Page 10

10

B rooks

All my favorite childhood memories involved my mom and my brother. One in particular came rushing back the moment we stepped into the venue.

The twinkle lights hanging from the ceiling reminded me of fireflies, blinking against the dim sky, the way they used to when my brother and I ran barefoot through the neighborhood on summer nights. We’d chase them until our lungs burned, cupping them in our hands like we were catching stars. My mom would sit on the porch, laughing so loudly it echoed down the street, calling us in only when we were covered in dirt and the sky was ink-black.

She never cared about the mess. She cared about the moment.

And standing here, in this softly lit room, Michelle’s fingers still loosely curled around mine, I found myself thinking about her words again.

She used to tell me love wasn’t about the grand gestures. It was about the in-between. The little things. The moments that didn’t seem important until they were gone. I missed her. I missed the way life used to be before sickness took over, before things became complicated and heavy.

Maybe that was why I was watching Michelle so closely.

She wasn’t looking at the decorations or the people trickling inside. She was looking for Fiona.

And the second she spotted her, something inside her changed.

Fiona was across the room, speaking with the wedding coordinator, her hands animated as she gestured toward something near the altar. She looked effortless—like she was meant to be here, meant to be celebrated.

Michelle inhaled slowly, almost like she was preparing herself. Her grip on my hand tightened for a second before she let go.

“Mitch,” I murmured, nudging her with my elbow.

She blinked at me, as if just realizing I was still there.

“You’re here,” I said. “That’s what matters.”

Her mouth parted slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

I didn’t expect her to. Michelle wasn’t someone who talked about her feelings. But she felt things, whether she wanted to or not.

And I could see it written all over her face. She was anxious as hell, her gaze kept moving toward the exit. “Let me walk you to the bridal suite.”

“Right, yeah.” She gripped my hand tighter, her palms sweaty as we neared the large wooden door. “This is fucking stupid,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“What is?”

I released her hand and moved my fingers up her arm toward her shoulder, turning her toward me. She was beautiful. Every part of her face, yet the worry almost spilled out of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed and took a breath, her weight shifting side to side. “I’m nervous. I don’t do things like this–everyone here is put together, rich, and doesn't have a backstory like mine.” She wrapped her arms around herself, her breath shuddering. “I don’t fit in.”

“Hey,” I said, my voice firmer as a flare of annoyance filled me. “These people love you as you are, Michelle. Everyone has their own shit to deal with, so if you think everyone is put together, it’s an act.”

“What is this?” Fiona appeared, her brows furrowed as she walked up to Michelle and put an arm around her. “You’re nervous,” she murmured.

Michelle scoffed. “Not nervous. Just—” She let out a long exhale. “I don’t know. It’s a lot.”

Fiona studied her, then smirked. “You’re not about to run, are you?”

Michelle let out a quiet laugh, her shoulders releasing some of the tension. “No. You’d chase me down in those expensive damn heels.”

“Damn right I would.” Fiona flicked her hair dramatically. “And I’d tackle your ass so hard.”

A small, real smile crossed Michelle’s lips, but she quickly looked back out the window. “I’d never run.”

“Michelle,” Fiona said softly, “you don’t have to act like this isn’t a big deal. I know this is weird for you but I love you.”

Michelle stiffened. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

Michelle sighed, dragging a hand through her hair.

Fiona watched her for a long moment before lowering her voice. “You’re my family,” she said. “You belong here. You’re walking your cute ass down the aisle to celebrate me getting married, okay?”

Michelle’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. She blinked a few times, her jaw tightening, but she gave a small nod.

I wasn’t sure if she actually believed Fiona’s words. But I knew she wanted to. “Hey, I’m gonna grab a seat,” I said, hating how I interrupted their conversation. They both looked at me, Michelle’s wide eyes filled with something I couldn’t explain. “You both look beautiful. I’ll see you after the wedding, alright?”

“Sure, yeah.” Michelle chewed the side of her lip as her pulse raced, and I wanted to comfort her so damn bad.

