Page 74 of On the Ropes
“What?” he yelled. “I spent the first hour tonight bitching to you about the Phillies bullpen, man.” He spun around and left me there by myself in the room. His extreme reaction was comforting at least. It matched my own.
I clasped my hands together, right knee shaking. Rowan stormed back into the room with a half-empty bottle of Bulleit bourbon and two mugs. He splashed liquid into both before passing me one. With a sly grin, he knocked his mug against mine. “Sláinte.”
“Salute,” I grunted.
He settled back into his own chair and poured himself a second shot. “Now what the hell happened?”
I arched my eyebrow. “Last night, Tabitha came by and asked if I’d go with her to run the Rocky steps. For fun.”
“For real?”
I nodded.
He slowly rubbed his jaw. “Damn.”
“I drove us to the art museum in the truck.”
“You gave up that spot?”
I hesitated. “Really wasn’t thinking about parking.”
“A feeling I know well.”
I felt a flush creeping up my neck. Less about what happened later—Tabitha tearing off my shirt and straddling me in the rain—but all the moments leading up to it. Talking in the car, running up the steps while laughing. Watching her shadow box with an expression of eager curiosity.
The only word I knew to describe these moments together was lightness. Or maybe comfortable. Except both of those words disregarded my physical response to her nearness. Not the dizzying, intense sexual response. The one where I was always…smiling.
I shook my head and snapped out of it. “We got there. Ran the steps. And, uh…made out up there. In the rain.”
Rain droplets on her eyelashes. Her nails scraping down my chest. Kissing like we’d never stop.
He reared back. “You made out with Tabitha Tyler in the rain, in public?”
“Trust me. I fucking know.” A week ago I was so eager to avoid any kind of spotlight I didn’t even want to work on the abandoned lot, let alone take the lead. Or risk some angry former fan seeing me do anything out in public.
“And then what?” Rowan asked, looking captivated.
Steamed-up windows. Our heavy breathing. Her gorgeous body…soft curves, delicate tattoos, pale skin.I clamped down on the images before I zoned out, lost in memories of a night where I was powerful again, where my body and its needs were admired, returned, yearned for. Where I wasn’t a disappointment but a man who’d listened to his instincts and watched, in awe, as Tabitha climaxed over and over.
“That’s when we had sex. In the back seat of the truck.”
Rowan scrubbed a hand down his face and shook his head. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit, dude. So that’s why you can’t pack these carrots.”
“I’m a little…distracted.”
He twisted his mug back and forth on the table. “I’m happy you’re having some no-strings-attached fun. You deserve it.” He grinned, looking no different than when we were kids. “I guess all of my grandmother’s text messages were accurate after all.”
Tension rippled between my shoulder blades. The words no strings were correct, and Tabitha told me she never got attached. So I unclenched my jaw and said, “Yeah. I guess they were.”
“And you two are good with everything?” he asked.
I knew what he meant. “Yeah,” I hedged. “Yeah, we’re good.”
I didn’t know what the hell we were. It wasn’t like we’d done a lot of talking about it. I was so obviously in over my head, but no part of me could go back now. No part of me wanted to.
