Page 44 of QB Keeper
“Oh my God! You must be Grace. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Bella,” she says cheerfully, extending her hand.
My jaw drops, because she knows who I am, as I stick out my hand and place it in hers. “I’m—,” I stutter, unable to think. It hasn’t registered that she already said my name, but none of that matters because I don’t remember it anyway.
“You’re happy to meet her,” Tanner whispers in my ear, his warm breath against my skin snapping me back to reality.
“Yes, that.” I immediately cringe, because I’m fucking this up in the most ridiculous way right now. But Bella just smiles, moving our hands up and down in a shake. I can’t believeshe’s actually standing in front of me. I knew that she was dating one of the Blizzard players, but I had no idea that he was in Tanner’s little bro group, and I definitely didn’t expect to see her lounging around in his living room.
I’ve been a huge fan of hers since I can remember. One of my core memories is sitting outside the stadium with my brother and Tanner, listening to her perform because we couldn’t get tickets. They’ve gotten harder and harder to get over the years, so I still haven’t been to one of her shows. Although, this is way better than seeing her on a stage with hundreds of thousands of other people in the room.
“Tanner told me about the jersey dress you made when he was in college,” she says. The memory jolts me, because that was one of the last days we had together before he left me. It was also the last piece I ever made. Sadness tries to take over, reminding me that I never even got a chance to wear it, but Bella continues, and I quickly push my emotions down. “I’m looking for some cute game day outfits for this season. Would you be interested in making some for me? Everything I’ve found so far hasn’t really been my style.”
I shouldn’t say yes. I haven’t been able to make a single thing in so long, and I don’t want to let her down. But the hopeful look in her eyes has me feeling all kinds of inspired. I want to help her. I want to make her such amazing outfits, that she’s proud to walk into that stadium every Sunday wearing them.
“I’d love to,” I say, exhaling in relief, because this might just be the thing I needed to get my groove back.
“I want cute stuff too,” the girl with the black hair whines, her bottom lip pushing out in a pout.
“Grace, I’m going to level with you,” the guy she is sitting with says. “I’m financially irresponsible. I have absolutely no budget when it comes to my wife’s happiness. If you can make her whatever she wants, I’ll pay for it. I don’t care how much it costs.”
I laugh out loud, covering my mouth with my hand, because this is insane. Not only am I going to try making pieces again, but they’re for women who are so high-profile in the area that there’s no way they won’t be seen all over the Internet.
“Me, too!” shouts the brunette. “I like to call my lookSideline Chic, but I’d love to incorporate some more Blizzard colors into the outfits I wear on game days.”
I’m still in shock as Tanner goes around the room introducing me to everyone. We fall into easy conversations, and I notice how happy all of the couples look as they show affection to one another. It all seems so easy, and I wish I could have that.
I look across the room to where Tanner is sitting in a chair, our eyes meeting as he gives me a soft smile. I hate the way we left things between us the other night. I’ve given myself a little bit of time to sort it out, but I really need to decide what’s next. Do I want to give him another chance? Can I trust him with my heart? Will I regret not walking away?
All of that remains to be seen, but I know it’s getting harder and harder to fight the pull I have to him, whether I want to or not.
THIRTY-THREE
GRACE
I putthe last of the glassware in the dishwasher, closing it and pressing the start button.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Tanner says, wiping down the counter before he throws the sponge back into the sink. “I invited them here. I didn’t expect you to clean up the mess.”
“Why do you have that room?” I blurt, unable to hold in the question any longer. As the night went by, and I spent more time in close proximity to him, the need to have this conversation began to eat away at me. I just want to understand.
He puffs out his cheeks, releasing the breath he was holding in. He motions for me to come sit with him at the barstools, so I abandon the cleaning and follow him. He’s facing me, and he gently puts his hands on the outsides of my thighs as leverage to spin my chair toward him. As always, electricity sparks to life under his hands when he touches me, but I do my best to ignore it. “My journey with kink started with you, but it didn’t end the day I left.” I wince, not expecting those words to hit me as hard as they do, but I sit quietly, so he can continue.
“After I hurt you, I became obsessed with what I didwrong. I started researching and realized how unsafe we were back then. We never even established a safe word. It’s a miracle you weren’t injured worse than you were.”
“I told you. I liked it. I asked you for everything you did to me.”
He nods. “I know, but that doesn’t change what happened and how it affected me. When I reached what I felt was the end of the Internet as far as safety during scenes, I still didn’t feel like it was enough. In one of the kink forums I was in, people suggested that I visit a BDSM club to see for myself how it should be done. I never expected to be a participant in any of it, but that’s exactly what happened.”
I shoot out of the barstool, unable to hear him finish this story. But before I can even move my feet, his fingers close around my wrist, holding me in place.
“I need you to listen to me, Grace. This is really important.” The desperation and sincerity in his eyes has me pulling myself back up into my seat, even though I’m not sure I can bear whatever it is he’s going to tell me.
“I met a married couple that worked there. Their job was to teach men and women how to safely dominate their partners. At first, they just demonstrated everything, but when they saw that I was still scared of losing control, they suggested a more hands-on approach.
“I want you to know that I never intimately touched her. It was strictly for learning purposes, and other than providing aftercare, I never let my hands roam on her body. They were very aware of my limits, and respected the fact that I only belong to one woman.”
My breathing quickens, trying to put all of these pieces together. The way he’s looking at me, practically begging me to understand, is making it hard to focus. “Were you ever alone with her?” I don’t care if it makes me look jealous. I have to know. My heart pounds in my chest and my throatconstricts, making it harder to breathe with every second he doesn’t answer.
“Once. But it was a demonstration for a friend, who was struggling to understand the lifestyle. He needed my help, and I don’t regret it. But I promise you, even then, I never touched her in an intimate way with any part of my body. Her husband watched on a video stream from the next room. Our limits were discussed ahead of time, and none of them were crossed.”
