Dirty little secret
I’M PRETTY SURE I JUST HAD THE BEST SEX OF MY ENTIRE LIFE.
It takes a while for my heartbeat to regulate. Gigi is curled up beside me. Her fingers dance over my chest, stroking carelessly. Sucking in a breath, I cover her hand with mine, lacing our fingers together. It’s not a standard move in my arsenal. In fact, it’s one I would normally avoid at all costs. But it feels nice, so I don’t question why I did it.
I wait for her to start talking. To start asking questions. In my experience, this is when women want to talk. When the dopamine is still surging through their bloodstream, all those feel-good emotions flooding their system.
But Gigi doesn’t say anything.
“Something on your mind?” I say gruffly.
Fucking hell.
I initiated a conversation.
Willingly.
What is happening and how do I stop this? Why can’t I stop this? I’ve never been interested in digging deeper with the women in my bed, but I’m a bit eager for a glimpse into Gigi’s head.
“Just thinking about this Team USA thing,” she admits. Her fingertips play with my knuckles. “My dad offered to speak to the head coach on my behalf.”
“I assume you said no.”
I feel her body tense. “Obviously.”
The more I get to know her, the more apparent it is that she’s desperate to separate herself from her father. To stand on her own merit.
She relaxes a moment later. “Sorry. That sounded harsh. It’s just…” Her sigh warms my chest. “That nepotism comment you made a while ago is constantly in the back of my mind now. It eats at me.”
A pang of guilt tugs at me. “I’m sorry. I should never have said that.”
“It’s always been a fear of mine. I think you just made me face it. And I hate facing it.”
“Yeah, I hear you. Facing things sucks.”
She lifts her head to grin at me. But the humor doesn’t last. She settles back, her soft hair brushing my chin.
“I also hate that I’m in this position in the first place. I hate wondering whether Brad Fairlee is purposely denying me the opportunity. People keep telling me what a good coach he is. Impartial. I want to believe he gave me that criticism because he genuinely wants me to improve my game and not because he’s trying to keep me off the team.”
My forehead creases. “Why would he do that?”
“I have history with his daughter. We were best friends growing up.”
When Gigi’s fingers stiffen, I slowly loosen each one, pressing her palm flat my chest.
“Did you get in a fight or something?” I ask.
“You could say that. She got involved with my brother senior year, even after I warned her that Wyatt was never going to commit. He didn’t want a girlfriend. Still doesn’t, three years later. But Emma did that delusional girl thing where they pretend they’re okay with no strings. Or maybe it’s not delusional—maybe they actually convince themselves of it, but then they have sex a couple times and start planning the wedding. Either way, Wyatt bailed the second she tried to wrangle a commitment out of him, and she went scorched earth on his ass. Spreading rumors about him at school. Telling people how awful he was.”
Sorrow and contempt mingle in her voice. “Emma and I were inseparable since the second grade, and she took a match to our friendship and lit it on fire. Spread rumors about me too. Posted really embarrassing stuff online, things I’d told her in confidence, screenshots of old chats where I admitted my boyfriend Adam wasn’t that great in bed.”
“Damn,” I marvel. Women have truly mastered the art of social media warfare.
“So then Adam broke up with me. And started dating Emma, of course. Our mutual friends all pulled away from her because they’d seen her nasty side. She started commenting on other people’s posts with snarky comments about me and Wyatt and everyone who bailed on her. Or posting her own passive-aggressive bullshit.” Her voice becomes harder now. Angry. “Honestly, all that shit was minor. Juvenile. I don’t care that she tried to make me choose between her and Wyatt. Or that she slandered me afterward. Stole my boyfriend. It’s that she had the audacity to try to hurt my mom.”
“How’d she do that?” I roll onto my side so I can see her face. Her gray eyes are on fire.
“It was a couple months after graduation. My mom was out of town recording an album with some artist, I can’t remember who. And Wyatt had just taken off on a road trip with friends. So Dad and I were fending for ourselves that summer.”
I’m not sure where this is going, but it doesn’t sound good.
“Emma called me under the guise she wanted to patch up our friendship. And because of our history, I agreed to hear her out. But I was running a kid’s hockey camp that week and wasn’t done till later in the day. I guess I mentioned on the phone that it was only Dad and me at the house, although I don’t remember how it came up. I told her to come by later if she still wanted to talk.” Gigi laughs in amazement. “Instead, this girl shows up at my house when I’m at camp and sneaks in using the spare key. Then she gets naked, drapes herself on my parents’ bed, and tries to seduce my dad when he walks in.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yup.” Gigi sounds livid. “For a while afterward, we were all afraid she would throw out crazy accusations, make a false claim that he tried to do something to her. She seemed unstable enough to do that. But I think even Emma’s not foolish enough to spread that level of hate. All her lies and rumors were always just shy of actually destroying anyone’s life. Mostly petty gossip.”
