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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Becca

Home, sweet home. I fall on my bed filled with anxiety after my first day back to work. Maybe I should have asked Harper if I could borrow Roscoe to get me through these first few days without John.

When I landed in Nashville, a litany of texts awaited me from John.

He checked in when he changed planes in Miami, when he landed in Dallas, when he got home.

That one was accompanied by a selfie, leaning back on his couch with one forearm lying across his forehead with a caption, “I wish you were here.” The next string consisted of this:

Tracking your plane. Did you know you’re flying at thirty-two thousand feet?

Nashville estimated arrival time seven twenty-eight.

You landed. Can’t wait to hear your voice. Call me.

Love you .

I called, and the call went to voicemail. Ugh.

It wasn’t long before he returned my call, apologizing profusely.

“John, we can’t walk on eggshells. We have to work and pee without thinking it will break us. I’m glad you didn’t answer while in the bathroom. That’s gross to talk to someone on the phone while you’re doing your business.”

“I love how you think, Becca Shearer.”

Now I just have to convince myself to live by my own words because I was frustrated when he didn’t answer. It felt as if a crack was already forming.

“The camera crew is here,” he says, stalling for a moment. “I’ll call you when it’s over.”

And he did. We talked for an hour before I started falling asleep on the phone.

The Dallas Rattlers put up the interview today so during lunch, when I’m usually eating while reviewing a contract, I go to YouTube and pull it up.

Instantly, I’m greeted with a broad smile. John’s smile makes my belly flutter. The interviewer knows John well, having been their radio play-by-play announcer for all of John’s years on the team. Bob Singletary.

“John, first I want to congratulate you on your new contract. How does it feel to be the highest paid player on the team?”

John takes off his hat and runs his hand through his short hair before replacing it on his head backward.

“The only thing it changes is my bank account. I’ve always played every game giving one hundred percent.

My commitment to the game has never wavered.

My workout routines are the same. Actually, that’s not true.

I’ve added in some impromptu workouts to increase my stamina. ”

I can tell he’s playing back our time together as he pauses.

“On vacation, I snorkeled, hiked, danced my ass off, jumped on a water trampoline, and did cheerleading stunts with a friend. ”

John doesn’t expect what Bob says next, and neither do I. “With Corbin Shearer’s sister?”

What the heck? How would he know that? We’ve been home for one full day.

A veil slides over John’s face. I can tell he was surprised, but he handles it like a professional.

“Yes, sir. His sister cheered for the Stallions, and it was a Stallions reunion.” He adjusts his hat again.

“One of the wives of another guy was a gymnast, so we were just goofing off. Damn, I never realized how much strength and skill male cheerleaders possess. Even though Becca’s a hundred pounds soaking wet, it takes strength and focus.

Not just in your arms but your whole body, especially your core. ”

Bob throws a photo up on the screen and shows the physical copy to John. The grin on John’s face causes my heart to race. “Is this what you’re talking about?” Bob asks.

It's an image of John holding me above his head, with my foot in his hands while I hold my other leg by my ear—a stunt called a bow and arrow.

“Looks dangerous but wow, she’s flexible.”

John’s face lights up, and I can see the love on his face. “She is flexible and amazing. She dances for the Nashville Fireflies, the NBA team, but she was a national champion in college, and she won the World’s Championship with her stunt partner. And she’s smart as a whip.”

Bob gives him a knowing smile. “We all know last year, your best friend, Corbin Shearer’s grandmother passed away, and you dyed your hair pink along with the rest of the Nashville Notes, even though we were playing them. Do you think it’s what skyrocketed your contract?”

“No, sir. I do think it endeared me to the public, but that’s not why I did it.

I’ve always been a great player. Unfortunately, I’m known for starting and finishing fights on the ice, not making friends.

But life isn’t easy as a professional athlete.

I know people cry boo-fucking-who, but it’s hard to know why people like you or who you can trust. So, I place my trust in my college teammates and best friends.

They knew my cocky ass before, and nothing has changed…

except. Well, I’ll just leave it there, Bob. ”

The two of them discuss the upcoming season, and I zone out, thinking about how Bob got that picture. Did Stella take it? I thought she left before that, however, the days and times all run together.

