Chapter 39 Spencer Nash

Race You There

A Week After the Wedding

It's rare to find Amelia in the tasting room, yet she's there when I walk by later in the afternoon.

"Do you have anything less…sweet?" the customer asks her, and she seems to glance around wildly before her eyes land on me.

"Oh, look! It's Spencer Nash, formerly of the Minnesota Vikings!" she tells the man and woman she's working with.

She knows I fucking hate when she does that, which is obviously why she chooses this moment to do it.

I offer a wave and a smile to the guests, and I step into the conversation because, as much as I want to see Amelia fail here, in particular in front of Maggie, who's talking to some guests on the other end of the counter, I don't want the vineyard to fail.

"We're huge fans," the man says to me. "Best of luck in San Diego. We're sad to see you go."

"I appreciate that," I say with a friendly nod. And then to get the heat off me, I switch back to the reason why these people are here. "The pinot noir here is my favorite." I walk behind the counter to grab the bottle from where I know it's kept .

Amelia does not know this fact, and if Grace hadn't just taken nearly a week away from this place, I know she'd be down here chatting with these customers. Instead, they got stuck with Amelia.

I get her trying to put in the effort, but even Maggie must see through it.

Except…it doesn't appear she actually does, which is a total mystery to me.

She doesn't see Amelia's near-flub. Instead, she walks over as Amelia is about to tip the pinot over the same glasses that still have a bit of moscato in them.

"New glasses," I mutter at her as I reach under the counter to produce those as well.

"Oh! Right." She tips the bottle over the new glasses.

"Didn't like the moscato?" Maggie asks the customers.

"It was lovely, just a little sweet for me," the woman says.

Maggie beams at Amelia. "I'm so glad my granddaughter set you up with the pinot, then."

"Oh, no. It was Spencer," the man says, and Maggie just smiles and nods.

But still, I mark a tick in the win column for Grace.

"What foods does this go best with?" the woman asks, glancing up at Amelia.

Both Maggie and I turn to Amelia, too.

"Oh, uh…" She trails off, clearly out of her element here.

"It pairs really well with beef or salmon," I say, swooping in. Everything I know about wine, I know because I've spent time here, and it's puzzling that Amelia hasn't picked up on any of it.

Most likely because she just doesn't care, and that's the worst part of it all. The only reason she's after this place is because she thinks it'll give her the money or the status she wants. It's a challenge to her. A way to beat her sister.

But no one will ever convince me that she deserves it as much as Grace does.

I return to Grace's place—the house to which I now know the code since my wife lives here—and when I check my email, I see a bunch of new correspondence from the Storm .

I have team activities starting in two weeks, which means I probably need to get my ass back to San Diego. I have two weeks to get in the kind of shape that won't make me look like I took the entire offseason, well, off .

It all kicks off with organized team activities, or OTAs, and we have two days of them in two weeks and three days of them in three weeks. They're usually voluntary, but since I'm new, I need to be there.

I don't know many guys on the team very well yet, and this is my chance to get to know them. I can hang with Clay, who's already introduced me to more of the receivers on the team, and I can get to know the rest of the offense before we head into camp in two months.

OTAs are sort of the unofficial start of the new season for players, and while at first I was upset about this change, I've shifted my mindset to try to look forward to it.

It just sucks that it means I'll have to leave Grace, and it's not like she's going to be able to come with me when she's here fighting for the vineyard.

I don't want to spend time apart from her—especially not now that I've started allowing myself to feel what I've always felt for her—but we don't have a choice. She has her job here, and I have my job there.

This would've been easier had I not been released, but it is what it is.

I don't have much here with me—just what I packed for Vegas, which I've washed to wear for this week. But I did pack my Nikes and running shorts in case I had time for the gym, so I decide to gear up for a run before dinner. The vineyard's walking paths are the perfect setting for a run, and in fact, I've done it many times.

I'm digging through my suitcase for the one dry-fit shirt I brought along when I hear the front door open and shut, followed by my name.

"Spencer?"

"In the bedroom!" I yell back, and Grace appears in the doorway a few seconds later.

"Well, well, well," she says, her eyes falling onto my abdomen. "What did I walk in on?"

I chuckle as I abandon my suitcase to turn fully toward my wife. "I'm getting ready for a run. Want to join me?"

She folds her arms across her chest and leans against the doorframe. "I only run if I'm being chased. By a bear."