But I couldn’t. Not with the lines Michelle intentionally drew between us. With an awkward wave, I backed away, leaving them there to go find my seat. There were a few other guys from the team there and I plopped down next to Tate O’Donahue, one of the veterans on the team. Might as well use the time to get to know my teammates instead of worrying about Michelle.

Tate let out a long breath, staring at the front of the church like it held some answer. “I ever tell you I was scouted by the Mariners straight out of high school?” he said suddenly.

I blinked. “No. You never mentioned that.”

He smirked. “Yeah. Only lasted two months before I tore my rotator cuff. Rehab was a bitch, and when I finally got back to throwing again, they’d already moved on.” He let out a low chuckle. “So I had to start from scratch. Worked my ass off through the minors, got called up, bounced around from team to team. And now?” He lifted his glass. “Now, I’m just waiting for the game to tell me it’s time to go.”

I frowned. “You thinking about retiring?” This was not the conversation I expected.

He shrugged. “I’d be stupid not to. I can still hang, but let’s be real—I’m not the future of this team.”

I didn’t like hearing that. Tate had been the guy who took the rookies under his wing. The guy who never acted like he was too good for anyone.

“You got a plan for what’s next?” I asked.

He chuckled. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I’ve spent my whole damn life being an athlete. No one tells you what to do when that’s not who you are anymore.”

I swallowed hard. That hit.

Because baseball had been my whole life, too. And the thought of losing it? Of not being this anymore? It was like staring into the fucking void.

“Brooks. I saw you and your woman together.” Tate’s voice was steady, cutting through my thoughts. “One day, the game’s gonna tell you it’s time to go, too. And when that happens, you’re gonna need something else to hold onto.”

I stared at him.

My mind flashed to Michelle.

To the way she made me feel like there was something more than just baseball.

I didn’t say anything, but Tate must’ve read the look on my face because he smirked.

“Yeah,” he said, lifting his drink. “Thought so.”

“Shut up, old man.” Thankfully, the music started, ending our conversation.

Watching Michelle walk down the aisle should have been illegal. The dress hugged her in all the right places, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the way she carried herself—shoulders back, chin up, looking like she was daring anyone to tell her she didn’t belong.

Except I could see the tension in her jaw.

She was fighting every instinct to run.

That was Michelle. Showing up for people, even when she didn’t believe she deserved to be there. And goddamn, I admired the hell out of her for it. Yet I needed to understand why. Who besides her family caused her to doubt her place with friends?

The second Fiona stepped into the church, everything else faded.

Michelle’s expression softened, her breath hitching just slightly.

And when Fiona’s eyes locked onto hers, smiling like she knew exactly what Michelle was thinking, something in Michelle cracked open.

It was the most unguarded I’d ever seen her.

The ceremony passed in a blur, and as soon as it ended, Michelle was at Fiona’s side as they neared the entrance to the church where I waited for my date. Michelle tackled her in a hug, gripping her so tightly you’d think she was holding her together.

“You did it,” she murmured.

“I fucking did,” Fiona breath.

Michelle exhaled slowly, like she was memorizing this moment. Locking it away somewhere safe. I wanted to be that safe place for her.

“You sound a bit surprised,” I said, hoping my easy smile let me join in on their conversation.

“It took her almost six months to even say the L word to him. The fact she agreed to marry him is incredible.” Michelle clicked her tongue and glanced up at me through her eyelashes—stopping my train of thought at how much passion was in her eyes. “So, did you cry, Madsen?”

I fake sniffed. “No.”

She elbowed me playfully and stood to head out, but I stopped her with a gentle tug of her elbow, the safest place for me to touch. “Ready, Mitch?”

“Yup.” She smiled, her eyes crinkling on the sides as she weaved her arm through mine. She willingly touched me?

Hell yes. That was a major win. Especially after Tate’s comments… I wanted more with Michelle Benning and I had to learn the playbook to win her over.

