No longer hungry, I push my plate away, and when the waitress approaches, I order a second mimosa. I’m not sure why I’m so upset. None of what they’ve said is new information to me. I guess it’s just that I have no idea if we’re exclusive and if we’re not, I don’t want to do this if we’re not. I don’t want feelings involved but I also don’t want to sleep with him if he’s still sleeping around when he’s on the road. I’ve been hurt by him before and it would crush me to know that I’m nothing but a number to him, someone to warm his bed on the off-nights that he’s not taking a puck bunny home.

Obviously the champagne has gone to my head, because I fish my phone out of my purse, and compose a text to him under the table.

You know what, I changed my mind about this week.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

His reply comes in a few seconds later.

Why? Did I do something wrong?

I scoff, and set my cell in my lap. I don’t want to start a fight with him right now. I don’t want to talk about any of this. The truth is, my girlfriends are right. He gets so much regular sex, my absence in his bed won’t matter. He’ll hardly even notice it. The anger simmering under the surface rises to a low boil. I can’t believe I thought this idiotic plan would ever work. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, deciding on a simple, straight-forward reply.

I can’t talk right now.

Bailey and Becca are talking about seeing the new rom com that’s releasing in theaters this week, and I mumble something about joining them. But I’m so distracted. And now pissed off. I feel my phone vibrate and I look down to see another text from him.

If this is what you want, I’ll respect your decision. But we’re going to talk about this.

I roll my eyes, my fingers flying over the keys as I reply.

I’d rather not be exposed to whatever you pick up from all the women in your bed.

After several seconds of silence, I assume he’s not going to text me back, mostly likely because he’s got no come-back for that. Which only makes me feel worse, because it means I’m right. I didn’t want to be right. But at least I found this out now before I got in too deep.

But then my phone is ringing. I look down. He’s calling me. Why the hell is he calling me right now?

I hit ignore and send the call to voicemail. Becca is watching me, obviously wondering what the hell is going on. My phone starts vibrating again, and I slide from the booth, with the excuse of needing to go to the bathroom.

In the back hallway near the restrooms, I answer my phone.

“Yes?” I say, tone clipped.

I hear a door closing, and I picture him going into his bedroom to get privacy away from Owen. “Elise? What the hell is going on?” he says, tone filled with confusion.

“You tell me.” I place one hand on my hip, waiting for his reply. It feels like so long ago that we were in my kitchen, kissing and drinking coffee and making plans.

“I don’t know what you think this is between us,” he says. “But while we’re doing this, I have no plans to be with anyone else. And I get tested regularly. The whole team does.”

And now I feel bad because I never meant to imply that he had a sexually transmitted disease, I was just frustrated over the thought of being one of many. Even if we are just messing around, it’s still a big deal to me.

I lick my lips and take a deep breath. “What are you saying? Are we exclusive? We’re just messing around right? It wouldn’t be fair to expect that of you.”

He lets out a tense breath. “Let me help you understand this. First, hell yes we’re exclusive. For whatever this is and however long it lasts, I’m not fucking anyone but you. And you’re sure as hell not fucking anyone else either.”

The knot in my stomach suddenly eases. “Oh, okay.”

“Okay? We’re good then?” he says.

“Yeah.”

Justin chuckles, the sound warm and soft and all the tension melts away. “Are you still at brunch?”

“Yes. And I better, um, go.”

He makes a sound of disagreement. “We’re going to talk more about this.”

“Justin…” I plead, gazing back at our table.

“I’m serious, Elise. The next time I see you I want to know who or what got into your head and made you think you were just a casual fuck buddy to me. I’ve known you for damn near my entire life. Don’t you think that means something?”

My stomach swarms with butterflies and I nod, before realizing I’ve gone entirely mute. “I ---”

“You’re going to tell me, and if you don’t, I have ways of getting the information out of you, you know.”

“Okay, we can talk later, but I really do have to go.” Before I do or say anything else to embarrass myself. And with that, I hang up and stuff my phone in my back pocket to re-join my girlfriends at the table.

