2. Izzy

CHAPTER 2

IZZY

T he summer I turned nine was my Pokémon summer.

I got sick with the flu right before my birthday, fever and sniffles, aches, the whole works. Mom had to cancel my big princess party, and I got the game early to make up for my heartbreak. My best friend got it too, and we were both hooked. From June to August, that was our life, trainers and Pokéballs, shinies in the tall grass. We had a whole pact going where we would catch them all. We wouldn't stop playing till we'd snagged every one.

For two golden months, I knew I'd play forever. I'd never get tired of my Pokémon friends. There'd always be more to do, more to explore. Then a day came along, a few days before school let in, when I reached for my DS and I felt… tired. Like I was bracing myself to tackle some chore. I put it back down again and went to look for my skateboard, and just like that, it was game over. I'd caught my last Pokémon, and I was fine with that.

Twenty years later, squinting into my closet, I felt that same tiredness when I reached for my dress. That same sense of doneness , of why am I here? I pulled out my new dress, slinky and silver, and the thought of squeezing into it made my body feel heavy. The night to come flashed before me like a string of bad snapshots: me at my vanity, doing my makeup. Cramming my feet into pinchy-toed shoes. Drinking and dancing, shouting over the music. Stumbling home late with the start of a headache. Was this, had this ever been my idea of fun?

My phone buzzed on my dresser and I leaned over to grab it. Probably Lola to say she'd be late. Lola was always late. It was kind of her thing. She'd even been late coming into the world, nearly a month late, according to her mother.

Sorry!!! Hate to flake last min but something can camouflage

*camera

*CAME UP!

Stupid autocarrot

Anyway

Hope you're not mad 3

I tossed my dress on the bed, half-bummed, half-relieved. It wasn't that I didn't want to hang out with Lola. She was awesome. I loved her. But the thought of the club… It felt kind of over, along with my twenties. Something that had been fun, but now I was finished. I was ready for the next thing, whatever that was. When I was nine, it had been soccer. Now, staring down thirty, I wasn't so sure. A promotion, maybe — a new chapter at work. Nights at the ballet. Wine. Dinner parties.

No worries, I texted. Tired anyway.

Lola sent back a string of pink kisses, along with a promise to catch me tomorrow for coffee. I flopped down on my bed and kicked off my shoes. They clunked on the carpet and I wiggled my toes. It hit me I had the whole house to myself — Spencer and Leon gone, no boys, just me. I could spread out in the living room. Hog the TV. Eat a whole tub of ice cream. Whatever I wanted.

"A bath," I sighed, and wriggled with pleasure — I could sneak into Spencer's room and borrow his hot tub. Let the jets soothe away the stress of my week. How long since I'd done that? Too damn long.

I grabbed my shampoo from my own little bathroom, my face mask and bodywash, my big fluffy robe. Ten minutes later, I was tits-deep in bubbles, spread out like a starfish, blissfully soaking. I'd evicted Spencer's hockey gear and his laundry basket, and with them the smell of struggle and sweat. The steam caught my mint bodywash and spread it around, filling the air with a refreshing tang. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift.

Next week at work, I would start afresh. We had those new developments coming in, shiny new condos in the heart of downtown. The partners were slammed, so they'd be looking to delegate. If I could get in first with my proposal, show them I was ready to shine on my own…

A door slammed up front, and I sat up with a gasp. My shampoo bottle went flying and the top popped off, glooping pearly pink liquid all over the floor. I squeaked out a curse and scrambled to get it. Footsteps tromped closer, down the front hall. Spencer called out.

"Leon? That you?"

I snatched up my robe and wrapped it around me. "No, no. It's me."

"Are you in my bedroom?"

"In your tub. That okay?"

Spencer made a low sound, kind of a chuckle. "Sure, that's fine. I'll be in the kitchen."

I hurried to steal a towel from his closet and wrap my hair in it to catch the drips. Then I cleaned up the mess I'd made, let out the water, and shuffled out shamefaced to face my roommate.

"Sorry," I said. "I thought you'd be out late." I looked around. "Where's Leon?"

"Ditched me," said Spencer, and went to the fridge. He flung the door open, then slammed it back shut. "I mean, is it too much to ask for a text? First I'm stuck in hell traffic all through downtown, then there's no parking and I'm walking six blocks. Then I get to the bar, and— Sorry. I'm yelling." He massaged his temples and blew out a harsh breath. "I'm not yelling at you, but man, what a night. I walk into the bar and I swear I get booed, bunch of fans screaming I'm blowing the season. Then I hang around half an hour waiting for Leon, and after all that, he never shows up."

"Lola bailed too," I said. "But at least she texted."

Spencer opened the fridge again and stared into its depths. "There's nothing in here."

"So let's order in."

He let the door swing shut and leaned his head on it. I came up behind him and set my hand on his shoulder. I could feel his tension, his muscles bunched tight.

