Read Good Morning Heartache Online
Authors: Audrey Dacey
Good Morning Heartache (3 page)
She delicately tore off the
top of the packaging and slowly rolled the latex down the length of his penis.
It was his turn to moan. By the time he was able to open his eyes again, her
panties had been tossed aside.
Ryan grabbed her by the
buttocks and lifted her to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he
plunged into her. He pushed her against the tile wall and kissed the tip of her
chin.
She was hot and smooth
against his member, and he had to concentrate to keep from climaxing too
quickly. As he pushed into her, she began circling her hips again. Her back
arched and she pushed her breasts into his chest. Her mouth opened wide, and
she leaned down and sucked the water from his neck.
He watched as her eyes shot
open wide when she pulled away from him again, and she let out an unbridled cry
of satisfaction. He pushed into her harder until he was as deep as he could get
and let go. He came hard. Harder than he had come in a long time.
She moaned again as her body
pulsated around his penis and yelled, “Nomar!”
Until that point, he had no
regrets.
§
Alexis let out a final,
satisfied moan as the strong arms of the man in front of her lowered her to the
slick tile floor. She tilted her head back into the running water and combed
her fingers through her wet hair. The water didn't cool her down as the
aftershocks of her orgasm continued to pour through her.
She ran her eyes over his
hard body. Oh, yes. He was exactly what she had needed, and he did his job
perfectly. She looked past the long hair that swept across his forehead and
into his eyes. They were still stoic, and she wondered if she did her job as
well as he had done his.
She smiled at him and said, “Thanks.”
He pushed past her to get
under the showerhead and rinse his body off. Then he turned back to her,
glaring, and said, “Nomar? Who the hell is Nomar?”
“What?”
“You screamed 'Nomar' while
you were coming.”
“Did I?” she giggled a
little and a flash of anger washed over his face. “Oh, don't be offended. You
should be honored to be in the ranks of Nomar.”
“You're not married or
engaged or something, are you?”
“Absolutely not.” She looked
sternly at him. “And I don't want to be.”
She reached past him and
turned the silver knob until the water shut off. She pushed open the smoky
glass door and grabbed a towel from a large woven basket outside the shower.
She looked back at him as
she wrapped the towel around her chest and stuffed a corner into the top. It
was obvious he was still confused. Apparently he wasn't from around here.
“Nomar Garciaparra. He used
to play for the Red Sox. He's my go to guy for…mmm… fantastical ideals. Apparently
you approached that ideal. Congrats. It's not like I could shout your name,”
she paused for a moment, and then added, “buddy.”
His skeptical eyes stared
her down while she handed him a white towel. Alexis just shook it off, grabbed
her panties off the floor, and wrung them out over the drain. She watched him
as he wiped the water off his smooth skin with the towel. He was a beautiful
man. She wondered if he'd be up for a second round. While the first orgasm was
a necessity, a second one would be pure decadence. She had always appreciated
decadence.
He ran the towel over his
head vigorously for a few moments, and when he was done, he looked at her
intently and asked, “You like baseball?”
Her eyes widened and her
mouth dropped for a moment. “Are you kidding me? Who doesn't like baseball?
It's immoral to dislike baseball. You might as well go around punting puppies.”
His mouth turned up in one
corner for just a moment, and then he turned away and stepped out of the shower
while wrapping the towel around his waist.
She followed and shouted
after him, “You like baseball don't you?”
“Yeah, I like baseball,” he
said, running his fingers through his long hair, slicking it back.
“Thank God.” She reached
down and pulled off the gold heels, rubbing her feet briefly. She really should
have kicked them off earlier, but she was too busy trying to get this guy to
sleep with her, and the heels seemed to help her cause. “So, what's your team?
And if you say the Yankees, this,” she waved her finger between the two of
them, “never happened.”
“The Cubs.”
Alexis threw her head back
and laughed hard. She reached up and touched his shoulder in an attempt to
comfort him. Between gasps of air she said, “I'm sorry. It's not funny.” She
calmed herself, but a few more giggles managed to escape. “But seriously,
that's gotta be terrible. They haven't won a Series in over a hundred years. It
can't be easy to root for a team that sucks that hard.”
A bit of humor came to his
eyes, and his intensity was beginning to wane. “No, it's not easy. You should
know that. It wasn't all that long ago that your team was in a very similar
situation,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She
waved her hand dismissively. “But we broke our curse. And at least ours was
cool. Billy goats? That's just not badass.”
He moved closer to Alexis,
towering over her small frame. For a moment she felt a wave of anxiety, maybe a
little fear, but she stood a little taller to ward off the feelings.
“At least we didn't whine
for eighty-six years about losing a player to the Yankees to finance a Broadway
play.”
