Misconduct

He stepped through the door, and I backed away, letting him in.

“There wasn’t so much on Easton Bradbury, the Loyola student or teacher,” he told me, closing the door behind him. “But there were thousands of hits and pictures on you as an athlete.” He inched closer to me, not giving up. “Tennis player, close family, promising future that crashed and burned when…” He trailed off, and I looked up, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes.

I smoothed my hand down my T-shirt and shorts, steeling my spine.

Now he knew everything. Nearly everything.

There were articles, video footage, interviews… My rise had been highly publicized, and so had my fall.

When my parents and sister died on that rainy night in a vicious accident, I’d lost everything. My routine, the world as I knew it, and my desire to play.

Who was I if I wasn’t the star in their lives, and why the hell did I want to play tennis anymore anyway?

It was my fault they’d been driving that night, and when it was time to get back on the court, my will to play was gone. Even now, on the rare occasion I tried, my game had gone to shit.

My magnificent exit and display of temper were forever digitized. I’d forfeited the match and walked off the court, pushing cameras and microphones out of my face as I left for the last time.

“Easton, I’m sorry.” Marek reached out and touched my cheek

But I pushed his hands away and stepped back. “Stop apologizing.”

How dared he act like I needed to be put back together?

“Don’t handle me, Tyler,” I growled. “I’m tired of everyone hovering and sticking their noses in. You don’t matter,” I shot out bitterly, “so stop trying to push your way in.”

I charged into the living room, but he grabbed my arm and swung me back around, pulling me to him. I crashed against his chest, the rain on his clothes like ice against my arms and legs, and my breath caught.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I don’t matter. I don’t matter so much that there was no way in hell you could say no to me today,” he charged. “And I’d be willing to bet I’m the first man you can’t say no to, because it’s the same way for me.”

He bent his head down to mine, our noses brushing. “You’re strong and proud, resilient and capable. I can see that.” His voice was thick, like he was feeling more than he was saying. “I value those qualities in a person, Easton. You don’t give anyone an inch, and it’s like looking into a mirror, because it’s the same independence I value.” He looked at me like a dare and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer and whispering, “And when I touch you, I can’t explain what I feel, but I know you’re feeling me, too.”

I closed my eyes, inhaling his sweet scent of cologne and leather – probably from his car – and even the cold rain on his clothes couldn’t cool me down now.

I let my head fall to the side against his chest as I spoke, closing my eyes. “Everyone watched me all the time.” I trembled. “The cameras, the crowd, my parents… Everything I did was under a microscope.”

I slipped my arms inside his jacket and wrapped them around his waist.

“If my lips were tight, then I was angry,” I told him, reminiscing about the commentators’ assumptions as they watched me on the court. “If I hesitated, I was scared. If I didn’t smile at the camera, I was a spoilsport…”

I dipped my nose into his shirt, inhaling a long breath before I looked up at him. “Everything was judged.” I shrugged. “And when my parents and younger sister died in a car accident, it only got worse. Everyone was in my face.”

I pulled away, turning around and crossing my arms over my chest.

“So I started over,” I told him. “Jack and I moved to New Orleans, went to college, and let the past go.”

I turned and locked eyes with him. The room looked so small with him in it, and I realized that he was the first person, other than my brother, who’d been in my apartment. Droplets of rain spilled down his temple and neck, and I licked my lips, trying to keep the libido that was beginning to heat low in my stomach chained.

I cleared my throat. “But after five years, my brother still tries to hold my hand. He still worries about me. Am I happy? Do I smile enough?” I approached Tyler, dropping my arms to my sides. “He forgets that I’m a grown woman.”

I slipped my hand against his, resting it there lightly. “But you don’t,” I whispered, seeing his fist curl, holding mine inside it.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly, his breath fanning across my forehead. “I should’ve treated you —”

I cut him off, looking up. “I like how you are with me. You’re not careful with me. You see more of me than anybody else does.”

I pressed my body against his, arching up on my toes and leaning toward his lips. His breath hitched, and I slipped my hands inside his jacket again and gripped his waist.

“Don’t be careful with me, Tyler,” I whispered, catching his bottom lip, sucking it quickly and then letting it go. “Please,” I pleaded.

And he groaned, closing his eyes and diving in.

He held me to his body and captured my mouth, moving over my lips slow but hard. He tasted cool and fresh, like water, but then he pulled away and dove for my neck.

I gasped, his hot breath on my skin causing chills to spread over my body as he kissed and bit me gently.

“Don’t be careful,” I reminded him in a whimper as I reached up and circled his neck with my arms, holding him to me.