraint. “I’m not going to ask again,” he says.
“You didn’t ask the first time.”
Our gazes connect, and I realize I missed this easy banter and gentle teasing yesterday. My whole day was off-kilter from the minute I got out of the bathroom and found him gone.
“You’re the best I’ve ever had,” I say, and he plunges into me, eliciting a moan of satisfaction.
“Fuck, Posey,” he hisses.
My insides tingle at the raw need in his voice. I graze his ear with my teeth and tighten my legs around him so each thrust hits me in just the right spot.
He establishes a punishing rhythm, as though it’s possible for us to fuck away whatever went on between us yesterday. Mutual pleasure as conflict resolution is my favorite. He is so damn good at driving me to the edge. Baring my body to him is easy. I dig my nails into his back, and my muscles shake with the strain of trying to hold my release.
“Oh god.” I clutch at his shoulders.
He reads me like his favorite book, and he shifts his hold on my legs ever so slightly. I shoot off the edge of the cliff, and he covers my cries with his kisses. Then he follows me out into the sweet oblivion.
Brent dragged me up to the bed after sex, and he wouldn’t even let me get my latte. Those to-go cups don’t keep it warm that long. He’s underestimating my need for the sugar and caffeine that only a latte can provide.
“So,” Brent says. “Last night.” His arm is thrown across my middle, preventing me from fleeing this conversation.
“Might actually be all of yesterday.” This isn’t just me. He was weird yesterday too. I turn in his arms, and I lay my head on his biceps, which is stretched out behind us. His brow is furrowed, and I run my hand along his cheek.
“I brought your latte.”
“But you didn’t stay, and you didn’t even talk to me. Nothing. Complete silence yesterday.”
“We’ve been spending a lot of time together,” he says.
“Wasn’t that the point of the fake relationship? We spend our time together so you don’t spend it elsewhere.”
He scans my face, and a muscle tics in his jaw. “Who else are you spending your time with?”
“Seriously, Brent?”
“I deserve to know.”
“Last week when we first started sleeping together. Now? You’re not asking for the same reason.”
“Why won’t you just answer the question? You wouldn’t answer it last night, and you aren’t answering it now.”
Jealousy is driving him, and I should find it off putting. My breaking point with any guy in the past has been the first sign of insecurity or instability. But there’s vulnerability underneath his question when normally all I can see is anger.
I run my thumb along his bottom lip, and then I place a gentle kiss on his lips. He doesn’t return it, and tension radiates off him. “You’re the best I’ve ever had, Faulkner. Anyone else would be a letdown. Why would I do that to myself?”
A hint of a smile tips up the edges of his lips. “You owe me a medal.”
“Took you a whole week.” I slither my body along his, and he hardens against me.
“To get you to admit it. I bet I hit that finish line before we left Bermuda.”
He did. He’ll never get me to say that out loud. “I answered your question. Were you jealous of Chet last night?”
“Jealous of a guy who got kneed in the balls?” He chuckles. “Uh, no.”
“Obviously not about earning the sack shot.”
“Forgive me for giving a shit.” He smooths my hair and kisses my forehead. “Next time, I’ll remember to be a dickhead in the opposite direction.”
“Brent.”
“Posey.”
“I’m trying to get to the bottom of this jealous streak, so it doesn’t happen again.”
“Yeah, I got the memo. Jealousy is a big fucking no. I’ve felt jealousy before—a lot—and that wasn’t it.”
“Oh please. What was it then?”
He purses his lips and then sighs. “You’re still going to give me shit for it.”
Jealousy is the only plausible explanation for his behavior last night. He’s stalling. I tip my chin at him and wait.
“When I walked in and saw your drink all over him and him clutching his balls, it was pretty obvious what had gone on. I wasn’t jealous of him, Posey. I was protective of you.”
Warmth floods my chest in a rush so strong and so sudden, I’m momentarily overwhelmed. Since that one lengthy episode with my high school boyfriend, I’ve never needed or wanted anyone else to protect me. The crack that erupted earlier in my stone-cold heart deepens and spiders out. Tears sting my eyes, and I bury my face in the crook of Brent’s neck. When that doesn’t feel close enough, I wrap my arms around him and breathe in the chlorine that clings to his skin. He reminds me of summer, the sun, and warm days lazing around a pool. All the best things.
“Doesn’t feel like you hate what I said.” He rubs my back in circular motions.
I let out a strangled laugh, but I can’t speak around the lump in my throat. He struck a nerve I didn’t even know was buried in me.
“Want to tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had again?” He nuzzles my ear, and his teeth graze against the sensitive skin.
I draw back and frame his face, and I let my kiss be the answer. The desire that normally springs up between us is coated in something more this time, a new intimacy that I’m not sure I’m comfortable with, but I can’t deny its existence. A living, breathing thing between us. He’s giving me an easy out from dissecting whatever is developing between us.
I’ll give him my body, but there’s no way he’ll get my heart. Love makes you give up too much of yourself trying to make someone else happy, and I’ll never do that again.
Brent
Considering I arrived on Posey’s doorstep determined to deliver her a final latte and break off our fake romance, it’s somewhat remarkable I’m still in her bed mid-afternoon. From the minute she apologized and kissed me, there was no way I was leaving. Val and I had a lot of makeup sex, but she never apologized, ever. Her acts of contrition involved a blow job or a hand job or a quick fuck in the shadows of a building. Nothing sincere or real. A means to an end. She emptied my balls but never fed my soul.
Conversations with Posey are a different story. We tiptoe around things, but we’re more real than what I had with Val. Anything too revealing is an emotional tightrope. One false step, and I’m tumbling into ex-fake-boyfriend territory. Last night I thought I was okay with that outcome. Even when I arrived, conflicted, I was sure breaking this off was the best thing to do. The need for a fake girlfriend is gone. With my schedule for the foreseeable future, a real girlfriend who wants my time and attention won’t work. We’ll fizzle and die like every other time I’ve tried to have a normal relationship.
Except, Posey has been proving my theory wrong from the moment I met her.
Maybe what I’ve needed is a fiercely independent woman. If I’m busy, she’s fine because she’s got five hundred other people who’ll gladly take my place.
Before she admitted we are, in fact, exclusive, the reality of exactly how many people she could be busy with ate at me, a rot I hadn’t allowed to get a hold in me until now. Val dripped the poison about Posey, but I sucked it up. Deep down, I didn’t believe Val, but Posey’s evasiveness fed my insecurity.
