Busted Play, A Sports Novella - Stella Marie Alden

Busted Play

By Stella Marie Alden

Copyright (C) 2017 Stella Marie Alden

Cover design by Reddhott Covers

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission. [email protected]

Contents Chapter 1 ................................................................................................................................................ 4 Chapter 2 ................................................................................................................................................ 7 Chapter 3 .............................................................................................................................................. 10 Chapter 4 .............................................................................................................................................. 12 Chapter 5 .............................................................................................................................................. 15 Chapter 6 .............................................................................................................................................. 18 Chapter 7 .............................................................................................................................................. 24 Chapter 8 .............................................................................................................................................. 26 Chapter 9 .............................................................................................................................................. 29 Chapter 10 ............................................................................................................................................ 34 Chapter 11 ............................................................................................................................................ 37 Chapter 12 ............................................................................................................................................ 45 Chapter 13 ............................................................................................................................................ 49 Chapter 14 ............................................................................................................................................ 55 Chapter 15 ............................................................................................................................................ 59 Chapter 16 ............................................................................................................................................ 61 Chapter 17 ............................................................................................................................................ 63 Chapter 18 ............................................................................................................................................ 65 Chapter 1 .............................................................................................................................................. 68 Chapter 2 .............................................................................................................................................. 71 From the Author ................................................................................................................................... 72

Chapter 1

I knock on my own damn door feeling more freaked out with each passing second. “C’mon, Des. Let me in. I know you’re in there.” Some girl giggles and a knot tightens in my gut. Who the hell is she? At first, when my key didn’t fit, I figured it was just a mistake but now a sinking feeling takes hold and my heart braces for the worst. My voice cracks as I shout, “You can’t do this. All my stuff is in there.” Behind the apartment door, my boyfriend whispers for the girl to shut-up. My knees weaken and I slide down the wall. Not only have I wasted the best years of my life but I’ve got no place to sleep tonight. This can’t be happening. I suppose I could get a lawyer if I could afford one, which I can’t. “Des, open up or I’m calling the cops. This is your last chance.” Janice, my sweet elderly neighbor, pops into the hall and hands me her cell phone. “Here ya go, sweetie, I’ve already got them on the line.” “Hello?” I explain to the police how my boyfriend has locked me out and I’ve got no place to go. Their brilliant solution is to file a complaint in the morning. Dammit. As a parting shot, I kick at the door. Then on the way out, I take Des’ mail and toss it in the trash. Knowing where he likes to park his car, I take my useless apartment key and scrape it against the length of his Camry. Then, just for good measure, I puncture all four tires with my tiny, but sharp Leatherman. That cheating bastard. Everything I own is in my apartment. And what about that giggler? Probably some other country bumpkin he picked up, no doubt with more money than me. How could he do this? We’re in love, dammit. At least I was. Maybe lately things haven’t been that great but every relationship has its ups and downs. Right? Shit girl, you need to face reality. Sex has been almost nonexistent for the last few months. He’s been too tired, too busy, or had an infection. My God, I am so, so stupid. For heaven’s sake, even when he lost his job, I stood by him and made his car payments. Frantic, I call his cell but it goes right to voicemail. Then I text him and get no response there, either. Shit, this nightmare is really happening. My chest tightens and stupid tears flow down my face as I stand alone on the sidewalk in Bushwick.

Down at the corner bodega, people are picking up food for their evening meals and noise comes from the local bar. Happy, normal people pass me by, giving me sympathetic looks. Oh yeah. Pathetic loser here. Feel free to stare. I could find a place to hole up but that’ll cost a fortune. Shit. I’ll be damned if I’ll impose on my friends. I guess there’s nothing else to be done. After blowing my nose and wiping my eyes, I call the nearest homeless shelter, Gracie’s Place. Rather than hail a cab, I walk the two miles. I’m going to need every cent I’ve got. Thankfully, it’s surprisingly warm and as my sneakers pound the sidewalk, I try to find some positives. First off, I got a couple hundred bucks in the bank and no debt on my cards. My father told me to never share accounts unless there was a wedding. If I hadn’t listened, my jerk of a boyfriend would’ve stolen those as well. It could be a whole lot worse. Feeling a little better, I pause at the old wooden door, take a deep breath, and enter the lobby. “Hi. Can I help you?” The receptionist at the front desk looks a lot like me, a tall, twentysomething blond with blue eyes. I tell her my whole screwed-up story and then she takes me up a flight of stairs. There’s a dorm-like room where six other women are already settled, a couple asleep. “You’ll need to interview with Grace tomorrow, okay?” She points to a cot. Like I can say no? I’m so damn grateful that I just take a step forward and hug this complete stranger. When I let go, she shows me a drawer full of t-shirts which she explains are rejects from the Salvation Army. Then, in the bathroom, I wash out my underwear and hang them on a peg behind the door. My coat and the rest of my stuff, I put under the bed. Finally, I get into bed and stare at the ceiling for hours trying to sort it all out. When had I first sensed things were off? I’d been in the city for just a few months when I met Des. He was so sophisticated, so New York, so wonderful. He was everything I wanted to be and when he asked me to move in with him, I was thrilled. Lately though, I haven’t been able to do anything right. We weren’t exactly fighting, we’ve just drifted apart. I figured after four years, some of the magic had worn away and maybe he wasn’t feeling so good about himself because he lost his job. Despite the pillow over my head, and counting down from one hundred, I can’t exorcise him from my brain. I must’ve slept a little however, because a woman stirs, waking me. Grabbing my cell phone, I moan at the ungodly hour. Whatever. I might as well get up. While she takes a twominute shower, I wait at the bathroom door. “New?”

I nod as the dark woman wrapped in a towel stops to stare like I’m some new species of cockroach. She points to a closet. “One towel. Shampoo and body wash are shared by all. Make it quick because we all got to get to work. Okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she heads back to the bedroom while whipping off the towel to dry her hair. After I shower and dress, I stop at the receptionist’s area to give them my work number just in case. My cell phone’s about to run out of juice. At a corner bodega, I grab a coffee and egg sandwich, eating it standing up in front of the register. Then glad for my warm coat and gloves, I walk to work as the sun peeks over the high-rises in nearby Manhattan. I keep reminding myself, it’s not all bad. At least I still got a job.

Chapter 2

Fuck this knee. The doctors told me it would be good as new and yet after a couple weeks, I’m not convinced. Dammit all. If I don’t get back on the field soon, there’s no way my contract is going to get renewed. I need to get a whole lot better, a whole lot faster. Stan, my manager-trainer is at the front desk, arguing about insurance. I told him I needed better care than this God-forsaken hole-in-the-wall but he insists it’s the best place in the city. And that young woman who just came in the door? She better not be my physical therapist. She’s obviously slept in those clothes, her hair is wet, and there’s dark circles under her eyes. That’s hardly the professional that I need to get me back in the game. She shakes hands with Stan and puts her long blond hair into a pony tail. Then staring down at a tablet, heads my way. Under that coat, she’s probably shapely but it’s hard to tell. One thing’s for sure, those cute features, pouty lips, and thick lashes are better suited for a model. I’m not blind. I like the way her jeans hug her tight ass and I’m sure I’d enjoy her in bed but that’s not what I’m looking for. There’s no way in hell she’s tough enough to get me in shape. “Hello Mr. Quinn.” She holds out her hand as if she thinks I’m going to shake it. When I stare into the space behind her head, she drops her arm back down, cheeks red. I don’t mean to be rude but this isn’t going to work out. Stan hasn’t left yet so I jump off the table, grab my cane, and pull him aside. “What the fuck! I told you I wanted to be one hundred percent before next season. What the hell is that?” I point to the girl. “I need a real physical therapist, not a fucking Barbie.” He eyes me like I’m a piece of shit. “You’re lucky to have her. Lucky to have anything at all. You screwed up big time.” His attitude is totally uncalled for. “Hey. I wasn’t found guilty of anything. I’m the victim here.” “Shit, CJ. You were in a car with a minor. The press has taken ahold of it and made you look like a rapist. Have you seen any fans lately? Any tweets that sing your praises? Now go make nice while I make sure your bills get paid.” Dammit. I could’ve sworn on a stack of bibles that the woman in the bar that night was in her mid-twenties. I made one bad decision. I got into a car with a beautiful stranger who wanted a quick lay. I was just being a good guy, happy to accommodate but I’ll get it all sorted out. I have to. Otherwise all my dreams are down the shitter. While I’m deep in those unhappy thoughts, Stan swivels on his heel and slams the door to let me know how pissed off he is. At least for now, I guess I’ll have to make nice with Barbie here.

