Crazy Thing Called Love (34 page)

After rolling on the condom he shifted back toward her, lifting her, arranging her like she weighed nothing, and it was exciting. So exciting to be positioned for someone’s pleasure.

His chest against her back, he curled up behind her.

Yes
, she thought,
like this. Just like this
.

They shifted and moved and then, with ease and power, he slid inside her. This position reminded her of sweet, sleepy morning sex. Her heart squeezed in her chest as her body welcomed him.

His hand slipped beneath her to cup her breast and she leaned forward, finding that spot of friction that made her crazy.

“Baby,” he groaned, his fingers clutching her hips as he sped up the rhythm. It was quiet in the room. No squeaking mattresses. No banging headboards. Just tortured, silent sex.

She gasped, ducking her head, feeling the pleasure start again. They curled and uncurled, slow and hard until they couldn’t stand it anymore. He tipped her forward so she lay on her stomach. He lifted her hips, coming to his knees behind her and she pushed up on her arms.

His hand ran up her spine, from the top of her ass to her neck, where he held her.

“Come on,” he groaned and eased all the way out of her and then pushed back in, hard. So hard she shook with it. Her toes and fingers curled and she pushed when he pulled and the dance between them was remembered and perfect.

Three strokes, four, and she splintered, exploded. He moved faster, quiet, always quiet, he slammed against her and then he was shaking, his fingers curled in her hair, his other hand gripping her hips so hard there would be bruises.

“Baby,” he moaned. “Oh God, Maddy …”

She collapsed on the bed and he fell beside her.

Don’t
she said to the recriminations circling her.
Stay away for just a few more minutes
, she told the regrets that were looking for a way in.

He reached between them and held her hand, twining his fingers with hers. Still silent, as if he had his own ghosts to persuade away.

From the other bedroom came the sound of Charlie’s muffled cry, and Billy and Maddy burst into action, throwing their clothes on. But then it was silent again and they stood like deer in her dark room, half-dressed.

He chuckled and then she did too and then they were laughing.

“How come we’re always sneaking around?” she asked.

He stepped over to her, cupping her face in his hands, her hair pressed against her head. There were a thousand things he could say, none of which she knew how to deal with. As if he knew, as if he could read her mind—and he probably could—he was silent.

He kissed her. Once. Again.

“Billy—” she sighed, but he shook his head.

“You’re thinking too much. This … this is simple.”

She sputtered with laughter. Nothing between them was simple. Ever.

“It is. You just make it complicated. For today, let’s just be simple.”

A coward at heart, she nodded. “Simple.”

“So do you or do you not have any beer?” he asked.

“I do,” she whispered and they walked into her living room, bathed in bright daylight.

But the brightest light brought out the darkest shadows and she was reminded with terrible piercing clarity that love had never been the problem for them.

It was the stuff that came with it.

“Oh my God!”
Billy breathed and rolled down the windows in the backseat of his car. He was fighting traffic into the city on Monday morning, but there was no way of fighting the smell in the backseat.

“See,” Becky said. “We shouldn’t have gone swimming yesterday.”

“It was your idea!” he cried. Becky had woken up this morning looking for blood, his. And he didn’t know how to manage going into Hornsby’s office to beg for his job back and a thirteen-year-old girl’s grudge match at the same time.

But fighting with her did keep his mind off the groveling, so it had a hidden benefit.

“I think it was the fruit you were force-feeding him this morning.”

“Charlie likes cantaloupe.”

“My tummy hurts,” Charlie moaned.

“I told you to go easy with the fruit for the first few days since your systems aren’t used to it.” He flashed his lights at the semi that was traveling at a snail’s pace in the fast lane.

“Don’t worry about our systems,” she snapped.

“Well, it’s hard not to when Charlie’s is polluting the air.” The semi was slowing down. Honest to God, the world was working against him.

“You are so crabby this morning.”

“
I’m
crabby?” He passed a semi on the right. “Me? You’re the one who’s acting like I’m the bad guy.”

“You should have just left us at your house.”

“Yeah. Right.” Billy looked at the girl in his rearview mirror. “Like you’d be there when I got home.” Whatever no-running-away agreement they’d established felt wafer-thin this morning. He thought they’d made progress at Maddy’s, but apparently not.

Women were such a freaking mystery, at any age.

Billy rolled down his own window because under his dress shirt he was starting to sweat. How ridiculous was it that he’d dressed up for his meeting with Hornsby?

And bringing the kids?

What the hell am I thinking?
Becky was a bad-spirited, stubborn foul-mouthed loose cannon. And Charlie smelled like crap.

But it wasn’t like he had a choice. Even if Becky kept her promise about not running away, it just felt wrong to leave the kids alone. They’d been left alone too much already.

And there wasn’t anyone he could call. Tara Jean and Luc were away. Maddy had her job.

He was solo with two kids.

Welcome to the rest of your life
, he thought.

He’d briefly thought about calling Vince for some backup with Hornsby. But this minor league situation, and needing to clear up the mess he’d made in order to get okayed as a foster parent—it all felt personal.

Having Vince there would only muddy the waters.

Besides, he didn’t need any more witnesses to the humiliation fun house of swallowing his pride and begging for another chance.

A few gag-filled minutes later, he pulled to a stop in the players’ parking lot and turned off the car, just as Charlie let another one rip.

“You need to go to the bathroom?” Becky asked her
brother and Billy turned to look at them. Somehow in the twenty-minute drive from his house to the office, the kid had gotten dirty. His face was smeared with something green.

“What—”

“Marker,” Becky said. “He had it in his pocket.”

“Great.” He sighed. Outside of the green on Charlie’s face, the kids looked good. The trip to Target had resulted in some new duds. Charlie was proudly wearing a Yoda T-shirt. And Becky had on another hoodie, this one purple, the zipper covered in rhinestones.

