One Last Shot: Chapter 26

“You need to find something, some concrete reason, that Tony and CeCe aren’t fit to be Stella’s guardians,” Tom says. His voice is ominous as he slides a copy of their newest petition to get custody of Stella into his gym bag.

I glance past him and take in the players on the squash court beyond the glass wall. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?” I say quietly, even though there is no one else waiting for a court. “All I know is that Tony creeps me out and CeCe is a relentless social climber. My brother and sister-in-law were insistent they didn’t want them to be Stella’s guardian. Why isn’t that enough?”

“I don’t know. What do they stand to gain by getting guardianship of her?”

“Hell if I know,” I sigh. “It can’t be Niko’s money, unless Tony’s not actually a billionaire and they’re strapped for cash. I guess it’s possible. Maybe that whole shipping company is a big sham that’s about to collapse?”

“If that’s the case,” Tom says, “he’s doing a good job hiding it. Anyway, you’ve already been granted guardianship, but they aren’t going to stop with these petitions unless you give the court a reason that the two of them aren’t fit. On paper, they look pretty damn good. Married and rich as fuck. Blood relations.”

“You kind of just described me, you know?”

Tom rolls his eyes, then turns his attention to the players on the court who are currently shaking hands after wrapping up their game. “The judge has no idea you’re married, since you didn’t even know when you got guardianship. And you’re no billionaire.” He’s right, I’m not. But he also has no idea about my trust because I’ve never had to touch it. “Plus, you’re a professional athlete who travels a lot. According to their argument in this petition, that leaves Stella in someone else’s care too often.”

“I’d retire from hockey before I’d let her go live with them.”

Tom’s face gets serious. “That may need to be an option, unless you have a good reason that she’s better off with you and a nanny than she is with CeCe and Tony.”

“I can’t just make up something about the two of them out of thin air.”

“Listen,” Tom says as he picks up his racket that’s resting against the wall. “Look into Tony’s business practices, or CeCe’s social connections. Find something, anything, that makes them seem sketchy.”

We nod to the players leaving the court and head through the glass door.

“How am I supposed to do that?” I ask him, thankful for the privacy of the enclosed court. It’s not soundproof though, so we keep our voices low.

“I know a woman. She’s a private investigator. I’ll put you in touch with her. If anyone can find dirt on them, it’s her.”

“Okay,” I say uncertainly. “I’ll give that a shot. In the meantime, do I need to talk to my agent? With my contract ending, he’s actively negotiating with New York and also looking at other opportunities. I’m eyeing LA.”

Tom’s eyebrows dip. “Why LA?”

He knows why, but he’s going to make me say it. “Because Petra’s in LA. That might be the answer to these problems, actually. If we can make this marriage work, even if it’s in LA, it takes away their main argument against my guardianship. And then we can pursue adoption too.”

Tom clears his throat as he bounces the small ball against the floor, then catches it in his hand a few times in rapid succession. “Petra’s on board with this plan?”

“I haven’t told her yet. I need to make sure LA is a possibility before I bring it up.”

“Or,” Tom hedges, as he walks to the service box on his preferred side of the court, “maybe you should talk to her before making a potentially life-altering decision?”

“I’m not going to make any decisions without talking to her. But I don’t see the point in bringing up the possibility until I know it’s actually a possibility.”

“I won’t pretend to know Petra well,” he says, bouncing the ball again several times to warm it up, “but I get the sense that she likes to have some level of control over things. She doesn’t strike me as the type who would like to be surprised.”

A laugh bursts out of me as I gaze down at my racket. “No, she doesn’t like surprises.”

“So don’t surprise her then,” he warns. “Don’t come to her with this big plan for your future that you’ve concocted without her. Let her be a part of the decision-making from the outset.”

“Avery has made you both older and wiser, hasn’t she?”

“Something like that.” His voice is gruff, like it always is when he talks about her. It’s been fun watching my ruthlessly emotionless squash opponent fall in love.

Tom hits the ball against the front wall gently, and we volley it back and forth for a few minutes to warm up. “I’ll talk to her when she’s back for our end of season party,” I tell him.

“This weekend?”

I grunt out a “yes” and I dig down deep to return the ball he just hit.

“How are you having your end of season party before your season is over?”

“Scheduled it before we knew we’d make the finals.” We’ve just won Game 7 of the semifinals, so now we’re headed to the Stanley Cup finals in just over a week.

“I’m sure Avery’d like to see Petra while she’s here,” Tom says.