My right knee hurts like a mother-fucker as I hobble back to where she’s standing. Even though she heard the whole interaction, I have to give her credit. She doesn’t seem the least bit phased. Instead of giving me lip, she takes my cane, puts it in a corner, and then points to the therapy table. “Sit.” Today is going to be a big fucking waste of time. Paper crunches under my butt when I hop up and cross my arms over my chest. “Lie back.” The pretty blond removes her coat and hangs it up in a closet. Then while I stare at the tin ceiling, she pulls my sweats up, pokes at my bum knee, which makes the tendons burn like hell. “Next time come in shorts. It’s easier.” Her blond brows furrow, lifting my leg as if it weighs nothing at all. “There isn’t going to be a next time.” I send her my perfected glower as she pushes my thigh into my chest. That fucking hurts. “Enough!” I twist my leg out of her grasp. She stares coldly, voice condescending. “Ten more times. You count.” I do as she commands, feeling a bit childish but if she makes my injury worse, I swear I will fucking sue this place. Once done with that torture, she turns to the treadmill, sets a too-fast pace, and says, “Walk.” I stare incredulously at the timer. I can’t believe this little bitch. Who does she think she is? Without my cane, that’s impossible. After sixty agonizing seconds, when she’s not looking, I reach to slow it down. Of course, she’s watching and slaps my hand. “Leave it, Mr. Quinn. Concentrate. Work on your gait. Tuck in your abs. You’re walking like a duck.” Blow it out your ass, Barbie. I wonder if this is payback for earlier and start to speak my mind when a blue-haired woman walks in the door with her husband. I have to hold my tongue while my blond torturer leads the elderly woman to a table, asking her questions about her hip and back. What the fuck? Now I’m sharing my therapist? Maybe Stan didn’t make it clear how important this is. Maybe that blond is one of those chicks who hates football and has no idea I’m worth millions but it doesn’t matter. Barbie’s toast.

Chapter 3

I’ve already reviewed hotshot’s x-rays, personal history, and his prognosis. He’s going to need some hard work if he wants to be playing ball by next season. Mostly, he needs to stop using the cane and stop being such a dick. “Hop up on the table.” I push his chest back. Damn if he isn’t rock hard but he could be stark naked with a twelve-inch cock and I couldn’t care less. He nods, nowhere near as arrogant as he was when he came in thanks to his little walk on the treadmill. Good. I need this job and assholes like him make it hard for women to work in the field of sports therapy. From his gait, I can tell he’s way too tense. “Take off your shirt.” It comes off over his head and he smirks arrogantly when my mouth drops open. Sure, I’ve seen plenty of athletes but this guy is by far, the most ripped. Pressing my lips together, I grab a drink from my water bottle, and pretend not to notice. That gorgeous pack of abs is just muscle, that’s all. “Please lie on your stomach, Mr. Quinn.” I congratulate myself on how professional I sound as he turns, exposing his broad back, covered in tats. When I begin to massage his shoulders, he shivers under my touch, and then growls. “Your hands are too damn cold.” Ignoring him, I work over his entire back until my fingers ache. He issued a challenge and I’m going to take it. He may be a hotshot in his world, but so am I. Well, I will be someday. Regardless, he can’t act like an ass and get away with it. I push into his body deeper, trying to think positively. My clientele is growing as is my reputation. Hotshot here, should help bring in more work. I just need to prove to him how good I am. With that in mind, I focus on each little knot in his back and smile when he moans in pleasure. When my phone rings, the ID is from the shelter and so excuse myself to take the call. I take a deep breath, praying I’ll have a place to sleep tonight. “Hello?” “Is this Ms. Melanie Sanders?” The tone is pleasant and so my hopes rise. Moving further away from the tables and toward the reception area, I find a little more privacy. “That’s me.”

“This is Doctor Jenna Jones from Gracie’s Place. Will you be able to meet with me today?” I glance over at Mr. Hotshot who’s not even trying to politely ignore my conversation. “My shift ends at five. I can make it into the city by six. Is that okay.” “That’s fine. See you then.” Before she hangs up, I barge in. “Listen, can I stay another night?” What’ll I do if she says no? I don’t even own a sleeping bag. “Let’s talk when you get here. Bye.” Wow. That didn’t sound so good. I turn to my client who’s eyeing me with too much interest. Then I finish him up, wishing his skin didn’t feel so wonderful under my touch. What the hell is wrong with me? He’s a chauvinistic football jerk with an ego the size of the state of New York. I shouldn’t feel any attraction at all, let alone what’s happening inside my panties. It must be the break up. My hormones are off. I haven’t had sex for months. Last time I mentioned making love Des said he had some kind of infection and showed me a bottle of antibiotics. I’d actually felt bad for him and made him his favorite lasagna. Meanwhile, he was probably planning to kick me out of his apartment and move in with the giggler. Thinking of him demands that I pick up my phone and leave another message. “Damn it Des. Don’t do this. At least give me my clothes back.” I blush when Mr. Hotshot eyes me from the coat closet, putting on a blue jacket with a Giant’s logo. I thought he’d already left. He opens his mouth to comment but I rush past him and out the door. I have no desire to discuss my personal disaster with him or anyone else for that matter.

Chapter 4

It’s really none of my business that Barbie’s having relationship trouble but listening to her call makes me want to set things straight. What kind of asshole steals a woman’s clothes? However, I need to stop my mind from where it’s going. I’m no white knight and she’s no damsel in distress. I got plenty of my own shit to work out. For instance, this morning was the first time I realized how much my image has taken a deep dive. If I don’t fix it soon I’m going to be out on my ass with no team, no adverts, and no future. Secondly, my knee is a mess. I call my publicist and college buddy as I step out into the crisp March air. “Hey. You wanted to talk?” “Now? Now you call? What about last week or the week before?” The petulant tone sounds a lot like my mom. I start to say so but a car sloshes into a frigid puddle, soaking me to the bone. Fuck. Sometimes I hate this city. Walking toward the nearest doorway to dry off, I try to defend the fact I haven’t returned his calls. “I was in surgery, then the hospital, and now I’m at PT in Bushwick. What do you want from me?” “I want you to miraculously erase all the bad press. I want you to give a shit and make CJ Quinn a fucking holy name, like Jesus H. Christ.” His attitude is over the top but I get it. I’m his biggest client. If I fuck up, he goes hungry too. I hobble across the street with my phone cradled to my ear. “Isn’t that what I pay you for? To make me into a nice guy?” His voice softens. “I’m magic, hun, but not that magic. I’ve got some photo ops lined up for you. Come see me in the city tomorrow, sweetie. Okay?” I groan. “I can’t. I’m booked pretty solid with rehab-Barbie.” He snickers. “Seriously?” “No, not really. That’s what I’m calling my new therapist but I might’ve misnamed her. Maybe Cruella would be better.” I’m pretty sure I moan into the phone, not sure who I’m trying to kid, me or him. My therapist’s firm hands massaging my tight muscles had almost given me a happy ending. Even in the cold, the thought of her causes blood to run to my cock, making walking damned uncomfortable. Jaz snickers. “Would you be up for a visit to a kid’s hospital?”

"Sure, just give me a heads up. This is where I’m staying.” I text him my brother’s address. “I’ll work on it. In the meantime? Stay out of any trouble. No drinking. No opening your mouth. Got it?” “Yeah, yeah.” I really meant it as we hung up. I meant it when I went into a bar called Talon. I meant it when I ordered a couple beers. I stayed completely out of trouble, even when I saw Barbie arguing with the guy that had to be her ex. Most people don’t get that each neighborhood in New York City resembles a small town where everybody knows everyone else’s business. People go to the same bars, the same grocery stores, and same drug stores. It’s all about proximity to your home address and ease of access. That’s why I’m not surprised to see Barbie at the same bar I’m at. She walked to work this morning, so obviously lives nearby. I am surprised that she’s arguing with this ass-hat so publicly. They both must know the owner is serious about the reputation of the place and will have no problem asking them to leave. It’s not like me to play the hero. Ask anyone. I’m usually the jerk getting escorted out while the paparazzi snap pictures. I just don’t like how my Barbie’s crying over this guy while this bimbo at his side keeps smirking like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever seen. When I inch closer, my physical therapist is sobbing, “I paid the god-damned rent for all last year, Des. You can’t just kick me out and keep my stuff.” This guy with too much hair product, crummy tats, and a nose-ring laughs. “Yeah, I can. You’re not on the lease. Never were.” She steps in with fists clenched. “Well at least give me back my computer, my clothes. What can you possibly want with those?” A brunette with a syrupy smile locks arms with the asshole. “Too late. I dropped them off at Goodwill this morning. Sorry, I needed the space.” At that, my Barbie turns so pale, for a moment I wonder if she’s going to faint. I jump up to intervene but the owner shoots me a look that says stay put. Protectively, the redhead puts an arm over my blonde’s shoulder and they go downstairs to the private area. Then one of the bartenders escorts the obnoxious couple out the door with some quiet words. Surprised that my fist is clenched, I release it. Jaz will be so proud when I tell him how I didn’t butt in where I didn’t belong. Meanwhile, outside the big front window, the ass-hat’s face is beet-red as he shouts. I don’t need to read lips to know the bartender told him to hit the road. When I limp over to the top of the stairs, her sobbing breaks my heart. I’d go down but with my fucked-up knee, it’s not possible. It’s probably for the best. It’s really none of my business that her asshole of a boyfriend stole all her stuff.

