13. Back To BV

BACK TO BV

Hudson

Bruised balls be damned, I'm feeling like a million bucks.

"You're in love," Jillian says as I glance down at my screen and see Riley's last reply come through .

Riley Mae Brooks:

You don't have to check in with me; I'm not your mom.

This was in response to me letting her know I made it back.

Me:

Check this. I want you to know where I am.

Riley Mae Brooks:

Why?

Me:

Good question. Just wanted to. But it could be deeper than that. I'll mull that over and let you know when I figure it out.

Riley Mae Brooks:

Go to sleep.

Me:

You tzvbnmvjh

My phone clatters against the floor, and I somehow catch myself before faceplanting on the stairs.

"Are you okay?" Jilian asks through hysterical laughter.

I turn and plant my ass on the step, and Nour hands me my phone, chuckling.

"Same guy who caught a one-handed pass midair to win against Vegas. Where was the media coverage for that play?"

"Not to worry," Rome yawns out, and I get an airdrop notification.

I watch the damn video of my little fumble and shake my head as I push off the stairs to stand. "Nice to know you're always watching."

"Gotta keep you humble." He chuckles.

"Not sure you Harts noticed, but for some reason, I didn't get that message." Boone yawns as he heads to the kitchen. "Which is some bullshit."

"Any of you send that to him, and I'll put you on a three-day no-contact?—"

Boone's laughter booming from the kitchen tells me it's already done.

I eye them all, and Rome's girl, CeCe, holds up her phone, saying, "Oops, sorry."

I look to Rome. "Why does your girl have Boone's number?"

He clears his throat. "Why not?"

CeCe elbows him and explains, "Rome messaged him from my phone when he couldn't get a hold of you before Vegas."

"I gave it to Rome," Boone calls from the kitchen.

Jillian links her arm through mine. "Consider us your support staff. We're all team Hudson and Riley."

"Daddy Boone's manning the grill. Gonna make some breakfast. If you're hungry, get on in here."

"We love him, even when he talks about himself in the third person," Jillian says as she leads the way.

"You do realize that you just talked about yourself in the third, right?" Nour asks.

"Yes, yes, we do." She smiles.

After the text I sent Riley that made no sense, she didn't reply, but I sure did.

Me:

Sorry about that. What's up?

Nothing back.

Me:

Gonna rest a bit. If you're up to doing something tonight, let me know. I'll come to you.

Nothing, not even those dots telling me she was there. So, I lie in bed, replaying everything she said while trying to figure out what I did to make her stop replying.

This is too important to fuck up or fumble. I need to come up with a plan. As luck would have it, I have one of those lightbulb moments and realize I need a playbook.

But first, a nap.

After my nap and a shower, I give a quick thanks to the big guy that my balls are no longer throbbing, grab a brand-new notebook, and head down the hall.

Heading down the stairs, I see the foyer littered with suitcases and hear laughter from the kitchen.

When I walk in, I see Mom, Jillian, CeCe, and Jade Brooks sitting around the island, sipping cups of coffee. A little bitch in me wants to retreat because I am sure this is a trap, but Jillian spots me and I have no choice but to man up.

"Good afternoon." I head to Mom and give her a kiss on the cheek. "You all heading out?"

"We are, and you're coming down. Boone's going to visit Max Steel?"

"That was the plan." I nod.

"And it's not now?" Jillian harrumphs.

I run my fingers through my wet hair. "I mean, yeah?"

Jade clears her throat, and we all look at her. "You're getting three days off; you should go."

"At least tomorrow night." Jillian lifts her cup to her lips. "I'm having a party on the rooftop."

"Wanna be back here on Sunday to watch the Cowboys win."

"Has he always pouted?" Jillian asks Mom, and I wanna shove a sock in her mouth.

"No, never." Mom laughs.

Standing, Jade finishes her coffee, walks over, and places the cup in the sink.

