Sugar Rush (Offensive Line #1) (16 page)

LILLY

“Lilly.”

My eyes flutter open. I don’t remember closing them.

I’m burning alive, sweating under the weight of a blanket. I kick at it mildly. Suddenly it lifts, disappearing as cold air rushes around me, making me shiver.

“Lilly, it’s late,” Colt tells me quietly. “I should get you home if you want to go.”

I don’t. I want the blanket back on. I want to stay here with his body against mine. I want him to keep running his fingertips up and down my naked arm the way he’s doing right now.

I want him to finish what he started in the shower.

I lift my head to look in his eyes. They’re staring down at me in the darkness. The TV is off, the room barely lit. He’s nothing but an outline against the black sky. A mountain in the desert, deceptively close but so far away. As distant as I keep him.

“Will you do something for me?” I whisper hoarsely.

“Anything,” his voice rumbles deep in the darkness, making it vibrate around me. Inside me.

“Say my name again.”

“Lilly,” he murmurs.

I sit up, crawling into his lap the way I was downstairs. His hand caresses the side of my face, sliding behind my head to pull me closer until our foreheads touch. Until his breath is burning on my trembling lips.

“I love the way you say my name,” I whisper.

He grins faintly. “Lilly.”

“Again.”

“Lilly.”

“Again.”

“Lil—“

I kiss him.

I cross the desert. I run full force into the mirage and I don’t care if he’s nothing real, if he’ll slip through my fingers like hot sand against my aching skin. I don’t care if he’s heaven or he’s hell. I have to taste him. I have to devour the feeling of being full, of being made whole by the weight of his eyes and his hands and his tongue that runs along my lips, dipping into my mouth, and stealing my breath.

He makes me feel real, he makes me feel good, like I’m me for the first time in years, and when his hands pull me closer he makes me feel warm. Hot. Burning and yearning as I wrap my arms around his neck, toss my leg across his lap, and lean into him with my whole body. My whole heart.

“Lilly,” he breathes, his lips gliding along my jaw. Down my throat. They press against my chest as I weave my fingers through the soft tresses of his hair.

His hands splay across my back, pulling me closer. Holding me firm. I lean into them, arcing back as his lips go lower. His tongue glides down my skin, dipping between my breasts. I shudder against him, making him moan, the sound reverberating through my bones.

Colt’s right hand rises. It tugs at the strap of his white tank top already loose on my body. He drags it down my arm, exposing my skin. My breast.

“Lilly.”

His lips are slow. Soft.

My heart hammers fast. Hard.

The rough surface of his tongue drags across my nipple, making me gasp. Making me writhe and rise, my hips circling against his as his lips wrap around me. He sucks at me hard. He licks me softly. The thin material of the boxers he lent me ride up my thighs as I grind against him, building a friction between us that electrifies the cool air. The hair on my arms stands up straight, a chill rushing through my entire body, leaving fire in its wake.

I release him long enough to pull my shirt off over my head. His breath across my skin feels unreal. Impossible as this moment. As his hands on my bare sides and the hard roll of his chest under my palms. I rip at his shirt, pulling it up and off of him, casting it aside, God knows where. I’m not calm, not satisfied, until his hot skin is smooth against my fingertips.

Colt takes a second to stare at me. His hands rise slowly, tickling over my ribs and tracing delicately around my breasts, over my collar bone, up my neck into my hair where he grips me, wrapping the strands around his fingers. Then his mouth is on me again. He holds me by my hair, pulling me to him, and I grip his shoulders so hard it has to hurt, the steel of his muscle biting back against my fingers. He doesn’t complain. Instead he moans, his tongue going wild, making me gasp and buck, curse and cry out, my head tilted back, my face to the sky. To the hidden stars. To the burning bright fire above me, inside me. Cold as ice and brilliantly white, blurring and swirling as my body winds up with each rough thrust of my hips against his. Every brush of his lips across my breasts.

“Lilly.”

His voice is growing desperate. His hand falls to my back, over my ass, and he’s setting the rhythm. It’s quick but steady. Demanding. The thin fabric of his shorts doesn’t give up much resistance. I can feel him right where I want him and I know he feels me too. He breathes hard and hot across my chest, his other hand gripping my hair so hard it hurts. I whimper as I cling to him. As I thrust harder, faster, my body striking against his like flint until finally, finally, finally - flame.

“Ohh!” I cry out, my body going rigid in his hands. “Colt, fuck!”

He pulls my face down to his, covering my mouth with his lips. Feasting on the moans that erupt from my throat. His breath comes hard from his nose, his hand on my ass still grinding me against his body until he grunts into my mouth and his fingers grip me recklessly.

“Shit,” he curses breathlessly. “Holy fucking shit.”

We hold on to each other as we come down. As the sound of the night rebuilds around us, pushing in through our ragged breaths and the gentle creek of the leather couch underneath him. His face falls to my breast, no longer teasing but resting, his arms wrapping around me gently.

