Page 8

Easton

F or the next few weeks, I see Paige more than I’ve seen anyone else in my building. If I had a regular schedule, I’d seriously question if she was stalking me. But since I’m barely keeping up with where I need to be or when, I doubt she is. And if by chance she was up-to-date with my whereabouts, I’d have to consider hiring her as my personal assistant because my life is a mess.

I still haven’t done anything about our living arrangements, and with football season ramping up, I’m hesitant to change too much because I won’t be around to help Isaac settle in. Meaning…apartment living it is.

On the plus side, Isaac is loving his Wednesday-night sleepovers with his nana, and the extra time to myself doesn’t hurt either.

Mom suggested I use the time to meet new “friends.” Her way of suggesting I start dating again. But right now, dating isn’t in the cards for me. Sex isn’t even in the cards for me, and God am I suffering because of it. My hand can only do so much.

An image of Paige works its way to the forefront of my mind, like it always seems to do when I think about my poor abandoned needs, and I can’t help but laugh. She’s not the first attractive woman to talk to me and she won’t be the last, but for some reason she’s the only person in a long time that I’ve actually thought about after she’s gone.

When I was with Macy, I never once strayed, even after we mentally separated, staying together only to keep up appearances.

Did we have sex during that time? Yes, regularly. But it was more to satisfy a need rather than a want, and I guess that wasn’t enough for her in the end.

I wish we’d called it quits sooner.

Since then, I’ve had plenty of offers—women willing to help ease my pain now that the world, or at least America, knows I was cheated on.

They all think I’m suffering. That she left me. That it came out of nowhere. But the truth is we both checked out of our relationship way before the thought of cheating entered her mind.

And the other more unfortunate truth is that I’ve never wanted any of those women. Not even once.

Yet I can’t stop thinking about Paige.

I’m convinced it’s because she’s everywhere. I can’t escape her while other women simply come and go.

In the space of a weekend, I saw her in the lobby, the bar, the courtyard. I saw her in the damn street when I was walking home. She’s always there, and I find myself waiting to see her… expecting it. It’s driving me fucking crazy.

What is it about her? I’m a private person, while she tells me everything. I think before I speak, and she doesn’t have a filter. She’s younger than I am. I think. She’s a model. Or a businesswoman. I haven’t figured that out yet, but I’m leaning toward the former based on her stunning looks and what appears to be a designer wardrobe.

But even then, what the hell would I know?

The only thing I’m certain of is that she has no idea who I am. Every time we cross paths, she calls me Window-Seat Guy, and on the one occasion she saw me posing for a photo with a group of kids, she frowned, confusion clear in her expression.

And I like that.

It doesn’t happen often and it means she has no idea about my life…or Macy. I’m just some guy she met on a plane.

I like being that guy. At least, for the few minutes I’m in her presence. I don’t want to be him forever; I’d miss Isaac too much.

After checking my phone to find it message free, I step onto the treadmill and stare at myself in the mirrored wall of the gym, my mind whirring during one of the rare times I get to be alone.

I jog for a few minutes, trying hard to get out of my head, but it’s no use. Alone time means time to think, and time to think can be dangerous.

I increase my pace to a run, hoping that will help, but I’ve barely made it a mile when the door beeps, signaling someone’s entry, and I groan. Out loud. I’m not at all worried about them hearing how annoyed I am. No one ever uses the gym at this time. In fact, hardly anyone uses the gym. Period.

There goes my solace.

With another sigh, I continue to run, pretending I’m not staring at the entry, hoping it’s a cleaner or someone that’s never watched a game of football in their life and has no clue who I am.

And when the door swings open, I’m safe. On the football front anyway. But I’m in trouble for a whole other reason.

As I was saying, Paige is everywhere, and today for a change of scenery, or to make things worse, she’s at the gym.

I don’t look away in time—probably because I can’t stop myself from checking her out—and our eyes lock in the mirror. Her jaw drops before her ever-moving mouth pulls into a grin. “Okay, the universe has to be messing with us. Don’t you think?”

“Nope,” I lie. While I don’t believe in that crap, it is strange that she’s everywhere I turn. Showing up whenever I’m thinking about her. “We live in the same building; it makes sense that we’d see each other often.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to justify the logic to her or myself, but I’m going with it.

Paige thins her lips as she contemplates my response. “Do you regularly see your neighbors?”

“Yep.” Fuck no. And even if I did, I sure as shit wouldn’t notice them. I don’t think I’d recognize any of them if they knocked on my door asking for sugar.

“You could be right.” She shrugs, no longer pushing me. “I’m used to living in New York. Everyone was always so busy there. No one ever stopped for long enough to get to know one another, me included. People move at a slower pace here.”

“Not if you come from a small town.” Dammit , why am I still talking? She hooks me in every time. I never let anything interrupt a workout. Ever. Except Isaac. This is my space. My escape and yet…I’ve fucking stopped running. When did I even push the pause button?