However, I’m still fuming when I get to my brother’s place. I was hoping he might consider representing her in court but he gives me the lowdown. If I want to help the lady, the best thing I can do is help her find a new place to live. She hasn’t got a legal leg to stand on and unless she owns some really expensive stuff, the court costs far exceed replacing everything. Which totally sucks.

Chapter 5

I take the elevator to the eighth floor, pausing at the glass door. There’s nothing here to indicate that this is where Dr. Jenna Jones works. Supposedly she’s a multi-millionaire, a mastermind in the field of artificial intelligence. Just last fall her code made all the news when it exposed a network of terrorists, including some members of the FBI. When I press the buzzer, a man’s voice sounds out of the ceiling next to a small security camera. “Please come in Ms. Sanders. Doctor Jones will be with you shortly.” The solenoid clicks, I push on the door, and the voice follows me into the next room. “Please go into the conference room on the right and sit.” When I enter the area decorated in glass and chrome, I have to smile at the collection of Wonder Woman dolls covering one wall. While I study the oldest one, Doctor Jones enters. For a millionaire, she’s dressed pretty casual in a simple black skirt, white blouse, and bright red sneakers. After polite introductions she asks, “Something to drink?” “Please.” I fidget while she turns to a small fridge under a counter. Along with the water, she sets down some cheese, cold meat, and crackers, which I can’t help but inhale. When the plate’s half empty I realize she probably thinks I just got out of prison. “Sorry, I haven’t eaten all day.” “No worries. I remember what it’s like.” Smiling real nice-like, she tucks a lock of red hair behind an ear. The fact that this famous genius was once as destitute as me makes me feel a whole lot better. Maybe I’ll come out of this okay, too. Leaning back in her chair, she sips a cup of coffee and eyes me. “So, tell me. What happened? How’d you end up at Gracie’s place?” “Wow. You know? I’ve been asking myself the same thing. I guess I’m just a really bad judge of character.” I swallow hard and continue. “There’s really nothing to tell. I came home from work last night and my boyfriend locked me out of my apartment. Well, officially it’s his apartment but I’ve been paying the rent. You know? We’ve been together four years. I thought we’d get married someday soon.” A stupid tear drips down my face as it dawns on me it’s over. “Shit. I’m sorry. I love him. I really do.” Sniffing, I dig for a tissue in my purse and come up empty. “What the hell is wrong with me? He stole all my stuff, cheated on me, made me homeless, and yet I still want him back.” A box of Kleenex is passed and all the while she shakes her head. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard a story like this. Do you have any family close by?”

“I have a large one but they’re all back in Iowa.” Suddenly, chills run up and down my spine as a ghost flies over my grave. Despite the fact I’ve no doubt gone white, her hand goes to an earpiece, like those used by the secret service. Sweat pools under my arms as she leans in continuing to interrogate me. “Have you called them yet? Asked for some help?” This was a really bad idea. I shake my head, no, wishing like hell I could explain. “Why not?” The words come from Dr. Jones but I get this feeling the question came from the person in her headset. “I just need to make it on my own.” It’s the same lame excuse I always use but today, the lie sounds worse than usual. I’ve never told a soul what happened except my mother when I was thirteen. And if you can’t convince your own mother, who actually walked in on it, who’ll believe you? No one, that’s who. Doctor Jones frowns. “Gracie’s Place is for those with no other options. Sounds like you need to swallow your pride and ask your family for support. I have therapists on staff who can help you bridge the gap.” My mouth tries to form some simple words. My father sexually abused me. Instead, like a chicken-shit I say, “I can’t.” “Listen Melanie, I know this is hard, but we only have so much space and so many resources. After you call, I promise we’ll reassess and talk again.” She looks through me as if she can’t see the misery in my face. “Is there something more you want to add?” I shake my head no, while inside I’m screaming. Wait! Wait! “Okay, then. I have to go. Feel free to stay and finish eating. I’ll arrange for a meeting with you and my family therapist. If you’d rather not work with her, you can stay for a few days while you find other arrangements.” “Thank you.” I wait until she leaves to let a few more tears fall and blow my nose. “Are you upset Melanie Sanders?” The man who let me in speaks out of the plastic box in the corner. He’s been listening in all this time? The guy in the headset? That’s just rude. “Were you spying on me?” “Please don’t be offended. I am Jason, version five point four. I am an artificial intelligence application.”

Whoa. That’s too fucking weird. I heard Dr. Jones had some crazy software, but this is over the top. “Like Watson?” “There’s no reason to insult me, Ms. Sanders.” I finish up the last of the crackers and walk over to where the cube sits on top of a glasstopped end table. “I guess you’re the invention of Doctor Jones?” “I am the most sophisticated artificial intelligence on the planet.” I wonder if he should be telling me that. “Okay, Jason. What do you want?” “Nothing. I am learning.” I look out the door into the empty hallway. Does Dr. Jones know her application is speaking to me? “You’re kind-of creeping me out.” “I apologize. I do not intend to be creepy.” Despite my rotten circumstances, I laugh for the first time since getting kicked out of my apartment. “I am glad you are amused. I have decided to help you.” My hopes rise a notch. “You’re going to find me an apartment?” “Perhaps, but I think your problems could best be solved by getting married.” My laugh turns hysterical. That’s what I get for conversing with an app. “Thanks but no thanks.” On the way down the elevator I re-evaluate my circumstances. At least I have a place to sleep for a few nights. Wow. Since becoming homeless, I’ve begun to plan in much shorter time spans.

Chapter 6

At night, me and my brother Andy shoot the shit for a while at his place. I ask him again about my pretty therapist’s situation but he restates his position. The law’s not on her side. Poor kid. I fall asleep thinking of those amazing hands all over my body. I wonder what she’ll taste like when I press my lips against hers. Will she moan when I caress her full breasts? Will those talented fingers wrap around my cock or will she use that sexy mouth of hers? When I wake, I’m so fucking hard that I need to jack off just to get out of bed. Later on, back in rehab, she’s wearing the same tight t-shirt as yesterday but if anyone notices, they’re too polite to say. Today, she’s chatty as she strikes up a conversation with a brunette at the front desk. Nothing about her homelessness or her ass-hat of an ex is mentioned but she does skirt around needing a place to stay. I chuckle with them as she explains how an AI application told her to get married. The brunette giggles. “I thought you said it was intelligent.” “Right?” My blondie glances up, frowns at my limping on the treadmill, and shouts over, “Try to walk evenly, Mr. Quinn.” After a few attempts at changing my gait, she nods her approval, and damned if I’m not pleased. Then, when I see she’s still checking me out and not my walk, I wink. Red-faced, she looks away and continues chatting. “This app actually got insulted when I tried to compare it to Watson.” She gazes pointedly in my direction. “It had an ego a mile long, just like a man.” I smirk back, a pretty amazing effort considering the pain around my knee. Then thankfully, the display panel in front of me indicates I’m done and I jump off. When she walks me to the next machine, I casually slip my hand to the small of her back, pleased she doesn’t slap it away. Then I lay back, legs up, and let her adjust the weights. Watching my form, she scowls. Suddenly one hand is on my lower calve and the other on my upper thigh. Holy fuck. If that hand would just move a little higher… If she notices my rising interest, she’s too professional to say and points to the mirror on the wall. “You need to be more conscious of how you’re working your body. Try to keep your knee aligned with your foot. See?”

I try a few more. She’s right. That does feel a lot better. I’d thank her but when I look up she’s back at the front desk talking. That’s when I use the opportunity to stop, down half a bottle of cold water, and will away my hard-on. Back at the front desk, dark-haired therapist laughs and shares her iPhone screen. “Who knows. Marriage might be the answer. Around here, in addition to an expensive gift, guests are expected to leave big bucks in an envelope. But remember, you’ve got to foot the bill for the dress, the shoes, the outings, the luncheons… You’ve got no idea. It’s not like Iowa, my friend.” My leggy therapist shakes her head, blond ponytail bouncing. “How much cash do you figure a couple could make at a wedding like that?” The other woman raises her brows. “If they’re lucky, enough to cover costs and the honeymoon. But you do need a groom.” She squeals… “You don’t mean you and Des…” “God no. I’m so done with him.” Barbie glances to the floor with a wave of sadness but an instant later, she’s all smiles again. “I bet I could do a fake wedding. No one in my family has met Des. I just need someone to take his place…” “You’re serious, aren’t you?” The brunette therapist mirrors my horror. “No, no. Of course not.” That little liar. I guess she could pull off a fake wedding with all of her relatives out of town but still, it’s pretty risky. Again, I wish there was some way I could help her. I bet she won’t take charity. Maybe a loan? When she starts my back massage, I touch her arm to make her stop for a moment and capture her gaze. “Hey, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.” “It happens.” Her frigid tone may be fair but not how I expected the conversation to go. Usually all I have to do is grunt and women are all over me. My knee burns as she stretches my thigh, bringing my ankle to the butt. “Ow. For fuck’s sake.” “Don’t be a baby. Turn over.” She crosses her arms, waiting. Well, this is going to be embarrassing. Yesterday, she let me rest on my stomach long enough for my boner to subside. I guess there’s nothing to be done so I twist onto my back, flagpole up. The brunette, now working the elderly woman on the table next to us, gasps. Thankfully the gray-haired granny is face down. My pretty little therapist pretends not to notice. However, as she works my knee to my chest, the tops of her cheeks turn bright red. When I’ve got the advantage, I always go for the goal. “I saw you last night. At Talon.” “Yeah. And?” Gaze lowered, she sucks in her lower lip, and tucks a stray lock behind her ear.

