still hit it off and have been friends ever since. But I’m not a moron. Just like with Jason I can see when one of my friends is panting after someone and not acting on it. Now they’re both single and he’s still not doing anything.
Sort of maybe… it might possibly be the same way I’m acting with Gigi.
He scowls at me. “Fuck off.” He tugs his headphones over his head and smirks. “Hotshot.”
That little fucker. He read my damn text. I punch him in the thigh, relishing when he bends over and grabs it. Serves him right.
I return to my text and Gigi and yeah… I’m smiling.
Not because of the shit talk with Klaus, because of Gigi.
You think you’re the best? At what exactly?
And shit.
Oh. The ideas and visions that suddenly pop into my brain are not respectable, especially with nosey Newman sitting next to me.
It takes me a minute to respond. No flirting. Straight to the point.
I want to see you. Saturday.
I turn my phone off. I’ll look at her response later. Tonight I want to kick back with the team. Bond. We need to get over our loss so we can win the next one in two days. And I need to take a few days to figure out exactly what it is I want from Gigi Barnes, the petite little vixen who makes me think sometimes, getting divorced might not be so bad after all.
I haven’t made love to a woman in longer than I can remember. I have not fucked a woman in longer. That I’ve been married for so long, only had one woman, does not mean those two things happened.
We were schedules and rituals. In the last three years, there was not a single time that I came home, smiled at Madison and she smiled and dropped to her knees in our kitchen like she’d done so many countless times before.
A blow job? A wasted effort when our sole focus was procreation.
Fun? When in the hell did that end?
I had sex with fevers while trying not to puke. I had sex with bruised ribs and black eyes and bloody lips because games fell during optimum ovulation timing.
I was woken at six in the morning with Madison’s hand on my dick, getting it hard and sliding on top of me.
Sounds sexy, right?
Only until the first words she said were, “I’m ovulating. I need you before you leave town.”
She didn’t need me. She needed what I could give her. And unfortunately, now we both knew even that was wasted effort.
Our sex life might have started off fun when we started trying to have kids… practicing is fun, right? Two years into it when she finally talked to her doctor, all of that ended. So for the last three years, I felt more like a milking cow than a partner or lover.
At the time, I didn’t much mind. I wanted a family as much as she did and I wanted to give her everything she wanted. Everyone goes through sacrifice and everyone goes through hard times.
All this means it’s been a really long time since sex has been fun, or the mere thought of sex has been fun. So when I wake up in the morning, for the umpteenth day in a row with my hand wrapped around my hard length after having another sex dream about Gigi, I groan… in both pain and pleasure.
In part because I can’t stop thinking about her. Logically, my head and heart are a mess.
Also, the last game in New York earned me a check into the boards, so I have a lovely bruise in that soft area above my hip.
Pleasure because… holy crap. If the thought of Gigi makes me feel this damn good, what in the world will it be like if I can actually have her?
It’s that thought that has my hips bucking fiercely up into my fist, abs coiling. Hot, blinding heat spikes down my spine. I finish all over my stomach and my chest on a groan so damn loud Bruiser starts yipping outside my door.
Gigi hasn’t responded to my text about getting together, but I’m all out of fucks to give.
Waking up this morning, multiple mornings over the last couple weeks have already cemented the decision I’ve been waffling on.
Tomorrow…
Tomorrow, Gigi becomes mine.
Chapter Sixteen
Gigi
I’ve always assumed quitting my job and taking off for Europe by myself in my early twenties would be one of the most radical, outrageous things I could ever do.
Boy, was