“Tell Avery to get in touch with her, then,” I tell him, wondering if Petra hasn’t told Avery she’ll be back. I suspect that she’s been too busy to do a good job keeping in touch. “I’m sure Petra would love to see her.”

“All right,” Tom says, catching the ball in his hand and setting himself up for a real serve. “Let’s play.”

I towel-dry my hair and then wrap the damp towel around my waist. I normally shower at the club after we play, but since it was lunch hour, there were too many professionals like Tom waiting for the showers, and I decided it was easier to just come home.

I make my way through my room and into the hall, heading toward the kitchen. I’m so hungry after that workout that my stomach is making all kinds of sounds.

As I cross through the entryway toward the dining room, the elevator dings. That’s weird. Only two people have a key card that allows them access here, and one of them is in LA. I turn, expecting to find Raina and preparing to apologize for walking around in my towel. But instead, the doors open and Petra is standing there with her suitcase.

I know my jaw drops open at the sight of her. Hers does the same.

“You’re here.” I can’t quite contain my smile.

She looks nervous. “I hope you don’t mind me showing up a day early with no warning?”

“I guess that depends on your reason for coming early.” I’m frozen in place as the thought crosses my mind that she could be here to break things off.

“I missed you.” Her reason is so simply stated, so raw. She shrugs nonchalantly, but I see some sort of fear or pain flash across her eyes before she gives me a small smile.

I open my arms and she rushes into them, curling her limbs around my back, pulling me tight to her. I do the same, and kiss her forehead gently, considering how precious she is to me. She stays cradled against me for a few minutes and then pulls her upper body away, glances down at where our bodies are connected at the waist, and laughs out a “Really?”

“You’re pressed up against my naked body, and I haven’t seen you in weeks. What do you expect?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warns.

I lift one eyebrow slightly. “Like what?”

“Like you’re undressing me in your mind. I can always tell by the way your eyes change.” She plants her hands and forearms against my bare chest.

“If you want me to stop undressing you in my mind, you’re going to need to stop touching me like that.” My lip curves into a smile. Whether we have sex right now or not, it’s just so fucking good to have her back in my place.

“Fine,” she says as she steps back out of my arms. “Not because I don’t want to be naked with you, but because I come with a shit ton of information I need you to look at.”

“Information?”

“About Tony Gionetti.”

My stomach sinks. If that name isn’t a mood killer, I don’t know what is. “Why do you have ‘information’ on Tony?”

“Because he’s skeevy as hell and so I had a friend of mine who’s a private investigator look into him.”

“Funny,” I say. “Just this morning, Tom gave me this woman Alicia’s number and told me to give her a call about this very thing.”

Petra just stares at me like she’s dumbstruck. “Alicia?”

“Yeah, he didn’t give me a last name, but he said she’s the best.”

“She is,” Petra confirms. “That’s who I had look into Tony. And you’re going to be completely disgusted at what she found.”

What are the chances?

“Let me get dressed,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” She pushes her suitcase against the wall of the entryway and takes her over-the-shoulder bag and heads into the living room.

I get dressed as quickly as possible, wondering if I should tell Tom that Petra has dirt on Tony? It only makes sense to wait until I know more—until I know if it’s significant enough to keep him away from Stella for good.

She’s not in the living room when I head back from my room in sweatpants and a T-shirt, so I head into the den and find her curled into the corner of the couch.

“This is my favorite room.” She lets out a contented sigh.

“The den?” I ask, glancing around.

She laughs. “This whole time I’ve been calling it the ‘sitting room’ in my mind.”

“Like we’re in a British period drama?” I can’t hide my amusement.

She shrugs. “I guess. I love the light, and the view, and the fireplace.” She looks me up and down as I cross the room to sit on the couch. I tuck one leg under me as I turn to face her.

Her lips curl up on one side and there’s laughter in her eyes. Not what I expected, given the conversation we’re about to have. “What?”

“Remind me sometime to tell you about my friend Sierra and her thoughts on gray sweatpants.”

What? “Will do. Now, about Tony?”

She clears her throat. “He’s into some bad shit, Sasha. I have literally felt sick for the last twelve hours since I found out.”

I look at her expectantly. “Are you going to tell me?”

Petra looks like she might throw up, and the way she swallows makes me think she might actually be choking back bile. She hands me her phone and says, “Start reading from the top.”

The name at the top of the text message is Alicia. No last name.

I lift my eyes from the screen and look at Petra. “What the hell is she talking about?”

