Page 28 of The Groupie

“Let’s get out of here before another reporter gets to me,” Zak says under his breath.

I back up another step before he snags me, leveling a warning look at him. He smirks and walks away. Sheila and I follow him to the parking garage exit at a plausible distance. If Sheila thinks it odd, she doesn’t say, but it’s obvious I don’t want to be seen with him. I can’t tell her it’s because I don’t want to be noticed at all by the media, hat or no hat. She walks slowly, considerate of my ankle.

“You’re a skittish one, aren’t you?” she says. “Camera shy?”

“You have no idea.”

She nods her head knowingly when she doesn’t truly know a thing. And I need to keep it that way, though for some reason I feel a twinge of something for being so closed. Internally, I snort since I’m always closed, and this is nothing new. It’s how I live my life. It’s who I am. I keep to myself and conduct the business of my life.

Maybe someday, I’ll be able to afford the luxury of normal friendships. In the meantime, I have my family and my teammates, competitive peers and business partners, which are more than enough relationships to handle.

Talk about the details of the game dominates the ride home, and I don’t contribute much more than a nod here and there. However, Zak is so animated and full of life—and likely leftover adrenaline—as he talks, that I doubt he notices.

I know what he’s feeling. I feel the same high I feel after I nail a halfpipe run or a big air jump. Only difference is, I channel my energy differently than he does. Sure, I hug teammates and celebrate with my coach. Maybe that’s what got me into trouble with Chuck. I was vulnerable to him mistaking my post-trick high as genuine enthusiasm for a relationship with him.

Once Zak drops Sheila off at her house in Revere, I turn the radio on to fill the silence as we drive back into the city to the parking garage at his place.

He jumps out of the SUV, and as I’m opening my door, he comes around and helps me from the car to a soft landing.

“Well, aren’t you the gentleman.”

“I try. Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I shouldn’t be, since you’ve been so good about tending to my ankle, but I find it best to keep my expectations low.” I don’t mention that they’re especially low when it comes to pro athletes who are more used to others giving them deferential treatment. I promise myself again that no matter what achievements, how much fame or how much money I make, that I’ll never turn into the kind of person who takes people for granted. Like Chuck, among others.

“Normally, I’d agree that’s a wise policy.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders and walks me toward the nearby elevator.

“I sense a but…”

“But I’m going to prove to be the exception to the rule, so be prepared to change your mind.” He flips the cap off my head and lowers his mouth to mine as we reach the glass-enclosed mini-lobby of the building.

Surprise ignites the dormant flame that’s been kindling ever since I woke up this morning and saw his face, felt his warmth, and not to mention the hard-as-fuck boner he had waiting for me. He devours my mouth like he’s hungry, and I’m on his menu for dessert. I return his enthusiasm, exploring everywhere my tongue can reach, sucking and nibbling and trying to get as much of that intoxicating taste of him as I can. He’s minty and salty and earthy, and the sensual fullness of his lips drives me crazy.

The elevator doors slide open, startling me into my senses, and I jump away. He quietly chuckles, shielding me from view of whoever it is who got off the elevator and discretely walked in the other direction.

“We should go upstairs…” His coarse voice and hot breath on my neck ripples across my nerve endings, and I shudder. He puts the cap back on my head and chuckles softly. Wrapping me up in his arms, he backs me onto the elevator like I’m his captive. A role, according to the sudden heat in my panties, I wouldn’t mind playing.

After a short intimate ride, we switch elevators in the lobby, and the night security guard greets him. He hides me from view as he slows down to talk with the man.

“How’s business, Claude? Slow, I hope.”

“Yeah,” the man chuckles. “No lock out emergencies tonight.”

“No cat burglars?”

The man laughs. “You have a good night.”

Zak salutes the man, sweeps me onto another elevator, and presses the button for the penthouse while I let out a breath.

“That’s the one flaw of this building. You need to switch elevators from the garage,” he says, holding me close against him as he leans into the back wall. Close enough so I can feel his excitement hardening against the V of my thighs.

“Not so bad,” I say, my words breathier than they should be.

“To tell the truth, I never thought about it until tonight. Until I needed to bring a woman up to my penthouse without anyone knowing who she is. Like she’s some kind of mystery V.I.P.”

He stares at me, and I stare back, my heart pounding now, knowing I’m going to need to tell him who I am and wondering why the hell I’m so afraid to do it. It’s no big deal, is it? He’s not going to call the press and tell them an Olympic snowboarder got herself injured jumping out of a helicopter doing a stunt in a promotional shoot she wasn’t supposed to do.

I clear my throat, though I have no idea what I’m about to say. But it doesn’t matter because the elevator doors glide open, the sound a discrete whisper, leaving us at the posh entryway leading to two doors. He leads me to the one on the right, and I remember it well as he lets us in with an electronic code.