“Nothing. I’m just sorry he dumped you.” “It’s for the best. Ice?” I could make her forget Des-aster in a heartbeat. I’d wrap that hair around my fist, tug her to my mouth, and kiss her into oblivion. When she looks up, I lock her in my gaze, and her pupils widen. Ha! So it’s not all onesided. “Yeah. Ice is good… Did your boyfriend really lock you out? Take everything?” While I sit up, she heads for the small freezer next to the table. Her voice is as icy as the cold packs she tucks around my knee. “It’s really none of your business, is it?” Then she attaches the electric pulse machine to the perfect spot and swivels to go but I’m not done, not by a long shot. I reach out and grab her small wrist with a light touch. “I need to know you’re at the top of your game.” Her brows crease and she stares at where I have ahold of her. “I assure you, Mr. Quinn, my problems won’t affect my work.” As I let go, my tone is more of a growl. “When it comes to my career, I don’t take chances. We need to talk. Tonight. Talon. I’ll be there around seven.” I know she’s fuming despite her professional mask, especially when she doesn’t look up to say goodbye. She’s pretending to be busy entering data into her computer as I walk out the door. Then it dawns on me. I fuckin’ can’t believe it. The pain in my knee is less. I’m beginning to think my Barbie is part magician. Shit. I forgot to get her name. After phoning Jaz about some more charity events, I head to midtown Manhattan and show off my new flexibility to Stan. That convinces him to give me a grueling upper body workout. Finished, he starts the water in the cold tub. “I heard she was good. I had no idea she was that good.” I lower in, shivering. “So why not hire her?” His look says I’m off my rocker and I get it. She’s a young woman who’d end up in a room of naked men. The world hasn’t changed all that much but I want her to get some recognition. With that, her career might take off and she won’t need ass-hats like Des-picable taking advantage of her. Later, I dress in black jeans and black t-shirt, the go-to chic for the side of Brooklyn my brother lives in. I even steal a splash of his expensive after-shave. You never know, it could

help. My nose, broken too many times is a little crooked but I’m told my smile is worth a thousand bucks. Actually, closer to a couple mil’ if I manage to keep my advert deal. That reminds me, Jaz wants some statement about what happened. What am I supposed to say? No, I didn’t know the girl before that night. Yes, I met her in the bar. Yes, I intended on fucking her. And no, I haven’t spoken to her since. Maybe she’s in jail for hooking. I hope so. Anyhow, her mom and dad should lock her up. How the hell was I supposed to know she was jail-bait? The season was done and I’d had a few drinks. But I’m not supposed to be human. I’m CJ Quinn, the next Manning. And just one night, just one, I fucked up. I got into a car with a beautiful young woman who’d hit on me, looking for a quick lay. Turns out she was sixteen but looked at least ten years older. Why hadn’t the bartender carded her? Those are my thoughts as I down a craft ale with the best bar food I’ve ever had. Then suddenly I stare at the door, mouth wide. Her hair is down, all bright and shiny, like an ad for shampoo. She must’ve bought or borrowed a dress which is so short, it takes my breath away. It’s also tight around the chest, revealing what I’ve been feeling every time she bends over me. I’m not generally a big boob guy, but I think she just changed my mind. The thought of caressing those lovely orbs while she writhes under me makes me hard as hell. My reaction is probably because this is the first time I’ve seen any woman in the city without a ton of goop on her face. In New York, the women are fucking experts with the stuff. They make their eyes all big and their lips plump. A guy hasn’t got a chance. Her girl-next-door look makes me remember my roots where swimming holes, truck beds, and starry nights are the norm. As she gets closer, I notice this wicked little line of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Damn. She looks good enough to eat. I stand up and pull back a chair which seems to surprise her. That just proves to me she’s been with the wrong kind of man. “Thanks.” When she shoots me my first real smile, something deep in my chest cracks, and warning bells clang in my brain. Ignoring the alarms, I sit, unable to keep my eyes off from her. “Something to drink?” “Just sparkling water.” She’s so fucking beautiful, but not in a city way. More like a barefoot babe in a cornfield under a summer blue sky. When I order, her brows raise. “Don’t abstain on my account.” I raise my glass of iced tea that I’d been nursing and grimace. “Off the hard stuff until my manager gives the okay.” “Why is that?” A pink tongue slips across her lower lip making me want to kiss her and tangle with it.

But when my brain returns, what she says sinks in. No wonder she’s being nice. She hasn’t heard how I almost went to bed with an underage groupie. I push my plate of sweet potato fries in front of her. “Surely you’ve heard of my little PR problem?” “Uh, no, not really. What happened?” A salty vegetable slips inside her mouth, the place I want to explore fully but when she finds out about me, not likely. I might as well get this over with. I share the same tale I’ve been telling everyone since last month. “I got into a car with a girl who was too young for what she had in mind. She tried to jump the light and a cab crashed into us. The paparazzi following us went nuts.” When she frowns, I try to explain further. I don’t know why, but her opinion matters. “Hey. She had on a ton of makeup, fake boobs, fake everything. She came onto me and I accepted. If that cab hadn’t broadsided us, I shudder to think what might’ve happened. Damn. I’m not like that. What was I supposed to do? Card her? Shouldn’t the bartender have done that?” Disappointed blue eyes like the sky between the goal posts stare accusingly and it makes me feel like a worthless piece of shit. “I swear I didn’t know she was a kid for Christ’s sake. Maybe if I hadn’t been drinking, I would’ve seen through her. I don’t know. You women just don’t get what it’s like.” Why doesn’t she say something? Dammit all. In silence, we watch a couple of guys shoot pool in the corner. After a moment, she taps my arm, sighs, and looks me squarely in the eye. “What do you want, Mr. Quinn? Why am I here? Do you want to fire me because I got a few personal problems? That hardly seems fair considering your situation.” I give her credit for being so blunt. It’s just another thing I like about her. “What if I said I want to help you?” She snorts out a laugh. “Why? Do you know of someone looking for a roommate who lives around here?” I shake my head. “No. I heard you talking about getting married.” Sparkling water that shoots from her mouth hits the table. “Oh my God. Sorry. You can’t be serious. I was just kidding.” Suddenly I realize I couldn’t be more serious. It’s the most perfectly glorious solution to her problem and mine. “Listen. I’ll get us an apartment, replace your lost stuff, buy you some nice clothes and-” Chair scraping against the wood floor, she jumps up and leaves a five on the table. “I don’t know what gave you the impression I’m like that but I’m not. Jesus, Quinn. Ego much?”

I try to rush after her but the damn leg won’t move as she sprints out the door and out of sight. Later, when speaking to my brother, Andy, I try to hash out what I did wrong. “I gave her this perfectly valid offer, she got all high and mighty, and ran off like I insulted her.” My brother’s all but rolling on the floor, tears in his eyes, and if I didn’t need an answer so bad, I’d probably punch him. Then he wipes a neatly creased sleeve across his face. “When was the last time you dated a good girl?” “You know very well. Besides she’s not one of those. She was shacked up with Des, for crying out loud.” I hobble over to the bar and pour an ounce of scotch knowing I’m not going out again. “Holy shit, CJ, get a clue. She’s from Iowa for God’s sake. I bet if you ask her, this Des of hers is the only man she’s ever slept with.” “I bet you a thousand bucks you’re wrong.” “I’m already spending it. Give me her name and I’ll see what I can dig up.” That’s when I realize, that I still don’t know her name. I never asked, not even when I asked her to marry me. Usually I don’t care. Ever since Mary Jane McAllister, I don’t date nice girls. To be honest, I don’t date. I fuck. I never get names and I never put numbers in my phone. Sometimes I can be a real ass.

