21. Mallory

I’m happy for him. I really am. But I’m also still humiliated. I know Tenley knows about me and Tate. She hasn’t said a word but the girl is ridiculously intelligent and she has read the signs. She also knows her brother. She wasn’t at all shocked when that horny video got played. She looked upset but not shocked.

I was shocked. It felt like I had been whacked in the face with the frying pan I was holding. That’s why as soon as Tenley left, and Tate was still upstairs, I left too. I wasn’t ready to talk about it with him. To admit I not only want to be his only ‘bed buddy’ but I need to be. So instead I went to the beach with Dylan. I sat there and watched him play in the sand and tried to run through every possible conversation we might have about this.

The first was he would say sorry but it wasn’t like we were exclusive. Only people in a relationship are exclusive. We’re in an agreement. I’m cool, right? If not, let’s just end this now so we can stay friends.

The next version was that he told me it was from an older lover, not a current one. He was going to tell her he was involved with someone and he would promise it wouldn’t happen again. Because I was all he wanted. This thing, me and him, was enough for him.

I felt tears prick my eyes as that second scenario ran through my brain because it was such a pathetic fantasy.

After I was sure he would be gone to the arena, I collected Dylan and drove home after breaking down and stopping at Trader Joe”s for some pre-made meals because cooking was the last thing I wanted to do. And after Dylan was bathed and in bed, I Door Dashed a pint of Cold Stones Birthday Cake Remix and when it arrived I settled in and watched his game in the yard overlooking the canal because Crew had a TV built into the outdoor fireplace there.

With the Canal water lapping beyond the rod iron fence and the warm California air blowing in my hair, I watched Tate Garrison inch ever closer to beating his dad”s record. I also noticed his uncle on the Jumbotron. The TV announcer proclaimed, ”This family is wild. I feel like they should do genetic testing on them. They get more and more talented each generation.”

To which the other announcer added, “Did you know Silver Bay, Maine, produces more hockey players, per capita, than any other place in the United States. They’re only beat globally by Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada.”

“Yeah. I know,” I mutter and shovel the last of the Cold Stones into my mouth.

“Must be something in the water supply over there.” The first announcer chuckles but I stop listening to their banter because the screen is now just Tate’s face on the bench.

His coach leans in from behind and whispers something to him and he smiles. His face is red from exertion and damp with sweat, which you can see through his visor, but his eyes twinkle. His mouth is spread in a wide, proud grin. He looks so devastatingly handsome all I can do is stare longingly. Because I may get to be naked with him just about every night, but he’s not really mine. And that hurts.

The Quake win the game. I pull up my phone and re-read Tate’s message asking me to stay up. I don’t want to but I know I’m going to have to have this conversation with him at some point. Might as well stop avoiding the inevitable.

I head back into the house and wait for him on the couch in the living room. I stretch out and play Wordle on my phone to distract myself and keep my mind from anxiously predicting how this conversation will go again. He must take longer than normal to get home because I end up falling asleep.

I wake up to the feeling of being lifted into his arms. My eyes flutter open and I see him looking down at me with a soft smile. “Sorry baby girl. The press was relentless tonight. Everyone wanted to talk to me. I got home as soon as could.”

“We need to talk,” I mumble as I lift my left arm and rub the sleep from my eyes. “Put me down. Let’s do this.”

He lets out a rough chuckle, probably at the unenthusiastic tone in my voice. Like I would rather be picking porcupine quills off an alligator. If that was an option, I might take it. We reach the landing of the second floor, the one where both my and Dylan’s bedrooms are located, and he pauses. I expect to be let down, kissed on the cheek, and sent to my room.

“Is he adapting to his new room?” Tate asked. “Or did he freak out?”

I shake my head. “He did just fine. He had his own room in England so I think he remembers what it was like to sleep alone. Plus that new crib you ordered is great. He is so comfy in it I almost wanted to crawl in there with him.”

Tate smiles. “If your mattress sucks, I can get you a new one.”

He starts up the last set of stairs to his bedroom. Without putting me down. Okay, I’m wide awake now. “No. I mean, it’s fine. What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” Tate replies. “My bed. My mattress is admittedly better. I ordered it from the Four Seasons.”

“The place we stayed that time?” I stutter out the words.

“Yeah. But we almost always stay in Four Seasons on the road. It’s why I picked the Beverly Wilshire when we were too drunk to drive,” Tate explains as we mount the last stair and he uses his elbow to flip on the light in his room. “I know they’re a Four Seasons and their beds are the best. You can order their bedding and mattresses online, directly from their supplier, which is what I did when I bought the townhouse. For me, not the guest room. But I’ll order you one tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to. I swear my mattress is fine.”

He walks right over to his own bed and bends, laying me down in the middle of it. He hovers over me for a second, just long enough to press a chaste kiss to my lips. ”You deserve better than fine.”

Shut up, I internally chastise my heart, which seems to be doing some kind of waltz in my chest. I sit up as soon as he steps away and starts pulling off his suit. “So I’m up. Now. You wanted to talk, so let’s get this over with.”

Tate is yanking on his tie, pulling it loose from his neck. He walks to the side of the bed and stares down at me. “I didn’t say I wanted to talk. I said I wanted to see you.”

“Well, hi!” I wave up at him, feeling even smaller than I am because he looks so big hovering over me. “I’m here. You saw me.”

He grins. It’s feral. “I haven’t seen all of you. Yet.”

He wants to have sex? Umm… well… okay. Yeah. I will. I”m weak and I know it. But I need to know if this is goodbye sex or not. If he”s still sleeping with the woman in the video, then this is goodbye sex. ”Listen, about that video.”

“It’s old,” Tate replies. “Someone I used to have an arrangement with… she sent it a couple weeks ago but I never bothered to open it and I just didn’t… I didn’t know it would be that. I’m sorry you heard it.”

