The Not-Outcast Page 4

  Then, fear again. I was being checked in the glass all over again, and I had no back-up.

  “Babe,” that word whispered from me before I could stop myself.

  Her head turned in my direction, but her eyes didn’t. They were laser-focused somewhere lower on my face. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. What the fuck?

  I heard the guys fall silent, all hearing what I just laid out in that one word.

  Then, Alex was pulling the other guy away, for his safety if he was smart, and I closed in, reaching out.

  I touched her arm, and she was paralyzed as I felt a tremor rush through her.

  “No, not like that.” I moved in even closer, bending my head. Her front was almost brushing my front and I could feel her trembling. I lowered my voice. “Is that because of me? You’re scared of me?”

  I had to be smart.

  I didn’t want to scare her away.

  She shook her head, just the slightest bit.

  I moved my hand to her shoulder, but I kept my other one free. I didn’t want her to feel like I was trapping her, but hell. I wanted to. So bad. I wanted to tug her out of here, take her home, and lay claim so she’d never want to feel another guy inside her.

  “You know who I am?”

  Another nod, but nothing else. Her throat was working, moving up and down. Whatever was going on with her, she couldn’t speak.

  “You okay with this?” My voice was soft now, so fucking soft. I moved my hand up, cupping the back of her neck.

  I felt her tense at my hold, then she dipped her head again. Another nod.

  Some of the tension was lifting. I wasn’t scaring her. Thank Christ.

  Then, I was not a guy who messed around. I asked, “You want to get out of here?”

  Her eyes lifted all the way to mine with that question. My God, her eyes.

  It clicked. Right in that moment.

  They were like ice. They were glacial.

  Whatever it was, something fell in place and this girl was really mine. She saw it now, too. Past lives, maybe? I didn’t know, but it felt right and I should’ve been weirded out about how right it felt, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to feel that way.

  But I had to make sure. “You drunk? You know what you’re agreeing to? And if you don’t want to, that’s fine. We can find a corner, have a talk—” Her hand shot to my chest, and she put her entire palm there. She could feel my heart beating a mile a minute, too. I was just as affected as she was.

  Then, another moment, as words wrung from her. “Take me home.”

  A growl came from me. “Fuck yeah.”

  I was primed.

  I took her hand.

  From: Cheychey

  To: Koala Boy

  Subject: I’m in trouble.

  3

  Cheyenne

  He looked good.

  He looked damn good.

  I felt him in the party. Like, the whole time. I’d been horrified, then relieved when I saw him hand Sasha off to his other teammate, and by the way, I knew every single one of them. Season tickets and all, not that anyone knew I had season tickets, but so be it. It was my thing.

  And him. He was definitely my thing.

  I couldn’t get over how good he looked.

  I saw him on the posters and gigantic murals. I saw his picture on ESPN, and YouTube, and any and all places where local celebrity athletes had their pictures posted, but in person… Yeah, it wasn’t the same. Cut was always pretty.

  He’d not been built in high school. He’d been a lean guy, and that made him fast on the ice. But he had pretty eyes, high cheekbones (though still boyish), and his hair was a dirty blond back then. Watching him in college, then throughout the NHL, he had morphed.

  He was all man now.

  He was still fast on the ice, one of the fastest in the league, but he was definitely not the same boy anymore. He was standing there and he was virile.

  The air felt like it was rippling off of him.

  Smoldering dark eyes. His hair was cut short and a little darker now, but his jawline was filled out. Square. Those cheekbones, there was nothing boyish about them anymore.

  Lush everything on him.

  Lush lips. I wanted to burrow in his shoulders, his chest, that glorious chest and I’d gotten glimpses of the valley road on his chest and stomach and there was a reason he was heavily talked about on all media platforms. The sports shows, but also the gossip ones, not that the gossip sites had much to talk about. Cut was private, hella private, and it drove them nuts.

  I had felt him when he noticed me, and it was like my lungs were inflated balloons and someone took a needle to them, unable to take in air. As he prowled over to me, I’d been unable to do anything.

  He walked over to me like a predator, but I was willing prey. I was freaking out because no way was this real life.

  This was just all too much.

  Too fast. Too much.

  But no, not at all.

  I’d been in love with Cut Ryder since high school, but he had no clue. Not one. What I did know was that he didn’t remember me because I knew I didn’t look the same. I mean, my eyes were the same. Who could forget my eyes? Well, someone who never noticed them before. And come to think about it, there was only one time he looked at me. One time that I know about.

  It was all weird, but damn.

  Damn!

  He came over and he called me ‘babe’ and that would normally sketch me out, but it was the opposite reaction with him. And he asked if I wanted to leave, and now he was holding my hand and we were leaving—I was seriously trying not to hyperventilate trying to wrap my head around everything coming at me all at once.

  There’d been a driver service for the players, so we got one of those, and the whole drive to his place, a whole thirty minutes, and that was because of traffic, we had our eyes on each other. I even knew where we were going, how laughable was that? He thought I had no idea. He thought he was taking me somewhere unknown?