Chapter 7

I can’t believe that hotshot would think he could keep me as his whore. Visions of that movie, Pretty Woman, flash into my head. I know all about guys like CJ Quinn. He goes through women like I go through bottles of hair conditioner and believe me, that’s saying something. I checked online. In every photograph, there’s a different model clinging to his arm or draped across his body. I wonder if he made them the same deal, an apartment and some nice clothes in exchange for sex. That thought makes me want to hurl but I’ve only got a few days left before I’m homeless. I could call up Doctor Jones and tell her about my father but she won’t believe me. No point in going there. Besides, it would just expose me for what I am. I let my father touch me for years without telling anyone. What does that make me? I moan. Maybe I am a whore. Despite years of trying to be a better person, CJ saw right through me. Before I’m consumed with childhood memories, I close my eyes and visualize opening this little jewelry box with a tiny twirling ballerina. Then, I throw in my stupid thoughts and shut it tight. For years, this has been how I deal with my childhood incest. Just lock it up and don’t think about it. My father molested me from the time my breasts first came in. I swear I was so young, I had no clue it was even sexual. When I did figure it out, it had gone on for years. I tried to get him to stop but somehow by then I was brain-washed. His touch was normal in my weird perverted life. Shit. I’ve read enough to have a degree in the subject but it still feels like it was all my fault. Argh. Small box open, thoughts in, cover down. There’s no going home. Not a choice. Even at my age, my father’s hands will sneak to cop a feel. If I say anything, I know the outcome. Banishment forever. I got cousins, two brothers, and two sisters. Nephews, nieces. Dammit. I just can’t do it. I can’t be left all alone in the world. Better to just stay away except for weddings, funerals, and an occasional holiday. Sitting in my bedroom shared with five other women, I consider my options. Then I start calling everyone I know but it’s no use. No one has room for me, everyone is maxed out for space. When I try a couple brokers and tell them what I need, I almost lose it. One just laughs, one suggests I try Craig’s list, and the rest hang up or take my number.

After soul-searching for hours I realize I have three choices. I can try to convince Dr. Jones that my world-famous father is a pedophile, I can live on the street, or I can take CJ Quinn up on his offer. Shit. If I have to move in with him, I’m going to do this my way. I’m not going to keep anything he gives me and no damn sex. That last part I might regret. I pick up my phone and text. Me: K. I’ll marry you but no sex. CJ: Nice. Need 2 know 1 more thing. Me: ? CJ: Your name? Me: Melanie Sanders. CJ: Can call u Mel? Me: No. It’s Melanie. CJ: K, Mel. C U tomorrow. From now on, I’ll always hate little yellow winking emojis.

Chapter 8

Outside my cab, it’s begun to spit snow, a huge snowstorm predicted but I’m practically shitting myself with happiness. I call Jaz with the greatest idea I’ve ever had. “I’m getting married.” “You got to be fucking kidding me.” He obviously doesn’t appreciate my brilliance. I lose connection in the tunnel and have to call him back. “Sorry. You there?” “Uh huh.” “So get this. She’s from Iowa. Blond hair, blue eyes? All-American as apple pie?” He hisses through his teeth. “Sweetheart, the press will see right through a sham. It won’t fly.” “Sure it will. Let me text you her picture.” I send him her Facebook picture, glad I finally got her name. A gasp sounds on the line. “My God. She’s gorgeous.” “Right? Get Pete to check her out for me.” After my last disaster, I don’t trust anyone. A quick look by his private investigator will calm my mind. “Just a sec.” Fast clicking on a keyboard tells me he’s Googling her. Having researched for hours last night, I know what he’ll find about her. There’s a sparse Facebook page and a few shots of her on Instagram, and LinkedIn. I wait for Jaz to get that her father is Mark Sanders, the best trainer in the biz. Suddenly my friend is so fucking thrilled that he might just jump through the phone and kiss me on the mouth. He must’ve found the picture of her with her family at a Fourth of July parade. By now he’s counting his percentage of my advert deal, his voice all high and excited. “We got to do this right. First off we need a back story.” “Why don’t we try the truth? She’s my physical therapist, we got to talking, and hit it off.” “Brilliant! I’ll start right on it while you move in together. And we’ll have to say you’ve been together for a couple months.” “Wait, wait. We can’t do that. What did I do? Cheat on her with Bonnie?” “Who’s Bonnie?”

I swear I might have to fire him. “Bonnie, like in Bonnie and Clyde. The one driving the car? The night my knee was wrecked?” “Oh yeah. Sure, sure. That wouldn’t look so good.” Computer keys start tapping madly again in the background. Outside my cab, the flakes of snow are huge, and coming down harder. I wonder if I’ll need to find a hotel tonight. “Look. Can’t you just let it leak out that I just started seeing a nice girl from Iowa?” “Iowa?” “Yeah. You know. The state that starts with I and ends with corn?” “I thought they had potatoes.” The tap-tapping pauses. “That’s Idaho.” “Whatever. I can work with corn. Farms. Cows. Chickens. Is she good in bed?” “I haven’t slept with her, for fuck’s sake.” I shouldn’t snap but it bothers me that he’s lumped Barbie, I mean Mel, with all my other women. I explain to Jaz how I’m going to need two apartments. One will be for show in Manhattan, the other will be in Bushwick so she can walk to work. “Great, great. I’ll get someone right on it. Now, about the divorce.” “Huh? We aren’t even married yet.” My chest clenches at the thought of her leaving me. “Well, you’re not staying shackled, are you?” “Of course not.” Somehow in all the excitement of getting married and having sex, it hadn’t occurred to me that I couldn’t keep her. “Well we can’t have you looking like the bad guy or you’ll be right back where you started. This is how I see it playing out. She’ll jilt you at the altar, a runaway bride thing. Picture yourself as this bereft hero that survives having his heart ripped apart by this conniving, money-grabbing” “Stop. No. Not going to happen. We’ll get a quiet divorce in about a year. That’s not negotiable.” My gut wrenches thinking of her portrayed like that. “We’ll talk. Hmmm…. We need a farm. We need kisses. Ducklings. Baby goats and a chicken coop in the back yard. Guys with straw hats and a John Deere. God yeah. We need to get you on a tractor with your shirt off.” “Bye Jaz. I’m here at the front entrance to the hospital. Let the press have at me.” I leave the driver what time I’m scheduled to be done, and exit, trying not to limp.

Hours later, saddened by all those sick little kids with a shit-load of bad luck, I head back to Brooklyn while posting pictures on Instagram. Their funny comments cheer me up and make me realize how good I really have it. When my brother comes home I give him a chance to shake off the snow before I tell him my plan. He’s not at all happy but after a few drinks promises to draw up some contracts to keep me and my money safe. “Tell me again why she’s agreed to this?” He hands me his twenty-dollar pen and I sign. “I told you. She got kicked out of her apartment by a fucker of a boyfriend. He had the lease, and stole all her stuff. The wedding was her idea. I swear I just offered to help her out. Our first date is Friday night. Jaz is tweeting it out to the paparazzi.” Maybe she’ll change her mind about everything. That would probably be for the best because if she comes home with me, I’m definitely getting into her pants. When I want a woman, I get her. I picture her blond hair all messy on my pillow her legs spread wide, and her jeans on the floor. I’ll make her beg for it. When I finally give her what she needs, the bed post will bang against the wall as she screams out my name and I fuck her into oblivion.

Chapter 9

Tonight’s my first date with my soon to be fiancé, CJ Quinn. I check myself in the mirror for the hundredth time and glance at the time on my cell phone. Okay, so he’s got the body of a Greek god, there’s no need to freak out, right? It doesn’t help that his cock goes hard every time I sink my fingers into his firm muscles. He doesn’t even try to hide it and just smirks at my heated face. I almost wish he’d try to make a move so I can smack him down but he’s polite as hell. Now, I’ve made it a personal challenge to be professional with him but it’s tough. First off, all I have to wear are these damn hand-me-down t-shirts with the thin fabric. More than once I’ve had to borrow a sweater to keep my nipples from showing. Mr. Hotshot misses nothing and blatantly stares at my chest whenever he gets the chance which just makes matters worse. Sexually frustrated at the end of the day, I leave him attached to the electronic pulsing machine while I hit the thrift store on Atlantic Ave. I buy two new dresses, four shirts, and some much-needed underwear. At the last minute, I find this sexy black sweater-dress for five bucks. Yeah, I know CJ said he would buy me clothes for his endless photo ops but that’s a slippery slope. When do you say you don’t owe the guy a blow job? I may be broke but I’m not a fucking whore. Back at rehab, where I said we’d meet up, I stop and stare at a crowd gathering around the door wondering who died. Someone shouts and suddenly I’m surrounded by twenty people with microphones and cameras shoved in my face. “Ms. Sanders? Melanie? Is it true you’ve moved in with CJ?” “Is it true you’re homeless?” “Are you sleeping with him?” “Are you pregnant?” “Did you know he was cheating on you?” The questions quickly degrade into whether I scream during sex or just moan. Thank God, a limo pulls up before I slap this guy silly. Then the backdoor opens and CJ pulls me onto his lap. With me safely tucked inside, he rolls down the window, and winks at the crowd. Then, he turns and kisses me. I knew there’d be sparks but I wasn’t prepared for complete nuclear meltdown. The limo fades away, as does the crowd, and all of my troubles. My body gets all tingly at his sweet male taste. Then I moan, sinking deeper into the pleasure, opening my mouth wide, my hands in his silky hair.

