Crashed by Elise Faber

Chapter Eleven

Fanny

Charlie was great.

Good-looking. Funny. Attentive and sweet.

But . . . she didn’t feel a modicum of attraction toward him. He was all those things she’d mentioned, but she didn’t want to jump his bones. Hell, she’d take a slight urge to cuddle at this point.

Instead, every time he touched her, a light hand on her back, guiding her through a door, their fingers brushing when he pulled back her chair for her, she could only think of how it had felt when Brandon had touched her outside the rink. Or when his hand had pressed to her stomach, keeping her from stepping onto the glass on her porch that night.

Or his palm on her cheek.

Or—

“You okay?” Charlie asked.

She blinked, shook her head slightly. “Sorry, I zoned out there for a minute.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have started discussing the atomic weight of sodium hydroxide.” He made a face, though he couldn’t hold it, his lips turning up at the edges, eyes dancing with humor, letting her know that he hadn’t been testing her on her chemistry skills. “Told you I was out of practice with the whole dating scene.” He tapped a finger to his mouth. “I know what will keep you riveted,” he teased. “I can tell you all about my success on my track and field team in high school.”

Laughter bubbled up in her chest as she reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’d be happy to hear of your accolades,” she said. “Was it long jump?”

He flipped his hand over, lacing their fingers together.

They were warm and calloused and . . . nothing like Brandon’s.

Fuck.

“Not long jump. I was a hundred meter guy,” he said. “But I’m not the one who has a silver medal. What was that like?” he asked.

See? He was good.

Sharing about himself, but then able to return the favor, to encourage her to share. This man wouldn’t stay single for long. She should jump in, grab on, and—

He wasn’t Brandon.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “I’m sure you get sick of discussing it.”

“No,” she said, forcing herself to focus. It wasn’t fair to Charlie. “It’s hard to put into words.” Her eyes slid closed, and she felt her mouth curve, able to transport herself right back to that moment. “I didn’t fully achieve my goal of gold, but it still felt incredible to be on that podium. I remember the weight of the medal. I remember seeing my boy—” She stopped herself before she could say boyfriend or mentioned Brandon. “I remember seeing my family”—her true family, Jeff and Grace, even though they sat next to her biological parents—“in the stands, and the smiles they wore, how proud they looked. I remember seeing the flag being hoisted, the sound of the crowd and the music blaring through the arena. Russia’s anthem.” She opened her eyes and grinned at him. “It wasn’t the Star-Spangled Banner, though it was still captivating.”

Charlie squeezed her fingers.

And she found herself still talking, even though he’d been right, and she didn’t like to talk about it. Even without the gold medal, she was proud of herself, proud of the work she’d put in. It was just . . . everything else that had come after had turned those memories into something that she buried rather than relished. She sighed. “But looking back now, it was like everything during that time was on fast-forward. Before the medal ceremony, everything was almost a blur with all the training and press and ice time and then competing. After, it was closing ceremonies—we were right near the end, and I didn’t have much time to do anything besides focus on the competition—and more press and finally getting some sleep. So, when I was finally done and could actually let loose a bit, it was over.”

“A whirlwind,” Charlie said.

Her lips curved. “Precisely.”

“Your parents must have been so proud of you,” he said.

Ah. Well, that was almost as complicated of a topic as Brandon.

Both of which were way too complicated to get into a discussion about on a first date.

Which was why she simply said, “Yes.”

Seeming to understand that was a touchy subject, he straightened slightly, still holding her hand. “Dessert? Or should I take you home so you can get some sleep?”

Her heart squeezed, and she knew—freaking knew—that if she weren’t hung up on an annoying, curly-haired, handsome ex-fiancé, that he would be really good for her. He probably would be really good for her even with her still hung up on Brandon.

But he deserved someone without entanglements.

Someone better than her.

“Dessert,” she said, wanting to pretend a little longer. “You pick.” She tugged her hand back, started to push back her chair. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Is this a test?” Charlie asked lightly, standing when she did.

Polite.

Probably too polite, considering who his sister was.

