Consider Me (Playing For Keeps Book 1)
Consider Me: Chapter 39

OLIVIA

I WAKE up this morning only slightly miserable, yet significantly grouchier than I have been lately. It’s not because I’m spending Valentine’s Day alone, but because it’s Carter’s birthday and I can’t be with him. He’s been gone for a week and we still have five more days to go.

Twelve days. It’s their longest away stretch and I’ve hated every second of it.

It means I’ve been up until midnight almost every night and getting up a half hour early every morning, because FaceTime is fairly limited on workdays and game nights. It means I finally understand why Cara gets so lonely. We’ve been eating and drinking away our sorrows together for far too many days.

But today Carter is twenty-eight and all I get to do is wish him a happy birthday from behind a screen.

I check my phone while I brush my teeth. I was exhausted last night, which means I begged Carter to chat right after the game so I could go to bed early. He reluctantly agreed and now I’ve got a text from Emmett from late last night that says Ur boyfriend is a fucking goof. The attached picture is of Carter at the bar, grinning from ear to ear, a beer in one hand and two deep fried pickles in the other, wearing one of those I HEART NY shirts, which makes sense, since they played in New York last night.

Except instead of I HEART NY, it says I HEART MY GF.

My brother’s sent me an article that contains several similar pictures from different vantage points. The only word he’s attached to his message? Loser.

My phone starts ringing while I’m grinning like a lunatic at it, so I rinse my mouth out and head back to the bedroom as I answer the call.

“Morning, birthday boy.”

Carter’s naked. From the waist up, at least. That’s all I can see, his broad chest, the smattering of dark hair that he scratches his fingers through while yawning, giving me a sleepy, bleary-eyed smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful girl.”

“How was your night?”

He pouts. “Boring, ’cause you went to bed early.”

“It didn’t look boring,” I reply, rifling through my closet. It’s pink and red day at school today. I’m not much of a pink girl so my options are limited. I settle on a red T-shirt dress, propping my phone up on my dresser and moving to stand in front of it as I start peeling off my pajamas. Carter makes me get dressed in front of him every morning. It’s annoying, but also oddly endearing. I enjoy his facial expressions and the way he stumbles over his words.

“You, uh…” He swipes his tongue across his lower lip before clearing his throat. “You didn’t, um…yeah. Oh. That’s a nice bra. I love you.”

Giggling, I shimmy my panties over my hips. “I love you too.”

“Hey, Ollie!” I hear someone holler, and then Carter’s shrieking “No!” His face disappears, along with everything else, until all I see is black, and I hurry to pull on my dress and a pair of tights.

“Cover yourself, Ollie!” Carter screams. “Incoming! Incoming!”

The phone lifts to Garrett’s amused face. “Dang. Not even a bare shoulder.”

There’s an oomph as Garrett gets tackled, and a moment later, Carter emerges looking victorious.

“Sorry. He was supposed to be sleeping.”

“Can’t a guy get a little Valentine’s action around here?” Garrett throws his hands up in the air behind Carter.

“Yeah, her name was Reba, and you disappeared with her for about forty-five minutes last night.”

Garrett looks at Carter like he’s lost his mind. “Reba? Her name wasn’t Reba. Her name was…it was…Rrr…” He scratches his head with a guilty, gritty grin. “Rachel?”

“You guys are the worst.” I laugh, moving into the kitchen. I’m careful to keep my phone trained away from the package of Oreos on my counter and the recipe lying next to it. I found the most deliciously tempting recipe on Pinterest for an Oreo cake to celebrate Carter’s birthday when he gets home. That’s about all I have planned, plus a homemade dinner. What the hell do you get the man that has everything he could ever want or need, especially when your own funds are severely lacking?

He told me not to spend a single cent on him, but it’s eating at me. So far, I’ve framed a photo of us, got him a T-shirt with one of his self-proclaimed nicknames on it, and bought tickets to a VIP showing of the new live-action Disney movie, because it’s about all Carter talks about.

Cara’s been no help at all. She told me to take a naked picture of myself, blow it up to life-size, and hang it above his bed. I neglected to tell her that he has an entire album full of naked pictures of me already, and though I’m sure he’d enjoy it, I would not.

“Jason’s gonna pick you up for work today,” Carter says, smiling as he watches me shovel Corn Pops into my mouth.

“What?” I don’t need his driver to pick me up and I certainly don’t need to be arriving to school in a limo. “Why?”

“Because you shouldn’t drive yourself to work on Valentine’s Day.”

I cock a brow. “People have been doing it for years, Carter.”

