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  “You. Winked.” Ryder’s voice was deep, made her a little dizzy, like good bourbon going down and sticking to her inside.

  “I might have,” she teased, stilling when Ryder slipped his hands around her waist, lowering to rest his chin on her shoulder while he watched her in the fogged mirror.

  Their shapes were muted, unclear but lent something seductive to the way they moved. Ryder watched her, demanding with his focused gaze that she watch, too, as he slipped his fingers over her ribs, thumb flirting against her hardening nipple as he inched his fingers up.

  “You know what it does to me when you play the tease.”

  She nodded, sucking on her bottom lip when Ryder lowered the strap to her bra, nibbling at her shoulder, then the back of her neck as he unfastened the hooks.

  “You want me to do things to you?” he asked, smile lethal when she only nodded again. “Good. I wanna do so many things to you.”

  “Then do them, papi,” she said, her voice sounding low, desperate and it would be. Ryder answered her with a groan that sounded like a plea, something he did when Reese had turned him on so completely he became nothing more than ache and need and endless desire.

  He slipped his hands further down, behind her silk thong to cup her, his eyes slamming shut when he felt her there, wet and warm and ready for him to do a little teasing of his own. But Ryder didn’t seem eager for that.

  “Turn around. Now,” he said, pushing Reese onto the counter as he lowered over her, grabbing his hard dick, stroking it like he was ready and couldn’t stand not being inside her for another second.

  They went at each other in the quick flash of movement, mouths claiming, touching, taking until there was only taste and greedy possession. Ryder cupped Reese’s ass, shifting her closer and pushed himself inside in one quick sliding gesture. They both hissed at the contact, then set to working each other fierce and full and so sweet that within minutes, Reese cried out, aware that as she climaxed Ryder watched her, feeling his hand on her neck, his sweet touch over her cheek.

  He went on kissing her, picking her up to slip her legs around his waist and Ryder turned them, walking into the hot shower, attacking her mouth as he leaned Reese against the tiles, lifting her enough to work her faster, harder.

  “I fucking love you,” he said, the words coming out in an awed, groaning whoosh of air as Ryder spilled himself inside her. It took several minutes for him to recover, and he didn’t move, kissing her shoulder, over the tops of her breasts as they both came down from their release. Reese felt boneless as Ryder held her, his breath slowing, calming as he continued to hold her.

  The water covered them, Reese’s professionally coiffed hair lost in the manic rush to be with Ryder and for him to have her inside the shower. She knew why he wanted her there, under the spray on that night.

  “Do you remember?” he asked, kissing up her neck, his voice low and breathy.

  There was a twitching movement at the corner of his mouth before Ryder smiled. “Eleven years ago today,” she breathed, her body, her expressions feeling a little lazy as he moved back to look her in the eyes. “The Duke locker room.” Reese tilted her head, waiting because she knew he wanted to hear everything. “The first time we were together.”

  Ryder nodded, wiping a droplet of water from her face. “The day I felt alive for the first time in my life.”

  She stilled his hand, frowning at his confession. “Because we were together?”

  Ryder held Reese’s face, keeping her still long enough for her to make out the way his eyes had lightened, how clear and focused his attention went as he watched her face, looking like he wasn’t sure if she was worried or just curious. Ryder clarified, smoothing his thumb over her lips. “Because you told me you loved me.” He pulled her face closer, covering her mouth with his. “No one on earth gave me that, baby. Just you.” He hesitated just one moment then kissed her nose, releasing her from his touch. “Two seconds. Don’t move.”

  She didn’t know what Ryder was up to but took advantage of the shower she now had to herself, grabbing the bottle of soap and a loofa from the tray in the center of the tile.

  Reese was lathered and soapy by the time she heard Ryder reenter the bathroom. There was a draft of cool air against her wet skin as he opened the glass door and then he warmed her again, taking her mouth when she looked over her shoulder and he closed in behind her.

  “What did you…” But Ryder silenced her, sliding his fingers under her free palm, the soap making her skin slick and she looked down, spotting the ring now on her finger as Ryder held it under the spray.

  “Ry…” she started, her breath caught in her chest as she looked at the large stone and the cluster of smaller diamonds that circled it.

  “You. Winked,” he repeated, wrapping her tight in his arms. “I took that as a yes.”

  Just then, Reese understood the feeling Ryder mentioned—she felt as alive as she ever had under that water with that beautiful man wrapped around her. It was the same feeling that lived inside her every day since the first time Ryder kissed her. It was a forever kind of love, the kind that makes you soar and never want to be brought back to earth.

  That kind of love never ends.

  - The End -

  OFFSIDES

  EDEN BUTLER

  Copyright © 2019 Eden Butler

  All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author Publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the any word-marks and references mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Edited by Katherine Springsteen

  Cover Design by Lori Jackson

  Cover Image by ShutterShock

  Formatting by Chelle Bliss

  For Heather Weston-Confer, my favorite football wife.

  FAIR WARNING

  Chill the wine now.

  You’re gonna need it when Kona shows up.

