The Player Next Door (14 page)

Mike’s groan was all the encouragement she needed. Apparently he was right. She didn’t need music. She peeked at him from around her ankle. She had to maintain eye contact right? What she saw was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and an erection that had swelled impossibly large. Maybe she should help him with that.

“Back up, baby,” he said.

“What?”

“Don’t straighten up. Just back up. A little more. A little…”

He’d directed her to back up until his hand could reach her. He could have just slid forward on the chair. It was on rollers, but clearly he was staying with the game, pretending to be immobilized.

She heard the clatter as the key dropped to the floor. And while she was looking in surprise at the tiny thing, she felt the very tips of his fingers caress her bottom. He feathered against her, but quickly adjusted. Soon he was slipping beneath her thong, pushing his fingers between her folds before slipping inside. She hadn’t intended this. Cuffing him had been about her taking control. But this was…wow. This was amazing.

He pushed his finger into her, and she clenched around him. Her head was spinning
—
in part from the angle, in part from the feel of him stroking her
—
and so she grabbed hold of the desk to anchor herself.

“Mike,” she gasped. He was right. She was surprised by what he could do with just his fingers. In and out, spreading her folds, then stretching forward to rub her clit. “Oh God.”

She felt his lips on her lower back. He was kissing her, nipping her skin while she rode his hand. “That’s it baby,” he said into her flesh. “Come for me.”

He was circling her clit, stroking her faster and faster. But at his words, he pushed against it. A quick stab shot her straight to the moon.

She cried out, arching as she bore down on his hand. He kept pulsing the pressure, up against her over and over while her orgasm crashed through her.

It lasted forever and not long enough. Her knees gave out and she fell away from his reach. It was fine though. She felt wonderful, and he was obviously pleased with himself. She was on the floor now, looking up at his grin. Languor making her legs weak and her gaze soft. And once again, her words tumbled out.

“I was wrong.”

“What, baby?”

“I was wrong,” she repeated as she slowly stretched her legs out. Mmmmm, she felt amazing. Her head dropped against the desk as she looked at him, all big and stunning even handcuffed to a chair.

“About?”

“I thought I wanted to be in complete control, but…” She shook her head. “It’s more fun to play together.”

He lifted his arms. “So uncuff me and I’ll show you
—
”

Ding dong
.

She looked up. So did he.

“Electrician?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not until tomorrow.”

“Oh. Then
—
”

Ding dong.

Suddenly she remembered. “Oh shit. It’s Wednesday.”

“It’s Thursday.”

“I know. But he’s just like me. Can’t keep track of time.” She snatched up the key, her mind working overtime. If she was right, he’d start banging on the door in about three seconds.

Mike was already working on the leather cuff. “Who is it?”

She couldn’t get the damned key past the pink feathers and into the lock. He was moving too much, so she abandoned him to pull on her shorts.

Bang bang bang.

Yup. There he was.

She fumbled zipping up her cutoffs. She glanced at Mike, her sense of the ridiculous making her giggle. At least he’d gotten one cuff off and was now scanning the floor for the other key. She tried to tell him she had it, but it was too late.

She heard the front door open. Oh hell. Only one person had the other key to her house. She grabbed her tee, pulling it down.

“Tori? Honey, are you here?”

She straightened the shirt then fluffed out her hair. “Coming, Daddy!” she called.

Mike’s head shot up. “Daddy?” he mouthed.

She nodded, then dashed out the door, nearly tripping as she flew down the stairs. “Hi there!” she called, hugging her father tight.

Then there were the usual pleasantries. The how are you, where’s Mom, what’s going on type questions. It wasn’t until they’d wandered into the kitchen together that she thought to wonder what the hell was taking Mike so long. He couldn’t be hiding up there, could he?

So she went to the bottom of the stairs. “Mike?” she called. “Come on down. I want you to meet my father.” Silence. “Mike?”

“There someone up there?” her father asked, coming to join her.

“Yeah,” she said. “My neighbor. You’ll like him.”

The two of them climbed the stairs and headed for the office. Surely he’d had plenty of time to get himself together by now.

