Losing to Win (18 page)

“Damn, girl!” He caught my hips to still my motions and I batted his hands away.

“I can't wait.” I used my thighs to lift up once more before rotating my hips and sliding down every steel hard inch once more.

He hissed. “Good Lord, woman! Condom?”

I paused midstroke and met his eyes. “I'm set for birth control unless you've got other worries?”

He shook his head rapidly. “Naw, I'm clean. I'd never endanger you like that. God, you feel good. So damn hot.”

I rotated on the down stroke once more and tightened my inner muscles around him. I used my fingernails to scratch lightly across his back. I felt a shiver run all the way through him and he shuddered over and over again, straining his hips toward me. He met me stroke for stroke, groaning in the back of his throat as I changed tempo. I'd reduced this big strong man to a quivering ball of nerves. I loved that I could do that to him. A slow smile crossed my face. “You good, Mal?”

“You're killing me.” His head fell back against the wall.

“Well, hold on, baby; let me put you out of your misery. We're gonna do this quick and dirty.” I shifted slightly to get better leverage and then began riding him at breakneck speed. “God, I love the way you fill me up.”

“Yes!” he hissed threw his teeth and held on for dear life.

For the next electric moments, all you could hear was the sound of flesh kissing flesh, meeting and separating in heated, liquid claps of sensation. The air was perfumed with our passion, sweat beaded on both our brows, breaths turned into ragged gasps as we strained toward completion.

“Carissa, I'm gonna . . .” he ground out through gritted teeth, arching his hips to delve deeper.

“I'm right there with you. Right there.” I slammed down on him one final time and convulsed into an ocean of pleasure. He tensed and let go inside of me, my wave feeding his wave and back again as we clung to each other to ride out the storm. Aftershocks sizzled through me as I leaned against him.

“What got into
you
?” he panted.

“You did. Quite magnificently.” I smirked and patted his shoulder. “Thanks, I needed that.”

“I think you took advantage of me,” he teased, pulling me tight for a hug.

“I was trying to thank you for buying me these lovely things.” I patted his cheek as our heart rates slowed to within normal range.

“A thank-you? Woman, that was a full frontal attack.”

I howled with laughter. “Poor little lamb, do you feel violated? Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“Definitely. Later. I'll hold you to that.”

“You do that.”

“And you are most certainly welcome. If I knew how hot buying you a few dresses would get you, I'd own boutiques across the country.”

“Ha! All of that is not necessary.” Lifting off of him, I had to deal with the messy practicalities of post-sex hygiene. “Hand me my purse, I have some wet wipes and bottled water in there.”

“Why do you carry wet wipes?” He looked confounded as he handed my bag to me.

“Girl Scout motto: Always be prepared.”

“That's Boy Scouts, and you were neither.”

I cleaned up as best I could and handed a fresh wipe to him. “We're always sweating on that damn show; I got tired of seeing film of myself glistening from head to toe.”

“At least you're pretty when you sweat; they have more shots of me looking shiny as hell.”

“You look hot when you sweat and you know it. They never fail to catch you standing around shirtless.” I eyed him up and down in admiration. He looked amazing. He was chiseled and fit, back in playing shape, from what I could tell.

“I worked hard to be able to stand around shirtless again.”

“Yeah, ya did. Look here, stud: tip on out there and grab me a pair of drawers from the countertop. These are done.” I slipped a slinky maxidress over my head and stepped into peep-toe wedge espadrilles before shimmying out of the sodden underpants.

“Oh yeah?” He grabbed them from me and sniffed. “Daddy likes.” He tucked the blue boyshorts into his back pocket.

“You are so nasty.”

“You like me like that.”

“True. Go get me some drawers so we can be outta here. I'm starving!”

“You worked up an appetite . . . seductress.”

“You like me like that,” I teased right back.

“I love you like that,” he said and walked away before I could respond.

Whoa. He loved me loved me? Or loved me when I was naked and riding him like a cowgirl? Or did I even want to open that can of worms right now? He handed me a pair of panties with pink and blue hearts on them and I stepped into them.

“I want seafood,” I announced, pulling my purse onto my shoulder, playing the avoidance card.

“Whatever the lady wishes.” He nodded and smoothed my hair back into place, letting me get away with it.

We were standing by the register innocently when the sales staff returned from their extended coffee break.

“Everything work out?” Heather asked, only needing to hit the TOTAL button on the register to finish us up. The register spit out what seemed like miles of receipt. She tore it off and handed it to Mal. I tried to glance at it and he tilted it away from me.