“Yeah, well, your car sucks in the snow, I know it snowed a fuckton there last night, and I can’t be with you today, so humor me.”

“Bossy man,” I murmur, starting the kettle. It feels like one of those days I need caffeine, but all I’ve got are several different kinds of decaffeinated teas. Maybe a Starbucks run at lunchtime. I rub my temples and frown at the sting of pain there. Lack of sleep—and lack of Carter—is exhausting and painful.

“Need a coffee this morning, pumpkin?” Carter sets the phone down and disappears, and all I can hear is the sound of water and tinkling. This man pees on the phone way too often. He groans deeply before I hear the toilet flush and the sound of the faucet.

“I think so. I’m so tired this week.”

“I keep you up too late. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I miss him too much to care. “Big plans for your birthday tonight?” They’re not playing tonight, just flying out to Chicago for their next game tomorrow. I assume that means—

“Oh, big plans, all right,” he says in his best bedroom voice, all gravel and husk. “Huge plans. I’m gonna fuck my hand while you fu—”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” someone grinds out. “There are three other people in this room right now, Carter!”

I’m slowly getting used to the fact that Carter says whatever the hell he wants, whenever the hell he wants to say it, and I’m getting better at it, really. But then he goes ahead and says things like this and all I can do is drop my head and slap a hand to my face.

“Carter.”

“Sorry.” The way he says it lets me know he’s not actually sorry at all. “I’m gonna spend the night in the hotel room on the phone with you. That’s all I wanna do. Naked or clothed,” he adds, but the fire in his eyes tells me I’ll absolutely be naked. Thousands of miles between us and he still has some sort of weird control over me.

“And the rest of us will be out getting drunk,” Adam tosses out.

Carter keeps me on the phone until we hear the knock on the door that lets me know Jason is here to pick me up. He only lets me go once I’ve promised to call him the second I get home from work so that we can spend the whole night together. He’s bossy, but there’s not a single bit of me that dislikes the idea of hanging out with him via video stream if that’s the only way we can be together on his birthday.

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I open the door to Jason. The bouquet of flowers he’s holding covers a good third of his body, and whatever he’s got in that cup and brown paper bag smells a lot like cinnamon and heaven.

“Carter texted that you needed coffee this morning. It’s a cinnamon bun latte and a cinnamon bun to go with it. He thought you’d like it, but suggested I tell you to drink half now and half later so that your stomach doesn’t hurt too much.”

My phone dings at that moment, and I pull it out to replace a message from the man himself.

World’s Sexiest Man: happy valentine’s day, princess. i love u & miss u.

If you know Carter, and I think you do, you know he doesn’t stop there.

Oh no, why would he?

The second gift arrives after my first class. It’s a teddy bear wearing Carter’s jersey. Something to hug when I’m not there to wrap you in my arms, the card with it says.

The third gift comes partway through my second class. It’s a bouquet of chocolate-covered strawberries, and the message tucked in the tiny envelope tells me he’s imagining licking the juices from the strawberries off my body. I shove that note in my pocket real fast and share the strawberries with my junior girls.

The fourth gift comes right before I head to the staff room for lunch. It’s Jason again, and he’s got a bag of food for me and a box filled with leggings and yoga pants from Lululemon. Your ass looks too good in these to only have one pair, this note says. It’s a travesty.

I pray to all that is holy that’s the last one, but in true Carter fashion, he saves the most embarrassing gift for last.

“Madam.” Brad bows as he opens the gym doors.

“Bradley.” I eye him suspiciously as he gestures me into the gym. “Thank you.”

Him holding the door for me is the first clue that something isn’t right. The second clue is that the lights are off.

Heart racing, I scramble to flick them on, stopping short at the sight in front of me.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No. He didn’t.”

“He did.” Brad’s gaze gleams as he moves by me. “Hit it, boys!”

The gym erupts with music, the sound of guitars and violins and trumpets bouncing off the walls, and my jaw drops in horror.

It’s a mariachi band. A fucking mariachi band. Carter hired a fucking mariachi band to serenade me at school. No. This cannot be real.

But oh, it’s real. Very real.

And there’s my principal, shaking a maraca and moving his hips right along with them, and I’m standing here like a jackass with one hand on my mouth, the other on my cheek.

One of the boys pulls my hand from my mouth and starts spinning me around, but I’m stiff as a board and wind up stumbling over my own two feet.

When the music ends, the only thing to be heard above the applause is the cackling. The piercing, high-pitched, evil cackling.

Cara falls out of my office with her phone in hand. She keels over, slapping both knees as she howls with laughter. “Oh my God. That was priceless.” She’s crying. I might be too. “You shoulda…your face…Oh my God! This video is gold, Livvie, pure gold! Carter’s gonna die!”

