Beautiful Player (Beautiful Bastard 3)

“I think I’m the Kitty,” I said once the waiter left. When conversation came to a screeching halt, I registered that my friends had been happily babbling on about whateverthefuck while my brain was practically melting next to them.

“With Hanna?” I clarified, searching each of their faces for any sign of understanding. “I’m the Kitty. I’m the one saying I’m fine with just f**king around, but I’m not. I’m the one saying I’ll be happy to f**k only on the third Tuesday of odd-numbered months just so I can be with her. She’s the one who’s like, ‘Oh, I don’t need to hook up again.’?”

I was met with Chloe’s flat palm held up in my face. “Hold up, William. You’re f**king her?”

I sat up straight, eyes wide and defensive. “She’s twenty-four, not thirteen, Chloe. What the hell?”

“I don’t care that you’re f**king her—I care that you’ve f**ked her and she didn’t call one of us immediately. When did this happen?”

“Saturday. Two days ago; settle down,” I mumbled.

She sat back, expression softening somewhat.

Relaxing, I reached for my new drink almost as soon as the waiter put it in front of me. But Max was faster, pulling it out of my reach before I could get it. “We have an afternoon meeting with Albert Samuelson and I need you sharp.”

I nodded, bending to rub my eyes. “I hate all of you.”

“For being right?” Bennett correctly surmised.

I ignored him.

“Have you actually ended things with Kitty and Kristy?” Sara asked gently.

Fuck. This again.

I shook my head. “Why should I? There’s nothing going on with Hanna.”

“Except you have feelings for her,” Sara pressed, eyebrows drawn together. I hated her disapproval. Of any of my friends, Sara only gave me shit when it was fully deserved.

“I just figure why create more drama right now,” I reasoned, lamely.

“Has Hanna actually said that she doesn’t want anything more with you?” Chloe asked.

“It’s pretty obvious from the way she acted Sunday morning.”

Already nodding, Max added, “I hate to state the obvious, mate, but why haven’t you had the Will Sumner sit-down with her? Aren’t you sort of proving the long-suffering point you always throw at us regarding your hookups: that it’s better to discuss things up front than leave questions?”

“Because,” I explained, “it’s easy to have that convo when you know what you want and don’t want.”

“Well, what do you know?” Max asked, shifting to the side so the waiter could place his food down in front of him.

“I know I don’t want Hanna f**king anyone else,” I growled.

“Well,” Bennett began wincing slightly, “what if I told you I saw Kitty clearly hooking up with someone else the other night?”

Relief inundated me. “Did you?”

He shook his head. “No. But your reaction sure is telling. Fix things with Hanna. Figure your shit out with Kitty.” Picking up his fork, he said, “And now shut up so we can eat.”

I was up at five fifteen the next morning, waiting outside Hanna’s apartment building. I knew that now that she had a taste for running she wouldn’t miss a day. I had to fix things with her. . . . I just wasn’t sure how to do it yet.

She drew up short when she saw me, eyes widening before she put on a calm, unaffected mask. “Oh, hi, Will.”

“Good morning.”

She started to walk past me, eyes straight ahead. Her shoulder brushed mine as she passed, and I could tell from the way she winced that it had been unintentional.

“Wait,” I said, and she stopped but didn’t turn around. “Hanna.”

She sighed. “And today it’s Hanna again.”

I walked to where she stood, turning to face her and putting my hands on her shoulders. I didn’t miss the way she shivered slightly. Was it anger or the same thrill at contact I felt? “It’s always been Hanna.”

Her eyes darkened. “It wasn’t yesterday.”

“Yesterday I f**ked up, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t show for our run, and I’m sorry I came off like a dick.”

She watched me, eyes wary. “An epic dick.”

“I know I’m supposed to be the one who knows what I’m doing here, but I’ll admit that Saturday night was different for me.” Her eyes softened, shoulders relaxing. I continued, my voice quieter, “It was intense, okay? And I realize that this sounds insane, but I was a little taken aback when you were so casual about it the next day.”

