Petite Madeleine: Drew's Story (Meadows Shore Book 3) (14 page)

He messaged her calves, swirling his tongue along the bottoms of her feet, massaging her Achilles with strong thumbs. Then he swept his hands in long strokes over her inner thighs until she was sure every bone in her body had dissolved.

“Turn over,” he commanded.

She obeyed him instantly, turning on her back, with her legs slightly parted, as if to lure him there.

His lips quirked, and he stole his tongue into her mouth, but he didn’t linger. “In good time,” he breathed. “Lift your arms over your head, again. That’s it, baby.” When she clutched the headboard, he nearly lost all control.

After swallowing her moans, he trailed kisses down her glistening skin.

Nipping.

Laving.

Kissing.

Again.

And again.

Her hips moved madly under him, as if hoping his cock would have a mind of its own and find its way into the throbbing heat. Grabbing one leg in each hand he slid down her body, and blew softly over the dark curls. His warm breath was cold against the hot mound, and shocked her skin. His mouth lavished all its attention on her inner thighs, his teeth branding the tender flesh while he held her still.

“
OhGodOhGodOhGod
, Drew. Please. Please.” She pushed against his hands, but he was so much stronger, and held her legs firmly in place.

Moving lower on the bed, he positioned her legs over his shoulders, lifting her slightly off the bed, completely open to him. He slid his flat tongue over the wet bundle of nerves and she screamed, a long, loud, piercing sound. “Is that what you need, baby?”

He pulled his mouth away, torturing her, torturing himself, waiting for an answer. But she only whimpered.

Wiggling her hips, she searched in vain for friction to soothe the ache. But he held her steady and open, making it impossible for her to satisfy the growing need. All the while he indulged himself with her smooth inner thighs, bestowing all his attention on the creamy, tender skin. Only when he was satisfied she’d waited long enough, did he run his pointed tongue from bottom to top over the swollen nub.

“Or is that what you need? he asked pulling away again.

“Yes!” she hissed.

He ran a finger over her core, wetting it, and dipped it inside the heat. Then he lowered his mouth, exploring her intimately, gliding his tongue over the center of the tight bud and then along the left ridge, where he knew she was most sensitive. She bucked hard, and he knew she was close. So very close.

Pulling his mouth away, he slid a finger in and out, caressing the inner wall, lowering his mouth again only when he was ready to slide in a second finger. In and out. In and out. With no familiar pattern for her to adjust to. He grazed his teeth along her clit, and gently sucked the sensitive nub until she shattered under him, screaming his name again and again. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s rendition of the “Halleluiah Chorus” never sounded so joyful. He lapped lightly, until the contractions were barely perceptible on his tongue.

And only then did he reach in his bedside table for a condom, rolling it over himself in one quick, easy motion.

He took her hand and brought it between her legs, “I think you’re plenty wet for me.”

She gave him a modest look, but there was nothing shy about the way she grasped his shaft and guided it to her hot, wet opening. He pushed her hand away. “I won’t last like that, baby. Your hand feels too good on me.”

Easing into her slickness, inch by inch, his body quivered with tightly leashed passion. It was a moment suspended in time, one he was sure he’d never forget.

“Open your eyes, Cassie. Look at me. I want you right here with me, I want to share this with you.”

She was tight, and grasping at his hips, lifting hers, needing more, wanting more. Whimpering. But he stayed focused, forced himself to stay in control until he was completely buried inside her. His lips came down on hers, and her body arched pulling him deeper.

Soft tendrils, held in place by glistening skin, framed her face. “How do you feel, angel?”

“So good. So unbelievably good,” she panted, contracting her inner muscles around him. Tightening, gripping, massaging, until he was nearly insane.

He rocked his hips, stretching her, readying her for his thrusts.

* * *

Every nerve had leaped to the surface of her skin, standing more erect than the Queen’s palace guard, but unlike the stoic soldiers, they skittered and danced at the slightest urging. Her hips were moving against him of their own accord, swaying, and grinding into him with a singular purpose.