“Becca, you have a call on line three,” my assistant calls out over the intercom. She hesitates before declaring, “It’s Dennis.”

I huff, half-dreading whatever he has to say. Imagine spending years with someone yet not truly knowing them. That’s how I feel about Dennis and me. “Put him through.”

To be funny, I answer, “Becca Shearer.”

“Did you change your name back officially?” he asks with a hint of disappointment in his voice. The same tone he used when he asked for a divorce.

“Not yet, but I do plan on it. What’s up?”

“I can’t find a few things. Is it okay if I come by tonight?”

Mulling it over in my mind, I say, “Dennis, no offense, but there is nothing of yours at my house. I bought you out of the condo and believe me, there is no trace of you in my house,” I snap.

The line goes silent, and I almost hang up, but then he says, “Can we talk?”

“We are talking, but I don’t have anything else to say. It’s all been said. You didn’t love me, remember.”

His voice goes soft. “It was all a mistake.”

A wave of laughter takes over my body. “It was a mistake from the beginning. I have a client coming in, so I need to go.” I give him a few seconds, and he finally hangs up.

What would I have done if John and I hadn’t become a couple on vacation? Would I have taken Dennis back?

The day drags on like a five-hundred-lap Nascar race. Don’t get me wrong, I love racing, but in my opinion, none of it really matters until the last twenty laps .

Work seems boring and uninteresting– clients hiding their assets or making sure their kids or spouses can’t get to it. Catching up after being off for ten days has me longing for the beach and John.

Around nine in the evening, my phone buzzes on my glass desk. Yes, my office is trendy and modern. Which now that I think about it, isn’t me at all. I remember walking into the firm the first day and thinking: I. Have. Made. It.

But have I? Is working seventy to eighty hours a week making it?

John: How’s my girl?

Amazing, how reading something so innocent makes me feel his possessiveness.

Me: Still working.

John: That sucks. Are you alone?

Me: I’m sure there are a few people left in the building. That’s why we get paid the big bucks. If I average it out, I may get paid a little over minimum wage.

John: I can’t stop thinking about you.

That puts a fat smile on my face.

My phone rings while I’m typing as John switches to a video call.

“Sorry, I needed to see your face.”

“Aww, is cocky John admitting he needs me?” I realize Dennis never did.

“So much. I’ve jerked off twice today. Both times, I took a shower,” he says with a lopsided grin. When I blush, he says, “Do you want to watch? ”

My jaw drops. My mouth opens wide as I stutter, “Wa-watch?”

“Look who’s stuttering now. Yeah, I’m alone. You’re alone.” The phone falls from his face to his bare chest, then it falls farther to a smidgen of black hairs in the center of his abdomen leading to the promised land. “Almost there.”

His hand slips under the band of his shiny black athletic shorts. At first, he strokes under the fabric. It isn’t until I say in broken breaths, “Yes, I want to watch,” that he scoots his shorts down and pulls out this thick erection.

“God, I miss you. I miss your soft skin and athletic body against mine.” He slips up and down his shaft. His masculine hand gripping and sliding causes a deep flutter in my core, and my thong instantly pools with arousal. “I miss my tongue swiping through your folds.”

I squirm until I get my skirt bunched above my hips and circle my clit. With broken breaths, I say, “I… miss… you too.”

“Show me,” he commands. “Put your heels on the desk.” I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I do as he says. “Set your phone against your laptop. Need to be hands free.” He swallows a chuckle.

Again, I follow directions, hearing the raw want in his tone.

“That’s it, sweet thing. You’re glistening. Slick and wet for me even though there’s a million miles between us. Does it feel good?”

“Yes.” I press harder and faster at the same pace as John until I work myself into a frenzy listening to how much he loves watching me self-pleasure. “I’m… oh John.” I lean back in my black leather desk chair until my arousal running down my inner thighs and pooling in my chair.

He moves up and down faster until he rips out a growl, and ropes of his own spew from his pulsating head. Gradually, the camera travels back up his chest, showing the evidence of his orgasm .

Finally, our faces are both back on the screen. Hot and red, we grin. “I’ve never done that.”

“Becca, darlin,” he says in his best Texas accent. “Watching you get yourself is a highlight of my life. And there’s more to come.”

“Promise?”

“I vow to keep you happy in every way.”

Vow?