18

* * *

The Chase

Justin

“She’s worried she’s going to turn into a crazy old cat lady,” Owen says, frowning.

I pause, weighing his words as my brain scrambles to catch up. “Who are we talking about again?” To say I’m a little distracted would be a massive understatement.

“Becca,” he says with a tone that asks if I’ve been following his story at all.

Shit. After finishing my last rep, I set the weights that I’ve been lifting down and heave out an exhale. “Does she even own a cat?”

“Nope,” Owen confirms, grabbing two forty-pound dumbbells and taking a seat on the bench beside mine. “I told her that it’s fucking ridiculous.”

I knew only a little bit of Becca’s history. It wasn’t something she liked to broadcast to our friend group, but I knew she was a sexual assault survivor. The keyword there was survivor. Owen once said the word victim in Elise’s presence, and she almost castrated him.

Becca seemed normal enough. She wasn’t timid around men, at least not within our group of friends, but apparently she hadn’t been out on a date in two years and Owen had called her on it. Which led to them having a whole discussion, which leads to this moment where Owen is replaying the entire thing to me while we work out.

I grab my towel from the bench and wipe the sweat from the back of my neck.

His story is a welcome distraction, because I’ve spent the last several days replaying my time with Elise like a song on repeat.

I may be at the gym inside our training facility, but my mind? It’s still firmly on last Saturday night, the night I spent in Elise’s bed. I can’t stop thinking about her soft skin, or the way she felt in my arms, or the things she can do with her mouth… I’ve thought about that a lot too, specifically in the frequent showers I’ve been taking since last Saturday.

I’ve also been replaying that weird conversation we had, and the fact that she compared herself to a random hookup.

I haven’t had the chance to see her since then. She’s been busy with work and other personal commitments. Part of me is a little thrown off by this. To be honest I’m not used to women being too busy to see me, or turning me down for sex—which she did the morning we woke up together. Granted maybe she really was too sore, but somehow I don’t think that’s the whole story.

Elise isn’t some fan-girl who drools all over me, or idolizes the ground I walk on. In a way, it’s been refreshing to be told no. She doesn’t care who I am, or what I can do with a stick and a six-ounce disk of hard rubber. I’m just Justin to her. She’s doing this on her terms, and it only makes me want to chase her more.

Owen is still talking, and I’m trying like hell to listen, but the memory of my conversation with Elise about exclusivity pops into my head and I have to hold in a chuckle. I still haven’t gotten the story of exactly why that topic came up, but I have a feeling there was something said during brunch with her girlfriends that made her go all possessive-territorial over my cock. And fuck if I don’t like that. It’s all hers, she can have it for as long as she wants it. There is no one else I want more than Elise, which made it very easy to agree to her terms. Plus, the thought of her with another man? Fuck that. I want to be the one to please her, and spend time with her, and provide all the orgasms she can handle.

“You done?” Owen asks, standing over me.

I’m pretty sure I spaced out five minutes ago and have just been laying on the mat rather than stretching. I straighten and sit up. “Yeah, I’m good.”

I grab my towel and my water bottle and we make our way to the showers.

After stripping down, we grab a few towels from the stack and each head into a shower stall. Each shower is divided by a half-wall, so the tops and bottoms are open.

Owen tests the water before stepping in, while I crank mine to the hottest it will go and ease myself under the spray.

“I texted Elise and invited her over for dinner tonight. You going to be around?” Owen asks as I rub shampoo into my hair.

I will now. “Yeah. Sure.” I silently congratulate myself on my casual tone. Even if I hate the idea of sneaking around Owen to get to Elise, at least for right now, it’s a necessity.

On the way home, Owen’s driving, so I fire off a quick text to Elise.

I hear you’re coming for dinner tonight.

It only takes her a few seconds to reply.

Owen talked me in to cooking. Are you going to be home?

I shoot back. I’ll eat anything you spread in front of me. :)