The Chase: Chapter 29

I gape at her slender back as she stalks out of the elevator and into the marble-laden foyer.

Did she just say she’s breaking up with me?

“Like hell you are!” I roar.

Her stilettos echo loudly on the marble, and she stops to kick them off. I take advantage of the brief pause in her strides by charging forward to grab her arm. “Summer. What the hell.”

She doesn’t answer. Shrugging my hand off, she sets her small silver clutch on the mahogany credenza. Then she removes the clip from her hair. Somehow the hairstyle stays intact, and I realize it’s being held up by a dozen tiny pins. She starts taking the pins out, one by one, as I watch in astonishment. She won’t even look at me.

“What the hell is going on?” I demand.

Finally, she meets my confused eyes. “I cost you that job.”

I blink. “What?”

“You didn’t get the job because of me,” she mutters. “Obviously that jackass had a bad experience with a pretty girl who turned him down.”

“I’m sure he did, but I guarantee he also had a bad experience with some jock who beat him up. This had nothing to do with you.”

“It had everything to do with me. You heard the way he was talking to me! The night would’ve gone smoothly if I hadn’t come with you. But that’s what happens when I go places, Fitz. I attract drama. I don’t mean to, but it just frigging happens.” She puffs out a bleak breath. “You hate drama and you hate attention and you just had an entire ballroom full of people staring at you because of me, because you were defending me. And the same thing happened at Malone’s last month.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. What the hell is she talking about? I defended her—and myself—because Kamal was out of line. I say as much, but she stubbornly shakes her head

“I’m not doing this anymore, okay, Fitz? You prefer to remain invisible. Well, look what happened down there—the most visible thing ever!”

She’s right. When Kamal had been screaming and cackling and acting like an overall jackass, I’d felt as if there were a bright spotlight shining on me. I’d sensed the nosy stares and heard the hushed whispers.

But when I told him off, I didn’t care that the whole room was watching and listening. I only cared that Kamal was being rude to Summer, and that was unacceptable to me.

“Do you really want to talk about drama?” I ask her. “Because you’re being a drama queen right now, babe.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re overreacting. Going from zero to breakup without even talking about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You don’t want to be in the spotlight. I invite it. Sometimes intentionally, but most times not.” She makes a frustrated noise. “That job was important to you.”

“It was.” But you’re more important. I don’t say it out loud. Not because keeping my emotions under lock and key is a habit of mine, but because Summer is marching off again, heading for the winding staircase that leads upstairs. The penthouse has three floors—don’t get me started—and her bedroom is on the third.

I hurry after her. “Stop,” I command.

“No.” She keeps going.

“You’re such a brat.”

“You’re such a bully,” she retorts. “I want to be alone. We’re broken up.”

“We’re not broken up!” I yell.

Jesus, I don’t think I’ve raised my voice more than ten times my entire life, and now a couple of months with Summer and I’m on my way to yelling myself hoarse. She brings out a growly, primal side of me I hadn’t known existed until she showed up and started driving me batshit crazy.

And…I frickin’ love it.

I’ve spent years fighting so hard to avoid conflict. I let my folks spew their poison about each other because it’s easier than the arguments and guilt trips that ensue if I try to make them see the light. I avoid social situations because I don’t want any attention on me.

I date chicks who are as introverted as I am, because then they don’t expect me to cut loose at parties or attend extravagant events like leukemia charity galas.

I didn’t mind that existence. It’s been nice and comfortable. Conflict-free.

But I never felt truly alive until Summer.

I don’t want to be with a woman who hides in the shadows with me, because that enables me to keep hiding. And that’s what I’ve done for years—hidden pieces of myself from my parents, my friends, chicks, the world. I want someone who encourages me to step out of my comfort zone, and Summer is that someone.

She drives me nuts. She does crazy shit like pull a girl’s hair at a bar for calling her a slut. She feels up half-naked football players in our living room. She does cute little ballet jumps when she’s making breakfast in our kitchen.

And yes, she makes me lose my temper sometimes, but I make her lose hers.

It’s part of the fun.

“I’m going upstairs, Fitz. You can sleep on the couch or in Dean’s room or any of the other rooms. But not mine, because we’re broken up.”

“Say that one more time. I fucking dare you.”

She stops at the foot of the staircase and turns around. Her green eyes glitter with fortitude. “We’re brok—”

I lunge forward.

She throws up her hands. “Don’t you dare!”

Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. I grab her by the waist and heave her wriggling body over my shoulder, clamping a hand over her ass. “We’re going to sit down and talk about this,” I growl, spinning toward the living room.