Gigi sits up, still naked. My eyes flit to her bare breasts, and although my dick twitches slightly, the mood is too somber for anything more than a twitch right now.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she says, biting her lip.
“Sure?”
“I loathe her.”
I snort. “I mean, I don’t blame you.”
“I’ve never said that out loud.”
“Really? You couldn’t say you hate her even after she exposed all your secrets on the internet? Feels like major betrayal in girl world.”
“It is. But I still always tried to take the high road. Find some compassion. Her mother abandoned her when she was twelve. Her father spoiled her to make up for that.” Gigi sighs. “My parents raised me to try to see the best in people. I always try not to drag them.”
“She dragged you. You’re allowed to be pissed.”
“That’s what my friends say. It drives them nuts that I don’t want to sit around and trash Emma. It’s not that I forgive her or feel any goodwill toward her—I trash her plenty in my head. But I never say it out loud. I feel like I’m not…allowed to be hateful.”
I’m curious to understand that. “Because it’s bad for your own well-being?” I ask. “Or because of some toxic positivity bullshit that says you must be nice to everyone, even those who don’t deserve it?”
She shifts uneasily. “I’ve never really thought about why. I guess it feels like I’m not allowed to.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have all these opportunities in my life. I’m not some victim. I’ve had it so good up until now. It feels selfish to bitch about my problems.”
“It’s not selfish, it’s natural. I’m allowed to get pissed when people piss me off, no matter how many or how few problems I have in my life. That chick Carma? She switched off my alarm the night she stayed over and made me late for practice. Dead to me now.”
Gigi grins at me. “That’s harsh.”
“You don’t owe people your forgiveness.”
“You forgive for yourself, not for them.” She sounds distraught now. “That’s why it upsets me. What does it say about me that I’m perfectly okay holding on to the hatred?”
“If it’s not harming you, who cares?”
“I want to be a good person.”
“Who says you’re not?”
She lies down beside me again, growing quiet. Once again, her fingers drag over my abs. With each absentminded downstroke, her elbow nudges my penis. It rests heavy on my leg, only semihard, but the more contact is made, the less semi it gets.
Gigi eventually notices.
“Who would’ve thought,” she marvels in amusement. “Deep conversations get your dick hard.”
“No. You get my dick hard by rubbing it during deep conversations.”
She slides into a seated position again, her long hair falling forward as she peers down at me. “Can I tell you another secret?”
The mischief in her eyes triggers a spark of heat in my groin. “Hmmm?”
“I want you again.”
“Can’t get enough, huh?” I mock. I like it, though, that needy glow on her face.
“I told you, I’m very stressed out.” Licking her lips, she bends over me. Her mouth comes closer, until it’s millimeters from mine. “And you promised to help.”
“You’re right, I did.”
I reach for the strip of condoms I left on the nightstand. A moment later, I tug her onto me so that she’s straddling my thighs. I wrap my fingers around my shaft and give it a long, slow stroke.
“Use me,” I order.
A smile curves her lips.
She settles on top of me and guides my cock inside her. Suddenly I’m surrounded by her tight heat, and my entire world is reduced to the words oh fuck and don’t stop. She rides me, head thrown back in pleasure. It’s the kind of sex that makes you sort of mindless. Her moans are a symphony to my ears. There’s something melodic about them. Low and throaty and so sexy it makes me shake with need.
“I’m going to come,” she chokes out and sinks forward, grinding on my dick.
I can’t remember my name as she milks every ounce of pleasure out of me. She’s breathless from her orgasm when I flip her over and pound into her until I’m lost in oblivion again, this time from scorching release.
And it doesn’t end. We go at it all night. Fucking each other senseless, coming, and then taking a rest, while she lures conversations out of me that I don’t expect to be having.
Eventually, after one last mind-blowing round, our labored breathing quiets and I become aware of voices. Shit. I didn’t realize the guys were back. I don’t remember the sound of the front door opening, or hearing Shane and Beckett in the house when I or Gigi went to use the bathroom. But it’s two in the morning now, and I’ve been so absorbed in Gigi Graham that for all I know, the guys have been home for hours.
“Crap,” she blurts out, noticing the time herself. “I should go.”
“Early practice?”
“No. I have class at ten. But I can’t crash here. Your roommates…” She drifts off. The rest of that sentence is self-explanatory.
I nod. “C’mon. Let’s sneak you out.”
“I need to call an Uber first.”