Fiona sucked in a breath with wide eyes and an open mouth. “What did you just call her?”

“Shit. We gotta run.” Michelle tried dragging me away, but Fiona pointed her finger at my chest and hit me.

“You called her Mitch?”

I nodded, panicked. Michelle wanted to avoid this moment and I ruined it. Before I could answer, Fiona’s eyes widened.

“Unusual name to call her. The only person… ohmyfuckinggod .” Fiona stared at her friend. “No. No way .”

“See you at the reception! Come on, Brooks. Now!” Michelle pulled on me hard enough, and I let her lead the way out of the church and toward the limo. Every time I tried to speak, she shushed me, and my curiosity was at the highest level, so I pretended to let her shove me into the car. She got in, slammed the door, and put her head in her hands.

“Going to share what the hell happened there or…?” I asked.

“Or,” she sassed back, her cheeks flushed.

“Nope. I don’t like that answer. Try again.” I slid closer to her, breathing in her floral, subtle perfume which reminded me of all those nights together.

“Where’s the alcohol?” She searched for it, but I stopped her and pulled her onto my lap so she straddled me. “Hey!”

“What was that about? I know you wanted to keep our past a secret, but that seemed like more.” I kept my hands on her thighs and did not dig my fingers into her skin nor did I rock my hips against me. My body was on goddamn fire from her heat, yet I focused on our conversation.

She twisted her lips as her jaw flexed. “I’d rather not say.”

“And I’d rather never eat brussels sprouts again. But we can’t all get what we want.” I tightened my hold on her hips, and she tensed. “Michelle, please.”

“Fiona and I were roommates when you and I…you know, hooked up a while back. She asked details about who the guy was and the only things I shared were that you called me Mitch and that you had a magic dick.”

Don’t ask about the second comment. I groaned. “Ah, so her freak-out was learning we’d hooked up? I guess that might surprise her since you insisted on acting like we just met.”

“Yeah. I’m sure that’s it.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, her muscles tensing again.

There was a slight edge to her voice, one that had warning bells going off. “You’re lying . How about this?” I grabbed the champagne bottle with my free hand and took the cork out with my mouth. “You get a sip every time you answer truthfully. Think you can agree to that?”

“Maybe.” She ran her tongue over her lips and awareness of how beautiful she was made my skin tingle. “Depends on the question.”

“Fair enough. Let’s try.” I took a drink first and did my best to ignore how hard she stared at my mouth. “Did you talk to Fiona more about me besides calling you Mitch?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” I held the bottle to her mouth, and she sipped. “Will she corner you at the reception and demand to know more about us?”

“Yes.”

“What will you tell her?”

She didn’t answer right away and chose to stare out of the window as her fingers traced her collarbone. She used to go wild when I bit down on it, and I wanted to do it that second. Fuck my plan. I leaned forward just enough when she answered.

“I’m not sure. Maybe that we’re friends? That it’s different between us now?”

Different? What does this mean?

“How’s it different?”

“Ah, drink first.” She smirked and grabbed the bottle from me to take a long sip. Some spilled down her neck, and without thinking, I cupped the back of her head and angled her throat, bringing my mouth to her skin.

The second I touched her, my pulse raced out of control like it was the bottom of the ninth and we were an out away from a championship. She tasted like sweetness and sweat, and I licked the bubbly liquid from her earlobe down to her shoulder. She shivered and I bit down on her just a little. Fuck I missed her.

“ Christ ,” she moaned, gripping my arm to the point her nails dug in into me. I ran my fingers down the other side of her neck, dipping into the front of her dress and tracing the outline of her pert nipples. They hardened the more I sucked her skin, and she arched her back, her body begging me to do more. It would be rude not to at this point, so I pinched one of those perfect nipples, and she bucked. “Brooks,” she begged, rocking her lush hips against me.

I was hard as a fucking rock and scolded myself for deviating from my plan. “Remember my rule? Truth, then drink.”