“There’s nothing to talk about! Put me down!” She manages to wrench herself free, her bare feet slapping the marble floor when they make contact with it.

“Would you listen to me? We’re not breaking up. It’s not happening, Summer. I don’t give a shit about the job at Orcus Games. I give a shit about you. That bastard was rude to you. He was rude to both of us, and I refuse to work for someone who treats people with disrespect or behaves that way in public. I put him in his place, and if I had the choice, I’d do it all over again, you hear me? Because he was a jackass to you, and I love you.”

Summer’s breath catches. “That’s…” She gulps. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”

“Well, it’s true. I love you. You’re my girlfriend—”

“Was your girlfriend.”

“Are.”

“Was.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and tug her against me. When she gasps, I know she feels the erection pressing into her belly. “You can argue till you’re blue in the face, but we both know we’re not breaking up.” My hand slides under her dress to caress her smooth thigh. “And we both know you love me too.”

Her eyes narrow as she studies my face. “You’re different,”

She’s right. I am. My patience is thin, and my nerves are shot. I’m still pissed at Kamal. Still pissed at Summer. Yet at the same time, I want to fuck her like I’ve never wanted to fuck her before.

Groaning softly, I cup the warm heaven between her legs. When I encounter her bare pussy, I shudder with desire. “You weren’t wearing panties this entire time?” I croak.

“No. This dress can’t handle panty lines. I’d never do that to Vera.”

“Who’s Ve— You know what, forget it.”

“Fitz.” She swallows again. “I’m sorry I cost you the job.”

I shake my head at her. “You still don’t get it, do you? You didn’t cost me a job. Kamal Jain cost himself an employee. I’m a good designer. I’ll find something else, I promise. But I’ll never find another you.”

Her lips part in wonder. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I can be sweet when I want to.” My knuckles graze her clit. “But right now, I’m feeling dirty.” I slip a finger inside her. “Spread your legs so I can screw you against the wall.”

Her jaw falls open at the wicked demand. “Oh my God. You’re in a mood tonight.”

“Yeah, I am. So for chrissake, stop trying to break up with me. Stop worrying about this job. Just stop and kiss me.”

When my mouth covers hers, she finally quits arguing and kisses me back with a level of passion that steals my breath. I grind against her, but it’s not enough. My aching cock is straining behind my zipper, and I’m too primed for foreplay.

“I just need to be inside you,” I whisper in her ear. “I’ll make you feel good later. Promise.”

“You make me feel good always,” she whispers back, and damned if my heart doesn’t beat a little bit faster.

Thanks to Summer, I always keep a condom in my pocket these days, no matter the occasion. I don’t bother dropping my trousers. I unzip, pull out my cock, cover it up. Then I yank Summer’s dress up, lift one of her long legs to my hip, and with one deep stroke I bury myself inside her.

“Oh my God,” she moans.

The heat of her surrounds me, her inner muscles clamping around my dick as if to trap it in place. My skin is on fire. My heart beats in a sharp staccato against my ribcage. I’m hot and hard and in desperate need of release.

There’s nothing graceful about the pounding I give her. The wall behind her shakes and the credenza rattles as I fuck her standing up. Her legs snake around my waist and she’s so wet and tight I can’t think straight. I can’t stop the freight train of pleasure that slams into me without warning. I bury my face in the crook of her neck and tremble against her body, coming hard enough to see stars.

“Fuck yes,” I grunt against her neck.

My hips keep rocking for several moments before going still. I know she didn’t come, but I already promised I’d make it up to her. My knees start to wobble, but still I don’t move.

“You feel so good,” I mumble. “I never want to leave you—”

Ding.

We both jolt in surprise when the elevator doors slide open. The next thing I hear is, “What the fuck!”

It’s Dean.

As in Summer’s brother Dean.

As in my good friend Dean.

How is this happening again?

“How is this happening again!” Summer cries in embarrassment.

I honestly don’t know. This is the second time someone’s walked in on us while I’ve been lodged deep inside her. But this is a million times worse because it’s her brother. I’m about to turn around when I realize that if I do, Dean will see my dick flapping in the wind and know where it was a second before.

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Fitzgerald!”

“Dean,” Summer begs, burying her face against my chest. “Turn around. Please.”

“Oh my fucking God. Are you having sex?” he thunders. “Right here?!”

“Dean! Turn around!”

He has the decency to obey her, but sounds utterly furious as he snarls, “Get your shit together and meet me in the living room. I’m walking past you guys right now, and I’m not looking, okay? Jesus fuck, I’m not looking.”

