Page 85 of Shift Change

By the time I stopped squirting, I could barely stand. He licked me clean, treating me to a symphony of obscene slurps, and then stood. “You came a lot,” he said, sounding more amused than surprised.

I groaned, still riding the high. “That a problem?”

“Not at all. I’m impressed, actually.” He gave me a crooked grin. “You looked like you were about to pass out.”

I wrapped my arms around him, and after we kissed, he leaned his head on my shoulder while the water pounded around us. There wasn’t room to dance, thank God, but we swayed together.

As my heartbeat slowed and I caught my breath, I thought about how goddamn lucky I was. This amazingly hot, fierce, beautiful man was mine. Chuck was smoothing out the harsh edges of my troubled life, and I hoped like hell it would stay that way.

* * *

I was glad the Warriors had been able to schedule a completely free day in Los Angeles. After a grueling series of games in Vancouver, Seattle, Portland, and San Jose, we needed a break. Most of the guys planned to spend the day golfing, but Chuck and I had decided to enjoy some alone time. We both loved the ocean, and since he’d never seen the Pacific, we agreed to go to one of most fun spots in the city, Venice Beach. After a quick breakfast, decked out in board shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers, we called an Uber.

As soon as we got out of the car, Chuck threw his arms in the air and whooped. “I fucking love California. Sunshine and a great breeze at eleven in the morning.”

“We lucked out,” I said. “I checked the weather app—seventy degrees, headed for a high of seventy-two.”

He did a celebratory fist pump. “Beats the hell out of schlepping across the winter tundra to chase pucks around an ice rink.”

Needing to feel him, I let my arm brush against his. “True, but you love chasing those pucks.”

“No question.” He turned his head, taking in our surroundings. “This place looks amazing. What should we do first?”

“When I was here with Gabe and Logan, we walked around and played it by ear. Sound good?”

“Hell yeah. Let’s go.” Chuck’s grin gave the SoCal sun a run for its money, and he took off.

It took a few long strides to catch him. He grinned as we brushed the sides of our hands together.

“If I didn’t know better,” I said, “I’d think you were excited.”

He shot me a sideways glance, his grin stretching impossibly wide. “Not as much as I was in the shower this morning, but I’m stoked for this.”

When we reached the Skate Park, he stopped short. “Holy shit, this is huge. Look at all those bowls and rails.” His eyes moved to mine. “You skateboard?”

“Used to.” I rested a hand on his back.

“Do they rent them here? Want to go?”

I snorted. “Considering Criswell would personally chop off our nuts if we went back to the hotel with broken bones, I’ll say no.” I slid my hand to his shoulder, and a thrill zipped down my arm when he reached up and covered my hand with his.

“I guess.” He cast another longing glance at the skaters. “We wouldn’t get hurt.”

“You really want to risk it?” I gave him the best think-about-it look I could find. “People are already putting ‘Madison’ and ‘rookie of the year’ in the same sentence. Let’s keep walking, and if you can’t stop thinking about it, we’ll talk later.”

I hoped he’d forget, because talk was all we’d do. Aside from not wanting either of us injured, I really wanted him to win that award.

“Fuck.” He blew out a hard breath, looking like a dejected twelve-year-old.

In a flash, I wished I could’ve known him when we were kids. He would have been an anchor in my completely fucked-up world, the kind of friend who kept me sane. And there’s nothing wrong with falling in love when you’re young. After one last wistful glance at the skaters, he patted my lower back, and we walked on.

We spent the next hour watching street performers—we saw a guy breakdancing on roller skates and another swallowing swords—before checking out the sculpted bodies at Muscle Beach. Chuck nudged me and muttered, “I bet Abby could bench half these guys.”

“Not without chirping them the whole time.” I followed with my best Abdulov imitation: “You try your best boys, don’t feel bad. No match for Russian who lifts weights since three years old.”

Chuck cackled, and we kept walking. A few funky shops later, we found ourselves waiting for a signal to cross the street.

“We are going to the actual beach today, right?” He pointed at the ocean in the distance. The Pacific stretched out endlessly, gleaming in the sun and bluer than I remembered. It looked like a promise I didn’t dare dream of, that Chuck and I could be together for…

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