I let go of her shoulders, stepping back to give her space.

She looked at me as if I’d sprouted the head of a lizard from my forehead. “How was I supposed to be? Weird? Angry? In love?” Shaking her head, she said, “I’m not sure what exactly I did wrong. I thought I handled it pretty well. I thought I acted just like you would have told me to if it was anyone else I’d had sex with.” She blushed, hotly, and I had to push my hands into the pockets of my hoodie to keep them to myself.

I took a deep breath. This was the moment I could tell her, I have feelings for you I haven’t had before. I’ve been struggling with them since the first second I saw you, weeks ago. I don’t know what these feelings mean, but I want to find out.

But I wasn’t ready for that. I looked up at the sky. I was clueless and had no idea what I was doing. For all I knew, this was nothing more than what I’d feel if I were hav**g s*x with anyone whose family I’d known forever; a protectiveness, a yearning to take caution with both of our feelings. I needed more time to sort things out.

“I’ve known your family for so long,” I said, turning back to her. “It isn’t the same as hooking up with some random person, no matter how much we want it to be casual. You’re more to me than just someone I want to be sexual with, and . . .” I ran my hand over my face. “I’m just trying to be careful, okay?”

I wanted to punch myself. I was pussing out. Everything I’d said was true, but it was a flimsy half-truth. It wasn’t only just about knowing her for so many years. It was wanting to know her, like this, for so many more.

She closed her eyes for a beat, and when she opened them, she was looking to the side, to some unknown point in the distance. “Okay,” she murmured.

“Okay?”

Finally she looked up at me and smiled. “Yeah.” Tilting her head in indication that we should get moving, she turned and soon our feet were slapping the pavement in an easy, steady rhythm, but I had no idea what conclusion we’d just reached.

It was gorgeous out, for the first time in months, and even though it was probably still under forty degrees, it felt like spring. The sky was clear, no clouds or gray shadows, just light, and sun and crisp air. Only three blocks from her house, I grew too warm, and I slowed slightly, pulling my long-sleeved thermal up and over my head and then tucked it into the back of my track pants.

I heard the sound of a toe butting into pavement, and before I knew what was happening, Hanna was sprawled out on the sidewalk, the wind knocked from her in a forceful gust.

“Holy crap, are you okay?” I asked, kneeling next to her and helping her sit up.

It was several long seconds before she could inhale and when she did, it was loud and desperate. I hated that sensation more than almost anything, getting all of the air knocked out of my lungs. She’d tripped on a large crack in the sidewalk and landed hard, her arms pressed to her ribs. Her pants were torn at one knee, and she was holding on to her ankle.

“Owwww,” she groaned, rocking.

“Shit,” I murmured, reaching behind her knees and around her waist, picking her up. “Let’s get you home and ice that.”

“I’m fine,” she managed, struggling to keep me from lifting her.

“Hanna.”

Swatting at my hands, she begged, “Don’t carry me, Will, you’ll break your arms.”

I laughed. “Hardly. You’re not heavy, and it’s three blocks.”

She gave in, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“What happened?”

Hanna was quiet, and when I ducked my head to catch her eye, she laughed. “You took off your shirt.”

Confused, I murmured, “I had another shirt on, you goof.”

“No, I mean, the tattoos.” She shrugged. “It’s been cold. I’ve only seen them a couple of other times, but I saw a lot of them on Saturday, and it made me think . . . I looked over just now . . .”

“And fell?” I asked, laughing despite my better judgment.

Groaning, she whispered, “Yes. Shut up.”

“Well, you can stare at them while I carry you,” I told her. “And feel free to nibble on my earlobes while we walk,” I whispered, smiling. “You know I like your teeth.”

She laughed, but not for long, and as soon as I’d caught up with her and realized what I’d said the tension grew into a heavy thing between us. I moved down the sidewalk to her building and with every step in silence, the monster tension only grew. It was the unspoken oh, right, the way I’d so casually referenced how she knew what I liked in bed, the reality of where we were heading—her apartment, where we’d had sex all night long Saturday.