“Which part do you need me to explain?” Petra asks flippantly. “The part where Stella’s uncle is a pedophile or the part where he’s regularly cheating on his wife with underage sex workers?”

“When they were here for dinner that night, you knew, didn’t you?” I ask her. I knew Tony was making Stella uncomfortable, but my brain didn’t jump to something like this, whereas hers clearly did.

“I knew something was off,” she says as she tucks a dark curl behind her ear and looks up at me with those big, beautiful eyes. “It felt like he was conditioning Stella to accept unwanted sexual attention, which is a big trigger for me.”

“Why?” I try to phrase the question as gently as I can. What has happened to her in the past that makes her able to recognize this behavior?

She takes a deep breath through her nose and raises her chin. Her lips are pressed together tightly. “Tony reminds me of a lot of my dad’s friends back in Austria, the creepy ones who always liked to refer to themselves as Dyadya So-and-so. They weren’t my uncles, they weren’t related to me. But they used their friendship with my dad as an excuse to touch me, to tickle me, to give me attention I didn’t want. It started happening when I was a little older than Stella, maybe around nine or so. And my parents would always be like ‘Oh, just give your uncle a kiss,’ and I felt so helpless, like I didn’t have control over my own body.”

“Shit, Petra, I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know that was happening, but I feel like I should have been there to protect her. Or Victor, or her dad, or her mom should have stood up for her. It eats at me that she felt so alone even before her mom and Victor died.

“There was this one friend of my dad’s,” she continues, “who always had his hands on me. He’d come up behind me and rub my back or give my shoulders a massage. I was thirteen when we passed through a doorway in my house going opposite directions and he openly groped me. He slid his palm right across my nipple, then squeezed my breast, leaning down to whisper some creepy term of endearment into my ear. My mom had died a few months earlier, and while she was alive, no one had tried anything that blatantly inappropriate. I remember thinking ‘I’m the only one who can save me now.’ So I put syrup of ipecac in his drink that night. He started vomiting, and when he rushed to our front door to leave, I handed him his coat and said, ‘Don’t ever touch me again.’ I used that strategy more than once, and pretty soon my dad’s friends stopped spending time at our house.”

I gaze at her across the couch, noting how her face is triumphant, as it should be, but her eyes are sad. “I’m really sorry that you had to go through that alone. I wish you’d told me back then.”

“So what? You could come over every time my father had friends over and be my bodyguard?” Her laugh carries the notes of bitterness.

“If that’s what it took. I would have done anything to protect you,” I tell her. She shakes her head slightly and her lips curve into a frown. “What is that look?”

“Nothing.”

“Petra, I said I’d have done anything to protect you, and you shook your head and frowned. What. Was. That. Look?” I ask, drawing each word out.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles brightly. “Honestly, it was nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She’s blatantly lying to me, and an uneasy feeling is wrapping itself around my intestines, snaking its way up to my stomach, clawing at my esophagus. “Petra,” I draw out her name slowly, a low warning. “Don’t lie to me.”

“What do you want me to say, Sasha?” She looks away, glancing out the windows at the terrace.

“I want you to explain.”

She straightens her back, sitting up to her full height, and squares her shoulders. Then she slowly turns her head toward me. “Because no one—nothing—ever hurt me more than your leaving did.”

Oh shit. “I thought we talked about this when I was in LA. I thought we were okay?”

“You explained, yes. That doesn’t make it hurt less.”

I wish I could tell her how much it hurt me, to know how she felt about me and to have felt the same way, and to have had to walk away from her to save her. I want to tell her the truth, but mostly because I want her to see that I was trying to protect her. I didn’t want her to know that her father had essentially sold her off.

She deserves to know the truth.

But the truth would only hurt her more, it wouldn’t make her feel better. And it would bring up so many more questions and issues, and there’d be no real resolution because both our fathers are dead now. No, telling her would make things worse, not better.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I really am. I did what I thought we both needed me to do at the time.”

“I would have done anything for you, you know?” Her husky voice has that sentence coming out low, like a promise or a threat.

“I know,” I assure her. “And that’s partly why I needed to leave. You needed to go to Switzerland, Petra. You needed to chase your dreams. And I needed to chase mine. We made our way back to each other as adults,” I remind her.

“Yeah, because we were secretly married, and we didn’t know it,” she gives a sad, sarcastic laugh and a knife of guilt twists in my stomach because, in a way, I did know. “We didn’t come back to each other by choice, necessarily.”

“However it happened,” I tell her, “I’m glad it did.”

She waits a beat too long before she says, “Yeah, me too.”

