Lainey’s List Chapter Thirty-Seven

 

Lainey

It’s half past eight before Nick arrives. When the knock sounds against the door, I’m sitting on the down cushions of the couch, watching, but not really registering, the news. It’s an unusually cold winter here on the West Coast. Or so says the meteorologist. It might rain tomorrow. It will definitely be chilly. I rub my hands briskly over my arms to chase away the sudden prickle of goosebumps.

It’s strange to be set up in a hotel room by a man. Even when I fooled around with Chip back when I was a stupid teenager, this sort of thing didn’t happen. We’d make out in his car or he’d get a cheap hotel room in a part of town where he didn’t think he’d be recognized.

The room Nick reserved for me is nearly on the top floor, and it has two rooms. The bedroom is separated from the living room by a wall that has two doorways, one on either side. There aren’t any doors so the half-wall provides only an illusion of privacy. But I’m not here to hide in the bedroom. I’m here to have sex with Nick. That’s why I flew three and a half hours. That’s also why my palms are sweaty and my knees are a tad wobbly by the time I twist the latch.

“Hey,” I say softly, as I open the door.

He gives me a tired smile. There are tight lines around his eyes, and a tenseness in his shoulders that he gets when he’s stressed out. One hand is braced on either side of the doorframe as if he’s not sure if he should come in. His own uncertainty actually works wonders on my self-confidence.

“Get in here.” I grab the middle of his crisp white shirt and drag him inside. “Did you have a team dinner?” I ask, as I push him onto the couch. He’s suited up, looking impossibly gorgeous in a dark blue, custom tailored jacket and pants. His tie is nowhere to be found.

He settles in without argument, spreading his arms wide across the back of the couch. “I had an interview and figured I should dress up for it.”

“You look…unhappy. Did the interview go poorly?”

At first, I can see he wants to protest and deny that anything is bothering him but I give him The Look. The one I pin on Cassidy when she’s naughty. He caves, just as Cassidy does; although, I think he gives in because he’s exhausted. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the edge of the couch. “Any vodka in the mini bar?”

I walk over and flip it open. “Choices are Absolut and Belvedere.”

“I don’t care. You pick.”

I twist off the top of one tiny bottle and pour it in a glass, topping it off with two ice cubes I fish out of my water glass with a fork.

“Bad day at work, honey?” I joke lightly, as I place the glass in his hand. He doesn’t even open his eyes as he drains the glass.

“I’ll take the second bottle,” he says.

“Coming right up.”

“I should apologize for making you fetch and carry for me but I’m enjoying it too much,” he says, as I return to the mini bar to mix up the last bottle of vodka. This time when I hand him the glass, he pulls me down onto his lap. “Thank you, babe.”

“I don’t mind.” I tuck my head against his shoulder and make circles with my finger across his broad chest. “Want to talk about it?”

“We should be naked by now,” he says, instead of answering my question. Or maybe that is the answer. “But instead, I’m drinking mini-bar liquor, and you’re wondering why the hell you flew all the way out here.”

“Talk to me, Nick. I’m your friend, right?”

He heaves a long sigh and then drops a kiss on my head before speaking. “I hate admitting this but the season is getting to me. Last year, every win was a victory. No one expected much but this year, eleven weeks into the season and we’re on the brink of clinching a playoff berth. Once the game starts, I’ll be fine, but there’s a lot of pressure.”

“And you wish you were above that,” I guess.

“Bingo.” The ice cubes clink as he lifts the glass to his mouth.

I can feel the tension in every bone in his body—from the tight grip he has on my hip to the stiffness in his frame. He wants to relax, but his mind is going a hundred miles a minute, envisioning every possible outcome on Sunday. Coming to a decision, I wriggle out of his lap.

His eyes flick open, giving me a sexy half-lidded look.

“Finish your drink,” I order. “Then I’m giving you a massage, and we’re going to watch a movie.”

“You’re not here for that,” he says flatly. The corners of his mouth turn down in a frown.

“I’m here for two more nights,” I remind him, as I reach down and slip off his shoes.

“You know I can’t have sex on Saturday night before the game, right?”

It’s a good thing my head is down so he can’t see me roll my eyes. “Yes, Nick. I know this.” I tuck his socks inside his shoes before starting on his shirt. “I also know that I can go long periods of time without sex. What about you?”

His hand rises to cup my hip, the long fingers of his hand reaching around to press into the swell of my butt. My body throbs in response to his light touch.

“I can go without sex but it’s hard around you. Shit, baby, you’re so fine.” His other hand reaches up to sweep away the curtain of my hair that has fallen forward.

As my fingers work downward on the buttons, I can see that while his mind might be tired, his body isn’t too fatigued to respond. An erection juts impressively against the dark wool of his slacks.

“Massage, movie, rest,” I order, and pull his shirt of out his pants.

He leans forward, ostensibly to help me remove his shirt, but it also conveniently places his face right between my breasts.

“I’m suddenly feeling worked up about something that has nothing to do with football,” he murmurs into the soft skin. His hand moves from my hair to the back of my neck and with steady pressure, he urges my lips to his.

The kiss is soft and tender, with a firmness that excites me. His tongue sweeps across the seam of my mouth and then invades with gentle force. Heat floods my core. I let go of the shirt to rest my hands against his shoulders, balancing myself against his big body while his hands hold me aloft.

It’d be easy to sink into this embrace, have sex, and send him on his way in the morning, but tonight I want something different. I want to show him that we can be together, at least for this small amount of time, doing something other than fighting or fucking.

As I draw away, he grunts his dissatisfaction. “Where’re you going?”

“Massage first,” I remind him.

He frowns adorably. “But I want—”

I press a finger against his lips. “Lie down and let me take care of you. Just for tonight, okay?”

He searches my face, probably wondering if there is some secondary motivation. As if I could ever not want him. Whatever he sees there—my concern, my genuine desire for him to be happy, my banked lust—satisfies his unspoken question.

“Just for tonight,” he agrees.

 

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