“Mike?” she repeated, then they rounded the corner to see fully into the office.

Which is when she realized that she still had the key to the pink fuzzy cuffs in her hand.

Chapter Eleven

Mike had one prayer:
Don’t come up here. Don’t come up here.
It was her father, for God’s sake. And he was sitting handcuffed to her desk chair with his shorts undone. And no matter how he tried, he wasn’t going to be able to hide the pink fuzzies.

Never in the history of his dating girls had he ever made a good impression on a father. He was too big and—in his younger years—too wild. For once, he really wanted to show himself to be a decent guy to a dad. Just once.

But in this, his prayers were not answered, and up they came. First Tori’s light step, quickly followed by the heavy tread of her father’s. Fuck. He tried one last time to button his fly and failed again. At least he wasn’t bursting out of it anymore. Nothing like having the girl’s father walk in to cause massive shrinkage.

One last useless jerk of his arm
—
the damn chair was made out of steel
—
and then they were there. He tried to twist so the cuffs weren’t in view. It didn’t matter as Tori blushed an adorable pink and held up the key.

“I’m so sorry, Mike. I completely forgot.”

Yeah. He’d figured that out.

Meanwhile, he looked to the middle-aged father. Stocky build, about four hairs left on his balding pate, and a laser focus behind heavy, dark glasses. And naturally, he was looking straight at the pink cuffs. Great.

“Dad, I’d like you to meet Tutu.”

“Tori!” Mike groaned.

“Well, I have to explain the cuffs somehow. He was letting me try them out. I wanted to see if they pinched on a man his size.”

Jesus. He supposed Tutu was better than his real name. Just what the tabloids needed: a story about him in pink handcuffs.

Mr. Williams stepped forward. “Pleased to meet you, son.” He reached out to shake Mike’s right hand, but that was the one currently being restrained. Mike adjusted, offering up his left hand but that never worked with anyone.

Then there was the excruciating tick-tock of time passing as Tori fumbled with the cuffs. He hadn’t been so embarrassed since being caught in middle school behind the bleachers with Lizzy Cantor.

Fortunately Tori was more than able to fill the silence.

“So is Mom still gone?”

“Not still. Again.” Her father rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands in his pockets just as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Just dropped her off at O’Hare then came over here.”

Tori glanced at Mike. “It’s our Wednesday lunch.”

Except it was Thursday dinner.

Snick.

The cuffs dropped off him, thank God. Then a quick button of his fly and he could stand up and meet Tori’s father like a man. Maybe he could salvage the experience. Except he was significantly taller than Mr. Williams. He towered over most men, but Mr. Williams was more on the diminutive side. Which meant he tried to stay in a half crouch as he extended his hand, but the man was tilting backward as he looked into Mike’s eyes.

“I thought point guards were short.”

Shit. The man recognized him. He’d gotten so used to Tori’s family and friends being clueless that he was momentarily startled by the awareness in the guy’s eyes. Not starstruck, though. Just not clueless.

“Um, we are,” he finally said. “Relatively speaking.”

The man’s eyes went to Mike’s hurt shoulder. “So are you out?”

“Not yet, I’m not.”

Mr. Williams nodded. “Good. Not a fun game if the Bulls just trounce you.” Then he glanced at his daughter. “Your mom’s got me in the mood for some sushi. And peach pie.” Then he looked back at Mike. “What about you, Mr. Giamaria?”

“Please, call me Mike.”

“It’s probably better than Tutu.”

“Yes. Much.” Then he hesitated. He didn’t want to step on father/daughter time. “Tori, I can eat a lot of sushi, and you probably want to be alone—”

“Oh good. You like sushi, then.”

“I love it, but that doesn’t mean—”

She cocked her head at him. “Really, Mike. If you’re worried about how much you’re going to eat, you can pay.” She looked at her father. “Agreed?”

Her dad shrugged. “I’ll get the peach pie, then.”

She grinned. “Deal!” Then she linked arms with both men and began leading them out of the room. Well, she linked arms with her father, and then held Mike’s hand. There wasn’t room on the stairway for all three of them to walk side by side.