“It certainly did.” Malachi nodded, tucking his credit card back into his wallet and signing the receipt. “We appreciate your help today.” He took my hand and led me toward the door.

“Thanks so much!” I echoed.

“Good luck on the show!”

“We'll need it!” I called back as we headed out. I glanced back at the store and then up at him.

“Did you forget something?” he asked.

“Just one thing,” I said, reaching up and kissing him on the lips. “Thanks for a great day.”

“Aw, babe, we're just getting started,” he promised.

 

 

“B
lue Streak! Looking good! Got your best girl with you, huh?” some random reveler at the Blue Nile called out as Carissa and I took to the dance floor. We'd just come from an amazing dinner at Dooky Chase's restaurant in Tremé. I was making good on my promise to take her dancing.

“Yessir, you know it!” I replied and spun Cari in a quick circle before pulling her close. She looked sexy as hell. She was rocking a hot pink halter dress that showed off all her hard work. Her skin glowed and her curly hair was glossy and fell around her pretty face. Even more than looking smoking hot, she looked rested, happy, and carefree. I hadn't seen her look like this in years. The fact that I had a part in her happiness made me feel ten foot tall and unstoppable.

The live band was excellent. The lead singer was crooning about moonlight on the bayou. I swayed Carissa around the floor, loving every minute of this closeness. I closed my eyes and ran my hand across her smooth back.

“This is nice,” she murmured, tucking in closer to me.

“Mmm. Definitely,” I agreed. The music changed to an uptempo zydeco and I took a step back. “Ready to show me what you're working with?”

She twirled once with her arms upraised and pointed at me. “Try and keep up, Knight.” She did some complicated footwork that was doubly impressive considering those sexy-ass stilts she was wearing and added some sort of shoulder shimmy.

“Oh, we really dancing? All right, then.” I leaned in to match my steps to hers. We were rocking when a bright flash went off right next to us.

“Mal! Carissa! Smile!” a photographer called out. Then another and another. Suddenly we were blinded by flashes. What the hell?

“Are you two back together?”

“Mal, you ready for your tryout?”

“If Houston doesn't pick you up, will you come play in New Orleans?”

“Carissa, how's he treating you this go-round?” The flashes and questions kept coming one after the other.

“You have GOT to be kidding me!” Carissa hissed under her breath.

I linked our fingers and murmured in her ear, “Must be a slow news night. The sooner we give them a photo op, the sooner they'll leave us alone.”

We posed for a few minutes. Carissa was handling it like a pro. This was an area we'd had problems with before in my playing days. Carissa used to say she'd signed on to be with a man, not a personality, and she hated the whole pseudocelebrity thing. If I could thank the show for anything besides placing me back in her path, it would be getting Carissa comfortable or at least able to bear to stand in the spotlight for a few minutes without being too irritated.

“We're just enjoying a weekend off. Thanks for all your good wishes,” Carissa stated without really answering any of their questions. As we turned to sit in the VIP section, a young woman with way too many assets on display stepped into our path. “Carissa, you really think you can keep him this time?”

“I'm sorry, what's your name?” I asked, holding Carissa's hand tighter when she moved to pull away.

She thrust her chest out, tossed her hair back, and flashed her overly whitened teeth at me. “I'm Leslie.”

“Well, Leslie, that's rude. Not just rude but also disrespectful. To her and to me. Don't be that chick.” I stepped around her and led Carissa over to the booth in the farthest corner of the VIP area. I sat on the plush velvet bench and she sat across from me. I tugged her closer until my legs bracketed hers and I could read her expression. I gazed into Cari's face, trying to gauge what she was thinking and feeling. “You mad?”

She studied me a long moment before answering. “No. Surprised.”

“Why?”

“You never stood up for me in front of the groupies before.”

“Sure I did.”

“No. You didn't. You laughed it off and told me it was all part of the package.”

I winced because the minute she quoted me, I knew I had said it. “Have I apologized for being an arrogant ass before?”

“You have.” A slow smile started spreading across her face.

I leaned in and nuzzled her ear. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“This weekend was a good start.” She raised her face to mine and a flashbulb went off again. “This is crazy. We're not that famous. Well,
I'm
not that famous. Your Blue Streak mojo is killing us here.”