  WRITING PLAYLIST

  Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill

  Not in That Way by Sam Smith

  I Love You by Billie Eilish

  Just Breathe by Pearl Jam

  Falling Like the Stars by James Arthur

  This Town by Kygo feat. Sasha Sloan

  Beyond by Leon Bridges

  This Is On Me by Ben Abraham ft. Sara Bareilles

  HAWAIIAN WORDS AND PHRASES

  Kaikuahine – sister of male

  Kala – princess

  Keiki – child

  Ko`u Aloha – my love

  Kupuna – grandma

  Kupunakane – grandfather

  Ku'uipo – sweetheart

  Makuahine – mother

  Makuakāne – father/daddy

  Pēpē – baby

  “Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same.”

  ― Warsan Shire

  PROLOGUE

  GIA

  NEW ORLEANS, MARDI GRAS, 2017

  Gia wanted to soar. She had wings. She wanted to use them.

  New Orleans had been her home when she was a girl. Back then, she was barely eighteen, full of ambition and pride. She’d been desperate to prove herself. Eager to shatter glass ceilings.

  Now, the glass crunched under her heals as she walked over it. Now she had made those dreams her reality. She was the boss.

  It was her time.

  But sometimes, even the boss needed a reprieve.

  Mardi Gras was a perfect time to get lost. You could slip into a crowd, don a mask and pretend that you had no identity. You could be wild. Yo
u could be free.

  You could pretend there weren’t ghosts tethering you to the past.

  There was a freedom in the night and the thud of the music. No one but Cat, Gia’s fast friend and eager assistant knew her at this place. Summerland’s, the crowded club Gia and Cat found themselves at, was as decadent and rich as the city itself. Every square inch of the club invited indulgence. There were lush, cushioned sofas that stretched along the back of the bar and around the lounging areas, all covered in plush velvet and soft leather. Red drapes of thick fabric weaved through the rafters above, swagging around the sides of the ceiling, obscuring the lighting and duct work, acting as boarder for the center swings and high-flying acrobats who flew through the air like fairies, laughing as they bent at the knees on trapeze bars, arms outstretched just missing the touch of the patrons below.

  And on the massive dark wood dancefloor, Gia spotted men and women, every conceivable variety of parade-goers dancing and gyrating to the happy roar of music, drunk on the night, the drug and drink that likely filled them, and the wild abandoned that had taken hold of everyone during Mardi Gras. She’d felt it before, a long time ago. Claire, her college roommate brought her to the city for her eighteenth birthday, and Gia had been lost a little to this place. Summerland’s had ushered in that hedonistic tendency she only gave in to once in a while. She still indulged, but now, only when her life became a blur of obligation. When the memory of the past and the craving for the man she missed from it became too much of a heartache for her to bear.

  Like it had tonight.

  Gia was heartsick and she tried never to be that way…and sober at the same time.

  “We should have skipped the absinthe,” Cat said, leaning against Gia’s shoulder as she waved for the bartender. “Hey, I’m right here, darlin’. I know you see me waving at you.” But the gorgeous man donning the green, purple and gold Mardi Gras mask and little else gave Cat his palm, dismissing her to service a group of familiar-looking men at the end of the bar. “Asshole.”

  “Why?” Gia asked, letting Cat’s assertion finally seep into her thoughts.

  “What?” Her assistant glanced up at her, eyes a little wide before she grinned. “Oh…because we’re lit as hell.”

  “I’m not…lit.” Gia snorted, finding the word ridiculous. She didn’t say things like “lit,” though she found the more time she spent in the city and around her young assistant, the easier it became to meld back into everything from the food to the language. It had been twenty years, but New Orleans had already made her feel at home again.

  “Okay, whatever you say.” Cat slapped her hand on the bar, pushing up, nearly on top of it, to grab a bottle of bourbon. The masked bar tender jerked around, automatically reaching for it, but the woman was too fast. “You like the Steamers?” she asked him, taking two empty tumblers from the stack near the taps and pouring bourbon into each one.

  “Honey, no…” He waved her off, his long fingers moving in an elegant flourish Gia knew she couldn’t manage. He was tall and thin, his body cut, but the man was pretty, not handsome, elegant, and sported painted long nails and fake, black lashes to go with the trimmed stubble on his face. Drunk as she was, Gia had noticed how he tended to direct most of his attention to the male patrons, staunchly avoiding the female customers, leaving them to the other servers as he spent most of his time flirting, not serving. “Give me back the bottle…” His concern for the bottle dropped when one of the men at the end of the bar called him over. The man abandoned Cat and Gia in his mad dash to wait on the linebacker-looking guy motioning to him with his empty glass.

  “Right,” Cat said, pushing the tumbler to Gia before she picked her own drink and downed a sip, refilling both.

  “That was…impressive,” Gia said, nodding to Cat when she refilled her tumbler and led her away from the bar and down the steps to a mostly empty section of plush seating with a small table.

  “Don’t be impressed. I’ve been here before when that one is managing the bar. He might appear to be distracted by all the pretty boys,” she said, taking another sip from her drink, “but he’ll remember to add it to our tab, don’t worry.”