  I could’ve given the driver directions.

  I should tell him.

  No.

  What was I thinking?

  One night.

  That’s all.

  One night.

  After he found out, and I knew he would find out. He’d find out in the morning, for sure, and that was if everything happened how I thought it was going to happen, but one night. One freaking night. After that he wouldn’t want anything to do with me because of who I was.

  But I couldn’t walk away now, even if someone was holding a gun to my head.

  I couldn’t tell him. That would be the same as walking away.

  Okay. Yeah. One night. I could handle this for one night.

  There were no words exchanged on the ride. I mean, what could we say that wasn’t already said with our eyes and our intentions back at the party. We sat in the back, apart. He was against one side. I was at the other. The driver driving, and then we were at his place. Well, Chad’s place, too. I knew they were roommates.

  Not creepy, right?

  We were exiting the car now.

  Just breathe, Cheyenne.

  He was leading me up the walkway.

  Even in the dark, I could see all the brick, but then we were inside.

  And—oomph!

  He pushed me against the door, reaching down and locking it.

  He moved in, almost touching me.

  Nope. He was touching me.

  His hand was on my hip and it slid up to my stomach, moving under my shirt. He bent in, his lips grazing my shoulder and I was already melting. I reached out, both my hands to his waist, just holding him there. I needed to anchor myself to him in some way.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Even the question, said against my neck, was making me want to jump him. I didn’t need any more ammunition.

  “What?” A slight hitch in my throat. My pulse was skipping all over the place, too.

  He grazed his nose up my jawline, moving over until
his lips were lingering just over mine. Not touching. But there.

  “You didn’t say a word in the car. Are you having second thoughts?”

  I had to bite my lip to keep a half-hysterical laugh from bubbling out. If only he knew. But I shook my head, still biting my lip, not trusting myself to say much else, all I could muster was, “Nope. I’m good.”

  His hand moved to my neck, palming my head and tilting me to look up at him. He drew his head back, his eyes watching me from the full moon shining through the window. “You sure?”

  I nodded, my eyes lost as I moved over his face, falling to his own mouth. I just wanted that on me, anywhere, everywhere. I’d been wanting that for ten years.

  “Good.”

  His hand moved.

  I thought he would kiss me.

  He didn’t. He so didn’t.

  His other hand moved south, bypassing my skirt, pushing my thong aside, and he found my opening in point two seconds. And oooooh!

  I gasped as he slid in two fingers right off the bat, sliding all the way in and up and up and up. He was almost lifting me off the ground because of how deep he was, and I wasn’t mad at all. His mouth dipped to my throat, he was already panting, and a second later, as I was breathing loud, a third finger joined in, but he didn’t kiss me. Not on the lips.

  Those fingers were working me.

  In. Out.

  Sliding. Thrusting.

  Thumbing.

  Tweaking me.

  Caressing me.

  I was going blind.

  I was going mad.

  I was going to scream and then he grated out, “Up.”

  I jumped and he caught me, so easily, as if I weighed nothing. My legs went around his waist, and he held me against the door, still pumping into me.

  My head hit the back of the door, but I wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t feeling anything except him, except those fingers inside of me as they continued to move in and out. Pleasuring me first.

  He was working me like a professional.

  Good God.

  I was going to combust.

  It was coming.

  Rising.

  Building.

  A scream left me and I arched against him, feeling his mouth on my throat again as I surged over the edge.

  There’d been no help from me, it was all him, all his fingers as he literally held me in place.

  Holy shit.

  I was so out of my comfort zone.

  I wasn’t even thinking normally.

  I was like a regular person. That’s how scrambled he’d made my brain.

  Then a soft chuckle as he held me in his arms, and I trembled as I came down from a volcano.

  “Good. Now we got that out of the way.” He lifted his head, leaning me and trapping me against the door with his hips. His free hand went to my chin and he tipped me back so I could see those eyes of his blazing at me.

  Like diamonds.

  “Dude,” I whispered, a ball unfolding inside of me.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Dude?”

  “You made me think normal.” No one did that. Ever. Like ever ever, but I was me again. I was back and he was about to get a glimpse of how weirdo Cheyenne I could be. “Dude. It’s a rightio dealio with me. It’s stupendous. I was normal.”

  He frowned at me, stiffening.

  He mouthed my words back to me. Rightio dealio. Stupendous. Then asked, “Normal?”

  I grinned at him, slow and sated because I saw stars. I was still seeing stars. “Junkie mom. Dead now. Messed up all my life. That means I don’t think or talk like regular bros and hoes. I’m a different calendar.” But I could pull it together, like for meetings at work or grant writing. I was an ace typist. “Stars. You made me meet them.”

  I was still seeing them. His eyes. So smoldering.

  He continued to stare at me, as if seeing me for the first time.

  I tensed.

  Maybe he was regretting this? Was my one-night stand a one-night finger bang instead?

  I tried to stem the disappointment, but… Okay.

  A girl had coping mechanisms. I could pull mine up, if I needed to.