She knew he was at the precipice, too. Even after all these years, she knew. His muscles were beginning to contract, and he struggled for control, struggled to buy a few more seconds, a few more thrusts, more pleasure for them both.

“Look at me, Cassie, eyes open. I want to watch you come.” When he reached between them, she was so close, so sensitive, it took only one swipe of his callused fingertip against the swollen flesh to send her spiraling.

His body tightened, and his final frantic thrusts were merciless, pounding into her, dragging her over the edge with him. And while she soared, she heard her name thunder from him, echoing while he shuddered over her.

He held the condom in place with two fingers before rolling over with her on top of him. Gripping her tight to his chest, he stroked her arm. “
Jesus!
I can’t believe I almost sent you back to your own bed. You lost your chance, because that’s never gonna happen again.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Wait a second, before we have a spill.” He turned over, slid off the condom, tied it, and sent it flying across the mattress into a small trashcan at the foot of the bed.

After he snuggled her back down on him, they both immediately fell into a sound sleep. Her, because she didn’t want any unpleasant conversation to spoil the wonder of what had just happened between them, and him, because he couldn’t bear to be kept awake by thoughts that sent ice water through his veins.

Drew lifted the phone vibrating on the nightstand, and turned it over, scratching his head before running his hand down his face. Dominic Leonardo, head of security for the Blues.
Great.
“Hang on a second,” he whispered into the phone before moving to the bathroom, where he could talk without disturbing Cassie.

“Leo, what’s going on?”

“Nothing good.”

“I’ll take it straight up.”

“I got a call about an hour ago from the city police. Ski was in a bar in Charlestown, and got into an altercation with a couple of loudmouth, drunk kids.”

“Tell me he wasn’t drinking.”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Shit.”

“Was he arrested?”

“Not yet. No one was injured. But it’s still unclear if any formal charges will be filed, and you can bet there’s someone who’ll be looking to make a few bucks on this.”

“Any chance we can keep this quiet?”

“Nah. Place was packed. Nowadays everyone and their mother’s got a phone, and even people who didn’t recognize him were snapping pictures to send to their friends. Sixty-year-old guy who can barely stand up taking swings at a couple of twenty-two-year-olds. What could be more entertaining?”

“
Christ
.”

“The only salvation is it happened too late for the morning papers. We might have a little time to do some damage control.”

“Where is he now?”

“Tucked in his bed, sleeping it off.”

“Will he detox?”

“Too early to tell. He says he hasn’t been boozing except for last night’s bender. But I wouldn’t take him at his word.”

“No, we can’t take the chance. Detoxing is serious. You may need to get him to McLean Hospital.”

“I called the team doctor to get over here and examine him. It might be enough just to have medical observation here. If he begins to deteriorate, we’ll call the ambulance. I think it’s the best way to handle this. Unfortunately, I’ve had plenty of experience with this kind of thing.”

“If you can get a doctor who knows what they’re doing there to examine him, that’s fine. Otherwise, get him to McLean. So we’re on the same page, I’m not taking any chances with his health just so we can save ourselves some embarrassment and a fine.”

“I’m with you.”

“Can you stay with him until I get there?”

“I’ll be here for the duration.”

“Thanks, Leo.”

* * *

After a quick shower, he threw on a pair of pants and a button-down shirt, all the while wondering if he should wake her, or let her sleep and leave a note. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he leaned over her and rested his hand on her arm.

“
Mmmm
,” she melted into his touch, making it harder for him to leave her.

“Cassie, I’ve gotta go. Something’s happened with the team. I’m sorry.”

She rolled over, forcing first one eye open and then the other. “S-okay.”

“No, it’s not okay, not after last night.” He ran his hand over her hair. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to wake up near you in the morning and make love again. But I have to go, there’s no choice. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so you may need to entertain yourself for the rest of the day.”