She was at a loss for words
and a little pissed off. So, she pushed past him, and while walking away, said,
“Whatever.” She was very passionate and defensive when it came to the Red Sox.
It was the one thing her family really bonded over.
Alexis strolled to the
bedroom and bounced onto the bed. Her towel dropped off her body, and her
breasts jiggled. “You want to keep talking about baseball, or do you want to
talk me into another go round?” She smiled for a moment and for the first time
she saw a real grin on the man's face.
“Definitely, round two. But
you have to promise me one thing?” He walked to the edge of the bed and lightly
slid his hand from the top of her chest to her mound.
Alexis let out a breathy
laugh of pleasure. “I thought you didn't want a commitment.”
“Just one.” He paused to
pull her lips to his mouth. “Don't call me Nomar.” He rubbed her gently, and
her back arched, pushing her closer to him. “What should I call you?”
“Ryan,” he said as he
dropped his towel to the floor, lowered his body, and planted kisses on her
inner thigh.
She felt the rush of orgasm
through her body twice and was at the mercy of Ryan’s skilled hands and thrust.
By the end, she was unsure if she was going to be able to stand for more than a
few seconds, and she took a couple of minutes to catch her breath before
climbing out of the bed.
Ryan just lay in bed staring
at the ceiling. “You really know what you're doing, don't you?”
“I'll bill the room.” She
smiled at him, wishing she could lock him up in her nightstand and pull him out
when she needed a good time. Then again, she liked variety. After a while his
brand of sex just wouldn’t be exciting any more.
He turned his head and
looked at her as she stepped into the puff she had stripped off a couple hours
earlier. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I guess you'll find out
when you check out.” She smiled as she zipped up the dress and gathered her
things off the floor.
“You're really leaving?”
“It's been nice, but I got
what I came for. Now, I need some sleep, and that is going to be easier in a
bed without you.”
Alexis looked into Ryan's
blue eyes one last time; they seemed a little brighter now. A calm had come over
them, and she was pleased with herself.
“Can I get your name before
you go?” Ryan asked. “I'd like to know who to credit this night to.”
“I don't think so, buddy.”
She looped the back straps of the pumps over her fingers. “Thanks again. And
have a good life.”
With that she moved to the
door and headed out. He didn't try and stop her, and she was glad. The last
thing she needed was another love-sick puppy to take care of. The ones who were
resistant at first tended to end up being stalkers, but this guy didn't even
know her name and that was for the best. It was hard to stalk someone when you
didn’t know who they were.
Alexis smiled. All her
unwelcome thoughts of marriage had been washed away in a river of orgasm.
She was surprised to see it
was after nine when she awoke. She looked at the strange room around her and remembered
she had stayed in the hotel. While some said she engaged in risky behaviors,
drinking and driving wasn't one of them, and she booked the room minutes after
finding out there was going to be an open bar at the reception. The black and
purple wallpaper and the long dark drapes had kept the early morning light out
of her room.
She sat at the lacquered
desk across from the foot of the bed. She clicked on the little lamp and pulled
out the complimentary stationary and pen. She had to write something—anything.
She didn't care if it was good. She just wanted words.
“I am a writer,” she
reminded herself aloud.
It was true. She knew it. A
lot of people did. But for the last seven years no inspired ink had touched the
page. It really ticked her off.
Screw you, Frank Carello.
She blamed her block on him
because it was absolutely his fault. She had written only one thing since he
left her, and it was in a state of absolute rage. Once the rage faded into
sadness, she couldn't develop a single plot, character, or setting.
Once upon a time…
,
she started. Beyond that there was a blank spot in her mind where a story
should be.
Once upon a time she had
been another idiot in love. She had lived in a fantasy world where people saw
each other across the room and knew they were meant to be together forever. A
world where a man could live in her heart, and she would let him, because it
felt good. A world where words flowed out of her mind and onto the page.
And then one day she woke
up. Frank was the one who killed the dream. For a while she resented him for
the broken heart, but she realized that was for the best. Love didn’t exist. It
was better she figured that out when she was young, before she got married. Now
she resented him. Since he left she had written only one story. Sure, it was published,
but at what price?
The story didn't make her
much money. She didn't care. She didn't need the money. All she needed was to
produce something, and
that
she couldn't do.
“Damn it!” She threw the pen
on the desk, and it bounced a couple of times before rolling off the edge along
the wall. She leaned back quickly and with so much force that the chair tipped
onto the back legs for a moment. Alexis thought she might fall, but the chair
righted itself with a soft thud on the carpet.
She stood up and ran her
hands along the length of her torso. The silky pink camisole soothed her skin,
and she adjusted the waistband on her panties so they were straight on her
hips.
