14. Mallory

Irush through my shower, my brain listing all the possible reasons for this serious conversation I’m about to have with Tate. I decide it must just be about the nannies I interviewed. I focus on the candidates and the meetings I had with them as I get out of the shower, towel off, and throw on a long sundress. I haven’t worn much besides shorts and sweats since I landed in L.A. and it’s time I started making more of an effort. My ribs aren’t sore anymore either. Well, not as sore, so I’m starting to feel more like myself.

I review the candidates mentally as I brush my hair. I think about the candidates I already shortlisted and sent to Tate, and then I think about one of the ones I didn’t put on the list. The one who was twenty-two, size zero, and with shampoo commercial hair.

Yep. I did that. Nixed a perfectly valid candidate because she was gorgeous. And it’s been bugging me ever since so I know when we talk nannies I have to tell him about her too. So what if she’s young and hot and probably his type. If he ends up fucking her, why do I care? It’s not like he’s going to date me if I don’t tell him about her. Tate doesn’t date. I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror as I rub in some tinted moisturizer and a little liquid blush on my pale cheeks.

He does fuck, though, and he’d fuck me. He said it. Offered it up like an… arrangement. But I don’t want him to want to fuck me. Okay, maybe I do want him to fuck me. Nope. I don”t. Well, I shouldn”t. And regardless, I”m leaving once he hires someone else, so I should just stop cock blocking something that hasn”t even happened and add the competent and pretty nanny to the shortlist.

I’m still having this insane internal monologue with myself when I walk into the kitchen and find Tate there. In nothing but sweats riding low on his tapered hips and dear God, yeah I would like to have a man who looks like that naked on top of me just once in my very vanilla little life.

“Hey,” he says like he isn’t standing there emoting sex appeal. He runs a hand through his damp hair and I try not to remember how thick and amazing it feels. “You look great.”

I smooth my hands over the front of my dress. “Surprise! I own more than just sweats and shorts.”

“I don’t,” Tate jokes back and flashes me a grin. “Except suits.”

I smile and he tips his head toward the patio we were on earlier. “Back outside to enjoy some sunshine? It finally popped through the haze.”

I nod and follow him. He’s got two fresh mugs of coffee and he hands one to me before I sit down. I thank him and settle into one of the sofas, pulling my phone out of one of the side pockets on my dress. “So I have one more candidate to add to your list of potential nannies. Are you ready to hear why I say yay or nay to them?”

“No.”

I sip my coffee. He made it just how I like it with extra cream and just a pinch of sugar. “I know the road trip was grueling. Did you not get a chance to review the notes I sent you? One of them was a nanny for J Lo. How crazy is that?”

”No, I read everything. I”m just not ready to replace you,” Tate says and I freeze with the coffee cup halfway to my mouth. He leans forward, aquamarine eyes reaching over me and landing on my face. His tongue slips across his bottom lip for a second. ”I want you to stay.”

“Why?” I don’t know why I ask the question. The answer will never be what I truly want to hear.

He leans forward and puts his mug on the coffee table. With his elbows on his knees and his fingers twisted together he clears his throat and responds. And I was right, it’s not the answer I wanted to hear. “I’ve been talking to a sports psychologist, because this has a huge impact on my career as well as my life. Forever. Anyway, he pointed out to me that in unexpected life-altering events like this, there are changes I can”t control and changes I can. He meant like, I cannot let this affect my on-ice performance. But it applies to more than the game. There are off-ice changes I can control too. I don”t have to find a new nanny. I have the best one already.”

“I see.” Every fiber of my being is disappointed, which is ridiculous. “So you’re asking me to stay because it’s one less hassle to deal with. For how long?”

“I’m asking you to stay because my son loves you, and…” Tate pauses. Our eyes meet and then he looks at his coffee mug. “I consider you one of my best friends and I like having you here. For how long? Well, for Dylan’s sake, until he gets drafted. For my sake… until he gets drafted.”

I can”t help but smile, and it only grows bigger when he flashes me one back. ”Seriously though, I don”t know for how long. Can we start with a six-month contract?”

Six months living with Tate. In his sweatpants and nothing else. Well, except for the thick silky hair, piercing aquamarine eyes, and casual masturbation conversations.

