Home > Stealing Sawyer (The Perfect Game #3)(4)

Stealing Sawyer (The Perfect Game #3)(4)
Author: Samantha Christy

“Next month.”

Our shots get placed on the table in front of us. He picks one up and toasts me. “Happy early birthday.”

I pick mine up and clink it to his. “Thanks.”

“You’re different,” he says.

“Different from whom?”

“The girls I usually take out.”

“This is you taking me out?” I tease. “I thought we were just two people drowning our shitty-day sorrows.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Okay, so tell me about the girls you usually take out.”

“They don’t go to Juilliard, that’s for sure. Most of them can’t even have an intelligent conversation.” His eyes travel to my breasts that are well-covered by my t-shirt. “And they usually have on a lot less clothing.”

I follow his eyes to my chest. “And bigger boobs, I imagine.”

“Size doesn’t matter to me.”

“Me either,” I say with a wink.

His head falls back and he bellows out a deep, throaty laugh. “I don’t think you’d be disappointed,” he says with a cocky grin.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t be. I can already tell you have a massive … ego.”

His grin turns into an all-out smile that brings out a slight dimple in his cheek.

“Tell me why you’re leaving New York,” he says. “You told your friend on the phone that you might. You don’t like the city?”

“New York is okay. But why I might be leaving goes along with my shitty day, so I’d rather not talk about it.”

He raises his second shot. “To new friends and better days.”

I raise mine. “And to buttery nipples.”

His eyes go to my chest again and I feel my pulse rate go up. He’s thinking about my boobs. I’m thinking about his … ego.

He pulls out his wallet and puts enough money on the table to cover the drinks for half the people in the bar. Then he grabs his bag, tucks his folder under his arm, and stands up, offering me his hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

My heart slumps in defeat. It’s not that I wanted to go home with this guy. This guy I don’t even know. But after the day I had, it just felt right to do something wrong. Something dangerous. Something out of character.

My head feels a bit fuzzy, so I let him help me from the booth, our hands fitting nicely together. I notice he has callouses on his hand and I wonder if he works in construction. Then I look back at the table and the nice chunk of change he left and I think maybe not.

He drops my hand to open the door and after we walk through, he doesn’t take it again.

“I’m this way,” I say. “About four blocks over.”

He again pulls his hat low on his forehead and keeps his head down, like he’s afraid he might run into someone he doesn’t want to.

The streets are crowded this time of night and we keep bumping into each other. Every time our hands or elbows touch, we look at each other and smile. It’s the oddest thing. I feel more comfortable with him than I did my last boyfriend after weeks of dating.

A bicyclist comes barreling down the sidewalk and Sawyer grabs my arm, pulling me into an alley to avoid a collision.

“Jesus, that was close,” he says. “Two close calls in one day is more than enough. First the bus and now this. You are having a bad day.”

I realize how close we’re standing. So close that I have to look up to see his eyes. I shrug. “I don’t know. I think it ended up pretty well.”

His hand comes up to trace the outline of my jaw. “Aspen.” He says my name like it’s a prayer. “I can’t do this.”

I nod and smile. “It’s okay.”

Before I can turn and back away, he pulls me to him and kisses me. He kisses me softly. Then he kisses me hard. Then I open for him and our tongues meet and mingle as I forget about school, delinquent brothers, and apartment demos. I forget everything, including my own name.

He pushes me gently against the alley wall, his hands moving up and down my arms and then down to my ass. Oh, God, it feels good to have a man’s hands on me again.

He breaks our kiss only long enough to utter the words, “I really shouldn’t do this.” Then he resumes his assault of my lips and my neck.

“Then don’t,” I say, as he’s sucking on a spot beneath my ear.

“I’m not sure I can help it.”

I can’t help but smile. “Then don’t.”

“Where’s your place?” he asks.

“About twenty steps to the right.”

He pulls me by my arm, eager to get where we’re going. “Roommate?”

I shake my head. “He works the overnight shift tonight. One of his last shifts as a paramedic before he goes to firefighter school.”

We practically run up the two flights of stairs to my third-floor walk-up. I fish through my bag for my keys, pulling out the wet envelope in the process.

“I really want to know what’s in the envelope,” he says.