She shook her head. “How are you Scarlett’s brother?”

“Why?” he asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Because I have manners?”

“Precisely.”

He grinned. “My mom taught us both. Scar ignored her.”

“And you?”

His eyes, a deep blue, darkened enough to cause an answering echo in her middle, telling her that yeah, this man could be trouble, just like his sister. “I only put them to use for very special occasions.”

Laughing and shaking her head, she stepped by him. “Order dessert, and if you pass, I might consider a second date.”

Saluting, he sat back down and picked up the smaller dessert menu their server had left on the table not too long before. “Chocolate?” he asked, glancing up at her.

“Cheater.”

“Or are you not a chocolate woman?”

Half her mouth turned up. “I’ll never tell.”

“Cheesecake?”

“Did you get in trouble in school for cheating?”

“No.” A beat. “But only because I never got caught.”

She giggled. Actually giggled. Then realized she was standing in the middle of the restaurant, blocking the walkway, and still not walking to the bathroom. Charlie was trouble all right. Just like his sister. Pointing a finger in his direction, she ordered, “Dessert.”

And then she swept through the tables and into the hallway that led to the bathrooms.

Fanny was about to push into the single stall when a hand caught her arm and dragged her back against a hard, warm chest. “Charlie!” she gasped.

The fingers tightened.

The spicy male scent reached her nose.

And she knew, even before he spoke.

“Not Charlie,” Brandon growled. He spun her, pinned her to the wall, his body pressing to hers, and it was . . . glorious. Everything she’d imagined, more. Because it was familiar and not, and the feel of him against her had a swath of heat rolling through her, hardening her nipples, bringing her thighs together, squeezing tight against the sudden burst of moisture drenching her panties as she arched against him.

“Brandon,” she whispered.

“What the fuck are you doing on a date with another man?” he snapped.

She lifted her chin, anger pulsing, twining with her desire in some sort of fucked-up need for this man. She pushed at his chest. “Go away.”

“Why?” he asked hotly, not moving, not even when she put all her force behind her shoves.

“Fuck you,” she hissed, raging now.

He leaned heavier against her, causing her breathing to hitch. “Why are you with that asshole?”

“I can date who I want,” she gritted out. “You don’t have any right to—”

“Why?” he repeated.

And something snapped inside her. “Because you didn’t come. Because I waited all day for you to call and show up, but you didn’t. And I wanted you to.” She shoved him hard, forcing him back a step. “Damn you, I wanted you to. I wanted . . . you.”

His eyes widened. “Fanny,” he breathed.

She started to clamp a hand over her mouth, unable to believe she’d said that. She was on a date with another man right now, and Charlie was great, and she didn’t want to go back to the past. They couldn’t ever be what they once were.

Right? Right?

But even as he stepped closer, she didn’t push him away, she didn’t leave that hall.

Even as his mouth lowered to hers, she didn’t retreat.

She stretched up, lifted her chin . . . aligned their lips.

And kissed him.

Or maybe he kissed her. Or maybe—

Fuck if she didn’t really care.

He parted her lips with a dart of his tongue, slipping it into her mouth and coaxing hers out to play. Sleek darts and shallow teases. His fingers sliding up along her side, her arm, her neck, before slipping back and weaving into her hair, tilting her head, and angling them.

It was new . . . and not.

It was familiar . . . and not.

It was . . . Brandon.

She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him closer, wanting his body flush against her, needing him close after he’d been far for so long. His other hand cupped her ass, brought her leg up. Without a moment of hesitation, she wrapped it around his waist, and then the other. His groan when he pressed her against the wall, their bodies perfectly aligned, the hard length of his cock insistent against the fabric of her underwear had her shivering, uncaring that anyone might walk down the hall and see them.

His fingers massaged her ass, his hips moved, grinding against her, and she was shockingly close to an orgasm in a matter of seconds.

“Bran,” she gasped, when he pulled away and nipped at her lips then bent to nip at her throat, the bared skin just above her breasts.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered against her skin, tongue gliding along her flesh, along the seam of the deep V of her dress.

