Chasing The O Read online

  I crossed my legs and straightened up a bit. “So what exactly is it that Imaginuity Solutions, Inc. does?”

  “We make batteries. Big and small.”

  “Batteries?”

  The Moda Center grew as we neared and I couldn’t believe that we were almost there. Time melted away just talking with him. “It was our breakthrough in lithium-air technology that started it all. Alma and I set out to design a battery module for electric cars that would last five hundred miles on a single charge, but we ended up creating one that lasted one thousand forty-seven miles on a charge.”

  “That sounds amazing,” I said, blown away despite not understanding everything he said. “How come that’s not all over the news?”

  “It’s being kept a secret, for the most part, with many of our tests guarded by non-disclosure agreements—Ah, which I probably should’ve had you sign before I told you all that. But you’re not going to tell anyone, right? Something about you says I can trust you.”

  I ran two pinched fingers over my mouth, zipping them up. “Sealed.”

  He smiled. “Sweet.” The streets around the Moda Center were packed—the sidewalks too. Vince pulled into one of the parking garages and showed a special pass to a guy directing traffic at the entrance. We parked in a space designated with Vince’s name. Terrance pulled into the space next to us.

  “Come here often?” I asked, not entirely surprised since he had an expensive jacket embroidered to show off his team spirit.

  “Every game I can. Stay there for a second.” He got out and walked around the car, opening my door. “My lady.” He offered me his hand.

  I accepted it with a smile. “Such manners.”

  “I was always told that if you were nice to girls, they would kiss you when the night was over.”

  “So much effort for a kiss.”

  “I think the reward will be greater than the effort.” Our fingers mingled, finding their place as they interlocked. My skin burned at the touch, and I felt alive, my veins pulsing like they never had before. He led the way to the entrance, passes in hand. Terrance trailed not far behind us. He didn’t look much like a bodyguard, dressed in jeans and a Blazers T-shirt instead of a black suit that my brain pinned as the usual bodyguard image. He was more like a stalker than anything, doing none of the things men in his position did on TV.

  To my surprise, after we rushed through clearance, we remained on the first level, heading into the arena. “We’re not sitting in some fancy box?” I asked, surveying the immensity of the arena and all the seats, rows upon rows, layers upon layers, climbing so high, I had to crane my neck to the point that it seemed like I was looking straight up.

  “Basketball is a different sport than football,” he said, weaving through a group of people. We entered the second row, where the seats were all black instead of red like they were for most of the arena, and we sat in the very middle, on the opposite side of where the players sat. “I like to be as close to the action as possible. Those suites don’t have the atmosphere that you can feel down here.” His eyes were bright and excited—excited to be sharing something about himself with me, and I could tell he really had a passion for the game.

  I situated myself, folding Danielle’s coat over the cushiony seat. “Did you ever play?”

  “A little, when I was a kid, but nothing serious, you know?” He looked at me and our eyes locked. “How about you, did you play any sports?”

  “I ran in high school.”

  “Really? Makes sense with a body like yours.”

  I studied the seats, searching for Terrance, and found the bodyguard a few rows behind us in the nicer red seating just behind the fancy black seats. “I was pretty good, too. I could’ve run in college if I had chosen a smaller school than U of O, but that’s where Danielle was going, so that’s where I went because I didn’t want to be alone.”

  Vince didn’t look like he really understood my reasoning, but nodded anyway. “Is that where you found your love of baking? Does U of O have a prestigious culinary major?”

  I laughed. “Not that I’m aware of. I majored in sociology, with the intent of entering the social work field. I discovered my love for cooking and baking my junior year at U of O when I started working part-time at a bakery down in Eugene.”

  “So did you drop out then?” He had flawlessly gone into Q&A mode, and even though they were standard get-to-know-you questions, he asked them with a singular subtlety that put my nerves at ease. Our other conversations had been so awkward it was hard to fathom how we had lost the nervous tension so quickly into our brief relationship.