“Ooh.” Paige’s grin widens, appearing positively giddy. “Are you a small-town guy?”

Fuck . “I was. Now, I live here.”

“What’s that like?”

“Being from a small town?”

“ Yes . We had a house in the Hamptons, but I don’t think that’s really the same thing. There’s always thousands of people there when I go and—”

“It’s not the same. My town had hundreds of people, not thousands.”

“Oh. Sometimes I wonder if that would have been a better way to grow up.”

“It was fine. I guess it depends on your circumstances. It was hard for me to—” I cut myself off and laugh. What am I doing? I hate talking about myself.

Paige’s brows furrow and she steps forward. “To what?”

“Never mind.” I make a point of checking my watch and grimace. “I better keep going. I have to be somewhere in an hour.”

“Of course.” She smiles, bouncing on her toes, not a care in the world, and it hits me in the chest. What I wouldn’t give to be that happy all the time. “Don’t let me stop you,” she continues. “Enjoy.”

She spins on her toes and heads over to the weights, laying down her yoga mat before launching into a series of stretches.

In my direct line of sight.

Her body curls into unnatural positions—her moves slow, purposeful. Incredibly distracting.

For the next thirty minutes, I burn more energy restraining myself from watching her than doing my actual workout.

Paige is dangerous at the best of times, always sucking me in, but in Lycra shorts that sculpt her perfect ass and a sports bra that accentuates her perky breasts, she’s lethal.

And judging by her confidence as she moves around the space, she knows it.

I’m staring at my feet, doing my cooldown, as a timer goes off somewhere in the room. And when I look up, Paige is standing by my treadmill, her yoga mat tucked under her arm and a bead of sweat dripping down her chest, making its way toward her— nope .

“How was your workout?” I ask to distract myself.

“Good. Great, actually. It’s nice having the gym to ourselves.”

“It sure is.” That’s why I usually come at this time.

“Mind if I join you again?”

I consider telling her I do mind. Because this is my time to myself. There’s no family drama. No teammates fucking around. No reporters. No fans. It’s just me. And it’s been that way since I moved in. I don’t know how it’s played out like that, but who am I to question it.

Now, I have to decide whether I want my sanctuary invaded. By Paige.

She’s a distraction I don’t need. With her bubbly personality, her constant chatter, her flushed body, her heaving breasts and God-fucking-dammit.

“I can’t really stop you, can I?”

“Nope.” She pops the p and smirks. “But at the same time…I don’t think you want to. Deep down. And I mean deep, deep down.” She runs her finger from my heart to my navel, and I have to fight to stop my abs from tensing. “I think you like having me around.”

I bite back a groan, refusing to let her see how much she affects me. It’s only because of my drought. And the fact that I can’t escape her. Right?

“Tell me, Paige…” I begin, refusing to let her get to me. “How exactly did you come to that conclusion? Did you discover that from our few interactions?” I raise a brow, projecting a confidence and relaxed attitude that I do not feel.

“Five,” she says, confusing me.

“Five what?”

“Five interactions.” Has it really only been five? It feels like more than that.

“And no,” Paige continues, drawing my attention back to her mouth. “I got that from the slight bulge in your shorts.”

Holy shit. My eyes widen as she lets out a breathy giggle before walking away. Only looking back to smile over her shoulder, catching me watching her.

“See you tomorrow.” She lifts her hand and wriggles her fingers in a half wave while my jaw hits the floor.

Mic drop.

Lethal.

The second she’s gone, my gaze flits to my pants, and I snort laugh. She fucking lied. She couldn’t see anything.

And something about that makes me want to show her what she’s missing. I want her to see that if I was hard, there’d be nothing slight about the bulge, and she wouldn’t be smiling. She’d be begging me to fuck her.

I don’t go to the gym the following day like Paige expects, or the next, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about her.

Especially when I’m in the shower a few nights later, my palm wrapped around my throbbing cock, picturing her on her knees, her smart mouth open, ready to take me in.

My length twitches, but I hold back from giving in to my urges. Because if I do this now, where does it end? When I’m slamming into her as she begs me to make her come? Or when she’s yelling at me to leave because I can’t give her what she wants?

I’m closed off. I have no space in my head for anything more than a quick fuck. And while I barely know Paige, I know she deserves better than that.

But maybe she doesn’t want more.

My thoughts clash in a war of chaos as I picture her hands taking over from mine, imagining her red lips as they glide along my length, sucking me into her mouth, her tongue rolling against my tip.

She cries out as my length hits the back of her throat, her eyes filled with tears while she smiles up at me, enjoying every second of me fucking her face.

What I wouldn’t give… No, I can’t and, “Oh fuck. Oh God.”

I pump harder, my hand braced against the wall as I picture her nails digging into my ass, the vibrations of her whimpers sending a spark to my shaft and, “ Fuck. Jesus. Fuck.”

I grunt as my orgasm hits, my cum shooting out onto the shower wall, my body convulsing in spasms.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. But fuck, my hand has never felt so good.