  There were couples converged around the cushions, most making out, some just talking, and Gia and Cat chose to stand rather than sit, with the now half empty bottle of bourbon between them as they leaned on the table. “Still, you moved fast and retained your calm. You have skills you’ve been hiding.”

  “Not hiding a thing,” she told Gia, grinning as the music got louder and she moved her body in time with it. “I’m good at my job, you know that. We both are.”

  “Hey, no shop top. We pinky promised.”

  “We did.” Cat tapped the rim of her tumbler to Gia’s, and the women drank.

  They’d made the promise at Gia’s apartment, downing the absinthe Cat had brought from her cousin’s store. “It’s hella old,” she’d explained to Gia. “And I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to drink and then go out in public, especially not during Mardi Gras. But, what the hell, right?”

  “Okay, we’ll do this. Just promise me if I do anything stupid, you won’t mention it later.” They’d stood across from each other at Gia’s island staring at the green liquid in the bottle, watching it like it was going to explode. There was a lot of mystery tied up in this drink, most of it bullshit Gia had only read about in vampire novels or seen in Gary Oldman movies.

  Cat had offered her pinky to her new boss, her expression solemn. “I promise not to mention a damn thing, if you promise not to fire me for getting you into anything you might be embarrassed over later.”

  Gia had taken Cat’s pinky with her own, giving it a shake. “How about we just say tonight we’re friends. We’re only friends and we don’t even mention work even a little bit?”

  “Deal.”

  The club had been the last stop, Gia was sure. Cat had brought her to her uncle’s apartment right on Bourbon and Gia had experienced her first ever parade from the balcony of a hundred years old building. She’d never seen anything like it. She hoped she never would again. It amazed her what people would do for fifty cents worth of plastic beads and how quickly thousands of inhibitions got lowered when the right song hit their ears and the right stimulant ran through their system.

  As the room heated and the crowd thickened around her, Gia started to understand that herself. The high she’d gotten from the absinthe wasn’t as potent as it had been fifteen minutes before, but the bourbon was warming her and the music was making her feel a little less ridged. Those wings were starting to stretch. They wanted to reach out and take flight.

  Then, the baseline dipped low and Gia took what remained of the last shot of bourbon, downing it in a long swig that burned when it hit her stomach. That dulling high returned, and she felt her skin humming and the hairs on the back of her neck bristle and stand as the memory raced forward, brought to the forefront by the song drumming through the speakers.

  “Shit, this is a good song,” she told Cat, grabbing the woman to bring her out onto the dancefloor.

  “And old as hell. Dang, Gia…” Cat started, laughing when her boss turned onto the middle of the floor, arms up in the air, ass popping and moving like she was eighteen again. And she was, for just a little while, a half second that confused Gia, blinded her.

  Luka stood behind her, his hand on her stomach, his mouth against her ear and that deep, rich voice rattling her insides as he spoke. “This is a paradigm happy accident.”

  He’d taken her in the storage closet. Anyone could have caught them. They would have been seen. Everyone would have known.

  On that dancefloor, Gia closed her eyes, hands lifting her thick hair off her neck as she danced, drunk, oblivious. It was easier this way to pretend Luka was behind her again. That he hadn’t disappeared from…everything.

  He’d been so tall. So solid. His arms thick, his mouth full and wide. His skin smooth and brown, hair coarse.

  “Hey! Oh, God, Jimmy!” Gia heard, half blink
ing to spot Cat jumping into the arms of some big guy she didn’t know. “This is my friend Gia.” He was handsome, darker than Cat, his eyes were hazel with flecks of green. He his sleeves rolled up to his elbow and sported an Omega Psi Phi frat tattoo, telling Gia he was no punk off the street. She glanced over this Jimmy, grinning her approval at his handsome face, high cheekbones and short cut fade.

  “Dance with me, boo,” she heard him tell Cat, nodding to one of his friends who walked toward Gia.

  She knew the game. Distract the friend. Get the girl. She wasn’t interested, and when the shorter man approached—a kid that looked like a pledge Jimmy was letting tagalong with him, not really one of his friends, Gia shook her head, turning her back and taking a few steps away, catching Cat’s gaze to make sure she was okay before she danced to Jay Z and Ja Rule telling her to bounce with them.

  The kid stood in front of her, his crooked front teeth biting over his thin bottom lip like he had to chew on it to keep from taking a nibble out of Gia and he moved toward her, reaching for her.

  “No,” she told him, preferring to dance alone, to be back in the fantasy where that shadow of Luka held her. But the kid was persistent, eager, and when Gia stepped away from him, he followed, taking hold of her arm. “What did I say?” she asked. She was drunk, high out of her head, but still aware enough that she knew she didn’t want this asshole’s attention.

  “It’s just a dance, babe.”

  “Fuck off,” she told him, her head swimming a little when the music shifted and the lights changed, the overhead trapeze artists swooping in with the switch of music and the stream of beaming colors, dusting the crowd with a spray of green, gold, and purple Mardi Gras confetti. Now she could only make out shapes, see flashes and bodies and hear low mutters of sounds.