Oh, he’s gonna die, all right. Birthday boy is gonna get some birthday bumps.

By the time I pull into my driveway, I’m utterly exhausted. All I want to do is take off my bra and bury my head between the couch cushions while I pretend to stay awake for Carter. I wonder if he’d object to me getting in a bubble bath while we talk. Probably not.

The man has managed to avoid every single one of my text messages today. At first, I suspected he was scared after the mariachi band. Then I realized he’s probably getting some sort of sick enjoyment out of it. He likes to get me riled up. Something about hot sex when I’m mad at him. Except that we can’t benefit from hot, angry sex tonight.

Also, I’m not actually angry. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a man as flashy as him. He probably would have done the exact same thing if he’d been in town today, except he would’ve been right there dancing along with the band and my principal.

The decision is made as I push through my door and start kicking off my boots. Bubble bath. Wine. Oreos. I’ll have to buy a new package for Carter’s birthday cake.

I’m not surprised by the red and pink foil heart balloons taking up my entryway. In fact, I puff a laugh as I shimmy my way over to them and the small package they’re tied to. He got Cara to film the mariachi band debacle, of course he got her to finish the day with one more gift at home.

Running my finger along the edge of the pink envelope, I pull the card out. There’s a picture of a smiling octopus on the front, and it says I wish I were an octopus so I had eight hands to touch your butt with.

That’s when I really start laughing. This man makes me so unquestionably happy with his goofiness, his uncanny ability to always be himself, and just when I think I couldn’t possibly love him more, he proves me wrong.

The inside of the card? Way better than the outside.

Ollie Girl,

I’ve made a lot of mistakes, lived my life a little too carelessly, in ways that people didn’t approve of. But I wouldn’t change a thing. Because I was waiting for you. Waiting for a love that would walk into my life and blow my whole world up. I want to celebrate every Valentine’s Day & birthday with you.

Love, Carter

I’d like to say the tears are unexpected, but at this point in our relationship, I’ve come to expect them. I’ve come to learn that every time this man opens his mouth, there’s a solid chance that whatever he says is either going to make me laugh or cry in the best way. I don’t know where he came from, but I do know I never want to let him go.

The tiny package reveals the most beautiful bracelet. Set on a dainty golden chain is a small heart, the letters C and O hanging next to it, and I know the last thing I’ll be doing tonight is falling asleep while on video chat with Carter. No, he deserves much more than a sleepy Ollie on his birthday.

Slipping the bracelet onto my wrist, my heart twists as I look down at the ground, the rose petals that lead a path down my hallway, to my bedroom.

I tell myself that Carter’s in Chicago today, that he had Cara leave one more gift in my room, or that she’s pulling my leg because she likes to make me squirm.

But as I follow the trail like I’m expecting my house to detonate with one wrong step, I hear the soft music, see the gentler flicker of candlelight against the shadows of the open door.

“Carter,” I breathe out before I even see him.

And when I do…oh boy, when I do…

“Paint me like one of your French girls,” he whispers in a deep, husky voice from where he’s sprawled out on my bed, totally naked, save for the box of chocolates on top of his crotch.

I absolutely don’t manage to bite back the grin that shatters my face at the sight of him. I do, however, resist the urge to run and jump on him, instead planting my hands on my hips and arching a brow. “Is there actually chocolate in that box, or is the present your dick? Did you cut a hole in the box so you could stick your dick through it, Carter?”

His smile falls. “No. Fuck. Why didn’t I think of that?” He looks down at the box, contemplating for only a moment. “And fuck you! This box is way too small to house my dick and you know it!”

I can’t hold back anymore, and with a smile that hurts my cheeks, I bound over to him, leaping onto the bed and into his arms as I smash my mouth down on his. “Happy birthday. Happy Valentine’s Day. What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Chicago. I love you.”

“I wanted to spend today with you,” he says between kisses. “Morning skate isn’t until eleven tomorrow.”

“So—”

“I fly out at four-thirty.”

“Four-thirty?” I push on his chest, forcing him down to his back as I start pulling off my dress. “So we should go to sleep early tonight.”

“I’ll sleep on the plane,” he growls, jerking my tights down my hips.

I swipe the box of chocolates off his crotch, stopping at the gift below. Because that’s what it is: a gift. No, literally. Carter’s tied a red ribbon around his dick. I lift an amused brow as I trace the silk, watching that thick muscle jump.

His grin is crooked and devilish. “You can unwrap him, but only after you put on your outfit.”

“Outfit?”

