Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

Colin

T his morning, I'm exhausted. I had a tournament last weekend, and this weekend I'm in California to watch Owen. I've gotten special permission from the school to attend online lectures in order to travel with him to keep up the appearance of our marriage. A perk of being married to a Godfrey that I am taking full advantage of, as well as the school taking advantage of the free publicity.

Owen was up before the sun for warm-ups and strategy meetings while they have breakfast as a team. I don't expect to see him before his first match.

It's given me time to lay in bed and think.

Last night was amazing.

Intense.

Perfect.

I smile that smile of teenage crushes, belly flutters, and pink cheeks. The kind of feelings that Hallmark puts in all of their Christmas movies.

He commanded me in every way. Stole my breath.

But what does it mean? Does he want to do it again, or did it cement that he's not interested?

"Uuuuugh!" I scrub my hands over my face, annoyed at myself.

If he wants to do it again, I'm good with it. If he doesn't, we'll make it work. There's plenty of other ways to get each other off.

Forcing myself out of bed, I get in the shower, jack off to the memories of him stretching me, and lay around until I have to get ready to head to the arena to watch him.

There's a lot of pressure in these events, and even the families feel it, but my experience has been pure chaos. With Owen being the poster boy for gay fencing, the media and tabloids have subjected me to all means of harassment. They've become obsessed with our sex life. Jokes on them, we've only fucked once. I even had someone follow me into the bathroom once to ask me who the man was in our relationship. It's gotten so bad. Owen had to hire a guard to come with me to this weekend's matches.

I'd thought Owen had been exaggerating when he told me how bad it was with the media, but it seemed to get worse with every passing week and the better he fenced. Since the media has been so bad, I've been a little more careful about what I wear to these events. Owen and Oliver are always impeccably dressed, even at home, and the last thing I want to do is embarrass Owen or give the team a reason to give him shit. Especially since they will be going internationally. We are representing the USA, and I don't want to jeopardize any opportunities.

Since we're in Santa Clara, it's cool but nothing like the freezing temperature of New York City right now. So no snarky, sexually suggestive crop tops. In public.

My distressed AMIRI black skinny jeans with leather patches look painted on. The black AllSaints lace up boots make me feel like I'm going to kick some ass. And the white button-up Billy Reid Oxford shirt rolled up to the elbows brings it together. I look sexy as fuck, with my stacks of bracelets on each wrist and a few chunky rings. Deciding I don't want to deal with my hair, I pull it back into a messy bun just as Roberts–my guard–knocks.

"How do I look, Roberts?" I strike a pose for him.

"Twink-ish as usual," he says without really looking at me. "Ready? The car is here."

"You keep me humble, big man."

He gets us down to the car with no issues, which is normal. It's when we get inside that it's iffy. Oliver is in the car when I slip in, and I jump.

"Will you give a guy some warning?" I put a hand over my heart.

"What are you doing to my brother?" Oliver says in an icy tone.

"Fulfilling his every sexual desire," I snap back, but feel a little weird about saying it after Owen said he wanted to keep it from his brother, but I know if I act any other way, Oliver will see through me.

Oliver gives me a flat look. "I almost believe you, but I know how Owen feels about sex. So what is it? How are you giving him all this dopamine?"

"Do you feel inadequate, Oliver?"

He narrows his eyes. "I will figure you out."

"I look forward to it."

I get checked in, and Roberts gets us to our seats with minimal fuss. A reporter tried to yell a question at me, but Roberts put his hand in the guy's face and pushed him out of the way. It was hilarious. I doubt that was part of his training, but I really don't care. I have no idea where Oliver went, but I'm rather happy he decided not to sit with me.

"What do you do when you're not protecting my delicate sensibilities?" I ask Roberts.

The large man with a shiny head and arms bigger than my thigh lifts an eyebrow. "Ballet."

"I would pay good money to see you in tights and leotard."

"I'm sure your husband would, too." He rolls his eyes and scans the crowd.

"Oh, I'm sure he would enjoy your ass -ets as well."

