Page 100 of Courtside

There was the fact that David was a toucher. He had his hands on her body at all times, either holding her hand, touching her lower back, or, when they sprawled out to read on his couch, he hauled her feet up onto his lap and dug his big thumbs into her arches. She was now, officially, a foot rub person.

There were also kisses — quick kisses in greeting, prolonged goodnight kisses where his big hands cradled her face with a tenderness that threatened to melt her.

And then there were the kisses that led to more, typically involving him pressing her against the closest solid surface, their tongues curling together in a way that made her core throb.

Those were her favorite.

A part of her was surprised that in the three weeks that had passed since the season concluded they hadn’t progressed beyond their hands. Her hand wrapped around him, tugging and twisting until he came with one of those choked groans that lit her skin on fire, and his fingers — long, thick, and so much rougher than hers — circling her clit with perfect, steady pressure before pressing inside of her, ultimately causing her complete obliteration.

David approached touching her like a scientist, watching her face and body, gauging each and every reaction. When she grew too still he adjusted, whereas when she trembled and jerked he remained steady and consistent. When she whispered “Harder” because she couldn’t wait another second, he obliged.

And shecame.

Every single fucking time, Sage came with a silent, twisting shudder, like her body still couldn’t quite believe that this man had done that again. Thatanyman had the patience and attention to get her off consistently.

“Here you go.” Rebecca walked up beside her and handed her a glass.

“Thanks.” Sage took a sip, humming as soon as the tang of lime hit her taste buds. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Rebecca grinned. “Darius may be worthless with a grill, but he makes a damn good margarita.” She nodded toward the grill, where a tray of steaks sat waiting. “Want to help?”

Soon, she and Rebecca were deep into a discussion of steak cooking techniques. Rebecca swore by the grill, whereas Sage had only ever used a cast iron. They both agreed that butter was necessary, but disagreed about whether or not rosemary was too overpowering.

Before long the rest of the group joined them. The guys carried out bowls of food and place settings for the long table, talking over each other and effortlessly oscillating between teasing and sincerity in the way that only people who have spent many years together could do. More drinks were poured, the steaks were served, and then they were all sitting together, passing around the various dishes and making last minute runs to the kitchen for whatever they’d forgotten.

It was all delicious. The steaks were accompanied by roasted cauliflower and sweet potatoes, steamed green beans, a spinach salad, and a loaf of bread that had come from a Charleston bakery Sage had never heard of.

She mostly listened, piecing together who each of them were from how the conversation flowed.

Rebecca owned a successful hair salon in Cannonborough, and she’d recently expanded her business to include other cosmetic services as well. Darius was a science teacher at a small local high school, and seemed to truly love the work that he did.

Tommy was the manager of a rental car office. It was one of those companies that taught business and managerial skills, and he was currently in the chase for a promotion to a regional manager position. His ex-wife, Courtney, had apparently taken their dog, which Tommy was still salty about, but couldn’t justify racking up more court fees to get him back.

Sage also learned that Tommy spent a lot of time at Chuck’s house, either raiding his fridge or napping on his couch. She couldn’t figure out if Chuck was actually annoyed with Tommy — the fond, almost soft looks the red-headed man kept sending him didn’t exactly scream ‘pain in my ass.’

Keaton was a stereotype of Southern wealth plucked right from the pages ofCharleston Magazine. He was a lawyer at his father’s firm, Redd and Whitaker, and was one of those men who was deeply committed to his weekly visit to the golf club. He’d been on the swim team with Chuck, which was how he’d gotten in with the group back in college.

Sage also learned that another couple, Ford and Louisa, usually came along for the trip, but they’d just had a baby in November and decided to sit out the year.

They included Sage in the conversation too, asking about her degree and how she’d liked her time at Southeastern. There were also plenty of questions about what it was like having David as a boss, no matter how many times they tried to clarify that he hadn’ttechnicallybeen in charge of her. Throughout it all, David kept a steady, firm hand on her thigh, his thumb absently brushing the bare skin revealed by her cut-off jean shorts.

They were a good group of people, Sage thought, as the meal wound to a close. She stepped right in as plates were stacked and empty glasses gathered. She and Chuck loaded the dishwasher while Keaton hand-washed the larger dishes, Darius dried them, and David returned them to their proper places in the tall, hardwood cabinets that filled the open kitchen. Tommy and Rebecca dished up the leftovers, arguing about which movie they should watch that night.

Drinks were refilled and the group started moving toward the living room, where two leather sectionals made a large U shape around an absurdly large TV. Sage was following along, going with the flow of the group, when someone tugged at her hand.

She turned, looking up at David’s face as he pulled her in the opposite direction. His smile was almost bashful, maybe a little bit embarrassed as he led her back behind the kitchen, through a door, and down a sparsely-lit narrow stairwell.

When they reached the bottom David flicked on a light, revealing a basement that had been converted into a combination man-cave and arcade room. A polished wooden bar was built into one corner, and a pool table and foosball table took up most of the open space in the middle of the room. A few old arcade games stood against one wall, and the whole mood was set by the old pool lights that hung down from the ceiling.

Sage turned to David. “What are we doing?”

He scratched his beard. “Ah, we’re going on a date.”

“In the basement?”

David looked around them, rocking back on his heels as his cheeks puffed out with a loud exhale. “Yeah. That’s the plan.”

“Not that I don’t love a good game of pool,” Sage began, taking a step toward him. “But why exactly are we calling this a date?”

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