Down. Down. Down.

Until it felt like she’d fall, until it was only his hand and the pressure of his hips that kept her against that wall.

And then she wasn’t thinking of falling.

Wasn’t thinking of anything except the fact that his tongue was darting in. That it was slipping under the fabric of her dress and unerringly finding the hard tip of her nipple.

“No bra,” he whispered, flicking his tongue there.

She moaned, and though a distant part of her understood this was insane, that she should push him away . . . the rest of her wanted Brandon too much to be thinking clearly.

She yanked the fabric to the side, and he didn’t delay, just sucked her nipple deeply into his mouth and kept rocking against her. Sparks were shooting through her nerves, glittering pleasure was filling her veins, need and heat and moisture were gathering and coiling and . . .

Exploding.

Between her thighs, flooding the rest of body, a rapid surge that tightened every muscle and cell, one that flew through her with all the intensity of a lightning strike. And then it relaxed, her pleasure lapping at her, slowly receding, fading until it ebbed against her like gentle waves against a shore.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, slowly tucking her back into her dress and kissing his way back up her throat until he reached her mouth.

He kissed her again, kissed her until she was reduced to ash, until she was reformed into someone completely different.

Only then did he slowly unhook her legs, placing her feet on the floor one by one, steadying her until she found her balance, his fingers and hold gentle now instead of whipping her into a frenzy of need.

“Beautiful,” he said with another brush of his lips.

He straightened, stroked his thumb over her cheek.

“Get rid of him,” he ordered.

And then he was gone.

Leaving her panting and alone in the hallway, wondering what in the fuck had just happened.

Kaydon lookedtoward the door to the rink, and she would have had to be blind to miss the longing in his eyes.

“All right,” she muttered. “All right.” She nodded to the exit. “Get out of here.”

He didn’t question her, just tossed out a wave and hauled ass to the door. “Thanks, Fanny,” he called before taking off down the hall, “that was fun.”

She grinned.

He didn’t have to pretend it had been fun.

She knew it had been a combination of boring, small, repetitive movements he’d done a million times throughout the years and exhausting on-ice maneuvers that he’d never done before. He’d be sore tomorrow—and probably the night after—but it was the only way he would be able to properly relearn the muscle memory. At least to relearn it properly.

Because he’d had several seasons of skating through the pain.

Then another of jumping back onto the ice without proper rehab.

He had all sorts of shit to work through, and it was going to take some more time in order to get there.

Which was why she called, “See you next week!”

His groan echoed down the hallway.

She grinned, started to follow him, ready to get off the ice herself, but a voice called her name. Turning, she skated over to the little girl who’d been patiently waiting for the public skate to start. Opening the gate to let everyone on, she bent to hear the girl over the rush of kids jostling to get on. “Can I show you my axel?”

Fanny’s heart squeezed. “I’d love to see it, Lily.”

Thiswas why she taught, and not just the big guys who thought puck handling was more important, but because it was a fucking joy to see skating through the eyes of kids. It was new and fresh and exciting. Especially in the littlest kids.

“Yay!” She snagged Fanny’s hand and all but dragged her to the corner. “Stand here.”

Fanny stood there.

Lily skated a few circles to warm up, then lined up her take-off, jumped, and . . . fell.

Closing the distance between them, she helped Lily up. “You were too far forward on your landing. Bend your knee a bit more to even out your weight, and that’ll help for next time.” She demonstrated. “Ready to try again?”

Lily nodded, determination on her face as she moved to have another go.

Then she jumped but rotated too early. She landed it, but barely, her hand pushing off the ice, so she didn’t tumble.

Not that Lily cared. She spun toward Fanny and pumped her hands in the air. “I did it!”

“You did!” Fanny smiled, hugging her back when the girl threw her arms around Fan’s waist. “Great job,” she said.

“Someday I want to be able to do a triple.”

“Someday,” she said, tugging the end of her ponytail, “you’ll be able to.”

“You think so?”

“I believe in you.”

Lily tossed a huge smile in her direction then went off to continue practicing.