I nod to what is tucked under his arm. “I really want to know what’s in the folder.”

We laugh. Then we stare at each other, the heat between us becoming palpable. When I open my door, all thoughts of envelopes and folders fall away as everything, including most of our clothes, gets thrown to the floor on our way to my bedroom.

In my room, we tear each other’s undergarments off in a matter of seconds. Then we appraise each other appreciatively.

“You look incredible,” he says, his eyes wandering up and down my body.

“You’re not half bad yourself, Tom Sawyer.”

He pushes me back onto my bed and climbs over me. “I shouldn’t do this. I’m breaking the rules and it hasn’t even been one day.”

“Sometimes rules are meant to be broken,” I say. “Unless it hurts someone. Would you be hurting someone?”

“Just me,” he says.

I have no idea what he means by that. But in two seconds, I don’t care because his lips are on my breasts. Then my stomach. Then … oh, my.

I writhe and buck beneath him as he brings me to a quick orgasm, likely fueled by alcohol and abstinence.

“That was spectacular,” he says, crawling up my body.

“I think I’d have to agree,” I say before we share a laugh.

Then I reach over into my nightstand and pull out a condom.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Do this often, do you?”

“Not in a very long time,” I admit. “But I was a girl scout. I’m always prepared.”

He takes the square package from me and studies it. Then he reaches into my nightstand to grab another one. “Mind if I use two?” he asks.

I shrug. “Suit yourself.”

Watching him roll on the condoms gets me hot all over again. I reach out and touch him, running my hand up and down his length. He wasn’t lying. It is impressive.

When he can’t stand my hands on him any longer, he climbs on top of me, looking down on me as he positions himself at my entrance. It’s as if he’s asking permission.

I reach up, grab his head and pull his lips to mine just as he enters me. I groan into his mouth. I groan from the incredible feeling of his taut skin on mine. It’s far different from the feeling of the hard rubber I keep in my night stand. I groan because I haven’t had a man inside me for so long, I didn’t even remember what it felt like until just now. I groan when he slips a hand between us to stroke my clit, building me back up to what I know will be another explosive climax.

I can see him holding back. He bites his lip so hard I can taste blood when he kisses me. And when I orgasm, he shouts out with his own guttural release.

He collapses down onto me, both of us needing a minute to catch our breath.

Finally, he rolls to the side. He brushes a piece of sweaty hair off my forehead. “Damn, you are different,” he says.

“Different? I know it’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure sex hasn’t changed since the last time I did it.”

His abs bounce up and down with his laughter.

I put my hand on his stomach, feeling the outline of his chiseled physique. Wow, the guy is in pristine shape. I lay my head on his chest and bask in the afterglow, the strong pull of alcohol drawing me under.

In a haze, the last thing I remember is his strong arm coming around my shoulders to pull me even closer to him.

Chapter Three

Sawyer

I stare at her as the sun comes up and brightens the room. I’m breaking all the rules. Not just the obvious one that will have me traded faster than Rick can tell me to pack my bags.

I glance at her nightstand. She’s the first woman to provide her own condoms. I never let them provide condoms. It’s rule number one of hookups, and something they warned us about as soon as we got called up to the majors. Girls may try to trap you with a baby, never trust them for birth control.

Then again, our meeting was random. She doesn’t even know who I am. Not unless she’s a very good actress.

It was refreshing to have a night with someone who didn’t want to talk about me all night.

I squint when the sun coming through her window hits my eyes. I never stay past dawn. But I have no desire to leave. No desire to walk out that door and never see her again. I’ve never wanted to stay more than I do right now. But I know it’s not an option. Even if this turned out to be it. Even if she’s the one. I know better. Nobody can be the one. Because she’d get hurt. I’d hurt her. Because that’s what I do. I hurt people. I learned from the best.

I quietly roll out of bed, pick up the condoms from the carpet and flush them. Then I go in search of a glass of water. When I spot my folder on the floor of her living room, the Kansas City contract spilling out of it, I pick it up and study it as I sit down and sink into her couch.

I fucked up. I shouldn’t have done what I did last night. Maybe Aspen was right. Maybe I’m a sex addict. I couldn’t even keep myself from screwing up on day one. How in the hell am I going to make it an entire season without the organization seeing me for what I really am?

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