“Where is she?” Stella asks me for at least the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. She’s swinging her feet under the table and fidgeting with a french fry that now resembles a lump of smashed potato between her fingers.

“She’s on her way,” I assure her. “Traffic is terrible at this time because everyone’s leaving work. And she has to come from Brooklyn, which is farther away than the Upper East Side.” Stella has no sense of the city yet, so I arrange our basket of fries, the ketchup, and the salt and pepper shakers to try to explain to her where Times Square is relative to other parts of the city.

Clearly bored by my explanation, Stella says, “I’ve hardly seen Petra since she’s been back.”

“It hasn’t even been two days yet, and you had school today. You saw her last night, and you’ll see her tonight. She’ll be here for the whole weekend.”

“Yeah, but you have that party tomorrow night so you’ll both be gone and I have to stay behind with Raina.”

“I thought you liked Raina?” I’m careful to ask, not to insist, because I want to make sure she’s telling me how she really feels, not saying what she thinks I want to hear.

“I do.” She sighs, then looks at the ceiling in frustration. And we’re officially to the eye rolling years. I had expected we’d at least get to nine or ten before she started in with that. “I just like Petra better. Besides you, she’s my favorite person.”

“Want to know a secret?” I ask, leaning toward her conspiratorially. She nods. “Besides you, she’s my favorite person too.”

Stella’s smile is huge. Petra and I haven’t tried to hide our feelings for each other since she’s been back, and Stella has certainly noticed that there’s something going on between us that she didn’t see when Petra was here before.

Last night when I was sitting on the couch watching a cartoon with Stella before she went to bed, Petra ambled into the den and sat down on my other side. I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her into me. I run so hot that I don’t normally like having people and their body heat pressed up against me. But with one arm around Stella and the other around Petra, and both of them curled into my opposite sides, I realized maybe I didn’t mind when the people pressed up against me are my two favorite people.

“Is that why she’s sleeping in your room now?” Stella asks, and the feeling of my stomach dropping almost makes me choke on my drink. I probably should have thought about how I’d answer this question when it came up, since we aren’t trying to hide it this time around. It seems stupid to put her in the guest room and then for us to sneak around after Stella goes to sleep.

“Yes, because I want to spend as much time with her as possible.”

“Even while you’re sleeping?”

“Yes, I like having her close by even while we’re sleeping.”

Stella nods and I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “Can she sleep in my room one night?”

“Probably not on this trip, but maybe another time.” I don’t want to commit Petra to anything, but she’s a sucker for making Stella feel safe and loved, so I can only imagine she’ll probably agree.

Stella’s face lights up right as I hear, “Maybe another time, what?” The words are a low, husky caress across my neck and I turn my head to find Petra standing right over my shoulder. I reach behind me and run my hand up the back of her leg and her breath hitches even though her face doesn’t give away that I’ve even touched her.

“Dada said that maybe sometime you’d sleep in my room for a night instead of his,” Stella beams and I can tell Petra’s trying not to laugh.

Instead, she reaches past me and plucks a french fry out of the basket on our table. “He did?”

“I said maybe,” I remind Stella.

“That’s what I said. I said maybe,” Stella insists.

“She did say maybe,” Petra says, her voice taking on a sort of singsong quality as she winks at Stella.

I have a few teammates who have girls, and they’re always complaining about how their wives and daughters gang up on them. It feels a bit like that’s what’s happening here, and I’m okay with it. I’m okay with Stella getting the love and attention she wants, and I’m more than okay with Petra being the one to give it to her. Petra, who told me she never wanted kids, who didn’t do committed relationships. I feel like we’re on the right track.

I slide my hand further up Petra’s leg, letting my fingertips trail along her impossibly smooth skin and squeezing her thigh gently. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, then moves away to walk around the table and give Stella a big hug. “Of course I’ll stay with you one night. How about next time I’m out here?”

“When will that be?” Stella asks, and then without waiting for Petra’s answer she says, “I don’t want you to go.” She’s not whining, but it’s damned close.

Petra shrugs. “I’m not sure. I have to be back in LA for filming next week, but then we do have Memorial Day weekend coming up. We will figure it out before I leave, how’s that?” She taps the tip of Stella’s nose.

Stella wraps her arms around Petra’s waist and pulls her in for another hug. Across the table, my eyes meet hers. Those cool blue eyes soften in a way I haven’t seen before; it’s like watching winter ice thaw into a sea of pale blue water. She’s a lot of things, but soft isn’t one of them. Only Stella brings out that side of her, and watching it happen loosens something in my chest, making me feel like I can breathe more deeply than normal. Maybe this will all work out. Maybe we can keep Stella safe, while loving her and each other. Maybe our past won’t screw up our future.