Fanny started toward the exit for a second, only to be waylaid again. She saw some crossovers, a girl take her first strides without the aid of a bucket to hold her up, and then some snow angels. None of which she was getting paid to see. But that was okay. Because kids.

She really loved them.

Eventually, she managed to get off the ice and move toward the bench just inside the hall where her bag was stowed.

She had one skate off when she felt it.

The tendril of heat sliding down her nape.

Her eyes shot up, and there he was.

Striding up to her as though he hadn’t made her come by dry-humping her in a public hallway, and then had left her, knees shaking, lips swollen, hair a fucking mess. She barely remembered stumbling into the stall and trying to put herself to rights, knowing that she looked like she’d been ravished. Feeling like she had been ravished . . . even while part of her wished that he’d torn her panties off, unzipped, and—

Fuck.

She’d eventually managed to peel herself out of the bathroom, looking somewhat put together, to find that Charlie had not only passed her dessert test, but fucking aced it. He’d ordered both chocolate cake and cheesecake, and not only that, while she’d been unleashing her dry-humping she-demon in the hall, he’d worried that she wasn’t feeling well, so had asked the server to box them up.

Thenhad sent both home with her.

Thenhad followed her home, since they’d met at the brewery.

Thenhad walked her to the porch and kissed her on the cheek.

Then had fucking texted her to make sure she was feeling better the next morning.

The fuck?

Seriously. The man was wonderful.

And she was . . . orgasming courtesy of her ex, drooling over said ex, dreaming of him, and—

She was an asshole.

But she didn’t have time to ponder the full extent of her assholeness before Brandon was crouching next to her and reaching for her skates.

“Don’t,” she hissed, jerking her feet away.

He lifted his hands, stayed crouched, but his face was gentle when he said, “Are you okay?”

Leveling a glare at him was her only answer before bending to unlace her skates and tug them off. She dried the blade, stashed them away, slipped her tired feet into her fuzzy boots, and stood before striding down the hall. Her car was parked out front and though this exit would put her farther from it, she was willing and able to take all escape routes.

“Fan,” he said. “I should—”

She whipped toward him, narrowed her eyes. “If you’re going to apologize, don’t bother.”

His brows lifted.

“I was just as much a part of that as you were.”

He relaxed. She saw the tension bleed from his shoulders.

“But it was still wrong.”

That tension snuck back in, tightening his jaw, flattening his lips. “It didn’t feel wrong to me.” He stepped closer, his lips finding her ear. “I came in my hand twice last night thinking about how fucking sexy you were wrapped around me.”

Was there any oxygen left in the hallway?

Or had this man just stolen it all?

He’d never talked like that before, his husky voice, the sleek, muscled lines of his body so close to hers, bringing her right back to the previous night. She wanted him. She was two seconds away from jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around him again, only this time with his cock inside her instead of against her. “Brandon,” she breathed, shivering when he ran one rough fingertip down the side of her neck.

“What are you doing here?”

She jumped, probably looking guilty as hell.

Definitely feeling guilty as hell.

Her head jerked down the hall, seeing Kaydon walking toward her, though his eyes were on Brandon, and belatedly she remembered that it would be strange for Brandon to be here. Agents didn’t just show up at practices, let alone show up twice in a week.

Brandon straightened slightly, and she watched him as he tucked the heat away, his expression going casual as he held up a folder she had completely missed.

Was he a fucking magician?

Where had he been keeping that?

“I had the signed contract from yesterday.”

Kaydon studied Brandon for a long moment before he lifted a brow. “You couldn’t email me?”

“I—”

Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was smart. Maybe . . . she just wanted to see what lengths Brandon would go to in order to follow her, to talk with her.

Would he chase her down? Catch her arm again?

So maybe it was another test, only instead of dessert, this time it was . . .

To see if he was interested? No. To see if he would forget her.

Or maybe it was all of that, twisted and tangled together along with the fear of letting him in again, but either way, when Kay asked Brandon to see the contract and then began asking questions, Fanny snagged her skate bag and hauled ass to the exit.