Some foreign part of my brain says stop but as my tits go hard and my body aches for more, I can’t be bothered being sensible. When a guttural groan comes from deep within his chest, I completely lose my mind. With heart thumping I twist, ready to straddle him. “Whoa, baby.” He looks about as stunned as I feel, breathing heavy while cameras flash in our faces. Still holding my gaze, he gives a short wave to the crowd and rolls up the window. Then he gives the driver an address and says, “Lose them, Jack, would you?” The driver, a bald man in his sixties pulls out into traffic and steps on the gas, Soon the few cars that follow fall away. I stay glued to CJ’s lap, staring into his hazel eyes that seem to speak to something long dead inside me. His thumbs play at the sides of my chest as he holds me in place. Finally I slide off his lap and onto the seat, remembering my place. He’s the famous CJ Quinn and I am a homeless woman from Brooklyn. The kiss was just public relations. Whatever I felt, I’m sure it was all me. He holds my hand the rest of the way, saying nothing and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. I hope he doesn’t believe I’m easy. Damn. It’s just I’ve never been kissed like that before. We end up on Seventh Avenue South in front of an unassuming restaurant, the name etched in small letters on the glass door. “Hello Mr. Quinn. Wine?” A waiter seats us at a table for two near the open kitchen area. “What say you, love?” CJ’s heated gaze lowers to my lips and he moves in like he might kiss me again. “Ah. Sure. Wine’s good.” I was with Des for four years and I never felt anything remotely like this. My whole body is shaking, my panties damp. After the waiter leaves, CJ clears his throat, and his brows crease. “I’m sorry.” “About the kiss?” Suddenly the carriage turns back into a pumpkin and reality kicks in. It’s all a sham. He’s not my real boyfriend and although my panties are damp, he didn’t feel a thing. “Hell no. I meant the paparazzi.” He tilts his head, mouth grim, voice cross. “Oh.” That he liked our kiss should make me feel better, but the magic in the moment has disappeared. Shrugging, I lift my guard, and put my mask back in place. “No biggie. You told me to expect the worse.” “In the future, we’ll be more careful. This was the quickest way to let the public know I’m dating.” Eyes glued to my face, he wraps his hands around mine.

I use his undivided attention to share my list of conditions. “About that. You’re not to give me any clothes or expensive gifts.” My fingers lift one at a time. “No jewelry, no perfume, no nothing. I get my own room in your apartment and I will tally everything up and pay you back after the wedding.” “Is that it?” One eyebrow rises and he unsuccessfully holds back his smirk. The least he could do is argue. “Yes.” He hands me the menu with the ungodly prices. “Do you want to start with dinner? I can have him split the check.” “Sure. Fine.” Holy shit. I can maybe afford four scallops and still eat the rest of the week. He searches my face, no doubt seeing the sticker shock. “Listen. Whatever you want. I want you to be comfortable with this. It’s supposed to be good for both of us.” He excuses himself and walks to the men’s room without his cane which makes me real proud. On the way, he stops to whisper to the waiter. I know what was said when the wine comes on the house. Then CJ returns and the awkwardness slowly disappears. He tells me about his brother, growing up in the south, and about an awesome mom and dad. I can picture him fishing on the lake and swinging on a rope to jump in. It makes me wish I’d grown up next door. When he asks about me, I dust off the story that I always use about my family where everything was perfect. It makes me like him even more that he doesn’t push for details. After the best meal ever, completely relaxed by three glasses of wine, he calls Jack and we head back into Brooklyn. In the car, I light up the check with my phone and tally up my share. It’s not too bad, especially because CJ insisted on feeding me from his plate. Neither one of us wants the night to end so we stop at Talon where if the patrons recognize him, they’re nice enough to leave him alone. We decide on one more beer before calling it a night. “Do you mind if I ask what you saw in that asshole, Des?” CJ leans back on a chair, legs outstretched, hands behind his head. I blush. “How can I explain? At first it was exciting. He was a little older, a lot more experienced, and had down that whole New Yorker disdain-thing. He could make someone feel like shit with a word. At first, it made me feel special. Later, it was just embarrassing. But by the time I figured him out, I’d wasted four years of my life. I’m not getting any younger. And, well, it’s stupid, but I felt like I was going to end up an old maid.” Eyebrows raise as he takes another swallow of beer. The only way I can explain my next sentence is that I’d had way too much to drink. “He was the only guy, you know, that I ever slept with.”

He coughs so hard he might need the Heimlich but then stops and picks up a coaster that drops to the floor. When he comes up, his face is red. “Sorry. Went down the wrong hole. So that’s why you didn’t leave him? Because he was the only guy you ever slept with?” I nod, mortified at my big mouth. Obviously, he thinks I’m a pathetic loser. After my grand announcement, I laugh lightly and figure it’s his turn. “So there it is. I’ve shared my biggest embarrassment, it’s only fair that you do the same.” He raises his bad leg. “It’s all over social media.” “What really happened?” My hand reaches over of its own accord to cover his. Traitor. His brows raise, he throws some bills on the table, and stands. “You want to walk and talk?” “Yeah, sure.” I try to look at the tab but he refuses and pays. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll just check with the owner later.” He winks at the red head behind the bar. “Not going to happen. Tonight’s my treat. No strings. You can begin your accounting tomorrow. Deal?” Slippery slope, I tell myself. “We’ll talk.” His hand slips to my lower back possessively as he walks me out the door. “So boss, you think this knee will make it up the hill?” “Why? Does it hurt?” “Yeah. Some.” He points to his knee. “Right here.” Then he points to his cock. “And here.” I smile. I know what he means. My clit’s been swollen since that first kiss in the limo. “You agreed, no sex.” “Just checking, but why? I swear I’m clean.” “Is that what you think I’m thinking?” I blush like mad. When you’ve only had sex with one guy, I mean, well, you don’t consider stuff like that. Oh my God. Who knows what diseases that skank Des has been sleeping with has? I moan. “I need to get tested.” He squeezes my hand. “There’s a clinic in the neighborhood.” “How do you do that?” “Do what?”

“Know what I’m thinking?” His laugh is like whiskey. Warm and friendly. Then I’m sure I’ve had too much to drink when I reach around his waist, look up, and kiss him. Like earlier, fireworks go off inside my head and my pussy goes slick. I don’t have enough undies to marry this man. With a groan, he pulls me into the first dark doorway and leans in to get full access to my mouth. His hands roam over my back then slip to my ass, squeezing. Then tight against his lower half, he takes my mouth prisoner. His large frame hides me from the street as his tongue plays inside my mouth. In and out he plunges while he rocks into my body and my dress rides up. For a moment, I wonder if he’s considering doing it right here and the excitement is so much, I almost have an orgasm. “You sure you don’t want to fuck me?” Panting, he looks down where only cloth separates us. My inner cavewoman urges me to lift my dress and unzip his fly but I back off, glad for the darkness that hides my heated face. My God, he must think I’m some kind of slut. “Sorry.” “Don’t be.” He kisses me again, this time softer, more like goodbye, and then takes my hand. “Let’s walk home.” Home. I like the sound of that. And I like this man a lot more than I should. What the fuck was I thinking when I agreed to this? After just one date, I want to jump him. After a few months, when he says goodbye, I’ll be devastated.

Chapter 10

When was the last time I held hands with a woman? Shit. When was the last time I even liked a woman? Not since Mary. Good girls are trouble. I’ve always been a complete jerk when it comes to the opposite sex. Now, yet again, I find one that makes me want to be a better man. Oh sure. She’s the one gazing at me with these big blue eyes that say, fuck me, CJ. I’d walk home faster, but with the bum knee and painfully hard junk, it’s not happening. Sex isn’t happening either. She has her bedroom and I have mine. End of conversation. I may be an asshole, but I’m an honorable one. I know Jaz must’ve pulled a lot strings to find us an apartment in such a short amount of time. Money. It can buy just about anything but not her. That probably explains why I want her so bad. I’m not used to a woman saying no. Ever since I was in middle school, girls have thrown themselves at me. Long before I knew what it meant, my father told me I oozed sex appeal. That, along with some hard work is going to see that I’m set for life before I’m brain dead from multiple concussions. The thought of that sobers me. I can’t screw this thing up with Melanie. I need to show the public that I’m headed for marital bliss with a real sweet girl from Iowa. She’s a woman who’s only had sex with one man and damn if that isn’t a fucking turn on. I keep trying to convince myself that she’s so inexperienced that she’d be no good in bed but who’m I kidding? Her kisses set me on fire and turn my brain to oatmeal. With Google Maps directing us, we walk past multiple brownstones while talking about everything under the sun. Then when we reach our destination, I lead her up the stairs and switch on the light. “What the fuck?” I hobble down the hall to be sure. Yup. There’s just one bedroom with a king-sized bed. Her face scrunches, clearly displeased. Before she can say anything, I hold up my arms palms down. “I’ll call Jaz and he’ll fix it tomorrow. I promise. Listen, I’ll take the couch.” She laughs. “Riight, hotshot. Which half of you? I’m much smaller. It’s fine.” She heads into the bedroom, takes one of the pillows, and searches for an extra blanket. “Who’s Jaz?” “My publicist, personal assistant, man Friday, and college best-friend. I told him we needed two bedrooms. I guess this was all he could find on such short notice.”

