Dear Jane Read online

  Patience, Jane. You’re the one who suggested the apple orchard in the first place.

  The memory of our bowling date flits through my memory and I relax, letting my sex drive temporarily take a back seat. I might as well enjoy the ride before I, well, enjoy the ride.

  The orchard is just a short drive outside of the city limits, and since it’s a Tuesday afternoon, I can count the number of cars in the gravel parking lot on one hand.

  “Looks like we’ve practically got the place to ourselves,” Wes says as he shifts the car into park.

  The only person in sight is the woman manning the entrance booth, standing next to a stack of big white buckets waiting to be filled with apples. Clearly, it’s been a slow day—she’s flipping lazily through the pages of a celebrity gossip magazine, and only looks up when Wes clears his throat to get her attention.

  “Can we get two buckets, please?”

  He pulls a twenty out of his wallet and the woman silently accepts it, gesturing to the stack of plastic buckets to indicate we should help ourselves. I was kind of expecting her to recognize Wes from the Hawks like the bowling-shoe guy did, but if she does, she shows no sign of it.

  Once we’ve taken our buckets, she points us toward the orchard and returns to her magazine. Not a big football fan, I guess.

  “Shall we?” Wes offers me his free hand and I eagerly take it, lacing my fingers tightly with his.

  Even if there’s no one around to see, his willingness to hold my hand in public makes me giddy. His thumb strokes my knuckles as we weave through the rows and rows of apple trees, scouting out the reddest and ripest fruit. We release our grip when we agree on a particularly good tree, and set our buckets on the ground. He plucks apples from the higher branches while I take care of the lower ones.

  “The best ones are always high up,” he says, tossing an apple into his half-full bucket. “All the good ones are still up there because hardly anybody can reach ’em.”

  I roll my eyes, snapping an apple off of a low branch. “That’s a load of shit. The high-up ones are exactly the same as the low ones.”

  Wes gives me an oh, really? look and immediately sets out to prove his point. He surveys the nearby trees until he spots an especially tall one and grabs a bright red apple from the highest branch. He shrugs his eyebrows at me as he chomps down on the apple, making half of it disappear in just one bite.

  “Mmm, try this.” He holds what’s left of the apple in front of my mouth so I can take a bite.

  I do, my eyes on his as I bite down. I can’t deny that he’s right. It’s so juicy, the perfect amount of sweet.

  A dribble of juice escapes from the corner of my mouth, and Wes takes it as an opportunity. He cups my chin in his hand and leans down, kissing the skin where the apple juice trailed out, playfully lapping it up.

  Holy fuck. So much for putting my sex drive in the back seat.

  “Yum. Tastes good.” He licks his lips and gives me a squinty smile. Somehow, I don’t think he’s talking about the fruit.

  When he takes another slow, deliberate bite of the apple, I desperately wish that apple and I could trade places. There’s no one around, and I’m half tempted to sneak behind an especially big tree and let him fuck me here and now, but that’s a recipe for a tabloid scandal neither of us wants to be a part of.

  I need to get that tempting mouth back to my place, stat. So I start grabbing apples, any apples, off the trees at twice the pace, using little to no discretion in my choosing.

  “Whoa, you in a hurry?” he asks with a knowing chuckle.

  I look at him over my shoulder as I empty a whole branch of apples into my bucket, filling it to the brim.

  “Looks like I’m all done.” I shrug. “Better head home.”

  He chuckles and raises an eyebrow at me, calling my bluff, but I’ve never been more serious.

  In a moment of bold flirtatiousness, I pick up my bucket and Wes’s and strut past him toward the parking lot, making sure to swing my hips a little extra so he gets a good view of my ass in these skintight jeans. If he’s going to tempt me with a kiss like that, I’m going to tempt him right back.

  “All right, all right, wait up,” he calls, jogging to catch up with me and wrapping his arm snugly around my shoulders.

  His touch is familiar, but it still sends a tingle of electricity shooting through me. Why is it that every touch feels so natural while still packing the excitement of the first? I don’t understand it, but I hope it never wears off.