  “No. I graduated.” I crossed my legs and leaned closer to him, using the armrest between us. “I even got a job as a case manager in an outreach program for homeless kids involved in gangs, which you might think you need a Master’s degree for, but you don’t. Anyway, after a few months I couldn’t take it anymore, so I quit, and that’s when Danielle conjured up the idea of culinary school. We had moved into the place we live now after U of O, and I didn’t want to move away, so I looked into OCI downtown, applied, got accepted, took out some more loans, and there you go.”

  “And there you go,” he said. He caressed my hand with gentle strokes, playful. “Except you left out how you ended up with your own business at twenty-five. When Alma and I started Imaginuity Solutions, we were a business in name only, until we got lucky. You must’ve gotten pretty lucky too, I take it.”

  My eyes broke the strong connection that had my head swimming. I hung my head, grief still in my heart. “Not luck,” I said, a lump in my throat. “My Grandma died in September.” I barely got the words out. “She left me and my brother some money, enough for me and Bridgett to start up Friends together, after we got our loans approved.”

  He stopped playing with my hand and straightened a little. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. You were close, I take it?”

  I nodded, holding back the tears from the relatively fresh wound. “So, tell me about the Blazers,” I said, needing a distraction as I breathed out a partially clogged nose.

  Vince got the hint. He started pointing to the players that were warming up on the court. “That’s Damien Lillard, number zero, or as he says, ‘the letter O.’” He indicated one of the smaller players. “He’s my favorite player. I think he’ll be MVP someday. That really big guy is Jusuf Nurkić, nicknamed the Bosnian Beast. Last year when they traded for him, everyone around here got Nurkić fever, and he’s been a favorite ever since.”

  “Nurkić fever?” I asked.

  He retrieved his phone, typed in Nurkić fever song, and played it for me. “He really turned the team around last year, that’s why. He was what the Blazers needed to compete.”

  The lights went off about ten minutes after seven and the announcer shouted off the Blazers starting lineup with enthusiasm. I gathered from the visiting team’s purple and yellow jerseys that they were the L.A. Lakers, largely due to the fact that they read “LAKERS” on the front, but also because of Vince. I never even opened the night’s program since he told me everything pertinent to the game.

  The first quarter started off with the Lakers pulling ahead with several Blazers turnovers, but then Portland started climbing back in the second. The crowd, including Vince, went crazy when Nurkić dunked the ball hard around halfway through the quarter. The arena did seem upset about being down, and Vince explained that the Lakers were toward the bottom of the ladder this year while Portland was doing well and ranked near the top, thus they shouldn’t have been losing.

  “So are you enjoying the game?” Vince asked at halftime.

  “I can see why Ashley watches it,” I said, sliding my bangs out of my eyes. “It is pretty fun.”

  “Then maybe you’ll join me again sometime?”

  “I’d like that, yeah.”

  He smiled and touched my hand. “Do you want anything to eat? The wings are really good at Fire on the Mountain.”

  I looked down at my ivory dress. “Wings?”
r />   “Hmm, maybe something a little cleaner then,” he said, noticing my hesitation. “There’s a bunch of stuff. Pyramid Brewery has a big stand here.”

  I shot to my feet, probably a bit too eagerly. “Lead the way.” I went for Danielle’s coat.

  “You can leave it,” Vince said. “Terrance will watch our stuff.”

  “Right.” I had forgotten about his bodyguard. He seemed so normal. I mean, did rich people eat wings? And talking to him was no different than talking with Ashley, or Danielle, or Bridgett, except during our conversations I had a little voice screaming at me to kiss him. Other than that, it was the same: relaxed and fun and easy.

  Throughout the night, the sexual tension continued to escalate as we exchanged more background on each other, the Q&A going back and forth. The game also continued with a lot of the same. The Lakers played scrappy while the Blazers tried to come back. They fell into a pattern where they’d close the scoring gap, then would fall behind again by ten or so, only to fight their way back. Hope permeated through the arena with the growing sense that the players in white could win with each comeback. The Blazers tied it up at one-oh-five with a minute to go. They took the lead by one with thirty seconds to go. At seven seconds, the Lakers threw it in and one of them dunked it to bring them back on top.