“No big deal. Really. I’m homeless, remember? This is great.” She rummages through my suitcase and pulls out my favorite t-shirt, soft and full of holes. “Can I wear this? I got no pajamas.” I nod, mouth suddenly dry. I imagine her waking up beside me, my hands sliding up and under… “Mind if I use the bathroom?” “Be my guest.” I know she isn’t wearing a bra and pretty sure there weren’t panty lines under that dress. Suddenly this arrangement seems like a really bad idea. She won’t take charity from me but surely her family can help her out. I call through the shut door, “Hey, Mel?” “I told you. It’s not Mel. It’s Melanie.” I settle back on the huge bed and stretch out. “Why didn’t you ask your dad for money?” The water runs for a long while, and I wonder if she’s going to answer. “It’s complicated.” “Why? What did you do?” All of a sudden, a glass shatters followed by a shit-load of cursing. I stand at the door, ready to break it down. “Hey, you okay?” “Yup. Fine. My hands were soapy. Dish fell off. I got it.” She runs the water some more, then she coughs, and blows her nose. I’m not a complete moron. I know she was crying when she comes out. Obviously, things are not good with her and her family. The redness around the eyes makes me real sorry I opened my stupid mouth. I swear to God to never bring up her family again. So, there she is, all sad-like, standing right in front of me wearing my favorite Knicks t-shirt which comes halfway down her thighs. The thin cotton leaves nothing to the imagination. She’s got some serious muscle tone but not in a weight-lifter kind of way. There’s this sexy kind of sculpture to her arms and legs. That tells me I could let go and she wouldn’t break. Her ex must be a fucking idiot. I get that the brain between my legs is doing all the thinking. She’s going to be my wife. There’s no damn good reason we shouldn’t have sex. Except you made a deal with her, asshole. The way she responds when I kiss her is better than in the doorway, even better than the limo. I’ve never known a woman so full of passion and it lights me up. This is not the kiss of a woman who does not want sex. I swear I’ll just take a little taste of her honey, then I’ll send her to the couch.

It’s with inhuman self-control that I keep my hands on the outside of her t-shirt. She’s the one who rips off mine. I let her fingers roam up and down my bare skin while I do my best with her cotton covered tits. When it becomes too much, I lower my mouth and suck until my t-shirt she’s wearing is soaked and see-through. Then I nip at the peak until she squirms and moans out my name. When her legs open, one of my hands travels down and lifts the make-shift nightie to her waist. With not even a thong to prevent me, I slip in a finger. She tightens around it. If that was my cock, I’d be banging her into heaven. For tonight, it’s all about her pleasure. Slowly I lower my mouth to her core, and she gasps and closes her legs, pushing my head away. “What’re you doing?” “Fucking you with my tongue.” I open up her knees watching how turned on she is by my dirty talk. I chuckle, totally into this woman. When I go for her again, and lick her full opening, she sighs and arches, wanting more. Slowly I make her prick swell with my tiny nibbles and sucks. I find what she likes best and give it to her. It’s so hot, knowing I’m the first to taste her like this. Suddenly she’s there, her pussy swelling and pulsing and she’s panting like mad. Making her come may be one of the most erotic sexual experiences of my life. I unzip my pants but keep my cock inside. We’ve both had a little too much to drink and when I enter her for the first time, I want to be sure there’re no second thoughts. When she falls asleep in my bed, I tuck her between the sheets and safely under the comforter. Then I kiss her one more time, the taste of her sweet liquid still on my lips. I lie there for the longest time, wrapped in the spare blanket, trying to figure out what the hell is going on inside my head. As my brother clearly pointed out, I don’t do good girls. Not since Mary.

Chapter 11

It should be weird, right? But it’s not. First of all, I’m too hungover to worry about what happened last night. Secondly, I took money out of my savings. I’m paying for my half of the date so I definitely did not trade a meal for sex. Actually, we didn’t fuck, unless you count his tongue and I was the only one who got off. Now he must think I’m a tease but I can’t be sure. It’s too hard to think before coffee. I need caffeine right now and I can’t find a damn thing in any of these cupboards. If I have to open another one, I may start screaming. Finally, I find this coffee machine with a lever, put in a pod, and pace while I wait. I woke up next to him, resolved not to have regrets. The new me, the homeless me, needs to embrace life. And yeah, I know, before you say it, CJ’s going to break my heart. But until then, what if I just stop and smell the roses? Enjoy what he has to offer? Not his money, I mean, just the sex. He looks worried as he comes out of the bedroom, so I hand him my mug and grab another for myself. I learned he likes it black and sweet. Me? Creamy and light. “Rough night?” I give him my best smile and the grin he returns melts my heart. Then he comes up behind me, cups my breasts and nibbles my ear. “Wanna get married?” I laugh and slap him away. “Yes, but we got to do this right. We need like... at least three months. We need to make sure you invite the right people and I get enough stuff from my family so I can start over. You can return your gifts. Mine, I’m keeping.” Wearing a pair of sweat pants low on his hips, he couldn’t look sexier. Then he pops two Advils and drinks orange juice from the carton. “I don’t get it. Why not just take a loan from me?” “Because. It’ll mess everything up between us.” Everyone knows money lent is bad news. “Explain your weird universe to me, because to be honest, babe, I’m not getting it.” He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head, flaunting his sculptured six pack, making it hard not to stare. “It’s simple. I don’t exchange sex for money.” I sit down at the table and pour a bowl of raisin bran. “Maybe I don’t even want to have sex with you.” I roll my eyes, thinking of his clever mouth between my legs last night. He smirks. “Okay. Maybe you’re right. I really do want to fuck you.” He frowns when he sees my envelope on the table. “What’s this?”

“My half of the tab for last night.” He curses, stuffs the money in his pocket, and mutters something about not being able to win. Then stomps into the bedroom. “Come in here.” “Why?” “Just do it.” He gets his wallet off the dresser and carefully puts the money inside. “Okay? We’re good?” I nod and he steps in so close that his chest hairs tickle my nose. Then he leans down and whispers into my ear, “The next time I’m fucking you, I don’t want you to think I’m paying for it.” “What about this apartment?” “You are unbelievable, you know that?” He plops down on the bed and throws on some clothes. “I’ll have my brother draw up a lease and a god-damned bank loan for the two months down and the broker’s fee. Okay? His services are free, unless you want me to tally that up as well.” He glowers, limps to the door, and slams it as he goes. Wandering back to the kitchen, I put my head in my hands, a bit shell-shocked. After that, I curl up in a corner of his bed, feeling lost without him. I promised the new me, no regrets, but maybe I should have second thoughts about jumping into bed with my fake fiancé. I certainly don’t regret paying my own way. I need to be able to face myself in the mirror. After falling asleep for a couple of hours, I almost feel human, get up, and eat. As I grab a bowl of Cheerios, it dawns on me that someone must’ve gone grocery shopping. I make a mental note to get my own food, the less expensive kind, and clear out a cupboard. When CJ doesn’t return by bedtime, I settle down on the couch and toss and turn most of the night wishing for him to come home. Now that the finances all settled, we can make love. When he doesn’t show up on Sunday, I wonder if he changed his mind about our deal. I want to text him but don’t really want to know if he’s reneging. What if he kicks me out onto the street? What if he stops taking physical therapy with me? I was counting on his recommendation to boost my resume. Shit. Curse Des for completely ruining my life. I want my favorite jeans, my teddy bear, and my God damned computer. Funny though, I don’t want him. I don’t think I’ve loved him for the longest time but women in my family don’t leave their men. Hadn’t my mother told me that time and time again? Every relationship has its ups and downs.

Double shit. On Monday, I put on my new-used clothes and head down the hill to Myrtle Avenue. I nod at my boss, surprised to see him at work so early. “Hey, Tom.” I politely shake his outstretched hand, wondering if I’m about to get canned. Then I glance over his shoulder where me and CJ’s picture is plastered across his laptop screen. Apparently, someone recognized us in the bar Friday night and snapped a shot. We look so happy that it makes me want to cry. I just ruin everything. Tom turns the computer so I can read the article. “I just came in to congratulate you on your engagement. Are you giving your notice?” Obviously, I hadn’t thought this thing through and I had no idea how fast his publicist would work. “No, uhhh... I want to work. I mean CJ insists.” Then I sense, rather than see my fake fiancé behind me. His arm slips all the way around my waist, resting on my hip. “She likes working and I need her.” He sounds sincere, giving me hope. “Mr. Quinn, I didn’t hear you come in.” Tom pumps CJ’s hand like they’re best of friends. CJ bends over, brushes his lips gently across mine, and the girls between my legs scream for more. If it wasn’t for my boss standing right there, I’d dig my fingers into the back of my fiancé’s neck and kiss him until he swears everything’s okay between us. “Ready to start, my love?” Behind Tom’s back, CJ drops the fake smile and gives me a cool look. “Uh. Yeah. Let’s get you warmed up.” I glance nervously at my boss but he’s oblivious to the tension between me and his new most famous client. I know I made a horrible mistake by letting things go too far Friday night but I’ve never felt so attracted to a man. We had so much fun drinking and talking that I felt like I’d known him forever. What happened next just seemed so natural. Obviously not. CJ must think I’m a huge loser. I picture him in bed last night with one of his many models and my stomach turns. I can’t really blame him, though. He got me off and I’d left him wanting. Once I have him on the massage table and his tense muscles loosen under my touch, it’s as good a time as any to ask, “So I guess the wedding is off?” As I knead into a thigh, he grunts with what sounds like agreement but says no more to any of my questions. Shit. That night the king size bed stays empty and the food in the fridge starts to go bad so I freeze as much as I can. I add it all up with my computer’s calculator, floored by the cost of his Wagyu beef. Then I type it all into my spreadsheet.