"We should change that. Running can be quite fun, you know." I take a few steps toward her, and I press a kiss to her lips.

"Fun? Run? I don't think so." She purses her lips and shakes her head. "Now drop the shorts and take me to bed."

"What if I don't drop the shorts and instead we run to the barn, have wild sex in there, and then run back here?" I suggest, the idea out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"Like I'll be able to run back here after I'm all satisfied from what you do to me," she says sarcastically, and she probably has a point.

"Okay," I murmur, dragging my lips down her neck. "Then what if we run to the barn, fuck in there, and then walk back here once you can stand up straight again, and then we take a shower together?"

"Oh, God, Spencer. It's really not fair for you to suggest that when you're kissing my neck like that."

I laugh as I pull back. "Why do you think I did it?"

She glares at me, but she heads toward her dresser and pulls out a pair of shorts and a sports bra.

Oh, hell yes. Shorts and a sports bra are my kryptonite. Add in a messy ponytail, and I'm done for.

I slip a condom into the little pocket inside my shorts and find my shirt while she gets changed, and when she emerges from the bathroom, sure enough…messy ponytail.

"Do you have any idea how sexy you are?" I ask.

"Not sexy enough for you to bang me before the run, apparently," she mutters petulantly.

I grab her in my arms. "So sexy that I'm forcing myself to go on this run so I don't come the second I slide inside you."

She squeaks out some reply, and I can't help a laugh.

"Race you there," I say, and I take off for the front door .

"Hey, wait a second!" she protests. I stop and turn toward her, and she says, "What about water?"

"Oh, right," I say, and I detour toward the fridge to grab two bottles. As I do it, she darts out the front door.

"See ya, sucker!" she yells, and she takes off toward the barn.

I laugh as I shake my head, but I grab the bottles, head out the front door, and lock it behind me.

I'm a professional athlete. If an admitted non-runner needs a head start in a race against me, that's fine.

I start my jog down the path that snakes behind the tasting room out toward the lake, and I take a right toward the barn. I easily catch up with her even though I'm not going full speed, and it's clear she sprinted to this point before she lost steam.

I have a few tricks I can teach her, but hopefully the reward of what I plan to do to her in the barn will be enough to motivate her to go on another run with me in the future.

We lightly jog the rest of the way to the barn, which is just under a mile from Grace's bungalow, and Grace opens the gated door to let us both in.

She latches it shut from the inside behind us, and we both glance around. I set my hands on my hips, not winded in the slightest, and she doubles over, panting as she tries to catch her breath.

"You okay?" I ask.

She nods, and she paces around for a few seconds as she catches her breath.

The windows around the top of the barn are casting an evening glow, and the space is mostly cleared out because the tractors that are stored here in the winter are currently parked behind the barn. The maintenance workers will drive them in here via the back door to work on them in the spring and summer months out of the elements, but otherwise the barn is mostly used for storage.

And that gives me an idea.

"The plows and tractors are parked out back right now, right?"

Grace nods .

I glance around as I picture it. "What if we cleaned this place up a little, strung some lights around the top…and used it as a second event venue when the equipment is in use?"

She looks around, and her eyes start to light up as she envisions the potential this place has. It's bigger than the Grand Hall, which means our parties wouldn't necessarily have to be limited the way those are. There's plenty of parking between the parking lots and the long street we drive down to get to the barn.

"Oh! What if we built a shed over the spot where the equipment is currently parked?" she asks. "Then we could use the barn year-round for events!"

We both walk through the barn and open the garage door in the back.

"Shit," she says. "A shed would block this beautiful view."

We both look over the view of the fields the barn offers.

"And look at all this additional space we could use for outdoor seating," I point out. "But the tractors aren't behind the barn. They're parked behind the production facility. We could build a shed back there for the equipment and transform the barn into an incredible venue."

She tosses her arms around me, knocking me back a step. We both laugh.

"Spencer, that's genius!" she squeals.

It's her excitement over expanding this place that gets me feeling excited, too.

And horny.

Very horny.

Why is it that every time I'm around her, I lose all control?

I let her go and lower the garage door, sealing us back into privacy, and then I walk back over to her and take her in my arms.

I lower my lips to hers, and she kisses me back with that same level of excitement and enthusiasm. I walk us over toward one of the divider walls where the spare barrels are kept, and I lift her up and prop her onto one .