"Let's play some games," I said. "Mortal Kombat?"

He relaxed some at that, and I felt him breathe out. "Yeah, we could do that. And order some pizza."

Spencer fired up the games console while I ordered our pizza — pepperoni on his side, feta and artichoke on mine. Soon, we were both on the edge of the couch, screaming at each other and at the screen.

"No, no, no, get him! Come on, kick his ass!"

"Gonna rip your spine out!"

"Fatality! Yeah!"

Spencer dropped his controller and wiped his hands on his pants. "It's the damn pizza grease. My thumbs are all slippy."

"Or you just suck."

"Last garlic knot says you suck harder."

I laughed. "You're on." We grabbed our controllers and hit it again, and I sent his guy flying in a geyser of gore. He flopped back, groaning. "Those visuals and pizza sauce… man, that's just wrong."

I snatched the last garlic knot and dipped it in red sauce, but Spencer stole it before I could bite.

"Hey!"

"Yeah, who sucks now?"

I stuck out my tongue at him and fell back laughing, kicking my feet up into his lap. He rubbed at them absently, tickling my toes.

"Remember when we first met?"

"At Leon's party." I smiled at the memory. "He made all that food, and no one ate it."

"Hey, I ate some! But, yeah, that was sad."

"And those drunk guys came in, those, what, Alpha Taus?"

"Frat boys, yeah, Greek letter types." Spencer kept on massaging my feet. "I almost didn't come that night. I was so stressed. I was being recruited, and I had this big game, plus finals and rent to pay, and my damn job. Just think — if I hadn't, we'd never have met."

I thought about that, and he was probably right. Spencer and Leon had been teammates in college, but they hadn't been friends till that night. Leon had thrown this big, stupid party, and invited the whole team, but only Spencer showed up. Most of who did show up were frat boy gatecrashers, and they trashed Leon's hors d'oeuvres and puked on his bed. They broke into my room and sat on my final project, this two-foot scale model of the Hagia Sophia. They smashed it to flinders and I saw it and screamed, and that was when Spencer sprang into action.

"You tossed those guys out," I said. "Right on their asses."

"Well, they wrecked your… thing. What else could I do?"

"You were like this wild man, like… get the hell out! " I sat halfway up and waved my arms, mimicking Spencer in a blind rage. "I thought you were going to throw that one guy right out the window."

"The one smoking Leon's basil? Hell, yeah, I was."

"I forgot about the basil."

"Those guys were morons." Spencer shook his head. "You ever think, though, it was easier then? Everything felt like it meant life or death, but it never did, did it? There were always second chances."

I sat up all the way and bumped our shoulders together. "There still can be," I said.

"You think? I don't know." Spencer stared at the TV, at our fighters still waiting. "Lately, it feels like I'm on my last chance. I mean, I'm the center man. The game rides on me. If we're losing, I'm losing, and we're losing bad. Coach hasn't said as much, but if we can't pull it out — if I can't pull it out, he'll be making some changes. The kind of changes where my contract gets dropped."

I slid my arm around him. "There's other teams out there. And you're a great player. Maybe the Ice Bears just aren't a fit."

Spencer didn't say anything. He shook his head. I knew what he was thinking — he'd been dropped twice before, and he was past thirty. If the Ice Bears released him, he'd be a tough sell.

"The season's not over." I pulled him into a hug. When he stiffened against me, I held him tighter. I stroked his tense back till I felt him relax. "I know it's been rough, but I swear you've still got it. I wouldn't lie to you. You've still got that speed. You're smart and you're agile, and you love the game. All you need is one win, and you'll see. It'll happen. It'll pull the whole team together, and your streak will reverse."

Spencer's chest hitched with a deep, booming laugh. "The way you say that, I'd almost think you believe it."

"I do," I said. "I believe in your dumb ass."

"Just my ass, huh?" Spencer pulled back, and I don't know what it was. Maybe the light caught him from some fresh, perfect angle. Maybe he looked at me in some new, stirring way. I don't know what it was, but a shiver ran through me. Our eyes locked, and it struck me how blue Spencer's were, winter-sky frosty and piercing as ice. His square jaw was rough with dirty blond stubble, a shade or two darker than the hair on his head. He had a scar down his cheek from a skate blade, a ragged white line from cheekbone to chin. I reached up without thinking and traced the line of that scar, and then I kissed him, and he kissed me back.

His lips were hot on mine, and I thought we can't do this .

His hand slid up my back, and I thought why not?

We were roommates, but it hit me we might not be forever. Maybe my next thing would be moving out. Starting a new chapter, so why not? Why not? Why not end this one with a dazzle of fireworks?

Spencer pulled back, his blue eyes gone narrow. He looked sexy that way, wild. Predatory.

"You sure?" he said.

I didn't even have to think about it. I'd never felt more sure. It was as if our whole shared past had led us to this — every joke, every beer, every hot gaming session. Since that night at that party, we'd been headed for this, this night, this couch, this charged, sizzling moment. With no Leon to stop us, I leaned in again.