Do I check her out? I do, and not in a creepy way. I'm thinking Riley's got great genes and will remain hot for life. Not that it matters, but, yeah, okay, maybe a little creepy.

"The pout, it's hot. Make it work for you," Jade says as she heads over and gives Jillian and Mom a hug. Then she holds her arms out and faces me. "Bring it in, Hudson Hart."

I give her a big old hug.

"She's got the hardest shell of all my kids, and it's to protect that soft heart of hers." She steps back and looks up at me. "She empathizes with everyone and everything. Which is why, when we lost Bud, our dog, we never got another. But she's been hurt, and loving her isn't going to be easy."

"I've had easy, and?—"

"Hudson," Mom groans.

"Right, probably shouldn't have said that, but it's out there now." I roll my neck to release some tension that I myself caused. "Hard shell, soft heart, all those feelings and emotions. Whatever the recipe you used to raise her to be Riley, it ticks boxes I didn't even know existed. I'm in it to win it."

"I know." Jade winks. "See you ladies next trip!"

By nine-thirty, I've ripped exactly thirty sheets from my playbook. Now, as I'm sitting here, watching Boone talk to Lindsey and Lily on video chat, and Boone and Lindsey whisper so Lily, who's now sleeping on Lindsey's lap, doesn't wake up, something really fucked-up happens.

I stand up. "Hey Boone, I've got an errand to run."

"It's ten o'clock at night; everything okay?" he asks as I drop my damn book in the trash can on my way out of the game room.

"It's all good, man."

"Still leaving at six a.m. tomorrow?" He asks.

"Nice try. It's still five," I call back as I head out.

When I get to Blue Valley in ten minutes instead of fifteen, I realize I'm leaning into that part of my personality that has to fucking win. I need her to know that I'm not giving up, because we're going to be a team, and my win is just as much hers as hers will be mine.

After parking, I head into the brewery and scan the area. Four men in camouflage are sitting at the bar—none of whom I know—talking to Lauren.

I glance back toward the kitchen to see if there are any lights on. I know it closes at nine, but Riley may be there, busy preparing for the week, which could be the reason she's not communicating with me.

Wishful thinking.

"Well, look what we have here—this week's MVP!" Lauren announces. "Gentlemen, meet Hudson Hart. Hart, meet Ronnie, Bobby, Ricky, and Mike."

I laugh, thinking she's joking, but they don't even crack a smile.

"No shit?" I ask.

"Mom was really into New Edition back in the day. Still is." Ronnie, Bobby, Ricky, or Mike—hell, I have no idea which one is which—explains.

"You guys get a deer today?" I ask in an attempt to make conversation.

"Didn't see a damn thing," one of them says before taking a drink.

"Best hunting used to be on that land where that football stadium is built," another pipes in.

"Hey, cool it now; he's our MVP," Lauren defends me.

"If we win a Super Bowl, will you let us off the hook about the field?" I ask, trying to keep a little bit of peace, but honestly, I really don't give a fuck.

"Maybe, 'pens on how many T-shirts we can get signed," the biggest one says, and they all chuckle.

Lauren throws her thumb over her shoulder and looks at me. "As you can tell, these bozos are out-of-towners. The locals are a hell of a lot more loyal to the team."

"Damn, she told us. Sorry, Lauren, but this is Bills' country. We were loyal to them before the Knights came to New York."

"No need to draw a line; we're not on the field. It's obvious you men know good beer. Props for that." I turn, look at Lauren, and nod left. "You got a minute?"

"Absolutely."

We get far enough away from the new ed, and I start to ask a question, but she beats me to it.

"Riley is at her place, stress baking verily."

"She stress bakes?"

"If her house is clean, yep," she says as she looks me over. "Why the face?"

"I happen to be a stress baker myself."

"Well, perfect. I'll piss the both of you off around Thanksgiving, and you can both stress the hell bake out of pumpkin pies, pumpkin rolls, pumpkin freaking everything."

"I'll keep that in mind." I nod toward the door. "I'd asked permission to go check in, but …" I lift a shoulder.