  Everyone was on their feet at this point, though most had been standing since the game was tied, and Vince was watching with coiled apprehension when the Blazers passed the ball to Lillard, their last hope. I’d never heard so many people scream when he made it at the buzzer.

  “That was amazing,” he rasped. The seats began to clear out faster than I would have thought, the crowd disappointed. “Hey, stay here for a second.” He left before I could reply, walking onto the court and across to the other side, striking up a conversation with a familiar-looking man who I couldn’t quite place.

  Vince returned after a minute, his disappointment as palpable as the crowds. “What was that about?”

  “Oh, I just offered Paul Allen, in my opinion, a very generous offer to buy the team.” He shook his head. “He turned me down, though. You ready?”

  I stood there, shocked. I guess I still hadn’t yet comprehended how wealthy he truly was. By his demeanor, it was easy to forget. I began to laugh, and soon I was bending over, holding onto the back of the seat in front of us.

  “Did I say something?”

  “I think I may have made a mistake.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you were having fun.”

  “I did. I mean I am. It’s not about that.”

  “Then what?”

  “The income gap between us. I mean, God, you just tried to buy a professional basketball team.” I curbed the laughter that was splitting my stomach.

  He played with his lip, now nervous. “The money doesn’t define me,” he claimed. “It’s true, I have it and I’m smart with it. But that’s not what I’m all about. I really like you, Maci, and you seem to like me too. I think this has a chance of being something, something more than a fling or whatever, you know? Tell me you don’t feel that vibe—that connection—whatever you want to call it. Tell me you don’t and I’ll let it go.”

  How could I let him go so easily? For weeks he had drilled deeper into my mind and planted the seed of irreversible, implacable attraction that I could not hope to ignore, and had failed to direct my thoughts toward any other man. He was brilliant, warm, thoughtful, so easy to talk to—and rich as hell. How could I get past such a divide? We lived in two different worlds. In mine I bought flour for a bakery and in his he bought sports teams. But I couldn’t deny force—the energy that pulled us together—and it was something I had to explore, had to respond to. Nothing in the world had stirred me so. He had awakened something in me and I needed to see what it was.

  “Yes, I feel it,” I finally answered after a moment of silent debate.

  He stepped closer and grabbed my hands. “Then maybe we can just set the money thing aside for a moment and concentrate on this.” He waved his hand from his heart to mine.

  I could feel the heat rising within. The sensation was building and building as my heart sped up. A desire took control, coming from my crotch. “Would it be too rash if I said we should go back to your place?”

  He smiled, staring at me with barely an inch between us, on the threshold of our lips connecting. The anticipation climbed like a rocket through the sky, about to explode at any moment. “It would, but I’m trying this new thing where I follow my impulses to see where they might take me.” In an instant, he slid his right hand under my hair to my nape, his left taking hold of my hip and bringing us together. There was a brief pause—and then my lips met his. Stricken by a shudder of pleasure, my mouth opened and his tongue found mine, twirling. They danced a slick and erotic dance that burned my veins with pure felicity.

  And I wanted more.

  He pulled back and left me paralyzed, the intensity dropping off faster than a bullet traveling to its mark. “My place,” he rasped, clearing his throat. We rushed off to the parking garage, my hand in his, my hormones on the edge of taking over completely. I checked them by slowing my breaths, drawing in deep, holding them until they broke free.

  I glanced back and spotted Terrance at his usual distance, a look of extreme irritation contorting his face together, narrowing his eyes to the point that they were almost shut. I never gave the look a second thought as Vince opened the door and hurried me inside.

  “My condo isn’t far,” he said, backing up. The ride was still too long. I couldn’t contain the urges swelling, raging to break free. The air in the car was charged with attraction, worse than being in an elevator because there was no outlet, only waiting and more waiting. He turned left down NW Twenty-third, crossed Burnside at SW Vista, then took a right down a super narrow street and hooked one last right onto SW Osage, arriving at one of several individual garages for the Envoy. I was surprised that the outside didn’t look fancier, but I was betting the inside would be a different story.