She nodded, a wild look circulating behind her eyes. I had a million questions for her, each more more serious than the rest, but my body was on fire, for her. All reason flew out the window as I nipped her skin one more then before meeting her heated gaze.

“Are you wet for me?”

“Find out.”

“No, answer me.” My voice was barely recognizable, and my cock throbbed when she ground against me.

“Yes.”

I held the bottle back up to her mouth and watched as she drank from it. She then tilted it just enough so the liquid fell between her breasts. “Oops.”

“My, Mitch, are you wanting me to put my tongue on you again?”

“Yes, please.” Her voice was husky, and I knew she was turned on to the point she would come for me within minutes if I reached between her thighs. And Jesus, I wanted to do that.

I held her eye contact before running my tongue along her collarbone and moving farther into her cleavage. The valley between her breasts was sticky from the champagne, but my god, it was sweet. The low dip of her dress gave more access to her skin, and I scooted the fabric over and blew on the sensitive area. She trembled and squeezed her thighs around me as I moved the material out of the way. When she ran her fingers through my hair, I sucked her nipple into my mouth, harder than I intended. She cried out and pulled my hair, encouraging me to do more.

I obliged. I was a gentleman.

“How does this feel? My mouth on you again after all these years?” I asked when I switched from one breast to the other. She didn’t respond, and I gently flicked the pebbled tip with my tongue. “Answer me.”

“Like I’m going to explode.”

“Perfect.”

To hell with charming her. I wanted to make her writhe with pleasure. I alternated between sucking hard and soft, swirling and biting her nipple when I teased the inside of her thigh with my fingers.

Oh, she is very wet for me. Evidence of her arousal soaked my hand, and I moved her panties to the side to ease two fingers inside her. I curled them, remembering like it was yesterday how hard and fast she liked it. She needed the escape from reality–as did I back then–so hard and fast and messy were where we made sense.

“Yes,” she moaned, grinding against my hand when I used my thumb to massage her swollen clit. The noises from the back of her throat got louder, heavier, and I continued tasting her fantastic tits. “I’m so close.”

“Kiss me,” I demanded, suddenly needing to have her mouth. She stilled just the slightest bit before lowering her face toward mine. I stopped all movement with my hand until she softly pressed her plump lips against mine, using her tongue to open my mouth and taste me. She sucked my bottom lip into her mouth, keeping her gaze on mine, and I increased the pressure. She bucked, her eyes closing in bliss, as she came apart in my hands. If she tried to break apart our kiss, I refused. I wanted to taste the pleasure right off her mouth, and I did, damn well not getting enough.

“Fuck.” She remained on my lap, my fingers still inside her, surrounded by her warmth, and my dick strained against my pants to the point I surely had a wet spot. “ Fuck , Brooks.”

“God, I’ve missed your sounds,” I said into her hair. I was in no hurry to move, and a couple of beats passed before she lifted her leg. “I would love to give you more. We have time before we need to show up for the cocktail hour.”

She responded with a throaty laugh that did nothing to settle my dick and collapsed on the seat next to me with her legs wide open. “We weren’t supposed to do that.”

“I know.” Yet I didn’t regret a single moment of it.

“I can’t be what you want,” she said, not looking at me.

“Who is to say that I don’t want you, coming all over my hand again, right now?” I ignored the signs that told me to stop, to back away, to stop myself from getting hurt again by her. I muted them. “What do you want, Mitch?”

She eyed me, looking at the tented front of my pants before meeting my eyes. “Just tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you, us, naked, sweaty. All of it. But just for one night.” She picked up the bottle and slid onto my lap again. “Answer me, B. Can we do that?”

Fuck everything else.

“Yes. We can do that, baby.”

She poured the rest of the bottle into my mouth and gave me the biggest grin. My body bucked at the promised pleasure, and I slid my hands along her smooth thighs. She pulled the dress up, revealing the tiniest lacy panties I had ever seen, and I swore I almost cried with need. “I want to come all over your hands.”

“Yes, fucking ma’am.”