“I'm sorry to burst your bubble, babe, but you, Carissa Wayne, are now a reality-television star. The flashes are as much for you as for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Last thing I ever would have put on my bucket list.”

“What IS on your bucket list?” I was curious.

“You want to discuss that here? Now?” She looked incredulous.

“Well, we don't have to get deep. I just wondered what your ‘before I'm eighty' checklist looked like.”

She leaned her head closer to mine. “The regular things, I guess. Get married, have some kids, open the youth center, teach a few kids a few things along the way, travel to as many tropical locations as I can, be healthy and happy, surrounded by people who love me.” She put her hands up in a shrug. “Regular, right?”

I nodded. “Funny, my bucket list is the same. Just add win the Super Bowl, hoist the trophy, and do a victory dance in the end zone.”

‘Well, you don't want much,” she teased.

“I don't think so,” I teased back. I wanted to ask her if she saw me as her partner for those bucket-list plans, but I wasn't sure of her answer and didn't want to spoil this easiness between us if the answer was no. Not right now. We were having an epic weekend. I aimed to keep it that way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some guy holding up his iPhone filming us. “Okay, you're right—this is a little crazy.”

“Mal?”

“Yep?”

“Do something for me?”

“Name it.”

“Get us outta here.”

“I thought you wanted to dance?”

“We can dance in the room.”

“We CAN dance in the room,” I agreed readily.

“We can dance in the room naked,” Carissa said silkily, running her hand up my thigh. I didn't need any more prompting.

I motioned to one of the staff members and handed him my valet stub. “Can you have that brought around . . . quickly?”

“Yes, Mr. Knight.” He took off racing toward the door.

Cari giggled and mimicked him. “Yes, Mr. Knight.”

I stood up and pulled her with me. “Um-hmm, that's all you need to say the rest of the evening. Yes, Mr. Knight. Okay, Mr. Knight. More, Mr. Knight.”

Her eyes heated up and she linked her fingers through mine. “So we're outta here,” Carissa announced to the few people still snapping pictures and invading our privacy.

“Already gone,” I agreed and strode for the door.

 

 

“I
don't wanna go back,” I whined. Yes, flat-out whined. We were less than fifteen miles away from Belle Haven and I wanted to go back to that hotel room in New Orleans where I only sweated for the best of reasons and didn't have to worry about saying the exact wrong thing to the American viewing public. I could not have planned a better weekend had I tried. Even with the crazy paparazzi thing last night, it hadn't dulled our enthusiasm for the city and for each other. The weekend was great because Mal and I had been together—alone—and that was all we needed.

But that idyll was over. We were less than a half hour away from life in the fishbowl, twenty-four yoga poses in forty minutes, tiny bunk beds, Suzette with the dagger, and watching every word I said lest it be broadcast to the masses. Did I mention I was pretty much over it?

Plus, the closer we got to Belle Haven, the closer we got to Mal's tryout and that uncertain future I wasn't prepared to face. No. I didn't want to go back.

As he'd responded with infinite patience each and every time I bitched and moaned, Mal again patted my knee reassuringly and answered, “It's not worth getting yourself wound up about. If you're done, you're done.”

“And then what happens?” I said grumpily.

“Then we have choices. We can go to your house, my rented spot, or our home in Houston.”

Our home in Houston? Did he really still consider that to be our home? When I drove away from there all those years ago, I vowed never to go back. I was so not prepared to deal with that right now.

He took his eyes off the highway for a second to flick a glance my direction. “I can hear the gears turning. What are you thinking?”

“The next move is one you're thinking we make together?” I danced around the issue.

“All of my next moves have you attached to them, Carissa. I don't know what you're thinking and you clearly don't want to get into this now, but know that at least. Whatever comes next, I want you there.”

For how long? Until what? As what? And what happens to me when football takes over again? All questions I wanted to ask but didn't want to hear the answer to. Not yet. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I hear you.”

“And?” he pressed.

“It's food for thought.”

“You are so chicken.”

“Not chicken.”
Denial, we'll need a table for one
, I thought to myself.

“What would you call it?”

“Gun shy,” I reasoned.

“You know, Carissa, you said you forgave me, but you act like you don't,” he accused in a hurt voice.

And just like that we were talking about it. “I do forgive you. But don't think I've forgotten. You put me through some shit, Mal. Wait, let me rephrase that. It wasn't all you. I allowed myself to get lost in what you wanted and what you needed to the point where I didn't get to exist and I'm not doing that again.”