“Contract is such a shitty word,” Tate backtracks, assuming my silence is a sign of annoyance, I guess. He looks contrite and slightly panicked. “Agreement? Arrangement? Pact? Call it whatever works for you and I’ll agree.”

Tate looks away, at something on the tiled patio floor. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something else but he doesn’t. He closes his eyes and when he opens them he looks at me with a pleading stare. “I know it’s a lot to ask. I know you’ve gone above and beyond for him, and me, already. I won’t hate you if you have to say no.”

“I don’t have to say no,” I reply softly. Because I don’t have to say no. Yes, my family is waiting for me, but nothing else is. No job. No prospects. No boyfriend. No best friend. I have no reason to say no, but at the same time, for my own sake, maybe I should. “I will do anything to make this easier on Dylan. None of this is his fault.”

”Thank you, Mallory,” Tate replies, and before I realize what he”s doing he”s off his couch and on mine. Right beside me circling me with his strong arms and pulling me into him.

His hugs are always so damn comforting. My whole body relaxes into him and I rest my chin on his shoulder and close my eyes, inhaling the smell of his soap and shampoo and savoring the way the damp ends of his hair brush my cheek. He’s got a wide palm flat against the center of my back between my shoulder blades.

“I lied to you,” he whispers so low and soft against my ear that I almost don’t hear it. I want to pull back, to look at him, but that palm of his is holding me in place. “I need you to stay for more than Dylan. I need you to stay for me.”

I hold my breath. My heart trips over itself in my chest. That hand on my back moves up, under the ends of my hair, towards my neck. His voice gets softer and raspier, like velvet sandpaper. “I spend every day lost in a sea of emotions and you are my only anchor, Mallory.”

His palm is now against the back of my neck and his fingers curl around it gently but possessively. I inhale sharply, almost a gasp. “Tate…” I pull back just enough so we can look at each other. His features are a blur, and I can feel his breath against my lips.

“I know I ruined our friendship, and I’m sorry,” he confesses. “I know you are still hurt and angry about the night in the hotel room.”

”I”m mad at myself about that,” I whisper hoarsely. ”Not at you. I knew how I”d feel right afterward but I didn”t stop it. I didn”t have an ounce of self-restraint, or preservation, and that”s my fault, not yours. You gave me ample opportunity that night to opt-out.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I wanted you so badly, and still do, if I had the chance to do it again knowing it would make you run to another country and cut me out of your life, I probably still wouldn’t be able to stop myself from touching you.”

What the hell do you say to that? What does he want me to respond with? I say nothing. And that”s when I feel his lips brush my cheek. And we both move our heads like this is some grand, thought-out plan. The next logical step.

When his lips touch mine it feels as right and comforting as his embrace, and I lean into it just like I did the hug. Unlike the other times we’ve made this glorious mistake, this time he doesn’t taste like tequila and isn’t fueled by sexual frustration. This may be another bad decision, but it isn’t rash. That hand of his at the back of my neck slides into my hair as my mouth opens slightly in invitation and his tongue finds mine and every molecule in my body reacts. I grip his shoulders and am basically crawling into his lap when?—

The front door slams and Tenley’s panicked voice calls out, “We have an emergency! Help!”

We both break apart and leap off the couch. My heart is in my throat until I see Tenley holding a perfectly healthy-looking Dylan out in front of her like he’s a ticking bomb. “His ass exploded!”

Oh. He’s a bomb that already went off.

Tate reaches him first and pulls Dylan close only to immediately hold him at arm’s length like Tenley had. Tate’s face scrunches up and he chokes back a gag. “Oh my God, something is desperately wrong.”

“Nope,” I inform them calmly, trying not to smile. “Just regular baby shit. Literally.”

Tate turns, holding Dylan out toward me, but I take a step toward the stairs and shake my head. ”Oh no, Daddy. This is your chance to bond with your son.”

“I feel like he’d be happier if you handled this,” Tate replies but he follows me up the stairs, Tenley behind me and Dylan still dangling from his hands.

“He seems just fine, for once,” I note and glance over my shoulder. Dylan is swinging his feet. There’s a yucky dark brown stain seeping bigger and bigger in the front of his pants. One of his white socks is also tinged brown. Kid let a good one go.