My peripheral vision catches him stalking by, holding one hand to his face as a blinder. The moment he disappears, we snap into action. I pull out. Summer takes the condom and ducks into the nearby powder room. A toilet flushes, and then she returns and we reluctantly walk into the living room like two teenagers who just—

Got caught having sex?

Yup. Exactly like that.

When we’re seated on the couch, Dean looms over us, arms crossed. “How long has this been going on?” he asks sternly.

I choke down a laugh. Hearing Dean (whose nickname in college was ‘Dean the Sex Machine,’ for chrissake) put on a Puritan tone and glare in disapproval is the ultimate irony. But I know this whole big-brother posturing is coming from a place of genuine concern. He adores his sister.

“A while,” Summer admits.

“Uh-huh.” He scowls at her. “Oh, and a heads-up? Next time you’re trying to hide something from me, maybe don’t post a pic on social media?”

She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.”

He’s outraged. “So you wanted me to find out on social media?”

“No, you didn’t even cross my mind. Fitzy and I went to a party. I took a picture of us together. I posted it on Insta. Nowhere in that chain of events did I think about you. Wanna know why? Because it had nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me!” he fires back.

Ah. Now I know where she gets the drama-llama from.

Dean’s murderous glare whips toward me. “This is my little sister, man!”

“I know,” I answer calmly. “And I care about her a lot.”

“Yeah, Dicky,” Summer chimes in. “This isn’t just sex between us, okay? I mean, we are having sex, lots of it, but—”

Dean drops his head in his hands. “Why, Boogers? Why do you have to say stuff like that?”

She huffs. “So you’re allowed to talk about your sex life with me, but I can’t talk about mine with you?”

“I never talk about my sex life with you! It’s a taboo topic! Taboo!” He lets out a groan thick with aggravation. Then he inhales slowly. His gaze shifts between us. “That’s it? You guys are together now?”

I look at Summer, who fifteen minutes ago was threatening to break up with me. No, not even threatening—she did break up with me. I just wouldn’t allow it.

Her mouth hitches up in a rueful smile. “We’re together,” she confirms. “Colin is my boyfriend.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. The resignation in her tone is kinda adorable.

Dean gives a slow nod as he carefully studies my face. “So you’re with my sister? You’re my sister’s boyfriend?” He sounds as resigned as Summer.

I swallow a sigh, because I know exactly where this is going. “Yes.”

“Okay, then.” He rakes one hand through his blond hair. “You ready?”

My sigh slips out. “Let’s get it over with.”

Summer’s head swivels from me to Dean, confusion swimming in her expression. “What are you guys talking about?”

Dean gets to his feet. So do I.

“Sorry, Boogers. It needs to be done.”

“Needs to be done,” I echo guiltily.

When Dean cracks the knuckles of his right hand, understanding dawns in his sister’s eyes. “You’re going to hit him?” she exclaims, jumping to her feet. “What the hell! No way!”

“Fitz knows the code. He didn’t follow it. Therefore…”

Dean’s right. There is a code. Other teams might have rules about not dating a teammate’s sister or ex or whoever else is off-limits, but our team never strictly adhered to anything like that. Our rule was much simpler—ask before you go there.

Even if the other guy says hell no, you could probably do what you want anyway, since there’s no way for him to enforce anything. But that’s not what the code is about. It’s about respecting your teammate.

Dean cracks the knuckles of his left hand.

“You’re insane. Don’t you touch him, Dicky!”

She tries to throw herself between us, but I gently move her to the side. “Just let it happen,” I tell her. “It’s really not a big de—”

The fucker doesn’t throw a punch.

He knees me in the balls.

I drop like a stone, stars flashing in my field of vision as the pain twists my gut. I curl over and grip my junk, trying to catch my breath. “Jackass,” I croak, staring accusingly up at Dean.

“Dicky! Why would you go for his balls! We need them to make your future nieces and nephews!”

“Nieces and nephews plural? How many kids you planning on having?”

“A lot!”

“You’re not allowed to get pregnant until you’re at least thirty. I’m not ready to be an uncle.”

“Oh my God. Life isn’t always about you!”

They stand there bickering as if I’m not bent in half on the marble floor, gasping for air. “I’m not having kids with you,” I wheeze at Summer. “I don’t want to be part of your insane family.”

“Oh hush, sweetie. It’s too late. I’ve become attached.”

You’d think it would be impossible to laugh while I’m writhing on the floor in agony.

But Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis makes everything possible.