“I'm not going to be that guy again. We aren't those people anymore. I wouldn't ask you to give up anything for me,” he stated with a conviction I both envied and questioned.

The unspoken question, “What
are
you asking me?” hung there between us. In my mind, I weighed whether or not we should just go ahead and have it out now. What were we doing, where were we going, what came next? But it didn't make sense to have this conversation before his tryout in two weeks. I sighed deeply and reached over for his hand. “Can we talk about all of this after the tryout?”

“No matter what happens, I know what I want. The results of the tryout are not going to change what I'm thinking, but okay.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

“So what's it gonna be? We finish the show? We break for freedom? We hide out in Hawaii? Whatcha wanna do, Cari? Back on campus, your place?”

Before I could answer, my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my purse and looked at the display. It was Ruby. “Hey, what's up?”

“You better get over here.” She sounded stressed.

“Where is here?”

“Your house.”

“You're at my house?” I echoed, confused. Mal glanced over with concern stamped on his features.

“Yeah, me and Mom. And Aunt Elaine. And a bunch of cameras.”

That couldn't be good. “What's going on?”

“Guess who's back?”

I shook my head; I couldn't imagine whose arrival would stir up this much drama. “Who?”

“Stacy Wayne.”

My father. Of course. The spotlight on Belle Haven was shining too brightly for him not to want a piece of it. Which would be okay if he didn't leave devastation and destruction in his wake whenever he breezed through. Like a vicious hurricane. Dammit. “I'm on my way.” I flung the cell phone toward my purse and pressed my hands over my eyes. I did NOT need this right now.

“What's wrong, babe?” Mal asked.

“Blue.”

The one-word answer had him tightening his lips and stepping on the gas. “We'll be there in five.”

 

 

“Hey, Princess! Look at you looking better than new money!” Stacy “Blue” Wayne called out from the front porch of my house as I jumped out of Mal's truck with my purse on my arm. One undeniable fact about Stacy: he was attractive and he was charming... on the surface. Stacy was a pretty man the exact color of roasted cocoa beans with thick kinky hair; a reed-thin, tall rangy body; and scoundrel's smile. If you didn't know him very well, he was a hell of a guy to hang out with. He earned the nickname “Blue” not from the color of his skin or his love of the music genre but because his mother had stated (on many occasions), “This boy right here was born to give me the blues.” The main problem with Stacy Wayne was that he was a spoiled little kid in a grown man's body who never took responsibility. The one thing you could count on Blue to do was let you down. Sooner or later, he always did.

My mother and Aunt Elaine stood off to the side looking as if they'd already gone forty rounds in the ring with the devil himself. Ruby and Renard stood in front of my door clearly blocking entrance. Cameras were set up to the side of the driveway capturing every tense expression and moment.

I knew, I just KNEW that the minute it looked like this show was bringing some shine to Belle Haven, he would show up as if his presence was requested, hat in hand, trying to get a piece of whatever action there was to be had. And here he was—literally, with a straw fedora in his hand and slick grin on his face—walking toward me with his arms outstretched as if he'd been any kind of a father to me. I stiffened. I did not want to snub him in front of the cameras, but neither was I going to pretend like we were all some big happy family. I kept myself from taking a step back.

Before he could embrace me, Mal stepped in front of him and grabbed his hand and shook it. “Blue. What brings you back into Belle Haven? Last I heard you were lighting up the Vegas strip.”

Blue looked annoyed at the interception. “Last I heard you had broken my baby girl's heart and were nowhere to be found.”

Okay, that was enough fodder for the cameras. “I guess we all have some things to catch up on. Let's go inside,” I prompted, skirting around my father and marching up onto the porch. I motioned to Renard. “Make sure they don't film us inside the house, will you?”

“I got you, sis.” He nodded as we filed past him.

Herding everyone into the kitchen, I swiveled and put my hands on my hips. “What do you want, Dad?”

“Ah no, come on now. Can't a man want to see—”

“Cut it,” I interrupted. “Nobody here is buying it and the cameras and microphones are all outside. What do you want?”

“Eloise, you just gonna let her talk to me like that?”

“She's a grown woman, Blue. She has been for a long time now. I guess you'd know that if you stuck around without wreaking havoc for more than a minute,” my mom said tiredly as she dropped into a chair at the dining table.

Remembering my manners, I walked to the fridge. “Anybody want something to drink?” Just because we were dysfunctional as hell, didn't mean we couldn't follow basic Southern hospitality rules. I spent the next few minutes handing out water and tea. Blue asked for a beer. Ruby snatched it from my hand and slammed it down in front of him.