She was wide-awake now. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Take care of what you need to, and take care of yourself. Call me when you can. Until then, I’ll be thinking about you.”

“I love you,” he whispered right before he placed a sweet kiss on her lips.

Her hand slid out from under the covers and cradled his jaw. “I’m here for you if you need anything. Whatever you need.”

After planting a small kiss on her fingers, he was gone.

* * *

It was the middle of the night, with few cars on the road. He stopped at a convenience store for coffee, one for himself and one for Leo. Knowing he’d be working a full day on just a couple hours of sleep, he filled the largest cup he could find.

The ride to Ski’s was short but lonely. He pressed a button on the console, hoping to get an update from Leo.

“Hey.”

“Anything new?”

“Doctor’s here.”

“About a month ago he told me he hadn’t touched a drink in more than thirty years. Was he telling me the truth?”

“Probably. It was Sarah’s birthday yesterday.”

“
Fuck!
I’d forgotten all about it.”

“Me too.”

“It’s not your job to remember.”

“It should’ve been on my radar, too.”

“I’m just pulling up—I’ll see you inside.”
Christ
, how had he let this happen? He’d been so preoccupied with Cassie and rebuilding their relationship that his head hadn’t been fully in the game. He slammed both hands on the steering wheel.

* * *

“It’s the best I could do,” he said handing Leo a hot cup of battery acid passing itself off as coffee.

“Thanks.”

“Anything new?”

“He’s less agitated and maybe a little more sober. The doctor’s still with him.”

Drew nodded. “You sure you can stick around?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a couple of guys trying to piece together the details from last night, and everyone else will get their marching orders when they get to work this morning. Team’s loaded with young kids, and most of them are good kids, but there’s a few who don’t always make the best decisions.” Leo shook his head. “My guys are on top of it.”

“I want to see him, and then I need to call ownership and start putting out fires.”

“It’s going to be ugly.”

“Yes, it is. But Ski’s the priority. Him, and pulling together the team,” he said as the doctor walked out of Ski’s bedroom.

“How is he?”

“He’ll be fine. I’ll continue to monitor his vital signs, but I think he just needs to sleep it off for tonight. In the next couple of days, we’ll put some services together for him.”

“Any sense of how long he’s been drinking again?”

The doctor shook his head. “Not yet. But if I were a betting man, I’d guess it hasn’t been long. I’m not even sure he had that much to drink tonight.”

Leo had just been listening up until now, “The bartender confirms that.”

“Grief mixed with even a small amount of booze is a potent cocktail.”

“Can I see him?”

“Go on in.”

Drew poked his head in the room. It was neat and tidy as a pin, and it had a woman’s touch all over it. Fussy bedspread, needlepoint hanging on the walls, sheer curtains with little ruffles. All a stark reminder that Sarah hadn’t been gone that long, and Ski hadn’t changed anything. While he listened to Ski snore softly, he wondered what made some people change everything after a spouse died, even move, while others kept everything exactly the same, as though waiting for their loved one to come back to the familiar surroundings. He shrugged. The search for peace and solace took many forms.

Ski opened his eyes and saw him standing in the doorway. His sixty-year-old manager looked like hell, but nowhere near as bad as he probably felt.

Drew walked over to the bed. “How are you, buddy?”

“I screwed up, I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse, and his words were only slightly slurred.

Drew pulled up a chair. “We don’t need to talk about it now. I just came by to see how you’re doing. We’ll talk tomorrow when your head’s clearer.”

“They’re going to crucify me, and I deserve it. But they’re going to hang you out to dry, too. Don’t let them.”

“I’ve got big shoulders, and I’m not afraid of a bunch of whiny vultures swooping down to pick at my warm carcass.”

“I miss her.”

Ski closed his eyes to hold back the tears. Drew leaned over the bed and squeezed the older man’s hand. “I know. I’d forgotten about Sarah’s birthday. I’m sorry you went through it alone.”

“I can be at the game tomorrow.”

