Page 9 of On the Brink of Passion

Does he know? Can he tell? Did I make a noise so loud it woke him? What is he going to say? Can he smell my arousal? All of those things would be completely and utterly horrible. So while my body is still riding the now gentle waves of orgasm, I lie there, looking at him and holding my breath. A brief fantasy runs roughshod through my head, completely unbidden: Beckett smiling at me, knowing what I’ve done, and asking if he could help out with the next. And goddammit, in my weakened state, I accept all his kisses, caresses, the studious way he learns my reactions and how to please me, and yeah, he makes me come, again.

But real Beckett appears to be somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, blinks at me a few times without saying anything. His mouth tugs into a quick smile before he closes his eyes and rolls over, mashing his pillow with a few punches as he does. When the snoring picks up, I can breathe again. And after extracting my hand from my pants, I breathe some more, and finally fall asleep, definitely not with visions in my head of being held by Beckett as I do.

Chapter Five

Beckett

The weight room isn’t exactly where most people would expect to find figure skaters. Most people are idiots.

I may not be built like a linebacker, but I sure as hell work out like one—though since I’m usually training alongside women who think it makes dudes look douchey, I’ve learned to hold back on the grunting. Doesn’t mean lifting this shit is easy. It’s not, although it’s more regularly shaped and balanced than the woman I’m usually lifting, which makes it easier in some ways, even if the load is heavier. No way would I call Jubilee irregular to her face, though.

She’s next to me doing her own sets of upright rows. Some pairs I know rotate around each other in the gym, since it’s not like we’re doing precisely the same exercises at the same time—yeah, a lot of them are the same, but different muscle groups are more important to her than they are to me and vice versa. But since day one, Jubilee and I have worked alongside each other, and even though we’re not talking or even consciously paying attention to one another mostly, I feel like it’s been good in just getting used to being close. To absorb the way Jubilee’s body moves, how her muscles work. To hear her breathing. Some of that’s maybe woo-woo mumbo jumbo, but what the hell—it’s worth a shot, yeah? Either one of us would do just about anything to be better, and this doesn’t cost a damn thing.

When Jubilee’s finished her set, she reaches for her water bottle, but I swipe it before she can bring it to her lips. It’s empty. It’s been empty the last two times she’s tried to take a drink, too. I’m usually the forgetful one—as Jubilee never fails to remind me—but for some reason, she can’t keep her damn water bottle filled. In the gym or in our suite.

I jog over to the filling station to fill hers up and top off mine, and when I get back and hand it over, she looks me up and down like she’s never quite seen me before.

“Thanks,” she says right before she pops the top and squirts a stream of water into her mouth. It’s actually kinda dirty. But I’ll keep it in my pants for now, although I make no promises about later. It’s been a few days since we had sex, and I’d like for that to change.

“You’re welcome.” That was definitely not overly suggestive, but she rolls her eyes anyway before taking another long drink. I’ll take it.

We keep working our way around the weight room together, and when we’re in the middle of our plyometrics, there’s a disturbance in the Force. Not that I’m actually a Jedi, but it just feels like there’s someone around, too close, who shouldn’t be. So after I’ve finished up my set of box jumps, I look around. And who should be standing there with one eyebrow raised and a kind of evil smile on her face but Sabrina. Not exactly who I want to see right now.

And judging by the way Jubilee is glaring at her, Sabrina isn’t on her VIP list either. Seriously, Jubilee’s glare should turn Sabrina to stone. Maybe since Sabrina’s not paying her a bit of attention, it doesn’t have the same effect. No, Sabrina’s definitely only got eyes for me, and I don’t like it. As if that’s ever stopped her.

Not asking if she’s interrupting our workout—she fucking knows she is and doesn’t care—she walks straight up to me and presses a hand to my chest.

“Beckett.” I know that purr. Used to enjoy it, too, but not anymore. Now that I know what kind of viciousness is behind it, it makes reluctance crawl up my spine.

“Hey, Sabrina.” I take a step back to get her to stop touching me, but she doesn’t stop, just steps forward, into my space. Having people in my personal space doesn’t bother me so much. I’m a friendly guy, and I spend most of my days being ridiculously close to a person who doesn’t like me all that much, but that’s our fucking job. Also, I take public transportation regularly. I can’t be too much of a cream puff about it. But this makes me uncomfortable.Take a hint, lady.

It’s partly that my pride still smarts a bit from Sabrina ditching me. Yeah, I’m like a thousand times better off with Jubilee, but rejection never feels good. Sabrina had me, she didn’t want me, so she gave me up. Fine. It’s not like I’m collateral at a pawn shop, though. She has no right to get me back in any capacity, and that includes her touching me.

I’m sweaty and hot from our workout, but the crawling heat of embarrassment and of not wanting to be touched by Sabrina is making me warmer and more flushed.

“Where’s Todd?” I’m hoping my question will drag her attention back to where it’s supposed to be—training, preparing—but it doesn’t work. Instead, she trails a nail between my pecs and then over my abs, and I feel like I might puke. I don’t want this, I don’t like it, but I’m not quite sure how to get out of it. We have a history, and we’re currently competitors, but also teammates, and it’s just really fucking complicated. Too much for my brain that’s way better at making my body do what I tell it to than anything else.

“He’s over there.” She tips her head to where Todd’s started his circuit, but makes no move to join him. Just toys with the drawstring on my shorts in a way that makes my balls want to crawl up into my body.

I open my mouth to say I don’t know what, but then there’s a voice from behind me. A voice like an icicle stabbing someone in the chest.

“Then I feel like that’s where you ought to be, too.”

I’ve never in my life been so glad Jubilee’s got my back.

Sabrina’s fingers stop moving, but she doesn’t take her hand away. Instead, she looks past me to where Jubilee must be standing. “I don’t need to supervise Todd.”

“And I don’t need to supervise Beckett. We keep an eye out for each other.”

I hadn’t known Jubilee thought about it like that. But it’s true—sometimes she corrects my form in the gym, or I spot her and vice versa. When I was with Sabrina, it had felt like being supervised, and when Jubilee had done the same thing, it chafed at first, but that feeling faded. I hadn’t realized why until now.

“Well you might want to keep an eye on your boy. He’s always got an eye for the hottest new thing.”

That is ridiculously unfair. Which is what I’m about to say when Jubilee beats me to it and comes up alongside me, threading an arm around my waist. It makes Sabrina back up and, in the process, drop her hand from my waistband, thank god.

I put my arm around Jubilee’s shoulders, because leaving her hanging wouldn’t be cool. Also, I like the way she feels next to me. Small, yeah, but also like she might kick Sabrina’s ass.

“I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating. You two were long over by the time Beckett and I teamed up. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have some work to do, and god knows you do.”

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