Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(299)

Because that just can't be; none of those things can be.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” He snarls; “ What are you so fucking mad about?”

“That you didn't trust that I could do-”

“I didn't trust myself to let you!”

Before I can think of something to say, he grabs my wrist and yanks me after him; “Let's go.”

“Where in the hell are we go-”

“Here.”

I blink; we've made it five feet to a black vintage looking motorcycle leaning against it's stand in the shadow of a seller's cart; “What's this?”

Bryce grins; “My new bike.”

I glance down in confusion at the keys in his hand. But then I can't help the grin and the rolled eyes when I notice the painted bull on the side of the bike with “The Bull” stenciled beneath it.

It seems I'm not the only thing Bryce has decided to liberate from Anderson tonight.

“Get on.”

I hesitate only for second, but then it's just like, well, like riding a bike. I swing my leg over and settle in behind him, feeling the heat of his back against me, the smell of him close to me, the feel of his muscles flexing as he kicks back the stand and starts the bike.

“Hold on,” he says, but I'm already sliding my arms around his waist and clutching them tight. The bike roars beneath us, and the rumble of the engine, the smell of gasoline, the feel of this man in my arms - it all comes rushing back. And suddenly we're a year ago; suddenly nothing's changed. We've never changed, we've never lied to each other, we've never said things we can't take back, and we've never walked away from the one thing two shattered people could hold onto in this world.

I lean my face against his back, letting the moment soak into my skin; “Take me away from here,” I whisper in his ear.

He's silent, but the bike roars beneath us as we roar away from the shadows and out to the main street. And I'm holding him tight like the last lifeline in a dream, where I'll drown if I let go for even just a second.

And I know I never, ever want to let go again.





21





Bryce




There's a beast inside of me; an animal inside that roars and bellows as it tries to claw it's way to the surface. And most of the time, I keep him caged and locked away; except when I can't.

And there's something about Peyton Rivers that rips the lock from that cage and shatters the bars.

We're roaring through the night like there's nothing between us and the stars up above. We blaze out of the city center, hot metal beneath us, hot night around us, and the incinerating hot fucking heat roaring inside of me for this girl like a Goddamn nuclear explosion.

I tear us through the market district towards the outer piers, the blinking lighthouse showing us the way as if we’re a ship from the olden days being tossed among the waves. Except my way is clear, my hand is steady, and there are no rocks in the world that would stand between me and her.

She says nothing when I cut the engine, nothing when I lift her off the seat, or smash in the lock on the front door to the lighthouse. She's quiet, watching me with this focused silence that I've known from her before. It's a look I'd never be able to clear from my head even if I wanted to.

It's only when I hear her shut the door behind us that I turn, slowly like I’m running underwater in a dream.

And there she is.

She's lit by moonlight, shrouded in memories, and glowing with the promise of revisiting every single one. There's a beat, a drawn breath, a lapse in time where the world stops moving…

And then there's nothing in this universe that could keep us from crashing together.

The silence is broken so perfectly, shattered so exquisitely by the desperation in her moan, the need in the growl that falls from my lips. And then I'm crushing my mouth against hers; pushing her back against the door, my hand on her hip and the other grabbing her by the jaw as our lips sear to the others. It's liquid fire, molten heat, and pure, unhindered need as we come together.

This isn't looking back over the pages of our history, this is lighting the Goddamn book on fire.

She's wild and as forcefully take-charge as she's always been. This isn't the girl who moans quietly and lets herself be taken, this is the girl that growls and pounces like a lioness. This is the girl that leaves scratches down my back and sweet lingering bruises on my skin. This is the Peyton I remember; the tempest crashing against the shore like a force of nature.

She moans as my hands grab her hard, her leg sliding up mine to wrap around my waist and pull me tight against her. We're gasping for breath as I pull away from those sweet, bee-sting lips and slide my mouth down her neck to that spot by her shoulder that I know brings her to her fucking knees.

And I fucking love that I know these things and these places. I love that I remember her body like the road home, her skin like the map I don't even have to look at anymore.