  After Wes and I unload our bounty of apples into the back seat of his rental car, we swing into the farm stand to pick up a box of cinnamon doughnuts, which I crack open before we’ve even pulled out of the gravel parking lot. We make it most of the way home on back roads, but once we hit the city limits, it’s nothing but red lights.

  Shit. Like this car ride wasn’t testing my patience already. Watching Wes’s long, thick fingers drum against the steering wheel is practically torture. The thought sends my head spinning.

  When we hit a particularly long red light right before the turn onto my street, I offer Wes the doughnut box, trying to distract myself.

  “Any rules as to which doughnuts taste the best?”

  “I’m actually kind of craving something else.” Wes turns to me, his gaze running down my legs again before he shifts his attention back to the road.

  Fuck.

  “Well, maybe this will tide you over,” I say, offering him a bite of a doughnut that I hold in front of his mouth.

  I have to distract myself or I’m going to lose it. I want him. Now. And based on the speed at which he’s taking the turn onto my street, he’s not feeling very patient either.

  The car glides into a parking spot outside my building, and Wes shifts into park. I’m still holding up the doughnut when he turns to me with a deliciously intense stare.

  “Looks good enough to eat.”

  Holy fuck. He’s not looking at the doughnut. My mouth falls open, but Wes just smirks, gesturing for me to put the doughnut back in the box.

  “Save it till we’re in your place, okay?”

  Oh, there’s a lot I’ve been saving for then, Wes.

  I do everything I can to keep my cool as we make our way to my floor, doughnuts and buckets of apples in hand. I can feel Wes’s stare tracing my curves as I turn the key and he follows me into the kitchen.

  He stops to set the buckets on the kitchen counter, but this box of doughnuts and I are on a mission, heading straight for the bedroom. I can hear him snickering from the kitchen as I take a seat on my bed, crossing my legs so that the box of doughnuts rests comfortably in my lap. I’m already three or four bites in when he strolls up and leans on the door frame to admire the view.

  “Between you and those doughnuts, I feel like I’m looking at a three-course meal,” he murmurs.

  My cheeks go hot, surely turning bright red.

  “But I prefer you over doughnuts,” he says, and without missing a beat, his lips are on mine, his tongue exploring my mouth, his widespread fingers clutching my ass.

  I’ve been waiting all day for this, and it’s still better than anything I could have dreamed up.

  Wes moves the box of doughnuts onto my bedside table, his mouth not straying from mine for a second, and I slide into his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist.

  His mouth moves to my ear, trailing quick, passionate kisses down my jawline as his nimble fingers pop open each button of my flannel shirt, exposing my lacy black bra. He lets out a low hum of approval as he traces the cup of my bra with the pads of his fingers. Just the slightest touch is enough for my nipples to harden in arousal.

  Fuck. I’m putty in his calloused hands.

  He unclasps my bra and it tumbles off, giving him full rein over my tight pink nipples. He pinches them softly between his fingers, rolling them around with his thumbs, and I inhale sharply. As his fingers pinch and tease, my thighs squeeze tightly against him, pressure building inside me in anticipation.

&n
bsp; Wes slips my flannel off my shoulders and casts it aside before lifting me off his lap, standing us both up. He peels off his own shirt, revealing those perfect abs before shifting his attention to my jeans.

  “I can’t take my eyes off your legs in these.” He sighs, hooking his thumbs into my waistband.

  With one firm tug, the button pops open, and I can’t hold back my giggles as Wes helps me shimmy these skintight pants off, my lacy black thong going with them. He holds my hand like a coachman helping a princess out of a carriage as I step out of the clingy black fabric.

  “God, you are gorgeous,” he growls into my ear as he pulls me against him, palming my ass with one hand as the other circles my clit.

  I shudder and groan, holding tight to his shoulders as he slides his middle finger into me. Fuck, I didn’t realize how wet I was. My groans grow louder and louder as he adds a second finger, curving them both and sliding them faster and faster, in and out of my wetness.