“No, you take tomorrow off. We’ve got you covered. We’re going to talk to the doctors and figure out what they recommend before we make any decisions about you coming back.”

“You firing me?”

Drew shook his head. “You're the best manager in baseball, and a good man. Nothing that happened tonight changes my feelings about those things, but you won’t be any good to the team until you get yourself in a better frame of mind.”

“What about ownership?”

“Let me worry about them.”

* * *

She heard nothing more from him that night, and there was nothing in the morning paper about a problem with the team, either.
Hmmm
, maybe it wasn’t serious enough to make the papers. But Drew’s ashen face popped into her head—whatever had happened was serious.

After slicing a banana into a bowl of cereal, she poured in a little milk and turned on the television in the kitchen. And there it was all over the screen. Every sordid detail.

The Blues’ manager had gotten into a drunken brawl the night before, swinging his fists and a bottle at a couple of disgruntled fans. Not only were there pictures, but someone had captured the illustrious moment on video.

Apparently the manager had a history of alcoholism. But they blamed Drew for the latest incident, laid everything at his feet, accusing him of being too young and immature to run a baseball franchise. They reported that he’d been distracted this year, and hadn’t been earning his paycheck.
How dare they!
Her heart clenched.

Unwilling to listen anymore while they piled on Drew, she turned the television off. This was her fault, at least in part. Not only had she been selfish, but she’d allowed self-pity and fear to turn her into a needy woman. He had responsibilities, huge responsibilities, but she allowed him to make all the sacrifices, bear the brunt of rekindling a long-distance relationship. And he’d done it without once complaining, because he’d been afraid of losing her. He’d gone above and beyond, while she’d done very little except wring her hands.

The one lesson she’d learned from cancer was that there was no time like the present to make changes to your life, to make amends. From now on she’d do the heavy lifting, at least until the season ended. She could do this for him, for them. With Tim baking now, she could be in Boston more and still manage Lola’s. She needed to figure out how to be here for him and take care of her other responsibilities, too.

Drew was everything she wanted in life, everything she deserved. But Lola’s was important, too. Vitally important.

* * *

Nothing in the morning papers, but rumors were leaking out all over the city. Leo phoned to tell him not to turn on the local news. Drew called an emergency team meeting for mid-morning.

He hated asking the players to come in early, to step out of their routine, but there was no choice. There was not a group on earth more routinized and superstitious than baseball players. Their rigid routines added predictability to a very long season, half of which was spent away from home, and the superstition explained any result that deviated from the predictable.

Today’s early meeting would upset the applecart, and if they lost tonight, everyone in the clubhouse would believe the meeting was to blame. But they were all addicted to social media, and he couldn’t afford to have them learn the details of last night and stew all day about the fate of the manager. It was too unsettling, even for seasoned players, and these guys were hardly seasoned.

He talked to them in the locker room rather than the meeting room. It was a more intimate space, and it belonged, almost exclusively, to them. Being on their turf would help them regain some sense of control, and should make everyone more comfortable.

Leo told him Ski’s phone had been going off all morning, calls from the press, players, and a variety of others from around the league. “I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors about Ski.”

Except for the sound of big bodies breathing, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Ski’s not going to be at the game today. And probably not tomorrow. JD will be managing the team until he’s back.

“You’re going to hear that he was drunk as a skunk, and took a swing at some guys who called you a bunch of no-talent bitches. It’s all on video, so prepare yourselves.”

Nearly every cuss word ever spoken filled the air.

“Don’t get your panties all in a twist, ladies. It was nowhere near as bad as the stuff the guy said about Ski, or about me.”

He studied the room, trying to meet as many eyes as possible. “We need to pull together. We don’t share the same DNA, but we’re family here. You just lost your manager, and I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you to step up. Every one of you.”

“Why didn’t you ask him to step up? He had no trouble turning his back on us last night.” Tommy James, of course. Who better to throw the first stone than a self-righteous, all-around pain in the ass who was more than happy to throw back a few drinks himself. In season, or off.