They ended up taking Mike’s car. No way was he going to fit comfortably in her little Prius or her father’s orange VW bug with “Sunkissed” painted on the side. Tori had apparently written it in magic marker years ago, and her father loved it so much he’d had it professionally painted.

Which became part and parcel for how the evening went. On the one hand it was like having dinner with Odd and Odder. Conversation wandered eclectically from highway construction through an art exhibit to stock prices and African rainfall. The connections those two drew between the most disparate things boggled his mind and yet was incredibly stimulating. When her father started comparing basketball plays to a termite invasion, Mike really got into the spirit of things.

He loved the way Tori’s mind worked, and with her father he could see just where she got it from. And though he had the distinct impression that they each had more than double his IQ points, he never felt left out. Confused, every now and then, but not left out. In short he had a great time.

Until the paparazzi showed up.

He thought he’d managed to hide from them. Plus, it wasn’t during the season, so unless he was dressing up as a catholic school girl or something—like wearing pink handcuffs—then no one should have cared where he was or what he was doing.

Except there was always a hungry reporter looking for fodder for the gossip rags. And whereas he would just ignore it, neither Tori nor her father were used to this type of attention.

He’d spotted the man early. The stooped guy in a hoodie had come into the quiet restaurant, sat at the sushi bar and snapped a few pictures. Mike leaned back, choosing to give the man a good picture of him eating sushi—really groundbreaking photojournalism there—before turning his back on him. Besides, they were having a fascinating conversation about the samurai code as it ought to apply to professional athletes.

Which is when Tori pulled a Sharpie out of her purse. She grabbed her paper placemat and flipped it over to write something in thick black letters. He couldn’t see what and before he could ask, she flashed him a mischievous smile.

“Will you kiss me in public?”

He hesitated. Did he want to declare his relationship with her publicly? Sure. After all, he’d been photographed with scores of women. Unless he said any different, she would be just another one in the crowd as far as the papers were concerned. But was she remotely prepared for the attention it might garner her?

“You sure?”

She grinned. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

So he leaned forward. He knew that he was giving the reporter a good shot. In fact, now that he thought about it, there weren’t pictures of him kissing anyone except his mother. This would be a first.

She met him halfway, her lips were soft and tasted of the saki she’d been drinking. Lord, she kissed like a dream, especially when she opened so sweetly to the stroke of his tongue. He felt her sigh in delight and could have lost himself in the texture of her. But he was in a public restaurant with her father and a journalist watching. It was time to dial it back.

So he pulled away and picked up his chopsticks, grateful that there was no view of his groin. Though it might be a while before he chanced standing up.

Meanwhile, she set down the paper mat and he finally got a look at what it said.

We need more press about people getting sick from bad water. Just a thought.

www.wateraid.org

He burst out laughing. Okay, so maybe she did have an idea of how to handle the paparazzi. He was so pleased that he could have kissed her again. He could have done a lot more, but once again, her father was sitting there.

Then just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, the proprietor of the restaurant showed up with a bakery peach pie. Mr. Williams handed the man two twenties and a few minutes later, Mike was taking huge forkfuls of the best peach pie he’d ever had.

He didn’t even have to ask the question. Tori held up her own gooey fork. “We come here a lot and usually call ahead. Mr. Harada knows to keep a peach pie ready for us.”

Her father grinned over at him. “Blueberry in the winter.”

“And chocolate on my birthday,” Tori added.

“Got it. Peach in the summer, blueberry in the winter, and chocolate in May.”

Tori blinked. Bet she hadn’t realized he knew her birthday. But he’d seen it on her driver’s license in her open wallet on the counter. A moment later, she grinned at him.

“A whole month?”

“Why not?”

She seemed to think about it and then agreed. Her father, too, and the conversation continued. Eventually, though, he had to pay the bill and soon they were back at Tori’s house.

All in all, it had been a great evening, and he decided he’d done well despite the crappy beginning. At least that’s what he thought until they made it to Tori’s front stoop when her father cleverly got rid of his daughter.