“We can wait in the car,” she said, all sneer.

Billy snorted, climbed out of the driver’s seat, and opened the back door, looking at Becky. She had a Target bag at her feet, full of diapers and spare clothes for Charlie. Some toys and snacks.

Thirteen years old and the girl knew how to pack a diaper bag. Guilt squeezed his chest down to nothing. One more negative emotion on top of the volcano he was already feeling.

“Look, this is a big deal for me, this meeting,” he said and Becky rolled her eyes. Ever since he’d told her he wasn’t going to send her back to Pittsburgh she’d been pushing him. He was no stranger to that type of behavior, having perfected it himself when he was a kid, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

“No. I’m serious. This is my career on the line. Right now.”

“Okay, fine. What do you want from me?”

“For you to be good. To not touch anything. To make sure Charlie doesn’t touch anything. Try to make sure he doesn’t gas the receptionist.”

“I can’t control Charlie’s farts.” Oh man, that attitude. It was so familiar. And so infuriating. He suddenly had a lot more sympathy for every teacher he’d ever had
who had reached out a helping hand only to have him snap it off at the bone.

Billy growled and walked around the car to lift Charlie out of his seat. If he were a cartoon, the boy would have green fumes rising up from his diaper.

“Charlie.” Charlie smiled up at Billy as he held the boy in his outstretched arms. Becky may have had some terrible change of heart toward him, but Charlie had nothing but love for Billy. Which was strange and slightly uncomfortable, but he would take support where he could find it. He checked Charlie’s diaper—no poo. “Can you hold it in for just a few minutes? Until Becky takes you to the bathroom.”

“Yes, Uncle Billy.”

“Good boy.”

“Whatever,” Becky sighed, and Billy was beginning to think that word was her personal motto or something. But he let it slide, unable to fight every battle.

They walked in the players’ entrance to the arena and then took an elevator up to the office level.

“What are you going to do in there,” Becky asked, “that’s so important?”

Billy watched the numbers climb on the readout above the door.
Swallow my pride. Grovel. Throw myself on Hornsby’s turtlenecked mercy
.

“Ask for my job back.”

“You got fired?” Becky asked, her voice scandalized. He glanced down and realized she wasn’t scandalized, she was worried. Scared, even.

“Sort of,” he muttered and looked back up at the numbers.

“I thought you were just in trouble.”

“It’s a little worse than that.”

“Because of us?” she asked. “Because of what I said on the show?”

“No.” He waved her off. The numbers stopped and
the doors opened with a bing and he took a step out. But Becky didn’t follow, and when he glanced back at her, she looked stricken. White. Her eyes round.

Oh.

“Becky, I’m in trouble because I’m kind of a jerk. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“You sure?” she whispered.

“That I’m a jerk? Yes.” She didn’t even break a smile. “It has nothing to do with you,” he said. “I swear.”

She tucked all that anxiety away, her face closed off again, and she took Charlie by the hand and led him out of the elevator. If Billy had more room in his body, he might try hard to assuage whatever guilt she felt, but he was besieged by his own demons at the moment.

“Wow!” Charlie cried as they turned the corner into the reception area of the Mavericks’ front office. “Fish!” He ran toward the giant fish tank built into the wall, smacking his hands and pressing his face against the glass.

“Excuse me—” Heather, the receptionist, stood up behind her desk, sending out all kinds of disapproving vibes, which only got worse when she saw Billy. “You’re nearly fifteen minutes late, Billy.”

“I am?” he said, while Becky tried to pull Charlie away from the glass. “I’m sorry, it’s surprisingly difficult to get a three-year-old out the door.”

“Well, Coach Hornsby is very busy today.” Heather raised a skeptical eyebrow. Despite her young age she was ironclad. Nothing happened on Heather’s watch that she didn’t expressly okay.

He thought of Charlie’s gas and smiled. “I understand, if you could just let him know that I’m here?”

“What …” She glanced over his shoulder. “What are you going to do with them?”

“You can’t watch them?”

She literally gasped in horror.

“I’m kidding, Heather. They’ll be fine.”

Just as the words left his mouth there was a wild ripping sound and a foul, foul odor filled the air.

“Charlie!” Becky cried.

“My tummy doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Did he just …” Heather’s lips didn’t move, her face was frozen.

“Poop? In your office? I think so.”

“Oh. My. God.” Heather’s lips still hadn’t moved.

Hornsby’s door opened and the man himself stood there, backlit by the sunlight beaming in through the windows of his office. Like he was God come down to earth.

“Billy?” he asked. “What’s going on? You’re late.”

Charlie shrieked and Billy, his heart pounding in his chest, turned around, expecting fecal disaster, but it was only Becky trying to catch her brother, and Charlie running away.

“Can you just give me a second?” Billy said, distracted by the kids. The smell. Heather’s panic. Hornsby’s judgment.

Hornsby made an expansive, go-right-ahead gesture.

Billy cornered the kids near the fish.

“You need to go change his diaper.”

“You think?” Becky whispered. “Tell him that.”

“Charlie, let Becky change your diaper. Why the hell does he still wear those things anyway?”

Becky turned wide eyes on him. Right. Not the best time to discuss toilet training. He crouched, getting eye to eye with Charlie, who stank more than rotting garbage.

“Charlie, I will give you anything you want if you just let Becky change your diaper.”

“Fish?” he asked, pointing at the aquarium.

“Anything.”

“Chuck E. Cheese?”

“God, no.”

“Billy?” Hornsby looked at his watch. “I have a schedule to keep.”

Billy looked from Hornsby to Charlie. “Yes. Okay. Chuck E. Cheese.” He turned toward Becky. “I will pay you fifty dollars if you can get him to behave himself.”