Coach Love(48)
Still half-asleep herself, she’d tossed a blanket over him even as he snored. His phone had bounced onto the floor with a loud thunk when she stuck his arm under the cover. Snagging the device, she’d glanced at the screen that had been live a few moments before.
I don’t know why you keep pretending, the little message bubble from Paul had declared at the end of a long conversation string. She’d sat down with a yawn, not fully realizing what she’d found until she thumb-scrolled through the last few messages.
Then she found the photos, dated almost a year ago, followed by more and yet more. She never saw anyone’s face. But she’d recognize Kent’s naked body anywhere. Paul had a stocky, compact build and bronze-tinted skin covered in tattoos. She shivered, recalling the close image of a man’s large, erect penis that had some kind of piercing in the end of it.
She squealed when something cold dripped on her cheeks and eyelids, forcing her upright. Swiping at it, she fought off the grogginess from the near-sleep state and the memory of the photos of her future husband’s torso, naked, of his erect dick, that he had sent to someone else on his phone as recently as three months ago. The photos had dried up after that, but their chatter had carried on all the way to the night of Kent’s bachelor party.
Kieran crouched down beside her, grinning ear to ear. He stuck a straw down in his drink then spit more liquid right at her nose.
“Stop it,” she shrieked, reaching for him, blinded by what smelled like lemonade. He laughed and took off running. She gave herself a minute to admire his rear view—dark jeans, Love Brewing-labeled gray T-shirt, rich auburn-colored hair grown out enough to cover his neck.
They shot past the row of fryers, the smell of fish-scented oil filling her nose. When they reached the Love Brewing tap truck, he seemed to vanish. She cursed and stopped to catch her breath. At that moment, winded and sticky, she felt great—better than she had in weeks thanks to the spurt of physical activity. After making a mental note to stop making excuses and get to the gym more often, she took the cup of beer Angelique held out to her. The girl winked and jerked her chin to indicate that Kieran had ducked behind the trailer before focusing her one-hundred-watt grin on some boy practically climbing onto the makeshift bar to get her attention.
Cara took the cup and tiptoed around the corner. Stacks of empty kegs were piled everywhere but she caught sight of his shoes sticking out behind some. Grinning, she waited a few seconds to lull him into a false sense of safety. Sounds of the event drifted around the trailer—feminine shrieks of laughter, childish giggles, the occasional baby scream of protest mixed in with the live bluegrass music that played nonstop on the stage across the square. She waited for a count of twenty then fifty. At eighty-five he made his move so she tucked in next to the nearest stack of stainless steel.
“Gotcha!” he yelled, jumping in front of her and dumping the lemonade on her head at the exact moment she tossed the beer at his face. Giggles burst out of her at the sight of his drippy dismay. Her giggles became a belly laugh that bent her over double. He chuckled then laughed as hard as she, and they ended up hanging onto each other wiping their faces.
“I’m all sticky now, you asshole.” She ran her fingers through her stiffening hair.
“I smell even more like a fraternity basement now, you bitch.”
She went into his arms for a friendly hug, tilting her face to his and touching his damp cheek for reasons she didn’t want to analyze. The moment shimmered in her brain as the sounds of the event faded. He covered her lips with his so fast she couldn’t escape. And after a few minutes, she didn’t want to.
They slammed into each other mouths-first, grappling for hair, arms, asses. He pressed her between the stacks of kegs, hiding them from view, not that she cared at that moment as long as he never stopped kissing her.
Bracing himself on the trailer behind her, he broke from her lips. She tried not to whimper and beg. Every inch of her skin burned like fire. Her legs shook, her ears were full of white noise, but when she met his gaze, she calmed.
“This is not a good idea,” he said, his voice hoarse. It made her want to cry with memory. He used to get so emotional when they’d have sex as teenagers, like John Cusak in one of those sappy eighties movies she loved. Kieran had grown out of that, and they’d found their rhythm and groove somewhere in the middle of kinky and romantic. And she’d gone and ruined it all with her naïve ideas about experiencing life outside of her boyfriend’s immediate vicinity.
She nodded her head in agreement even as she spoke. “No it’s not. But…it’s perfect.” Rising on her tiptoes she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, sensing his desire like a coiled animal, not to mention the press of his erection against her hip. Eager, horny and horrified, she propped one foot on a nearby keg so she could get him closer.