I dug around inside my head for what to say, but the only words that bubbled right near the surface were words about us, or that night, or her, or my own f**ked-up brain. I put her down when we reached the elevator and I had to hit the up button. It arrived with a quiet ding, and I helped Hanna limp inside.

The doors closed, I hit the button for the twenty-third floor, and the lift jerked with the initial ascent. Hanna settled into the same corner she’d been in the last time we were in here together.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

She nodded, and everything we’d said right here two nights ago filled the elevator car like smoke rising from the floor. You go down on me. You do it until I come.

“Can you move your ankle?” I asked in a rush, my chest tightening with how much I wanted to step closer, kiss her.

She nodded again, eyes locked to mine. “It’s sore, but I think it’s okay.”

“Still,” I whispered. “We should ice it.”

“Okay.”

The gears of the elevator creaked; something just above us in the elevator shaft slid into place with a loud thunk.

You lean over me on the couch, jerking off, and come on my chest.

I licked my lips, finally letting my eyes move to her mouth, my mind wander to the memory of how it felt to kiss her. The echo of her words was loud enough in my head that it was as good as if she’d said them aloud: Sex in all kind of places on my body. How you like me to bite you, and how good it feels to do it.

I stepped closer, wondering if she remembered saying, We’re hav**g s*x and I’m doing everything you want and it isn’t just good for me, it’s good for you, too. And, if she did, I wondered if she could see in my eyes that it had been good, so good for me; it was making me want to kneel at her feet right now.

We arrived at her floor and I relented as she insisted on limping down the hall, needing to break the tension somehow. Inside her apartment, I grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and guided her to the bathroom, making her sit down on the toilet seat while I dug around under her sink for Bactine or some type of antiseptic. I settled for water and hydrogen peroxide.

Her pants were only ripped on one knee, but the other was scuffed enough to tell me that both knees were probably pretty scraped. I rolled up each pant leg, ignoring the way she swatted my hands away at the sight of the mild stubble on her legs.

“I didn’t know you would be touching my legs today,” she said, laughing a little.

“Oh, stop.”

Dabbing at the cuts with a wet cotton ball, I was relieved to see they weren’t too bad. They were bleeding, but there wasn’t anything that wouldn’t heal in a few days, and without stitches.

Finally, she looked down, straightening one leg as I cleaned up the other. “I look like I was walking around on my knees. I’m a mess.”

I grabbed a couple of clean cotton balls and dabbed her cuts with hydrogen peroxide, trying—but failing—to tamp down a smile.

She leaned down to get a better look at my face. “You are such a pervert, smiling at my scraped knees.”

“You’re such a pervert, knowing why I’m smiling.”

“You like the idea of getting my knees all scraped up?” she asked with a growing smile of her own.

“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head with absolute insincerity. “I really do.”

Her smile dissolved slowly and she ran a finger over my chin, studying the little scar there. “How did you get this?”

“Happened in college. A woman was giving me head and freaked out and bit down on my dick. I slammed my face into the headboard.”

Her eyes widened in horror: her worst or*l s*x nightmare realized. “Really?”

I burst out laughing, unable to keep up the story any longer. “No, not really. I was hit in the face with a lacrosse stick in the tenth grade.”

She closed her eyes, pretending she wasn’t amused, but I could see her swallow a laugh. Finally, she looked back down at me. “Will?”

“Mmm?” I put down the last cotton ball and screwed the cap back on the hydrogen peroxide bottle as I blew gently across the cuts. Once I had it all clean, I didn’t even think she would need a Band-Aid.

“I heard what you said about wanting to be careful because of our history. And I’m sorry that I came off as too casual.”

I smiled at her, absently running my hand slowly down her calf, before realizing how familiar that was.

She sucked on her bottom lip for a beat before whispering, “I’ve thought about Saturday night almost constantly since.”