  I was hoping I didn’t need to. I didn’t know how I’d handle that either.

  Then he must’ve made his decision.

  He readjusted his hold on me, standing back from the door and his mouth twitched. “One rule.”

  “Yeah?”

  I was about to see stars again.

  “Don’t call me dude again.”

  Dude. But I grinned. “Deal.”

  4

  Cheyenne

  I woke, and the night flooded back over me as if I were watching an erotic sci-fi film backwards. By the end of it, alarms were blaring in my head and all I could think about was retreat, retreat, retreat…so I did the first thing I thought of.

  Now, as I’m completing this roll, one might think I’m crazy.

  I am, kinda.

  One might also think this is ridiculous. I’ve loved Cut since I saw him in high school, but that was in high school. High school was a long time ago. It’s been four years since I graduated. Four years since college. And add in another two years of high school, one of which I was only around him for a few months and he was only at Silvard for one year.

  For a girl like me, this was all a bit much.

  Like a lot of a much.

  Like a lot a lot a lot, and I’m digressing.

  When my body says retreat, I’ve learned to listen. I’ll usually figure out why later, but until then—I grabbed my phone on the way and I army-crawled to the bathroom.

  I didn’t know a lot of things at that moment.

  I didn’t look at my phone. One would also think I should look at my screen, but nope. My brain wasn’t hardwired to be thinking logically that morning, or well… Digressing. Once more.

  I called Sasha, not knowing the day, the time, if I was alone or not, but I pulled myself over the heated (nice!) tile floor, and then Sasha picked up from the other end.

  “What is it?” Her voice was groggy still.

  I’d woken her up.

  “Sasha,” I whispered and hissed at the same time, but maneuvered around, my stomach still on the floor, and toed the door shut with a soft click. (I was so proud of myself.) I jackknifed up to hit the lights, then scooted back against whatever was behind me. I had no clue.

  My phone was glued to my face. “I need help.”

  I’d heard her grumbling before that, and then total silence.

  A second later, “What do you need?”

  There’s my girl.

  She was alert, calm, and locked in. She may run a strip club, but I was sure she’d been a secret agent at one point in her life. Maybe that’s where her Russian persona came from.

  “I need an extraction. I need my clothes. And I’m pretty sure I need ice for the vajajay.”

  There was rustling on her end and then, “Dear God, not the vag.”

  “The vag.”

  “No, not the vag.”

  I repeated, “The vag.”

  More rustling. She was moving and talking at the same time. Atta girl. “Was it good, at least? Tell me it was good?”

  “The vag needs icing. If it was bad, I’d be calling the cops.”

  Dead silence again. Then, “So, it was good?”

  “It was fucking phenomenal.”

  “Fucking phenomenal?” She was awed. I took Melanie’s word.

  “Fucking phenomenal.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know.”

  Another pause. We both digested that, then back to business.

  “But you need an extraction?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “I’m moving. Don’t think I’m questioning you, but I’m curious. Why the extraction?”

  I had to pause at how to answer that one.

  Too fast? Too much? Too scared?

  All the above.

  I went with, “I don�
��t remember his name.”

  It was lame.

  She called me on it. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m lying.”

  “You’re scared.”

  She so got me. I nodded to no one in the bathroom. “If I was on the toilet, I’d be pissing.” Though that was redundant. If I was on the toilet, I’d be doing that anyways. Who wouldn’t?

  “Why are you scared?”

  I shrugged, to no one again. “It’s…” What could I say? “I need to regroup for a bit.”

  “Got it.” She was whispering now, “And I’m on my way. Text me your location.”

  I whispered back, just for the hell of it, “On it and I love you.”

  “Love you back.”

  I heard a man’s voice before she hung up.

  Who was that?!

  I pulled up the GPS on my phone and sent her my location. We were in the suburbs of Kansas City, actually a bit outside the suburbs. And now I needed to perform some high-end assassin moves.

  I went to the bathroom. (Not an assassin move.) I washed my hands. (Also not an assassin move.) I cleaned up, the quietness of it all was an assassin move, though. I took stock of his bathroom. He kept it clean, and there was a stack of clothes on the counter.

  I fingered through them. Mostly shirts. A couple sweatpants. Why did he have these here? For him? For guests? Was I one of many guests? Was he a Boy Scout when it came to protected sex and one-night stands, and he was always prepared? I didn’t know.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  But fuck it.

  I was so totally that girl.

  I pulled on one of the shirts, and I had somehow slept in my underwear and bra. Why the bra, I didn’t know. I didn’t think I’d ever know. It would remain one of the world’s mysteries, like where did the socks keep disappearing to? I didn’t think I’d ever know the answer to it, and after that, I eased open the door.

  I was assassin quiet.

  He was there.

  He was in the bed.

  But, hold breath, hold breath—he was still sleeping.

  Gah. He looked so good. The bedsheets slipped down so I could see his back and his sculpted shoulders and those very very broad shoulders. I was still on the shoulders. Moving down. The curve of his spine, how his back was so contoured and itching for me to touch it—nope.