Glaring at the four words,
she thought, Why do I have to start my days this way? How can Frank still have
this much power over my life?
It's not like she was still
sad over Frank. There were other tragedies in her life worth crying about, but
she was basically over them, too. Her life was good now. And she was happy.
Definitely happy. So why did her mornings have to start with the heartache of
not being able to write?
Alexis realized she could
keep herself from getting hurt by another jerk like Frank, so she devised rules
and arrangements. She was delighted with how things worked. The men in her life
gave her sexual release (though some were better than others), and that was all
she wanted. She was pretty sure most of them preferred it that way, too.
She yawned audibly,
stretching her hands over her head. Her cami rose over her belly button, and
her stomach growled. Breakfast. It was an achievable goal for a day that once
again began with failure.
When she sat down in the
hotel's restaurant, she considered treating herself to something sweet,
decadent, and bready but ended up ordering fruit and yogurt. Having a huge butt
and love handles would work against her in the pursuit of men. She liked to
work out, but not that much, and if she was honest, she spent more time doing
Kegels than any other exercise.
She sipped the hot, nearly
black coffee carefully to keep from burning her tongue. Alexis looked across
the busy room and caught the stare of a pair of icy blue eyes she thought she'd
never have to see again. She glared at him and grunted under her breath.
§
Ryan closed his menu and met
the gaze of the unhappy woman across the room. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk
to the stranger he spent the evening with, but when he saw her sitting alone at
breakfast, he stood up, and his feet drew him toward her.
He thought a causal “hello”
would be appropriate. She had been good to him. He hadn’t had any intention of
sleeping with her or anyone at that wedding, but he was glad to end his dry
spell. It's not that he hadn't wanted to have sex. He did. It was just that he
was busy at work, and the women he did meet were looking for something more
than just sex, which was something he couldn’t and wasn’t willing to try to
provide.
She had been better than
any woman had ever been to him, at least in bed, and for him, because she had
no illusions about where this wasn't going. She deserved at least the basic
pleasantries.
He didn't expect that he
would sit down in the chair across the table from her, but it was awkward just
standing there in front of her without anything to say. It was all he could
think to do, so he did it.
Ryan could tell from the
look on her face that she wasn't expecting it either. He knew it wouldn't lead
to anything beyond breakfast. There were a couple of days before Daniel would
be in town, and frankly, a little conversation would be nice before isolating
himself in Small Town, Massachusetts.
She set her cup down on the
saucer in front of her, and he watched as she licked her lips, trying to catch
any rogue liquid. Oh, the things she could do with those full, pink lips.
Her face flushed, and she crossed
her arms under her breasts. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” she demanded
in a hushed tone, as if someone might catch them together.
He wondered for a moment if
she lied last night. Maybe she was married. If that was the case, she deserved
any consequences that came with him sitting across from her, so he simply
replied, “Having breakfast.”
Ryan waved the waiter over
to the table. The server filled a cup with coffee, and Ryan ordered a full
stack of pancakes, bacon, and two poached eggs. “Charge everything on the table
to room 332,” he finished as the man in the floor length apron turned away.
Though Ryan spent many
nights in fancy restaurants wearing expensive suits, he just wanted to be
comfortable for one day. To not have to worry about who the guy two tables over
was and what he might think if Ryan grabbed the wrong fork. Luckily no one here
was important enough to impress, so today was going to be that day. He was
obviously underdressed for the restaurant in his khaki cargo shorts and navy
blue polo, but no one actually seemed to care, so he wasn't going to put forth
any further effort.
Ryan watched as she shifted
in her chair as though she were trying to get comfortable. Her eyes were
focused intently on his face. Ryan couldn't tell if she was nervous, angry, or
a little bit of both.
“You can't just come in here
and buy me breakfast,” she said with a slight edge to her tone.
“Apparently I can.” It was
fun to watch her squirm.
“This was not part of the
agreement.” She looked as though she was becoming exasperated: her jaw
clenched, her fingernails dug into the soft skin of her arms, and her eyes
blazed. “Remember. No commitment. Nothing that even looks like commitment.
Breakfast the morning after doesn't really bode well with that agreement or
with me.”
She wanted the same things
he did, except she was nervous at the thought of anything that looked like more
than sex. Whatever the reason, it was obvious she didn’t want him there.
“Don’t like agreements.
They’re too much like commitment.”
She forcefully blew a breath
out of her nose and narrowed her eyes at him. He smiled back at her. “Besides,
you didn't stay in my room. That's got to cancel out any meaning this could
have.”