  I can’t do this anymore. I need to fuck him now. I greedily reach for the button of his jeans, but he stops me, catching my hand in his.

  “Time out. I want to be sure you’re totally okay with this. And whatever this is.”

  His eyes are serious but compassionate, that perfect combination of intensity and kindness that drew me to him in the first place. It’s like he has a magnetic force about him that pulled me in the day I met him and never let me go.

  “Yes, I’m okay with it. More than okay. It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

  “You and me both.” He gently tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on the curve of my jaw. How can a professional quarterback be so gentle? “I just want to be respectful of your limits,” he murmurs.

  I smile softly, shaking my head. “No limits, Wes,” I whisper. “I want you. All of you.”

  I reach for the button of his jeans again, and this time, he doesn’t stop me. Once I’ve unbuttoned and unzipped them, his erection springs free as I slide the worn denim to the floor, giving his cock one long lick on my way back up, which makes him groan.

  “Are you ready?” he asks, sliding his fingers back into me. “You’re so wet for me.”

  “Yes.”

  I moan, throwing my head back as his fingers quicken within me again. It’s practically heaven. I can hardly believe it’s about to get better. Wes reaches for his jeans on the floor and pulls a square foil packet from the pocket.

  “Oh, so you came prepared?” I say playfully, taking a seat on the bed. “Were you expecting this to happen?”

  He strolls over to me, takes the small of my back in his palm, and lays me back onto the bed with a long, tender kiss.

  “Can you blame me for being hopeful?” He tears into the package and rolls on the condom, then brings his knees to either side of me. “You okay?” he asks one more time.

  I nod, wide-eyed and eager. I’ve been ready since I laid eyes on him in the locker room. He flexes his hips and all at once, he sinks his full length into me.

  Holy shit. I arch my back, curving myself to fit against him, trembling as he hits deeper within me than I thought was even possible. It’s been ten long years since he’s been inside me, and back then, I remember thinking that it was good, that he was good. But I had nothing to compare it to.

  Now, I can say with full certainty that “good” doesn’t even begin to describe Weston Chase.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Weston

  “Wes . . . more, oh God, Wes!” Jane pants, writhing beneath me.

  I groan, my jaw clenched. I’m so close, and hearing her mewl my name doesn’t help. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, nipping and licking, resisting the urge to suck a mark of ownership into her soft skin.

  “Oh, oh fuck, don’t stop, I’m . . .”

  She gasps, and her eyes clench shut as she arches up, her hips straining to meet my thrusts and grind hard against me. All of her tightens—her hands on my shoulders, her thighs tense and her calves locked around my back, her pussy gripping my cock in spasming waves.

  Helpless, I crush our mouths together and tumble over the edge after her.

  Even after the overwhelming pleasure finally ebbs away, we stay entwined, her legs resting against my sides, my arms braced on either side of her head. Her still-quick breaths fan over my cheek and tickle ever so slightly.

  Her deep blue eyes open, slow and heavy-lidded, to meet mine. Her lips curve subtly—and oh, God, I’m paralyzed. I need that sweet, secret smile. Need her, all to myself, every single day and night.

  Jane breaks my paralysis by scooting toward the headboard to sit up.

  Still thrown by that intense wash of feeling, I turn away from her and busy myself with pulling off the condom and tossing it in the trash. I move up next to her.

  She chuckles, gazing at me with a smile. “You last a lot longer than you did in high school.”

  “You did not just say that to me.” I tug her closer, the mood lightening to something more playful.

  But to my surprise, Jane rests her head on my shoulder and lets out a deep sigh. Her body is still hot from exertion, slightly sticky with sweat, and very, very naked.

  I like it a little too much.

  We rest together like that for a while, comfortably lying in bed together. I cover us with a sheet and pull her close. Even with all our history, it never used to be like this. There was never time for post-sex cuddles or lounging naked in bed together. There was plenty of exploring and sneaking around, but it had all been under the watchful eye of her father, who demanded that Jane be returned every night by her ten o’clock curfew. This is . . . nice. Comfortable. I enjoy the feel of her warm skin on mine, and trail my knuckles along her arm.