“Oh God, it smells so bad. Are you sure we shouldn’t call a doctor?” Tate asks me as he follows me into the bedroom. “Does he have a baby norovirus or something?”

”We”ll monitor it but I think it”s just breakfast didn”t agree with him,” I reply and point to the bathroom. ”Ten, can you run a lukewarm bath. Just a quarter full please.”

Tenley happily leaves the room, which is filling up with the scent of Dylan’s mess. Tate gags again. I bite my cheek to keep from laughing as I walk over to the changing table I put together two days ago after Amazon delivered it. I motion for Tate to bring him over and he does and lays him down on his back.

I hand him some rubber medical gloves I ordered for occasions just like this. ”Put these on.” I reach into the first drawer pull out laundry clips and hand him one. ”And put this on your nose.”

Tate’s eyes flare to the size of dinner plates. “Seriously?”

”You”ll thank me later,” I promise him. ”Even if you get baby poop out from under your nails it still smells after, no matter how much soap you use or how much you scrub. I think it”s psychological. Anyway, the gloves prevent it.”

“I have a set of protective goggles in the storage locker,” Tate says as serious as a heart attack. “Should I grab them too?”

I giggle. It bubbles out of me and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. Tate looks mortified.

”I”m sorry. Valid question.” Dylan makes a noise that is a coo on the verge of a cry and his poop-covered sock juts up in the air. Tate jumps back like someone has just pointed a gun at him and I giggle again, which makes him blush. Blush! So freaking adorable. ”Sorry again. Okay, no time for goggles let”s just get to work. Start undoing his clothes.”

Tate follows each and every one of my instructions and by the time Tenley comes to tell us the bath is ready, we’ve got Dylan down to his birthday suit and wiped up as best as possible. Tate is still holding him, dangling at arms-length, as we walk into the bathroom. I test the water and the temp is perfect so I tell Tate to lower Dylan in and he does.

“Stay by the tub at all times,” I warn him. “Keep your eyes on him always. Babies can drown in an inch of water.”

I slide his bath seat into the water and Tate instinctively lifts him into it and reaches for the baby soap on the side of the tub. Tenley and I lean against the counter and watch Tate and Dylan bond. It’s actually finally happening! Dylan loves baths and he happily lets Tate clean him as he splashes. And once the washing up is done Tate grabs one of the bath toys and continues to play with Dylan.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this is the cutest thing ever,” Tenley whispers to me in awe. “I never thought Tate would be good at this, honestly.”

“I knew he would be. Eventually,” I whisper back, my eyes never leaving the father and son.

Eventually, I coax Tate into getting Dylan out of the water before it gets cold. Of course, Dylan whines about it because he loves water and now he”s also overtired. When he starts to cry Tate”s face falls and he looks at me with desperation. ”It”s not you, it”s him. Just dry him off and get him into a onesie and we”ll put him down for a nap.”

In the bedroom, I hand Tate a pale blue onesie and Tenley jumps in to help him dress the little guy, not because he needs help but because she wants to be involved. A few minutes later, Dylan’s dead to the world and we’re all sneaking back downstairs. Tenley announces she’s going to head back to West Hollywood. “Gotta beat the rush hour traffic.”

“It’s only two,” I note.

“Rush hour in Los Angeles starts at three and goes until eight,” Tate explains, shocking me. “Ten, do I have to beg you again to keep this to yourself? Don’t even tell Liv.”

Liv is their cousin and she also attends UCLA and is one of Tenley’s roommates. Tenley gives her brother an annoyed stare. “I am a vault, Tater Tot. Stop worrying. Besides I hardly ever see Liv during the school year. She’s always studying. The nerd.”

I smile as Tenley rolls her eyes. She hugs me and then she hugs her brother. ”You are doing great, bro. When it”s time to tell Mom and Dad and everyone, I will be there for you. Hopefully, Mallory will be too.”

With that, she disappears out the front door and Tate and I are left alone to stare at each other and come to terms with what happened before Dylan”s poop explosion.

The feeling of his lips against mine, the need and the desire with which he explored my mouth, come flooding back to me. I take in a sharp breath and look away. “Tate, I think we need ground rules.”

