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“It’s the best I could do. I was a thirty-three-year-old woman with a non-existent sex life until you came along. I earned this. I was not about to go sneaking around. We would’ve eventually gotten caught anyway.”
With desire turning his eyes white hot, Grant advances on me. I back up until my legs hit the bed and I fall back. He’s on me a moment later, on all fours, a predator hovering over his prey.
“Especially since I can’t keep my hands off of you.” He bites and kisses up the side of my neck and I’m ready to go. Wanting him. Needing him. That’s all it takes.
“Or my dick out of you. If I could stay inside of you all the time I would.” His hands grab at my black tank top and rip it over my head. He paws at the buttons of my shorts until I push his hands away and do the job myself.
“Baby, you are a man in full––but that would be highly inconvenient for me.” I quietly laugh.
He pushes my shorts down to my knees and takes my underwear with them. The he turns me and pulls my hips up to his groin. Facedown, his hand gently slides down my spine and releases the clasp on my bra. He strokes my back, my breasts, every inch of skin that’s exposed to him as if he’s memorizing every pore.
The head of his erection slips back and forth against me until he slowly pushes in, pushing me apart. From the start he’s been doing it, making room for himself. First in my head. Now in my body and in my life.
“Amanda…”
Most importantly, though, in my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next few days are smooth sailing. Too smooth. Too lovely. I’m not used to things working out. Sam is fine with the new status of my relationship with Grant. I wonder if he didn’t already sense there was affection there. We maintain a sense of decorum but we don’t deny ourselves. I don’t have to pretend I don’t want to touch and kiss Grant and neither does he.
I told Grant about Ronan’s threat. He quietly went DEFCON 1000. Promising me that he would let me handle it unless I asked for his help.
Summer is winding down and we are all due to return to the city before Labor Day. In a week. I’m already grieving the loss of not having him under the same roof and in my bed every night. It’s going to be a serious adjustment. I live downtown in a brownstone in the Village and he lives in the Time Warner Center in Columbus Circle all the way uptown. The traffic alone is going to be murder.
While Sam sleeps and Grant works out, I decide to do a load of laundry. I’m in the guest bedroom to grab the sheets when I spot Grant’s computer on the desk with the top flipped open. Something compels me to tap on Grant’s MacBook Air. Maybe it’s my kickass self nudging me. Maybe not. Maybe I’m just nosy.
It’s not password protected. This, I convince myself, must be a sign. I make quick work of opening his mail and scroll through the most recent ones. Nope, nope, nope. I stop on a Meet Single Exotic Women email and determine it’s junk. The next two emails are from Titans management with attachments at the bottom.
Clickity click and the first one gets opened. It’s a waiver. As I read, a sense of dread in my gut stirs and grows larger. A lot of legal nonsense and then something that makes my blood curdle…not liable for any injury, catastrophic or otherwise, including but not exclusive to death.
Grant’s signature stares back at me plain as day. It’s already been signed and notarized. I open the second attachment, a letter from team doctors stating that he is not cleared to play. There’s a waiver at the bottom, absolving team doctors of any liability. Again, already signed.
I’m going to hurl.
I’ve never been much good at sussing out bullshit. Despite growing up with zero parental protection, I have always been a little naive, accustomed to taking people at their word, desperately wanting to believe that humans are intrinsically good and fair. How wrong I was.
I scroll down his emails and hit on one from a hospital email address. My fingers tremble as I open it. Test results from the MRI and a doctor’s report. The medical jargon is lost on me. Something about a past compression fracture of the L5-S1…herniation of the disc…recommend lumbar fusion. The notes on the bottom, however, aren’t.
It clearly states that suffering another blow could result in extensive damage of the spinal cord, possible paralysis…and, or death.
My heart is beating hard enough for my soul to hurt. A whole mess of emotions rushes to the surface, each one taking a turn in the spotlight. Anger, loss, fear, disappointment––so much disappointment it upstages everything else.