He tips his chin toward my closet, where a beautiful piece of crimson lace and silk hangs from the door.

“Oh, Carter.” I climb off the bed and finger the lace, the thick silk ribbons that seem to—just barely—hold it together. “It’s stunning. I love it.”

“I thought you’d like it. That’s why I bought two.”

“Two?”

“Uh-huh.” Those mossy eyes storm over as his voice drops. “Because I’m gonna fucking destroy that one when I rip it off of you.”

There’s no point in trying to quell the fire that spurs inside me at his words. I’m going to let him destroy this and me like he always does, and then I’ll enjoy every second of the way he puts me back together.

I move into the closet to get changed, if only to grind his gears. “You know, when you said outfit, I was mildly horrified that it might be that I heart my girlfriend shirt you were wearing last night.”

Carter’s throaty laugh pierces the air as I tie the ribbon into little bows at each of my hips. “No, that’s for later.”

My fingers halt. “Later?”

“Yeah, I got you a matching boyfriend one. We’re wearing them to dinner later. They’re in your dryer right now.”

“Carter!”

“Olivia. Get your sweet ass out here before I come after you.”

“You must know that’s not a threat.”

At the snarl that leaves his chest, I get my ass in gear, burying my worries at the lingerie I’ve never worn for anyone before, and hoping I don’t look as anxious as I feel.

Carter’s sitting on the edge of the bed when I open the door, and his jaw unhinges when that fiery gaze lands on me. “Sweet. Fucking. Christ.” Twirling his pointer finger in the air, he sucks in a staggered inhale. “Imma need you to do a three-sixty for me, nice and slow.”

He hums appreciatively while I spin, biting his knuckles, and then beckons me with one hand. “Get…get over here. Now. Right now.”

My steps are slow and purposeful, a little nervous, because he’s everything I could ever ask him to be, and I want to be the same for him.

He reaches for my hands when I step close enough, tugging me between his muscular thighs. His fingers dance up the lace, feeling the ribbon. He tugs on one end, watching as the middle falls open, letting my breasts drop, before he quickly ties it back together and rests his forehead against my stomach, whimpering.

I repeat, Carter Beckett is whimpering.

His gaze torches my skin. “Now I need you to lie back and be a good girl.”

“A good girl?” I absolutely flutter my lashes. For dramatic effect.

“Uh-huh.” He hauls me closer. “You know how to do that?”

With a saucy grin, I trail the tips of my fingers over his thighs. “I’m not sure. What does being a good girl entail?”

“Doing everything I say.”

“Everything?”

Carter’s smirk is all dangerous, naughty decisions mixed with a heaping side of pure lust and tender love that’s been put on the back burner for the last week. “Everything. And you can start with sitting that perfect fucking pussy right over my face.”

“I’m so lucky to be with you tonight,” Carter says softly over dinner. His hand is on my ankle, which is propped in his lap, courtesy of him. “Can I tell you something? I don’t want to make you upset or anything.”

“What is it?”

He stirs his pasta around his plate and clears his throat. “I’ve never been with anyone before for Valentine’s Day. Or my birthday.”

“Really?” Maybe it shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.

Carter shakes his head, looking me over in the warm glow of the candles. His eyes land on my shirt—yes, he wasn’t joking about the I HEART MY BF shirt; I’m here, and I’m wearing it—and he smiles. “I know Valentine’s Day means a lot to some people. A lot of people don’t want to be alone. They want hope for more. But I…I never wanted it to mean anything. Not then, at least. And my birthday…It was my day, my time. If we were away for a game, a few of the guys and I would go out for dinner and drinks. And if I was home, I’d have dinner with Mom, Jennie, and Hank.”

“Will they be upset they missed dinner tonight since you came home?”

Carter shakes his head, tickling my ankle in his lap. “My mom said she was happy I found someone that makes me want to fly all the way home just to be with her on this day.”

I grin at him as my heart squeezes in my chest, and he flashes me a matching smile as he leans across the table, taking my chin between his fingers and kissing my lips.

He settles back in his spot. “I can’t wait to see the new Disney movie with you.”

My fork clatters to the table. “What?”

His head bobs as he avoids my gaze. “Yeah, and I owe you a new box of Oreos for my birthday cake. I accidentally ate a row while waiting for you to get home from work today. That recipe looks fantastic, though. Oh, and you know how I washed these shirts? I also washed the one I found in a gift bag, the one that said Mr. Incredible.”

“Carter!”

He lifts his head, pinning me with a sheepish grin and a shrug that’s anything but innocent. “You can’t be mad at me. I’m the birthday boy.”