You have to tell her, I tell myself. There is no path forward if it’s built on a lie.

Even though I know that’s true, fear makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t want to lose her again. I don’t want Stella to lose her now that Petra’s such an important part of both our lives. But I don’t know how Petra will react to the truth, and that terrifies me.

She must see something flash across my face, because she dips her eyebrows in confusion. I just shake my head slightly in response. I don’t know when the right time to tell her is, but it’s certainly not now.

“So, are we bowling or what?” Petra asks when Stella finally lets go of her.

“We’re just waiting for a lane to open up,” I tell her, nodding toward the pager sitting on the table next to the basket of fries. I glance at my watch. “It should be ready any minute now.”

“I’m starving,” she says. “Did you guys already eat?”

“Yeah, but I figured you’d want something when you got here.” It’s closing in on seven o’clock, and with Stella’s bedtime fast approaching, there’s no way I could have held her dinner off any longer. “Want me to flag down the waitress for you?”

“That’d be great,” Petra says to me as she pulls her phone from her bag. “Want to see some pictures from today?” she asks Stella.

Stella leans in with an enthusiastic “Yes!” and Petra opens her photos on her phone. I glance around but don’t see our waitress, so I watch as Petra and Stella lean their heads together.

“This is the view from where we’re having the party tomorrow night,” Petra says, and Stella sighs.

“I really can’t come?” She looks at me when she asks this.

“Sorry, it’s adults only,” I remind her. We’ve had this conversation already.

“But can’t you make an exception for me?” she whines.

I’m about to give her a look because we’re working on her understanding that whining isn’t an acceptable way to get what you want, but Petra beats me to it. “I don’t think anyone gets what they want by whining.”

Stella clears her throat. “Could I please come? I just want to see everything all decorated. I don’t have to stay.”

Petra glances at me, then back at Stella. “I have an idea.” She makes eye contact with Stella and says, “This is only an idea, not a definite yes, okay?” When Stella agrees, Petra looks up at me and continues, “Since Raina is going to be watching Stella tomorrow night, couldn’t we have them come with us since we’re arriving early? Then they could leave right before the guests arrive? That way Stella can see the space, and maybe have a Shirley Temple with us or something, and then Raina can take her home.”

In her seat, Stella is bouncing with barely contained enthusiasm.

“I don’t see why not, as long as Raina doesn’t mind.”

She won’t mind, I already know. Raina’s great about doing whatever I ask of her, and I appreciate that as well as how much she seems to enjoy spending time with Stella.

“So it’s a maybe then,” Petra tells Stella. “We’ll talk to Raina and see if we can set it up. You have to be flexible though,” she says, “because there’s still a chance that it might not work out.”

Stella’s eyes are so wide and hopeful, and she takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she agrees.

Just then the waitress passes behind them, so I flag her down and no sooner has Petra ordered her burger than the pager goes off. We take our drinks with us as we make our way over to get our bowling shoes.

We’re settled into our lane and Petra’s devouring her burger when Stella heads over to get her ball from the ball rack.

“I missed you today,” I tell Petra, leaning over and planting a kiss on top of her hair. The sweet and tangy scent of her shampoo overwhelms my nostrils, a welcome relief from the musty smell of floor polish, fried food, and beer. Even though this bowling alley is sparkly and new and right in Times Square, it still smells like any other bowling alley I’ve ever been in, minus the smoky air.

She swallows her bite and tilts her chin up toward me. “I missed you too.” Then she leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder as I curl my arm around her.

I take a deep breath as I push away my thoughts, because since I’ve been back from LA my brain has been arguing with itself—screaming at me that I need to have a serious talk with her about our past, and simultaneously insisting that I not ruin what we have with the bullshit of our parents’ misdeeds.

None of that was us. That was our parents and their stupid choices. Don’t make Petra suffer because your father was an asshole, her mother was conflicted, and her father was emotionally stunted. Everything is so good right now, don’t you dare ruin it, half my brain argues. But the other half reminds me, You can’t build a future on a lie, even if it’s a lie of omission.

“Everything okay?” Petra asks. I’m so busy trying to relax that I forget to respond, so she says, “Your whole body just went rigid.”

I watch Stella roll her ball down the lane with two hands as I say, “Did it? I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Want to tell me about it?” Petra asks, her husky voice so low it unleashes emotions inside me, making me want to both strip her out of her clothes and also spill my secrets.