"Enter at your own risk, Hudson. She's had a shit day."

When she starts wiping down the bar, I put my hand over hers, stopping her. "Is that all you're going to give me, she's had a rough day ?"

"I never said rough. I said shit. She's had a shit day. If she wants to talk to you about it, she will." She holds her hands up in the air. "I am officially stepping down from our little ménage à trois."

Nodding, I reach into my pocket, grab a wad of cash, and toss a few bills on the bar. "Grab my new friends a drink or two. See you around, Lauren."

Standing in front of her door, I hear music playing in the background. Before I knock, though, I run my palms down the sides of my jeans and wait a few seconds for her to answer. When she doesn't, I knock again and wait some more. After the third time that she doesn't answer, I try the doorknob.

It's not locked.

I push the door open and lean in to glance around. The TV screen above her roaring fireplace is on the MTV station. Her house is clean, spotless.

My stomach rumbles at the smell permeating through the air. Baked goods of all types cover her kitchen island. I'm not going to lie, there is part of me that wants to go snag one of those brownies that I can guarantee are covered with cream cheese frosting. It smells fucking awesome. When Europe's "The Final Countdown" ends, I swear I hear soft crying coming from above.

As I open my mouth to call her name, Loverboy's "Working for the Weekend" comes on, and Riley likes her music loud, so there's no sense in yelling to her. I decide, Fuck it .

I head up the narrow, curved stairway that goes up the side of her kick-ass silo house, and what I see has me grabbing the handrail.

Riley May Brooks lying on her bed, feet planted on the mattress, hand holding something small and hot pink between her legs.

I should look away—I really should—but fuck if it isn't a beautiful sight.

I take a deep breath, hoping courage fills my lungs as I turn and take two steps back down her stairway before calling out her name.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she whimpers, and then I hear something drop on the ground before her little feet are heard crossing her floor toward me.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me, Hudson Hart. What the hell are you doing here?" she yells at me.

"I … Yeah, I just … I am … I was at the bar. You weren't there, so I came over here and?—"

"How long have you been in here?"

I can't even answer that question.

" You saw!" She mutters something else, and I turn to look at her and see her hands over her face. "Why?"

Takes me a second to answer her since I'm staring at Riley May Brooks wearing a Knights jersey with gold #13 on the front of it. My number.

"Hudson, I asked you a fucking question."

"You look fucking beautiful right now."

"Shut up," she says as she chucks the little pink dick at me.

I can't help but laugh when I catch the damn thing.

"This is fucking humiliating." She groans as she walks over and faceplants onto her bed. "Just go. I can't even look at you right now."

I do not move in the direction I assume she's expecting me to and plop my ass on the other side of her bed. Then I push her hair away from her face. "There's no reason you should feel humiliated. That was the hottest thing I've ever seen in my fucking life." I hit the little switch on the end of the vibe. "As a matter of fact, I'd love to help you finish what you started."

She shoves up off the mattress, snatches it out of my hand, and then chucks it across the room toward her bathroom. That done, she reburies her face in a pillow.

"It's probably a bad time to tell you that I pissed in your toilet, washed my hands, smelled your fancy soap, and then used your toothbrush when I was trying to talk myself out of stealing your wedding dress." I lean back and link my fingers behind my head. "You and I clearly have two different definitions of humiliation. Me leaving here after returning that dress, getting busted, it's pretty damn humiliating, or it would have been if anyone else saw me doing it but you."

"Stop. Just stop trying to make me feel better. Newsflash: it's not working!" she yells into her pillow.

"Keeping the lines of communication open. Pretty new to this relationship shit, so how about you tell me what's going to make you feel better when there's not a damn thing I saw that was wrong to begin with?"

Her phone rings, and I glance over to her nightstand where it's sitting and see douchebag's name.

"Want me to get that?"