“You didn’t drive?” I’m confused. She only drank one beer tonight, and that was when the sun was still out. We’ve only had water since then, keeping ourselves hydrated between crazy sex.
“No. I…” She guiltily avoids my questioning gaze. “I didn’t want Case to see my car on your street.”
Something jolts through me. Not quite jealousy. But annoying all the same.
“Right. Because this is our dirty little secret,” I drawl.
Although to be fair, keeping this on the down low is probably a good idea. Our first game is this weekend. Everyone’s heads need to be on it, and that includes Colson.
“No,” she corrects, “because the last time he did, he stormed into your house uninvited.”
“True.”
I shove a pair of boxers up my hips while Gigi quietly gathers her clothes and gets dressed. After she snaps the button of her denim skirt, she turns to me in dismay. “Damn it. I have to pee again.”
In that moment, I silently curse Shane, who won the three-way rock, papers, scissors match this summer to earn himself the master bedroom and its ensuite bath.
I open my door a crack and peer out into the shadow hallway. Beckett and Shane’s bedroom doors are closed.
“The coast is clear,” I tell her.
Gigi ducks into the hall and uses the bathroom. I continue to eye their doors while the toilet flushes and the sink faucet turns on. They remain closed.
Afterward, we sneak downstairs and creep toward the front hall. And just when I think I’ve successfully dodged a bullet, Shane steps out of the kitchen.
Fuck.
His dark eyes take in Gigi’s disheveled hair. My boxers. The scratch marks on my chest.
And his lips twitch in humor.
“Late night?” he inquires.
Her cheeks are visibly red even in the darkness of the hall. “You didn’t see this,” she begs softly. “Please.”
Shane appears as if he’s about to make a joke, but I give him a hard look, and he offers an assurance instead.
“I saw nothing.”
I walk her outside to the waiting Uber. We don’t kiss good night. She’s rattled now from getting caught by Shane and barely glances at me as she slides into the back seat. Red taillights wink in the dark night, the car whisking her away from me.
I return to the house, where Shane, of course, is waiting for me.
“There are so many reasons this is bad idea,” he tells me.
“I know.”
“Colson will murder you.”
“He can try.”
“Beck seemed into her too.”
“Nah. He backed off that.”
“Got it. So you swept right in and scooped her up.” Shane rolls his eyes.
“That’s not how it went down.”
He studies me for long enough to make me shift in discomfort, then sighs. “Ryder. That, right there”—he points toward the front door, indicating the woman who’d just left—“is a girlfriend. And you, right here, aren’t a boyfriend.”
A sigh of my own lodges in my throat. “Just keep this to yourself, all right? Like you said, there’s lots of reasons to keep it quiet. But the most important one is that she asked.”
He studies me for another long beat. Then he nods. “Sure. You got it.”
“Thanks, brother.”
The next morning, Shane proves to be a man of his word.
When Beckett enters the kitchen and spots me at the counter, he arches a brow. “Didn’t realize we were having a sex marathon last night.”
Then his phone dings and he dips his head to read the incoming text. Chuckling to himself, he taps out what appears to be a long message in response.
Shane observes him from the other end of the counter, where he’s chopping vegetables for our omelets. “Who the hell are you texting so early?”
Beck slides the phone in his pocket. “Nobody.”
“Because that’s not suspicious,” Shane says.
“Relax. It’s just a girl. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you dodging the subject, Ryder.” He walks past me and opens the fridge. “So, sex marathon. I would’ve invited someone over myself if I’d known that’s what we were doing.”
“I didn’t have anyone over,” I lie.
“Bullshit. Someone was getting fucked good last night. What time did we get home?” he asks Shane. “Ten thirty? Started hearing the sex noises around then.”
Christ. They were home for nearly four hours before I even noticed? Uneasiness washes over me. I don’t think I’ve ever lost my head over a woman like that.
Ever.
I turn to grab a loaf of bread from the pantry. Stalling.
“Dude,” Shane tells Beckett. “That was me.”
“Really? I thought you got a BJ from that chick at the concert. You booty-called someone after we got home?”
“No. Porn, dude.” He rolls his eyes as if it’s obvious.
“Those sex noises were going on for like four hours.” Beckett gapes at him. “You were jerking it for that long? How is your dick still attached?”
“I was doing this, ah, edging thing I keep hearing about.”
“Right. I hear that’s popular in the porn community,” Beck says solemnly.
Shane gives him the finger. “Whatever. I’m young. I can do whatever I want with my dick. Mind your business.”
“Then keep the volume down next time. There’s this thing called earbuds. Invest in them.”
Chuckling, Beckett goes to the stove and grabs a pan for the eggs.
Shane winks at me as I pass him, lightly punching my arm.
“You owe me,” he murmurs.