"You are impossible."

Deciding to give him a break, since he'll be with me most of the day today and the next two days after that, I scroll through my phone for a while.

Baby Bird: How is he? Is he nervous?

Corruptor: Of course he's nervous, he has anxiety.

I chuckle at myself since I'm hilarious.

Baby Bird: You know what I mean!

Corruptor: He'll be fine.

Corruptor: Why didn't you come with Oliver?

Baby Bird: I couldn't get out of class. Not all of us are married to USA team members.

Corruptor: Oliver didn't pull strings?

Baby Bird: He told me to ask for myself.

Corruptor: You didn't ask, did you?

Baby Bird: Rude. But correct.

I'm sure Owen doesn't have his phone and won't check it for a few hours, but I send him a message anyway.

Juicy Peach: You're going to do amazing.

And send him a picture of my ass, dripping wet from the shower this morning.

The stands fill, talk of fencing and people's guesses about who will beat who surround. It's been so interesting being on this side of the game. It's not often I've sat in the stands instead of competing in them or at least been with my team. Here, I'm just a spectator. Another face in the crowd.

Annoying Little Sister: Tell Owen to knock ‘em dead!

Old One: Should I shout it across the room? Think he'll hear me from the locker room?

Annoying Little Sister: You really are the worst *eye roll emoji*

Old One: And you have his number, text him yourself. I'm not his secretary.

Except I am. I keep his schedule, maintain his routines, and make sure he's in bed on time. Mostly on time. Sometimes.

Okay, he's in bed on time, but rarely sleeping.

Annoying Little Sister: Give him a hug for me when you see him

Old One: Are you trying to take what I've already stolen? Hands off my husband. You had a chance at him.

Annoying Little Sister: If I had known who Dad was going to set me up with, I would have married Owen

That has my attention.

Old One: Who the hell has he set you up with and when?

Annoying Little Sister: Theo Bradford *angry face*

Old One: Are you kidding me? He's thirty-one, divorced, and has three kids!

Anger flairs to life in my chest and burns through me. I clench my jaw to keep from screaming, and my foot starts bouncing. What the actual fuck is he thinking? And what kind of pervert agrees to this? She's a teenager, for fuck's sake! Had Owen and I done this all for nothing? If she gets married, what would that mean for Owen and me? Maybe he'd be happier being free.

"Problem?" Roberts is on high alert, scanning the area for what's set me off.

"Nothing here. You can relax." I force myself to breathe, though I want to strangle my father instead. "My father is a prick."

He hums but doesn't say anything else. I'm left to stew on the other side of the country where I can't do anything.

Except…

Corruptor: What are the odds that Oliver dislikes Theo Bradford?

Baby Bird: Should I know who that is?

Corruptor: Probably not, but I need a favor.

Baby Bird: Is someone dying?

Corruptor: My father, if he doesn't stop trying to sell off my sister.

Baby Bird: Uh oh. Tell me what's going on and I'll call Oliver.

Corruptor: he's here, I can talk to him.

Baby Bird: you know it will be better coming from me.

I spend the next few minutes telling him what I know, texting Cassie to get more information, and relaying that as well. I'm not sure if Oliver has a real hatred for the Bradfords or if I should buy a lotto ticket, but he agrees to help Cassie. I could kiss him.

I won't because he would murder me, if I was even able to get that close to him, which I doubt. But I would.

Owen starts out the match as the first player for the round robin. The round ends after someone gets five points or three minutes passes. Whichever happens first.

I lean my forearms on my knees, watching his every move. He was an amazing fencer before joining this team, and his skills have only improved. Not to mention the muscle he's put on because of all the training. I regularly worship him on my knees.

He's agile and patient, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The way he reads his opponent is both impressive and terrifying and gets me hard. Sword fighting is sexy as fuck, and the way he handles himself out on the piste…I bite my lip to hold in a moan when Owen parries the attack and moves seamlessly into a riposte for the touch. It's like watching art at this level.

Sexy art.

That you want to fuck.

And you do.

Regularly.