She pushes up off the bed, runs both hands through her hair, and grabs the scrunchy off her wrist, putting her long locks into a ponytail. "No, I do not want you talking to him. But you know what? He was here all day today, trying to tell me why we should be together, and your name came up at least a dozen times."

"He was fucking what?" I clench my fists as I sit up.

"You don't get to be pissed. You don't, Hudson. I am never, ever, ever going back to him. But you know what? He was right about a few things. You and I will never work. You are a twenty-three-year-old professional football player; I'm pushing thirty. You don't want kids; I want more than I'll probably ever have."

"That's the thing, Riley. That's why I came here. I was watching Boone talk to Lily on their video call and realized how fucking sad that is." I point to my chest. "I didn't want kids based on seeing what some of the shit my teammates go through, what they put their wives through." I shake my head. "That won't be us. You go to half of our away games already. You go with your girls, your family. You wouldn't be sitting up in the stands pissed off because you had to be there; you wouldn't resent me. I wouldn't have to worry that you're home, fucking my best friend or your ex-boyfriend." I force out a laugh. "Regardless of what has transpired, I trust you. I fucking know you, adore you. Gonna love you and never disrespect you the way that motherfucker did. Any motherfucker who thinks they can disrespect you ever again is gonna realize real quick that ain't fucking happening."

She fists her hair. "You are not listening to me."

"I listen to you. Every word you've said has been on replay all day as I tried to figure out why you weren't returning my messages. I decided to man the fuck up and come here to address what may be the issues. And right now, I'm stomping out all the little fires you're starting, trying to burn us down before we even begin.

"The kid thing? Fucking love kids. I told you I love kids. Had nothing to do with me not wanting kids and everything to do about not trusting someone to tear them the fuck away from me. I know you'd never do that to me, and I know you know I'd never do that to you because you and me, we're?—"

She bats away fresh tears. "Brett is going to call you. He's going to. I know he is. So, let me be the first to tell you I've been off the pill for over a year and have not gotten pregnant."

"Gonna sound like a fucking creeper when I admit this, but that son of a bitch hasn't spent enough time with you to get you pregnant. He goes on golf trips, and you're here, busting your hot little ass. And straight up, Riley, the few times I've seen you walk into the bar after I assume you let that piece of shit put his dick inside of you before he slithered his way back to school, you didn't look all too fucking worn out. I'm going to guess his dick isn't long enough to get you pregnant." I reach over and grab under her arms, pulling her to me, and I love that she shows no signs of wanting me to let go. "Gotta show up to practice, too, so you're game ready. That motherfucker didn't put in the time." Lips against her neck, I ask, "When's the last time you had your period?"

"You're out of your mind," she moans.

"Answer the fucking question, Riley Brooks." I roll her onto her back and hover over her, rolling my hips against hers so she feels how fucking hard I am for her.

"Last week," she whimpers.

"You gonna let me live out my fantasy tonight?"

"You're not listening to me," she says as I kiss down her neck.

"I'm reading you like a playbook." I graze my lips against her hardened nipple. "You're not wearing a fucking bra," I groan.

She pulls me up and opens her mouth to say some shit that she doesn't need to say, so I kiss her, and the kiss grows deeper and more intense as our tongues meet. Her hands move into my hair, and mine under the T-shirt. I groan when I feel her full, bare breasts.

"Jesus, these things are fucking awesome."

"Hart," she whimpers. Her back arches as she presses into my touch. I'm going to take that as permission to continue.

I slide my other hand between her legs and kiss my way down her chest, pushing the shirt up and taking my first taste of her titties while rubbing her pussy.

"I'm not ready for a relationship," she pants, "but this …"

I slide a finger inside of her as I bite down on her left nipple.

"Oh God, yes."

"You're so wet. I can't wait to get inside of you, feel your tight little cunt around my cock."

A stuttered gasp leaves her, and I wonder if that was a little too much. But when she starts rocking against my finger, I know it's not. She likes this shit just as much as I do.