  “How’s practice going?” she asks. “I haven’t gotten a chance to drop by the field lately.”

  I noticed, but she doesn’t need to know how keenly I’ve been aware of her absence. “Your father’s been riding our asses into the turf. It’s like the Swashbucklers crushed us instead of the other way around.”

  “Yep, that’s Dad for you,” she says. “Never satisfied, always pushing for more.”

  I grin at her. “Just like his daughter.”

  “You’re disgusting.” But she’s laughing, and so am I.

  “Hey, I was talking about being a workaholic. You and your dirty mind were the one who made it about sex.” I give her an innocent look.

  “Don’t even try to pretend you’re not a pervert. And who are you to tell me to chill out, Mr. First-on-the-Field-Every-Morning?” Her smirk is challenging.

  I search my mind for something that qualifies as trash talk but won’t actually get me thrown out the window. “I don’t know. If I’m the pervert, why were you so wet for me?”

  “I was just picturing Ryan Gosling’s face while you were inside me.”

  A short bark of laughter is my only response. God, this girl . . .

  We trade a few more playful barbs before lapsing into silence. She’s still leaning against me, and I’m glad for it. I want to put my arm around her, stroke her hair, kiss her again . . .

  So, why don’t I?

  I’m suddenly self-conscious, which is ridiculous. Ten minutes ago, I was inside her, and now I’m wondering if a casual touch is okay?

  But I know that my desire to hold her isn’t casual. Platonic friends don’t feel a surge of need and passion and tenderness every time they look at each other. They don’t have to work so hard to remind themselves to keep their distance, or twinge somewhere deep inside when they succeed. And they don’t struggle with the uncertainty that’s creeping up on me now. The sense that I’m playing with fire flares up inside of me.

  This silence isn’t comfortable anymore, but I can’t think of anything else to say. I glance at the clock. Shit, it’s almost midnight. It’s always so easy to lose track of time with Jane, especially in bed. We should really get some sleep, or tomorrow will suck royally.

  But I hesitate to just flop down and start snoring�
�she hasn’t invited me to stay the night. She’d probably say yes if I asked, but that’s precisely why I’m reluctant to. I wouldn’t know if she actually wanted me next to her, or if she was just politely accommodating me.

  I clear my throat. “Uh . . . well, I guess I’ll get going now.” I sit up and start pulling my pants back on.

  She blinks but doesn’t stop me. “Oh, okay. Sure. See you at work.”

  When I’m dressed, she walks me to the door. I still can’t read her expression. I can tell she’s tired, of course, and she seems content, but is that truth or wishful thinking? Is she sad or relieved to see me go?

  With a wave that hopefully isn’t too awkward, I step out and close the door behind me. I can’t force myself to walk away until the dead bolt clicks into the lock.

  On the drive home, I wonder where this weird atmosphere came from all of a sudden.

  Sleeping with Jane didn’t feel wrong—how could it ever? But I can’t shake the sense that I made a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t smart to jump into bed with her so soon . . . or possibly at all. Maybe some things can never truly be laid to rest, no matter how much work you put into them. Is our past just too messy to overcome?

  I shake my head. Why am I getting so worked up over this? I don’t even know if she’s interested in dating in the first place. For that matter, am I? We’re both married to our careers, and between Jane and Trista, I clearly have a terrible track record with relationships. I should just chill out and let things take their course. There’s no reason to get so confused and start overanalyzing every tiny detail.

  So, why can’t I drag my brain away from her? From the us that doesn’t even exist?

  I pull into the driveway at Colin’s house, park, and go in to get ready for bed, still puzzling over where Jane and I are heading.

  • • •

  Coach Royce blows his whistle and shouts, “All right, that’s enough for now. Take five, boys. But stay ready for more . . . I’ll be back soon.” He starts across the field to more closely supervise the defensive team’s agility drills.

  I gratefully retreat to the bench, along with the rest of the offensive players, and gulp down a few swigs of cold water. I take off my helmet, letting the breeze cool my sweaty hair.