”Okay,” Tate replies easily and steps closer. I can see his left foot next to the plank of hardwood I”m laser-focused on instead of looking at him. ”How about you stay and nanny Dylan for six months. I”ll pay you whatever Diana paid you plus twenty-five percent because L.A. isn”t cheap. Also, we”ll move. So both you and Dylan can have your own rooms.”

Now I have to look up. Is he serious about giving up this place? When Tate bought this place he was so proud he sent Diana and me a video tour of it. He loves this townhouse. But there”s no flicker of humor or hesitation as he speaks. “Even if I don’t have a live-in nanny one day, Dylan needs a proper, safe yard and a quieter, larger space than this.”

He”s right and I love that he figured that out on his own. That he”s putting his son”s needs above his own wants without being asked. ”You”re a good dad.”

“I’m working on it,” he replies and then he steps closer still. Now we’re chest to chest, almost touching. I stare at the small space between our feet until his left hand comes up and he presses his thumb to the underside of my chin and tilts my head up, forcing my eyes to land on his. “Now let’s talk about the fun ground rules.”

“Fun rules?” I repeat. He smiles. It’s deep and intimate and it warms me in ways I know is dangerous. “What are fun rules?”

”Fun rules are things like what happened on the patio earlier,” Tate replies and his thumb under my chin slides lightly against my jaw. ”It”s letting it happen again if we want it. It”s letting more happen if we want to. If we need it. Do you need it, Mal?”

“Need to kiss you?” I whisper.

His smile deepens. “Need to kiss someone. Need to touch someone. Need to be touched by someone. Need to orgasm. All of those things. Why don’t we make a rule that we help each other out that way too?”

Is he serious? I stare at him in complete shock. ”That kiss was a slip-up. Our emotions were running high.”

“Like that last time?” Tate counters and I nod. “But what about the first time?”

“Alcohol.”

”So right now,” Tate says as he pins me with those smoldering eyes of his, ”I”m calm, you”re calm. Light-hearted even after that poop escapade. I haven”t had a drop of alcohol in over a week. Are you tipsy right now? Drunk?”

“Stone cold sober,” I admit.

His hand has moved from my chin and jaw to the back of my neck. He cups it gently but also possessively and I like it. A lot. Tate tilts his head so our foreheads touch. “So right now then, completely sober and void of big emotion, you don’t want me to kiss you?”

I open my mouth and say absolutely nothing. Because I just can’t bring myself to lie. He smiles again. I feel a tremor of desire and a shiver of need ripple through me. Also, though, there’s a rattle of fear. “If we give into this, aren’t we just inviting trouble into an already troublesome situation?”

“Maybe we’re just giving each other a break from the trouble,” he replies, and Tate sounds so confident that I almost believe him.

I reach up and wrap a hand around his forearm, gathering the courage to step away from him and pull out of this grip he has on me, physically. Emotionally I don’t know if I’ll ever break free. I’ve spent what feels like half my lifetime enamored with Tate Garrison. “Don’t you have regrets? After that first time.”

“Yeah,” he admits after a long moment of just staring at each other. “My biggest regret though, the one that keeps me up some nights, is not going further with you. Taking everything I wanted.”

Once again my breath catches in my throat, like the air has been sucked from the room and I can’t expand my lungs. It doesn’t get easier as he tilts his head and his lips brush mine. “I lay awake sometimes and think about how you tasted on my fingers and how badly I want that taste on my tongue.”

My lips find his. I have no resistance left. No rational thought. Only selfish needs and wants. I want Tate. I need him to touch me. Right or wrong I’ve needed it for years so I kiss him and he kisses me back. Long and hard. And the deeper the kiss gets the more we start pawing at each other.

Tate is twisting his fingers in my hair with one hand and cupping my ass with the other. I’m basically doing the same with my hands. He feels so good against me, so I lift my leg and wrap it around his hip. He ruts himself between my legs with a growl, like we’re cave people, just figuring out what nature intended.

I feel that primal. I am radiating with a desire to touch him, be touched by him. I let my hand slide down his back and under the waistband of his sweats. His ass is round, hard, and bare as I palm it. He isn”t wearing underwear. He pulls back, my leg falls to the floor, and he yanks me to him. He pauses, cupping my cheek. ”I”m sorry. I know I have to be gentle because of your ribs. It”s just… I”m usually not.”