It's the perfect height for me to shove my hips against hers as I deepen the kiss, urgency rushing over me with the need to be inside her.

We have privacy here, and we'll hear if someone walks in. These are the things I think about—making sure she can keep her modesty, making sure nobody else gets to see what's mine now.

It's the first time that possessive thought has popped into my mind.

I have to admit, the flowers threw me.

In my mind, I know they were from Amelia, not Grace's ex as signed on the card. But the thought that someone from her past could walk in at any time is unnerving…especially combined with the way my relationship with Amelia came to an end.

It was over long before I knew she was cheating on me, but that doesn't make it any easier. It doesn't make me feel any better. Is there something intrinsic about me that makes women feel like they can cheat on me? I'm not a leader like Lincoln. I'm not gregarious and outgoing like Grayson. I'm not wild and spontaneous like Asher.

I'm just me. The borderline nerdy guy who likes numbers and businesses and finances, who prefers to build Lego sets during his downtime and also happens to play football professionally. I'd prefer my privacy out of the spotlight, but given my family history, paired with my profession, that's not always an option.

And it feels like Grace gets that. It feels like she even wants that. It's so far removed from the women of my past that sometimes it feels like a dream.

Something has to go wrong.

But for now, I plan to revel in everything that's right.

I pour that into my kiss, both of us panting as our hands explore haphazardly. We're newlyweds, and it sort of feels like it this time after our playful run here and the idea session we just shared and the future spanning out before us.

I could get used to that feeling. I could get used to having Grace in my life .

I don't want to pour too much of myself into her if she really intends for this to end in a year, but every day I spend with her, the hope is that she'll want to keep going once that year is over.

That thought spurs me to action. I reach up the leg of her shorts, push her panties to the side, and slide a finger into her.

"Oh!" she gasps, clinging onto me around my neck.

I hiss as I feel how wet she is. She's always so hot and ready for me, and this is no exception.

I keep kissing her as I bring her higher and higher, closer and closer to the edge, and even though this is still so new, I've gotten to know a few things about her body already.

Like the moment when we're about to hit the point of no return, that's the moment I slide my finger out of her, grab the condom out of my inner pocket, pull my cock out, and roll it on.

She shimmies out of her shorts to give me more room to work with, and I pull her tits up over her sports bra because I need a taste before I slide into her. She looks so gorgeous there in just her sports bra, perched on top of a barrel, her tits perky as she sits ready and waiting for me, her lips parted and her eyes hot on mine.

I suck her nipple into my mouth, and I love everything about how she tastes, how she moves, how she moans for more.

I suck harder, and she moans louder.

I move my mouth back to hers, and I hold my cock in a fist as I slide it through her before pushing into her. We both hiss at the feel of my entrance, and then I start to move.

She feels like sweet perfection as I pump into her, and I already know this won't last nearly long enough. One part of me feels like forever isn't long enough to spend right here in this place, while the other part of me needs the release like I need to fucking breathe.

Her moans goad me on to push harder, higher, faster, and we both grunt as pleasure starts to grip onto us both. I hammer into her, holding her around her back so she doesn't move around on the barrel, and her hands grip around my biceps as she lets me know how much she likes what I'm doing .

I can tell she likes it when she starts to get loud, and the crescendo is building. She lets out a squeal, and that's the thing about fucking her—she's quiet and understated in her day-to-day life, but when I get her going, she unleashes this sex goddess that resides inside her.

And I don't know if I've experienced anything hotter in my entire life.

"I'm coming!" she squeals. "I'm coming, oh, God, Spencer, you're making me come so hard!"

Jesus Christ.

"I fucking love watching you come," I growl.

Her words combined with the hot way her pussy pulses over and over around my cock are enough to spur me into my own release. It feels like I've left this world for another as my balls draw up and my body responds to her with spasms of its own as she convulses over and over around me, her nails digging into my biceps and her body gyrating in time with mine.

I grunt my way through my release, not wanting to drop out of her even when it's over. Instead, I stay exactly where I am, breathing her in as we both try to catch our breath after the run followed by that sexy workout.

I stay inside just a little longer, pulling her into me. She moves her hands from my biceps, lacing her arms around my waist.

And as we hold each other in the quiet afterglow of spontaneous sex in a barn after racing our way here, I can't help but think that this is what I want forever to look like.