"I'm sure," I whispered, my breath on his lips.

Spencer inhaled sharply and set his hands on my hips. He lifted me without effort, like I weighed nothing, and before I could protest, I was straddling his lap. We'd wrestled around before, but nothing like this. This closeness was new, this wide-open freedom. We weren't tussling over a blanket or the remote, shoving and smacking, breathless with laughter. We were exploring each other with a new sense of purpose, his hands on my back through the fluff of my robe. I ran mine down his chest, the swell of his pecs. Over his shoulders, his powerful biceps. He tensed at my touch and I felt his strength, this huge, coiled potential, barely held back. This was what made him so thrilling to watch, when he got out of his head and into his game. When it was just him and the ice and the puck, and he drove down the rink like an engine run wild.

"I've wanted this so long." He sounded surprised. "I've wanted you so long," he said, voice ragged with need. I thought his next kiss would melt me away, his lips hot on mine, his breath coming fast. I could feel his heart pounding, and mine along with it, and my pulse seemed to chase all through my body, waking up nerve endings I'd forgotten I had.

"Izzy…" He pushed my robe off my shoulder. I melted against him as he kissed my bare skin. He had too many clothes on, and I clawed at his shirt — no buttons. A T-shirt. I tugged it up hard.

"Ow, ow…"

We fought with his shirt, both of us together, dragging it up and over his head. I tossed it away from us, and then I was on him, kissing and nibbling, tasting his skin. I licked at the hollow between his shoulder and neck, moaned at the salt of him, nipped at his chest. He raked his hands through my hair but didn't push me lower, and I found myself wishing he would. Wishing he'd grab me and take what he wanted, overwhelm my senses with all that raw strength.

I teased at his nipple to goad him on, flicked it and sucked it and tugged with my teeth. Spencer's grip tightened, rough in my hair. He pushed me away from him, then pulled me closer. I worked my way down his torso, down to his belt, and fumbled with the buckle. He brushed me away.

"No, let me?—"

Spencer whipped his belt off with one fluid motion, yanked it free of its buckle and his belt loops. He tossed it into the kitchen, all the way to the sink, and the buckle went clang on the stainless-steel tap. I barely heard it, caught up in Spencer, in the line of blond hair darkening as it strayed lower. I followed it down, jerked his pants down with it, and his cock sprang free as my robe fell away.

Spencer hissed through his teeth at the sight of my body. His hand dropped down to caress my bare back, only to freeze there as I swallowed him deep, gliding my lips down his velvet-smooth shaft.

"Izzy…"

I teased him with my tongue. Moaned at his taste. He bucked up, then caught himself before he could choke me.

"Hold me down," he groaned, and I pinned him by one hip. I slid my other hand up his thigh and cupped his balls. I felt everything he did through his reactions, the hitch of his breath, a full-body shudder. The roughness of gooseflesh where my cheek grazed his thigh. He made a sound in his throat, half-groan, half-plea. I echoed that sound, and I felt his cock throb.

"Don't— Mm, no, stop."

I glanced up at him. "Hm?"

"I won't last like this. Come on, get back up here."

I thought about not stopping, not letting him last. But I didn't want this to be over. I wanted more. I crawled up his body, my skin to his, and tangled my hands in his tousled hair. He opened his eyes.

"You got a rubber?"

"Yeah, in my nightstand." I started to get up, but Spencer was faster. He rose off the couch with me in his arms, my legs wrapped around him, my chin on his shoulder. I felt the jerk-kick as he stepped out of his pants, heard his feet swish on carpet, then slap on tile. Then he was laying me down on my bed, pausing to admire my hair on the pillow. He smoothed it out where it straggled and leaned down to kiss me, and I heard plastic crinkle as he grabbed a condom. I reached down, impatient, to help roll it on, but he already had it.

"Last chance," he whispered. "This what you want?"

I nodded, breathless. "Please."

He thrust himself into me in one long, smooth stroke. I arched up to meet him, my nails down his back. My body moved on pure instinct, matching his rhythm, and soon there was nothing but the sound of our breath, the heat of our bodies, bare skin on skin. I felt my toes curl, and heat pooled inside me. My head swam. My heart raced. Sparks danced in my vision. My climax took me seconds before his hit, like he'd been waiting to fly over the edge. Waiting to feel me lose all control, to see my eyes roll back, my mouth gape with pleasure. Then he tensed against me and I heard him cry out. I felt his cock pulse and his breath catch and stop.

We collapsed together, sweating, entwined, and I didn't feel anything close to regret. All I felt was a surge of bone-deep satisfaction, and on its heels, the need to do it again. We hadn't talked about what this was, or what would come after — if this was a one-night thing, or if there'd be encores — but I had Spencer tonight, here in my arms. Here, real and solid, and kissing my neck.

For now, for tonight, nothing else mattered.