“Just tell us what it's going to cost us to get you outta here so we can write the check and you can be onto the next,” Ruby snarled.

“Write the check?” I asked in confusion. “Who has been writing him checks?”

The entire room fell silent. I looked around with mounting dismay.

“Wait a damn minute; you all have been paying him to stay away?” I was appalled. Not that I wanted him to stick around, but I wanted him gone without any of our money lining his lazy-assed pockets. No one would meet my eyes. “Why?”

Eloise shrugged. “That's all he wants anyway, and he makes such a pain in the ass, baby. It's easier to just cut a little check and be done with it.”

Ruby nodded.

I noticed Mal was mighty quiet. “Mal? Not you too?”

“You don't want to go stirring up old history,” my father said too quickly for my liking.

“Malachi Henry Knight, did you give my father money?”

He shrugged. “It was less drama.”

All of a sudden, the answer came to me. “Was he blackmailing you? With what?”

“Ris, he threatened to make up all sorts of bullshit. Go to the press with anything he could come up with to make trouble for us. He just wanted a little piece of the pie, said it was his due as your father. Like your mama said, it was easier to just give him the money. I could afford it, it's not that big of a deal.”

“It's a huge damn deal, Mal.”

“Baby, I took care of it.”

“How much over the years?” I snapped and noticed my father shuffling uncomfortably. “How. MUCH?”

“Probably around fifty grand total,” Malachi announced and everyone except Blue gasped.

Tears sprang to my eyes, not just because my father was basically a con artist, but because Mal had shouldered this alone. “Mal, you didn't have to do that. You could have told me!”

“I wanted to protect you from this. You didn't need Blue drama on top of everything else. Besides, it would've just made you unhappier than you already were,” he said sadly as tears ran down my face.

I could not believe that my father had basically been holding this family hostage for years. I could not believe the lengths that Mal went to in order to protect me from him. All of that ended today. Right the hell now. I snatched the beer out of my father's hand. “You will never see another red cent from this family or anyone affiliated with us. You do your worst. You cannot touch us anymore. Do you hear me?”

“Carissa Melody, I don't want no trouble. But it ain't right for the fam to be doing so good and not share with your daddy. I mean, you're here because of me. You got this fine house and this rich man, but you came from me. I'm your father....”

“In name only. I'm here in spite of you, not because of you.” I pulled Malachi over to me and brushed a kiss across his lips. “Thank you.” He brushed a tear off my face with his thumb. I stepped back, wiped the remaining tears from my face and opened my purse. Taking out my makeup kit with shaking hands, I reapplied lipstick and mascara before fluffing my hair. I brushed nonexistent wrinkles from the bodice and skirt of my spaghetti-strapped navy blue maxidress. “How do I look?” I turned to Ruby.

She hopped up to stand beside me. “Ready to do battle. What are we doing?”

I tilted my chin up and stormed out to the front porch. I motioned for the cameras to come closer. “As you may know, my father has come to Belle Haven for a visit. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen this man over the course of the past ten years. Blue Wayne is a selfish man. He is a deadbeat dad who has two good things about him: He's a brilliant guitarist and he had the good sense to pick a hell of a woman to birth his two children. Well, two that I'm aware of and acknowledge. I just found out that he has been extorting money from people I care about so that he won't make trouble for me. I'm not going to allow that to happen anymore. If anyone in this town or on this show gives my father money, I'm done. You can feel free to shut down
Losing to Win
, sue me for breach of contract, and pack up your cameras and go. He is not a part of my life. Are we clear?”

Marcy, who had shown up at some point, nodded with her eyes wide as saucers. No doubt she was already figuring out how to edit the latest Carissa Wayne melodrama into next week's trailer.

I poked my head back in the house. “Blue? You can go now.”

“We need to talk about this, little girl!”

“We actually don't . . . Dad,” I snapped out as Renard and Malachi ushered him out the front door.

Marcy piped up quickly as we were shutting the door. “When will you and Mal be back on campus?”

“Half an hour,” I replied. Mal cleared his throat. I looked over at him. He gave me a look hot enough to burn through metal. We were going to need a little adult alone time. “Um . . . two hours?” He nodded.

“Okay, we'll be waiting for you two in the confessional.”

“I'll just bet you will,” I murmured and slammed the door shut.