“Okay.” I mentally stamp down the hope in my chest because this isn’t exactly what I wished for. It’s still short of what my heart longs for. “So… is there anyone else you’re currently also in an arrangement with? Besides me?”

“Nope. Just you,” Tate replies and continues to undo his tie. “I scored a shorty tonight.”

“I saw.”

“I’m one goal from tying my dad’s record.”

“I know.”

He’s working on the buttons to his shirt now, one after the other, unveiling his buff chest little by little to my eager gaze. His hair is hanging over his forehead as he looks down at me. I’m in the same shorts and tank I’ve been in all day but he’s looking at me like it’s sexy lingerie. “And my uncle was there tonight. The PR team wants to have my dad there at the next game because they’re sure I’m gonna tie him then.”

“Are you sure?”

”Yeah. I think it”s gonna happen.” Tate grins at me, but there”s a nervous glint in his eye. ”So I”ve got a meeting scheduled tomorrow afternoon with my coach and the head of PR. So I can tell them about Dylan. But first I”m calling my parents in the morning. Video chat so they can meet him after I tell them.”

I sit up straighter, tucking my legs under me. “Oh my God, Tate, this is actually happening?”

“Yeah. The lawyer is still waiting on the birth certificate but he says I can go ahead.” Tate yanks off his shirt. “Can you help me get undressed? My pants seem a little tight and I might need help with the zipper.”

I drop my gaze and there, right in front of me, is his erection straining the expensive fabric of his suit pants. I bite back a grin at his cheeky behavior and force myself to look him in the eye. “Tate, this is a big emotional deal. You can’t be thinking about sex right now.”

”I think about sex every time you”re in the room with me,” Tate tells me and when I don”t reach for his pants he does. First, he starts to undo his belt. ”I think about how wet you always are for me. How ready. How good you taste. How you let me look at you spread and swollen with need and you don’t even blush. You like my eyes on your pussy. I think about how much I love to watch you come.”

His pants drop to his ankles and I stare at that bulge in the front of his charcoal boxer-briefs. My God… I am so wet I’ll be surprised if there isn’t a damp spot on my jean shorts. “Tate…”

He bends down again, roughly putting a hand under my chin and tipping my head up so he can capture my lips with his own. The kiss is powerful. Raw. Perfect.

I have to give in. My body has hit the override switch on my mind and I reach down and pull my tank top over my head. “Good girl,” he whispers as his hands reach for the button on my shorts.

Moments later, after he rolls on a condom, I’m naked on the bed with Tate on top of me sliding his cock into me with a steady swing. It isn’t a struggle. “You make me so wet,” I confess. “I can’t even watch you play hockey without my clit tingling.”

“Has it always been like that?”

“Since I was a teenager,” I admit.

He nips on the side of my neck before groaning in satisfaction, like my words are bringing him closer to climax. He cants his hips and I wrap my legs around his waist. Missionary is my least favorite position because I never come this way, but I know that’s about to change. It’s impossible for me not to orgasm with Tate. His left knee bends and he lifts his torso with his arms on either side of my head and he bucks again. He manages to hit that secret spot with the tip of his dick. The one that makes my limbs prickle with pleasure and my stomach quiver.

“Oh God…” I pant.

“I will never stop wanting you, Mallory,” he whispers into my ear, his rhythm as shaky as his confession. “It’s like I’m addicted to you.”

He can’t really be saying this. Not to me. This goes beyond everything I dared to dream about him. I arch my back and press the heels of my feet into that round, hard ass of his. “Tate… I… God…”

“Come baby girl,” Tate begs me. “Come all over my dick.”

And then I do.

And he follows me moments later and then collapses on me. When we find our way back into our bodies, he slowly pulls out and disappears behind the false wall into the bathroom. I turn my head into his pillow, take one last deep breath of his scent, and slowly sit up. The euphoria is replaced by melancholy as I do it.

I don”t want to go back to my room, but I know he expects me to. He wants me to. I”m holding the duvet to my chest and leaning over to grab my clothes from the floor when he appears again. He”s naked, and not hiding a thing. His dick is soft but still formidable as it hangs between his legs. His skin is still flushed and his muscles still taut from exertion.

He walks around the bed, crawls under the covers on the other side, and wraps his arms around my waist. He pulls me backward, towards the center of the bed and him.

“What are you doing?” I ask, fighting the smile that wants to bloom on my face.

He nestles against me like the big spoon and I have no choice but to lie there with my head on his bicep because he still has a bulky arm around my waist holding me in place. “Cuddling before we fall asleep. I’m new at this so if I’m doing it wrong, help me out.”

“You’re doing it right,” I reply and let that smile bloom. “Where is Tate? What have you done with him?”

“Shut up.” His laugh tickles the back of my neck. “Listen, I want you to be there with me. When I call my parents.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. You are part of this. My life. Dylan’s.” He pauses and tugs me in a little closer. “I need you.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, baby girl.” I feel his lips press to my shoulder.

We lie there in silence for a long time. I feel his muscles soften, and his grip around my belly loosens. His breathing gets deeper. My eyelids get heavy, my mind stops running, my limbs get loose. But… when I drift off it’s not a deep sleep. I’m still on alert, waiting for the switch to flip. For old Tate to turn back on. To be asked to leave. To be told I’m just the nanny with benefits.

Hours later when I slip out of bed to pee, he grabs my wrist. “Don’t go.”

“Bathroom.”

“But you’ll come back to bed? This bed?”

“If you want me to.”

“I want you. Here. With me.”

“Then I’ll be back.”

And when I come back from the bathroom, he holds the covers open for me and I crawl right in, resting my head on his chest, and drift off. I don’t dream for the rest of the night. My subconscious knows it can’t compete with real life now.