"Should never have ripped out the dirty talk page from the playbook," I murmur against her chest as I slide my lips across her body to make friends with the other one. "Tastes so fucking good."

I push myself up, move to the end of the bed, and watch as she looks at me with confusion. "I need to taste you everywhere." I drop to my knees, wrap my arms around her thighs, and drag her closer to the edge of the mattress. I swing her legs over my shoulders, staring up at her. "Don't you dare look away." Then I lower my head between her legs and inhale a deep breath, loving the smell of her scent.

I drag my tongue up the center of her pussy slowly and watch her eyes roll back. Then I flick my tongue over her swollen clit. "You taste so fucking good. I'm going to want this on the private menu for the rest of my fucking life."

"Really good at this." She fists my hair in her hands. "Better than I ever imagined."

"Fucking love that you've imagined this." I lick her again, this time a little harder. "From now on, if it even starts to be a fleeting thought, I wanna fucking know."

I bury my face between her legs, fucking her with my tongue, making her moan and pant. I then slide a finger inside of her as far as it will go and then add another. And I fuck her with them as I suck on her clit. When I feel her walls tighten around my fingers and her hips begin to buck, I know I have found her little spot, the one that makes her lose control.

Her hands tighten in my hair. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop!"

Stop?

"Didn't even enter my mind. This is just the fucking beginning. I needed a taste of you." I lick circles around her little numb. "I'm gonna make you come like this, and then I'm going to make you come again all over my cock."

Any reservations she was still holding onto, she lets go. Her thighs clamp around my ears, her heels dig into my back, and her hot little noises grow more and more high-pitched and frantic as her body spasms around my hand and her clit pulses beneath my tongue.

I rise to my feet, push down my jeans and boxers, wrap my hand around my cock, and give it a tug.

"I can't believe you pierced that thing. I mean, it wasn't pierced before, right?"

I can't help but smile as I crawl up the end of the bed. "No, Brooksie." I lean back on my heels, give her pussy a few gentle slaps with the head of my cock, and watch her beautiful fucking eyes roll back. "Tell me you want my cock."

There's no hesitation when she pushes up on her elbows, eyes staring right at my dick when she says, "I want it."

I drag the head up and down her hot, wet, sexy little slit. Her answer comes in a moan. Then she moves, wrapping her legs around me, digging her heels in my back, and pulling me closer.

"That's a good girl."

She sucks in a breath as I go in deeper. "More."

Her hands curl into fists, gripping her quilt, and I give her exactly what she asked for.

I want to tell her this is the kind of dick it takes to get the job done, to get her pregnant. I don't, though. I don't want him here, in this space, where there's nothing between us.

I'm halfway in when she yells out, "You're so fucking big!"

"Never been harder in my fucking life," I admit as I work my way inside of her. "Fucking tight, too, so fucking tight. Jesus, this is un-fucking-real, Brooksie, un-fucking-real," I groan as I thrust all the way in, hovering over her, watching her try to catch the breath I just fucked out of her.

I stay just like that, one elbow on the bed, holding me up, so I can kiss her beautiful fucking face, the other hand rolling her nipple.

"No, no, no. Shit, Hudson, you have to?—"

"What's wrong? What did I do?"

"Condom!" she yells frantically.

"Doesn't that defeat?—"

"I need to get tested. He fucking cheated on me. I don't know if?—"

"I'm good." I roll my hips. "Never been inside of anyone bare. And Riley, I'm not fucking saying this for any other reason, but it's the goddamn truth. I'm never fucking wearing a condom again."

She pushes at me. "I am not giving you a damn disease."

"I want to share my fucking life with you." I lean down and suck on her neck. "I wanna share everything. If that includes a few bumps that itch a little bit, at least it's a start."

"You're freaking insane," she laughs, pushing against my chest with everything she has.

To be perfectly honest, it ain't much, but I let her have it, especially because there's not a tear in her eyes right now. Those brown eyes, they're doing that thing Riley Brooks' eyes do—they're sparkling, and that's fucking beautiful.