I slowly trip my fingertips across his shoulders. “Did you…?”

He laughs shakily. “Yeah, I did. I haven’t come with my pants on since I was sixteen. That was…” He leans back, rubs his hand over my face, repeating, “Holy shit.”

I smile at him. I feel a strange sense of pride in the lost look on his face. I take it as a victory as I lean down to take his mouth with mine, kissing him softly. Sweetly.

There’s so much strength in him, enough to break me in two with his bare hands, but when he kisses me, when he holds me now, it’s the gentlest feeling in the world. It makes me feel solid and tethered, like I’m not the things I think I am. I’m not a ghost. I’m not a memory, not tonight.

With him I’m real and tangible. Taste-able. Edible.

LILLY

November 15th

Culver City, CA

I dance nervously from one foot to the other like a kid who has to pee. Michael jiggles his key in the door, his eyes watching me surreptitiously. He doesn’t say a word but I know he wants to. But what would he say? What could he or anyone else in the world do to make this situation better? The waiting is the worst part. Wondering if today will genuinely be okay or is it another day where we pretend it is?

The front door pops open. The painfully familiar scent of home washes over me, nearly knocking me down the stoop.

“We’re here!” Michael calls, stepping inside.

I wait on the porch, out of sight.

Mom comes hurrying out of the kitchen. “You’re early. We weren’t expecting you for another twenty minutes.”

“Lilly got an early start at work so she was able to leave early.”

I hold out a box of assorted bagels to mom. “I made your favorite today. Blueberry.”

She smiles gratefully, taking the box. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll have one for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Is it okay if I come in?”

“It’s fine,” she assures me quietly, a gentle hand on my shoulder pulling me inside. “He’ll be happy to see you. He’s been asking when you guys were going to get here. Both of you.”

The tension in my stomach unclenches a little, letting me breathe. Letting me step across the threshold into the house.

I ditch my purse in the entryway on the same hook I’ve hung purses and backpacks since I was tall enough to reach it. The small stucco coated house has been my parent’s home for the last twenty-six years. The carpet is my age, but they still insist we take our shoes off, treating it as delicately as the day they had it installed. I remember being scolded by Mom, tears in her eyes, after I dumped my cup of Kool Aid on it when I was seven. I’ll never forget the disappointment I felt knowing I’d made her cry. She probably doesn’t remember it but I’ll never forget it.

“Is Dad in the living room?” Michael asks.

Mom shakes her head. “He’s out back barbequing. He’s got the little TV set up out there. The game’s about to start.”

Michael and I keep our coats on as we head out back. The house is stuffy and overheated. It’s hottest as we pass through the kitchen and I notice that the oven is on. Mom has been baking. She does that when she’s nervous. We have that in common, along with our eyes, our noses, our chins. The rich hue of our hair.

Put me in a summer dress with my hair piled in high curls on my head and I’m the image of my mother when she was my age.

Michael opens the sliding glass door to the back patio. “Hey, Dad.”

Dad turns, a spatula in his hand, a smile on his face, and an apron over his chest. It’s the one we gave him as a gag gift four birthdays ago. One with the curvaceous body of a half-naked woman printed on the front. The sight makes me laugh out loud.

“You guys are just in time for kickoff,” he tells us excitedly.

“Who’s playing?” Michael asks.

“Kodiaks and Panthers. Should be a good one.”

Michael casts me a playful look, one full of knowledge I should never have equipped him with. “That’ll be fun for Lilly to watch.”

“I doubt that,” Dad chuckles at Michael. He thinks he’s making a joke. Dad knows I don’t care about football.

“Lilly met one of the players,” Michael explains to him.

Dad’s face lights up as he looks at me. “Really? Was it at that party? You did a thing for one of them, right? It was, uh…It was…” he twirls his spatula, his eyes going unfocused as he tries to remember. “Dammit, it’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“It was a coach’s gender reveal,” I help out.

He frowns. “Is that some kind of sexual thing? Like he was a guy and now he’s a girl?”

“No,” I chuckle. “That’s transgender. This was a baby shower kind of thing. They’re having a girl.”

“Oh, congrats to them.” He turns back to the grill, flipping a burger expertly. “Who’d you meet?”

“Colt Avery,” I tell him, the name sounding strange to me. Distant in this context, this situation, like I barely know it. Like I didn’t moan it in a shower filled with steam and man and muscle last night. “A couple others too. Trey, the quarterback.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Michael accuses.

I shrug. “I just met him last night.”

“Where?”

“Rona and I were invited to a party. They were there. She met a guy named Matthews too.”

“Kurtis Matthews?” Dad asks, his eyes bright with interest. Fully engaged and heartbreakingly beautiful.

“I think that’s right, yeah.”