She lifted the mug back to
her mouth and took a large swig. Coughing, she spit the coffee back into the
cup, as it was obviously too hot, and put it down before grabbing a water glass
with her other hand and bringing it to her mouth.
“Ah,” she whispered, gasping.
He grinned.
“You think it is funny when
someone burns their mouth?” she asked, putting down the water glass so firmly
that the table shook and the silverware jiggled a bit. “If I had known you
didn’t have compassion for your fellow man or any sense of obligation to
good-faith agreements, I wouldn’t have slept with you.”
Ryan grabbed the napkin
lying beside his fork and spread it across his lap, “You're very entertaining.”
More than that, she piqued his curiosity. For some reason he wanted to know more
about her. He didn't want to date her, or even see her after this meal, but for
now, this morning, he'd like to know about the beautiful creature in front of
him who gave him a great ride the night before and was driven slightly mad by
the thought of breakfast with him. But first he had to take care of something
that was driving him crazy.
“What's your name?”
She scoffed. “Why would I
tell you that? That would break another one of our agreements.” One side of the
knit short-sleeved sweater covering the blue and white striped sundress she
wore slipped off her shoulder. He looked at the golden skin that was revealed
and fought the urge to lean across the table and nibble the exposed flesh.
“Because I asked.” And just
to help contain himself, he added a reminder for both of them. “You're in
polite company. Polite company introduces themselves to strangers sitting at
their table.”
“Listen, I know I probably
gave you a come-to-Jesus moment last night, and I was happy to make the
trade—believe me. But I don't want another stalker,
Ryan
,” she said,
reminding him she had just a little more information than he did.
She was surprisingly honest,
and he liked that about her. Her forwardness let him know exactly what to
expect. He had never met anyone like her. It was refreshing.
“I'm not going to stalk you.
I don't even live around here. It wouldn’t be worth the time it would take or
the money I’d have to spend to stalk you.” He held up his hand with his middle
three fingers raised, mimicking her gesture from the night before. “Scout’s
honor. So what's your name?”
“I have a judge on speed
dial. We’re pretty close. It won't take long to get a restraining order.”
He shrugged and leaned back
in his chair casually. “You won't need him.”
“Is this your first
one-night stand? Because I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t have to walk you
through it.”
He just sat there, staring
at her. She was trying to break him, but it wouldn’t work.
She eyed him suspiciously. “My
name is Alexis.”
“Are you sure about that?
You wouldn't give me a fake name would you? It won't be hard to find out if
you're lying. You were the maid-of-honor at my friends' wedding,” he said.
She didn't back down. “It's
my name. And for the record, that sounded stalkerish.”
As she finished her
sentence, the waiter arrived at their table with a tray of plates. He set the
meals in front of each of them. As he was about to walk away, Ryan caught him. “Excuse
me. Could you get her a fresh cup of coffee?”
“Sure thing.”
Ryan drenched his pancakes
with warm maple syrup. He liked them completely permeated with syrup before he
dove into them. He pushed the plate to the side and grabbed the small dish with
the eggs and placed it in front of him. He added salt and pepper before
reaching for the hot sauce. When he looked up, Alexis was staring at him with
her mouth hanging open. He sat up and then leaned back in his chair again.
“What?”
“Are you going to eat all of
that?”
“Why? You want some?” He
glanced down at the small bowl of fruit next to a smaller bowl of yogurt that
the waiter had set before her.
She shook her head and
looked at her own meal. “No, I don't want any.”
He turned back to his eggs. “Then,
yeah, I'm going to eat it all.”
“How?” She still hadn't
touched any of her food.
“Stab it with a fork. Put it
in my mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.”
If he had known she was
going to be a pain in the ass, he would have turned around, gone back upstairs,
and ordered room service. He wanted a little conversation, not someone fussing
over his eating habits.
“How are you not, like, the
fattest man alive?”
There was that honesty
again, but it wasn't all that charming this time. He ignored the question and
continued to eat.
“I've seen you naked. You're
amazing naked. You're ripped.”
“Thanks.” He moved on to his
pancakes, which were now soggy with syrup. Perfect.
“How do you do that?”
Ryan shrugged and lifted a
forkful of pancakes to his mouth.
“Do you work out a lot?” She
stabbed a grape with her fork and dipped it in the yogurt. It did not look
appetizing. It kind of looked like an eyeball covered in baby spit up. He
shuddered and quickly turned his gaze back to his own breakfast.
“Couple hours a day.” It was
the only hobby his job allowed, and he insisted upon it. Being an architect was
a high-stress job, and exercise was the only way he could find release so that
he could plow through the next day. It made him a better employee. Some of the
others in the office went to bars and drank, but that was far too social for
him. Social situations just added stress.