  Terrance parked in a garage of his own before following us to an elevator. “I think we’ll be fine from here, Terrance. Thank you.” Vince closed the door on his bodyguard, who only nodded in reply. One of Vince’s long, agile fingers pressed the P button, then entered a five-digit code on the keypad, after which the elevator shot upward.

  “Does he live with you?” I asked, noticing the intimacy of the elevator.

  “No, he lives in a condo below mine.”

  “Ah, okay. And P stands for. . .?”

  “Penthouse.”

  “Of course.”

  “I was told to find something like it for public image.” He took out his phone and checked the screen. “But now I actually like it. It has an amazing view and it’s surprisingly quiet and secluded.” After he pocketed his phone, his hand was trembling with anticipation again, and I watched as the key he was holding shook. “Fuck it. I can’t wait.” Before I could react, he had me pinned against the wall, one hand on my waist, the other awkwardly squeezing my breasts—but that didn’t matter. I wanted it there.

  Our tongues were wild and wet, swirling in each other’s mouths, exploring the arousing sensations each new direction created. I threw my arms around his back and pulled him tighter.

  The elevator dinged when we reached the top. By then our breathing was rapid and I lost what little control I’d maintained during the car ride. He started backing up, bringing me with him, until at last we hit the mirrored door to his condo.

  Vince stopped for a breath and turned around, fumbling with the key, trying to jam it in. At last it slipped in and the door swung wide. It was a palace with vaulted ceilings, but he didn’t take the time for a grand tour, leading me straight to the master bedroom, which was probably larger than my entire apartment. The room was sparsely decorated. The king-sized bed in the center sat before a huge square window that looked out onto the Portland cityscape.

  Vince lowered the lighting, letting the city lights shine. I sat on the b
ed, debating whether I should slip off my dress or leave it on for him to do. He kicked off his shoes, so I unzipped my boots and tossed them. He almost tripped in his excitement getting to the bed. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I want you.”

  I wanted to scream I want you too, but settled for taking off his belt, which prompted him to kiss me. His touch set my world on fire again and again, the temperature climbing like an inferno. I didn’t understand how I’d never felt this before. Vince would be my seventh, and yet he was somehow completely different, compelling me in ways I’d only heard Danielle describe.

  He stood back and flung his jersey across the room. I saw his bare chest for the first time, and I ran my fingers through his fine black hair that stopped after his nipples, except for a trail that went down to his crotch. The light bathed his flawless abs and I took them in for a moment before feeling how hard they were. I tugged off his pants, leaving him in only his boxers that did little to hold back his erection.

  He collapsed and buried his face in my exposed breasts, kissing them until he ran into my bra. “You smell so good,” he said. “Like vanilla.” I held up my arms and urged him to strip off the sweater dress that was blocking his way. He did. Foreseeing his nervous hands attempting to unhook my bra, I spared us both that moment and did it myself, letting it fall into my lap.

  His eyes widened as my breasts were freed. He took one of my nipples clumsily in his mouth and sucked on it, sending a jolt of pleasure throughout my body. He shifted to my left one, and then made a trail of kisses down to my panties as he squeezed them with eagerness.

  I jerked down his underwear and watched as his erection bounced with life. Gasping, I was stunned by his length. He was every inch the size that Ryan was, but—unlike my ex—he had so much blood flowing through him, it looked as hard as stone.

  I couldn’t wait any longer. “I want you inside me,” I said, gently pushing his head back and slipping off my panties. He unwrapped a condom and rolled it on his now fully erect penis in a second flat, and I smiled, glad that someone else besides me was mindful of STDs. Falling flat on my back and spreading my legs, I urged him to enter. I couldn’t believe his pubic hair: it was as though he’d never cut it in his life, but I ignored it, my eyes glued to his face.