“Kurtis Matthews, man,” Dad muses to himself. “That guy was a powerhouse coming out of college. I think it was three… no maybe four or five years ago. Anyway, he comes out of the Draft onto the Kodiaks, blows the roof off the place, and gets traded away after one year. He went to the Miners up in Montana.”

“Why’d they trade him away if he was doing so well?”

“No clue. There’s a lot of rumors and speculation but no one knows the real answer. Coach Allen always talked about it like he lost a son. It was sad in a way. And then when Matthews gets to Montana they use him for a year and bench him. He wasn’t gelling with their program so they took this incredible talent and parked him on the pine.” Dad shakes his head in disgust. “Idiots. They should have traded him back right away. He wasted years up there.”

“Why’d they trade him back now?”

“For Trey. Remember when we watched his Draft? He was the upset. He had that messed up hand and everyone was writing him off, then all of the sudden the Kodiaks get Montana’s first round pick to snatch him up, they get Kurtis Matthews back, and all they had to give up was that diva running back Duncan Walker. And now that he’s out of the way Colt Avery is shining like a star. No one knew the kid had that kind of talent.” Dad turns back to his BBQ, the smoke rising around him in a fragrant fog. “What kind of guy is he?”

“He’s really nice. Funny.”

Dad nods. “That’s good to hear. You see these guys on TV and you wonder what they’re really like. If the fame has gone to their head or if they’re good people.”

I look sideways at Michael, gaging his reaction to this topic that touches so close to Cassie.

He has none. He’s parked himself in a lawn chair, his legs stretched out, his face turned to the sun. He’s barely listening.

“He’s got an appearance at the children’s hospital tomorrow,” I tell Dad proudly. “Him and the other guys from the DQ commercials.”

“Tyus Anthony and Trey,” he immediately fills in, the names so easily accessed from his extensive Kodiak database. “Did you meet Tyus?”

“No. Not yet.”

He pauses, looking at me over his shoulder. “Not yet, huh? So you’re going to see Avery again?”

I flush, realizing my mistake. “I don’t know. Probably.”

“When did you say you met him?”

“Last Monday.”

“He showed up to the filming at the bakery the next day,” Michael adds, his eyes still closed.

He’s listening closer than I thought.

“It was really nice of him,” I tell them quickly. “He agreed to be filmed for the episode and he took cookies with him to his practice to share. It was a cool thing to do for the bakery. We’ve had lines waiting outside every morning since.”

I’m downplaying this and I don’t know why. I think it’s because to the world he isn’t Colt, the guy who texts me every day and calls me every night. He’s Colt Avery, the panty-dropping star who’s giving Snicker’s ‘it’ll satisfy you’ slogan a whole new meaning every day. I don’t want to hear a lecture about keeping my head on straight. About how I should be careful because I know all of that. I tell myself that every day when I find myself thinking about him, smiling, rereading his texts and counting the hours until I’ll see him again.

Dad looks at my curiously. “Are you dating this boy?”

“I’ve known him for a week.”
And seen him almost every single day of that week.
“We’re just hanging out.”
A lot. And texting/calling the rest of the time.
“I don’t think either of us has a lot time to date. We’re both pretty busy.”
Busy making out every chance we get.

“You said he’s a nice guy?”

“Really nice.”

“Well, good.” He grins. “You could do worse, I guess. And he’s not too hard on the eyes, right?”

I shake my head, looking away. “I don’t know. He’s alright.”

“
Alright
? Your mom told me he’s on the shortlist for People Magazine’s Hottest Ass list or whatever they call it.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

“It’s close. Is it something about tapping? Tapping ass? Is that a thing?”

“Yes, but no.”

“Twerking? Does he twerk? Have you twerked with him, Lilly?”

“No,” I laugh.

“Is that a dance or a drug? What is that?”

“Stop. Oh my God, just stop.”

He laughs. “Stop what?”

“Trying to be current,” Michael tells him. “It’s not going to happen.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m current. I’m hip!”

“You’re not though.”

“I am. I’m thinking about getting a sports car.”

“No!” I shout in shock.

“A Miata.”

Michael chuckles. “You mean a mid-life crisis mobile?”

“Is he talking about the Miata?” Mom asks from the door. She’s standing in the opening, her arms crossed over her chest against the cold, a small, hesitant smile on her lips.

I look to her pleadingly. “You won’t let him, right?”

“I think it would be cute.”

“Did you hear that, Dad?” I ask him. “’Cute’. You’d be ‘cute’.”

He grins at my mom. “I’d be sexy. Right, bae?”

“No!” I shout in outrage. “Stop the madness.”

Dad laughs. “I gotta get the buns. We’re almost ready here.” He passes by me, leaning in to press a quick kiss on my temple. “I’m glad you’re here, Lil. I miss you.”

I smile, turning to watch him disappear into the house. “I miss you too, Dad.”