If only I didn’t have to lock Paige in a box marked “too good to damage” because a little part of me would give anything to ruin her.

Who the hell am I?

What is she doing to me?

God, I need sleep. I’m delusional.

T he next morning, my phone rings when I’m about to leave for the gym, and I groan at the interruption. That groan only intensifies when I see that it’s Macy.

“Hi,” I huff, pulling my shoe on with my phone wedged between my shoulder and ear.

“Hey, it’s me,” she responds, her voice light and fluffy, like we didn’t part on bad terms, and it pisses me off.

“It’s Monday, Macy. Isaac’s with my mom, remember? They just went for a walk. If you want to speak to him, you’ll need to call tomorrow. Or you can call her.” I’d rather she didn’t, but I’m offering because I know that she won’t.

“Ugh,” she whines. “That’s not going to happen. She hates me.”

I wonder why.

“Anyway, I called to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“I’ll be in San Francisco this weekend and I want to take Isaac out for the day Saturday. I could take him to the zoo or the museum, or run around at the beach. Some mother and son bonding time. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“You want to take him out?”

“Yes, why do you sound so skeptical?”

“Because you never once took him out while you were here.”

“We had a big house on the beach, so we didn’t have to go out; we had plenty to do.”

“Okay.” I’m dubious, but if she’s trying, I have to give her the benefit of the doubt. I want him to have a mom that makes happy memories with him. That’s why I haven’t cut her out of his life. “What time?”

“Eleven?”

“The zoo opens at ten.”

“That’s too early. I have dinner plans on Friday night and I’ll be out late.”

“Okay. You do you. I’ll have him ready at eleven. But he needs to be home by six for dinner.”

“I can give him dinner and have him home in time for bed.”

“Fine. No later than seven, then. He needs to be in bed by seven thirty.”

“God, so many rules.”

“He’s three, Macy.”

“So? A little change in routine never hurt anyone. You should try it one day.”

Her verbal jab hits me exactly where she wants it to. I’m a creature of habit. It’s one of the things we always argued about. But I have to be. It’s my job to keep in peak fitness, to get plenty of sleep, to fuel my body when it needs it. And doing all that on top of raising a son—alone—requires a routine that works.

“Help me out here, Macy. It’s important for Isaac.”

“Fine. I’ll have him home by seven.”

“Thank you.” My lips twitch but I refuse to smile. Not yet. I’ll smile when I see Isaac’s face light up after spending time with his mom. I may cringe at the very sight of her, but he loves her, and if he’s happy, I’m happy. As long as she’s making his life better. “I’ll see you Saturday, Macy. Bye.” I move to hang up but she calls out.

“Wait.”

“Yep.”

“I’ll need some money. To pay for everything. The zoo isn’t cheap and there's food on top of the entry cost. I don’t want him to miss out on anything he might want during the day.”

God, I’m a dick. This isn’t about Isaac at all.

“Of course. I’ll pack him lunch and some snacks and I’ll pre-order zoo tickets for you both. Dinner is on you.”

“What if other things pop up throughout the day?”

“Pay for them.”

“I don’t have any money at the moment. Staying at the retreat isn’t cheap and—”

“I’m paying for the retreat. I gave you half the sale of the house. Where’s the rest of that money?” My voice rises and I’m thankful Isaac isn’t here.

“I bought a house. I can move in next month. Did you think I was going to live on the streets?”

“Get a job.”

“I had a job, remember? But you wanted me to stay home and look after Isaac. It’s not that easy to reenter the workforce.”

Goddammit. Guilt eats away at me because she’s right. I wanted her home for Isaac. Yes, she always complained about her job, but I knew she never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom and I begged her to do it.

“I’ll give you some money for dinner and emergencies. But Macy, you better not fuck this up. Isaac loves you and he needs his mom. Be a mom. Think of someone else for once.”

I hang up without waiting for a response and pace the room, my fists clenched as my frustrations rise to the surface.

Tossing my phone into my gym bag, I throw it over my shoulder and slam the door as I leave, my anger building the longer I’m alone with my thoughts, biting my knuckles to stop myself from screaming.

If she messes this up… If he doesn’t come home over the fucking moon about his day, I’m going to… I’m going to… Fuck . What can I even do? As long as she’s making an effort, it will be impossible to keep her away from him.

I’m fuming as I enter the gym and pumped to work out my frustrations, but come to a halt as I reach the threshold.

I’m not alone.

Paige is here. Again. And the first thing I see is her ass in the air as she bends over, her hand and knee on the bench beside her, while she lifts a dumbbell, working her triceps. If she heard me come in, she doesn’t acknowledge it, continuing to pant as she finishes her set.

I watch her like a stalker, picturing my hands on her waist as she gasps, imagining what it would be like to work her into a sweat. To let her distract me like she’s always trying to do.

I internally groan.

It’s safe to say I have never wanted to fuck someone so much in my life. Not even my ex.

And I don’t think I can hold back any longer.