He wraps his arms around my back and kisses me again, walking us both over to the living room couch. He gently pushes me down onto it and lowers himself on top of me. We kiss and grind and let our fingers roam. My dress is being hiked up by his left hand as it slides up my outer thigh. “I love you in dresses. I remember my hands under the last dress I saw you in.”

“I think about that a lot too,” I confess as I shove his sweats lower, over his ass, and down his thighs. “I think about it every time I touch myself.”

I am going to blush profusely when I look back on the fact I said that out loud, but right now the only thing heating my blood is lust. Tate has my dress bunched up at my hips and his fingers are skirting my panties. “Before you ask, don’t stop.”

I feel his lips, against mine, parting in a triumphant smile. ”Tell me I can lick your pussy.” Oh God. This may not be dirty speak for some women, but for me, it”s downright lewd. I have never talked with a sexual partner like this, so boldly, so blunt. So hot. “Tell me to put my mouth on you.”

“Do it.”

“Mallory. Say the words.”

I heave in my breaths like an Olympic runner at the end of a marathon. Heavy, hard breaths. I close my eyes and move my hands from his bare ass, over the tight muscles in his back, up into his hair. I feel his fingers slip between my folds and he sighs like he’s content. Like he’s at peace. Like he’s home. “Tate. Put your mouth on me. Lick my pussy, I am begging you.”

”You don”t have to beg.” He kisses me roughly and then slides down my body, one hand pulling my underwear lower and lower down my legs. When he slips them off one ankle, he shoves one of my legs off the couch and throws the other over his shoulder, and with one last heated look on my face, he dips down between my legs, and all I feel is the confident swipe of his tongue across my sex. I arch my back and whimper. ”How do you taste even better than the first time?”

I don”t answer with words. Instead, my hips twist and my butt lifts and I”m essentially fucking his face. I”m not even trying to be timid about it, I keep rocking into him and he meets me with his warm, wet talented tongue every time. Inching me closer to a black abyss of white-hot pleasure. He keeps licking, exploring, tasting and the inching is more like shoving now. Every time that tongue dances over my clit I stumble closer to that prize.

“Tate, I’m going to…”

“Come all over me baby girl. Don’t hold back. Use me.”

I fist his hair in my hands and swallow my moan because Dylan can”t hear this, and if I let go, the way I want to, not only will Dylan hear me, the entire state of California will. He crawls up my body, kissing my knee, my thigh, my hip, my forearm, my collarbone, my neck. And I get more and more lucid with every touch. More and more aware that I not only need to, I want to, return the feeling he just flooded me with. I reach down and wrap my hand around his hard cock as soon as he’s got his lips on my neck. “Mal, you don’t?—”

“Tell me you don’t want me to suck your cock.”

He blinks and flashes me a grin. ”I will not be saying that. Ever.”

“Then lie back and enjoy yourself.” I slide lower down his body, between his legs, as he takes my place on the couch. Without giving myself time to freak out I press my lips to his leaking tip and slide him into my mouth.

My pace is slow, and kind of tentative at first. I”m not shy or unsure of myself, I”m just taking a minute to enjoy the moment. How his cock makes my mouth feel overwhelmingly full. The salty, thick taste of his pre-cum. How he whispers curses at the ceiling and tangles his fingers in my hair. ”You are killing me.”

“Mmm…” I hum against his shaft and he quakes. And then his fingers twist as I move at a faster, steadier pace and he punches his hips, softly at first and then harder and faster and he is fucking my wet waiting mouth with abandon.

And then his pace stumbles. “I’m going to shoot.”

I grab his hips, holding on, pressing my fingers into his skin, letting him know I’m not letting go. He grunts out each syllable of my name. “Mal-lor-y.”

And then he curses again and I feel a quick pulse of come explode into my mouth followed by another and another and… I almost choke there’s so much, but I manage to swallow before that happens. I don’t have time to wipe my mouth or do anything because he’s hauling me up and pulling me into him and pressing breathy kisses to the shell of my ear. “See? Fun rules. We’re really good at this… together.”

“We make a pretty good team.” I smile and as he pushes his fingers through my messy hair I nuzzle his neck and drift off on the spicy scent that is all Tate.