Stella’s on the tips of her toes, leaning forward as she watches her ball s-l-o-w-l-y roll to the end of the lane, where it knocks over three pins on the right side. She jumps up and down, and Petra springs up off my shoulder, her hands held high as she cheers for Stella.

Then, as Stella rushes back toward us, Petra looks at me and whispers, “Later.”

“Your turn, Petra,” Stella says as she slides onto the bench next to me.

Petra rises, and I can’t take my eyes off her hips as she walks to the ball return. There she slides her hand over and around several of the balls before sticking her fingers into one and picking it up, testing out the weight in both hands. I don’t know if she intends for watching her to be an erotic experience, but I find myself growing hard nonetheless.

“Do you think she knows what she’s doing?” Stella asks me, and because I’m so focused on whether Petra’s intending to turn me on, it takes a second for me to realize that Stella means does Petra actually know how to bowl or is she just making a show of feeling all the balls to compensate for not knowing what she’s doing. I laugh because Stella has excellent bullshit radar.

And then I remind myself to mentally rein it in—I’m with my kid, I don’t need to be picturing all the things I want to do to Petra right this moment.

“I guess we’ll see,” I tell her as Petra walks toward the lane with her ball cradled in both hands in front of her chest.

She stands lined up with the center of the lane, swings her arm back, takes a few steps forward and releases the ball in front of her. It rolls off her fingers like she’s an expert, none of that dropping that happens with an awkward release. But it spins oddly and hits the gutter before it makes it to the end of the lane.

Stella looks at me like we’re conspirators about to take Petra down. While neither of us is great at bowling, it looks like we’re both better than Petra.

The woman in question turns toward us, rolls her eyes, and shrugs. She takes off the jean jacket she’s wearing over a lightweight black sweater dress. It’s fitted with sleeves that go to her elbow and a deep neckline that starts right at the edges of her neck and descends well into her cleavage. The slit is only a few inches wide, but the visible crease between her breasts has me moving to adjust myself because it’s getting tight in these jeans.

I pull my hat down a little lower over my eyes, hoping that nobody here recognizes me, or her. Now that her show has aired, it’s more likely she’ll start getting recognized in public too.

“Can’t bowl when my arms are restricted like that,” she says as she tosses the jacket on the bench next to me, turns, and walks back to the ball return with her hips swaying seductively. How does she manage to make even bowling shoes look sexy?

She grabs the same ball before approaching the lane. Then, with the grace of an expert bowler, she winds up and sends the ball straight down the lane, knocking every single pin over with a clattering so loud that everyone in the bowling alley seems to be staring at her now. She turns, and gives Stella and me a huge smile before hollering, “That’s better,” while brushing her hands together like she’s sweeping away her bad first shot.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Stella turns toward me and says, “Maybe we need a swear jar like they have at Harper’s?”

“Maybe we need to find a way to stop Petra from kicking our butts,” I suggest instead.

“Hmm,” Stella says. “I’m not so sure that’s possible.”

Is there anything this woman can’t do?

As it turns out, I think as I watch Petra’s face twist in pleasure as the orgasm rips through her hours later, no . . . in my eyes, there is nothing this woman can’t do.

“This feeling,” I say through gritted teeth, “is a fucking miracle.” I grip her hips tightly as I slam her down on me a final time and give in to my own release.

She gazes down at me like I’ve said something funny, and then quirks an eyebrow. “How so?”

It’s a moment before I can speak again. “I’ve never felt like this,” I tell her as I wrap my arm around her lower back and pull her down so she’s hovering just above my chest. “You and me together. It’s amazing.”

“I always knew it would be,” she says. It’s the opening to the talk I know we need to have. It would be so easy to return to the conversation she said we’d have ‘later,’ but then Petra rolls her hips, and I slide out and back into her, and I feel myself already starting to grow hard again.

“If you don’t stop that,” I say as I reach up and run my thumb along her cheekbone, “round two will start immediately.”

“Already?”

“You do amazing things to my body,” I say, because how the hell am I already ready to take her again? I have no control here, she’s in charge of my body now.

“I like that.” She smiles a wicked, private smile as she rolls her hips again. “I like that a lot.”

She leans down a bit more, letting her breasts slide along my chest as her mouth meets mine. The kiss is slow and sensual, matching the way she’s moving her pelvis. And there’s no way in hell I’m stopping the direction this is heading in to have a conversation I don’t even want to have. Talking can wait.