I’m pretty sure I could afford the rent here if I found some roommates. And if I save for three months, I should have enough cash to pay CJ back in full. Tuesday comes and goes without him saying a word to me other than about his knee. On Wednesday I pull him outside and into the doorframe where we shared our second hot kiss. Before I can say anything, he hands me a manila folder. “Here. This is all the paperwork, including a pre-nup. Look it over. I have us scheduled at my brother’s office at four so we should miss rush hour.” His voice is so cold that I grab his hand, freaked. “Listen. I’m really sorry. I probably didn’t handle the whole money thing very well.” “No. You didn’t.” His eyes bore into me as his minty breath warms my face. Like always, when we’re together, all I want to do is hold his big body tight, and feel him close to me. “I should’ve told you what a great time I had with you. The best date ever... uh, the only time someone’s, you know, made me come like that. I miss you. I’m just so really, fucking, sorry.” I want to tell him I’m already head-over heels in love, but he’d just laugh me off. A small twitch appears in the corner of his mouth. “Say it again.” “I’m sorry?” I hope I don’t sound too pathetic. “Not that, the other part.” He grins, making my stupid heart pound. “The part about the really great time?” “No, the part about where you said how you love when I put my mouth on your sweet cunt, licked your honey, and made you scream.” He says it so loudly that I look around, wondering if anyone else heard. “I so did not say that.” He kisses me, his tongue demanding entrance. Then suddenly I’m in his arms, and kissing him back like crazy, pressing my lower body into his. My fingertips find the sensitive area on the back of his neck, he groans, and his hands slide into my hair. A group of teens walk by, and one snickers. “Get a room, you guys.” One of the young men stops when he recognizes who’s making my knees buckle, “Jeesh. It’s CJ. CJ Quinn.” The guys aim their phones and I start to protest but my big football goof just laughs. “It’ll go viral within the hour.” “But how will we get any work done?” The paparazzi will be storming the castle.

“I can’t stay here, anyhow I’m ready for a bigger facility.” He cups my cheeks in his hands, hazel eyes holding me prisoner. “Oh. Okay.” My heart drops. I guess I’m getting canned after all. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. I should’ve said. I’m taking you with me. I got it all cleared away with Tom. You still work for him. I’m just renting you out for a few months until I’m back in shape. I promised him lots of publicity, so he’s good.” Oh my God. I haven’t worked with top of the line equipment since I left home. I jump up and down, kissing him repeatedly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He lifts his knee and circles it around. “Something about you is magic, baby. My doctor is stunned, my trainer is thrilled, and my manager is already renegotiating my deal. You did it.” “What about that ad campaign. Have they signed it yet?” “Soon. Soon. Jaz thinks it will happen as soon as I’m married to a wholesome girl from Minnesota.” “Iowa.” He chuckles and just like that it’s all good between us. Later, I meet his brother Andy and sign some papers. When we get back to our apartment, he pours me a drink. “Happy?” “Couldn’t be happier.” And I really mean it. Like I said, since becoming homeless, I’ve started to live more in the moment. Who really knows what tomorrow will bring? I could get run over by a bus. No doubt when this football star leaves me, my heart will break into tiny little pieces but for now, I’m good. One thing’s for sure. I’ll never fall for another jerk like Desmond. In truth, no one will measure up after CJ. I’ll probably just grow old and get three or four cats to keep me company. As he sits on the opposite side of the couch, I don’t understand why his hands stay wrapped around his drink instead of me. “Want to watch a movie?” He reaches for the remote, I nod, and we pick the latest Vin Diesel flick. Then jumping up to make some popcorn, I sit close so we can share the bowl. Instead of putting his arm over my shoulder, it drapes over the back of the couch. For the whole first half of the movie, I wait for him to touch me in some way. I don’t get it. That bump rising in his lap means he’s more than interested so I reach my hands behind his head and bring his lips to mine. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to respond, then he moans, and we kiss. As always, we combust but he holds back, his tongue gentle instead of penetrating and his arm glued to the top of the couch.

Twisting, I press my hardening breasts into his upper body while my fingers dig into his scalp. I nip at his lip, squirming, wanting. His kisses deepen, and his hands slip under my shirt but only on my waist, making me crazy. Why isn’t he touching the places that ache for him. I want his mouth on my clit. I want him inside me. “I guess I’ll turn in.” He extracts himself from me and stands. That’s it? I stare incredulously at his junk that says something quite different and reach for it but he’s fast, grabs my wrist, and shakes his head no. Wow. I just sit there on the couch, silent, as he walks down the hall. I guess I really did screw up but talk about mixed signals? The king-sized bed groans when he jumps on it. Then he tosses and turns for a long while before settling. I don’t understand. I know I wasn’t exactly spectacular at sex the other night but he’s obviously interested. About one in the morning I head into the kitchen for some warm milk. I hate the stuff but it’s supposed to make you sleepy. Anyhow, it gives me something to do other than think about his big muscled body and how his cock would feel sliding into me. I almost jump a mile when a chair behind me scrapes against the floor. “Can’t sleep?” He straddles and sits. I shake my head no, my throat too dry to talk because his almost naked body is so awesome. He’s thrown on a pair of dark boxers riding so low that an arrow points to what I’ve been thinking about all night. His dark hair is all mussed and a sexy stubble of beard has grown in. Piercing gray eyes stare at me with want but he doesn’t make a move to touch me. I take his hand and pull toward the bedroom. “C’mon, CJ. We need to do this. We both want it.” He closes his eyes, pain furrowing his brow. “What the fuck. I promised you, Mel. No sex.” My rules. I’d forgotten all about them. “Hotshot, I signed all the paperwork in the world to prove I’m not trading my body for money. We’re good.” “You sure?” He clenches onto the chair, body sprung tight, searching my face. After I nod, I don’t hear the next thing he says because he moves like he’s got the ball just outside the one yard line. In a flash, my t-shirt’s over my ears, then he lifts me onto the kitchen table. When I spread my legs wide, his cock presses hard against my clit and I moan, squirming. I’m so wet, I’m sure he feels it under his shorts.

I open wide letting his tongue fuck my mouth while I wrap my legs around him, locking ankles behind his back. A small growl sounds deep from within his chest. Then he leaves my lips, nibbles my chin, my neck, and my collar bone. When he goes for a sensitive nipple, I throw back my head and arch up with my hands behind my ass on the table. “Fuck. You’re so fucking beautiful.” His tongue plays with one breast while a thumb worries the other, making the tips hard and pointed. Zings go straight to my core, making me want so much more while he slides down my body. His stubble scratches at my stomach as his tongue plays with my belly button and his hands clench my butt. Watching him between my knees, I lay back while he focuses on my clit, licking, touching, teasing. Everything’s on fire and I’m so close to coming I start shivering. Oh my God. Orgasm imminent. “Not yet, Iowa.” He steps out of his boxers and with me locked around his waist, walks to the bedroom. There he drops me onto the bed and opens the nightstand. He tears open a condom with his teeth but I don’t want anything between us. “I’m on the pill. Clean. Tested just this week.” His eyes go wide, he smiles as his cock springs toward me. “I’m clean too. Trust me?” I nod, he drops the packet and climbs up my body. Sweat is rolling off him as he settles between my legs. Resting on his elbows, he uses the outside of his knees to make me wider. His silky cock teases at my entrance, playing in my juices. “CJ. Dammit. Now.” I’ve never been so fucking ready to come as he pushes against my swollen clit. Moaning, he slides so deep into me that his balls touch my core, making me buck for release. “Oh God.” My orgasm is so close, I’m practically falling apart. I push up hard, he growls, and we begin to rock. At first, he sets this maddeningly slow pace, all in control. Me? I’m arching up, needing that one touch that’ll take me over the top. He swells inside of me, pumping faster while sweat rolls off his body, making us frictionless. “Now. Dammit.” My fingernails dig into his butt cheeks, his hand slips between us, and a rough fingertip presses on my clit. “Fuck!” I explode, reaching and bouncing while he rides me so hard, the bed posts pound against the wall. Something crashes off the nightstand, he shouts, groans, and releases.

My clit is so damn sensitive, it comes to life again when his liquid mixes with mine. I arch up, and damn if I don’t come again. He moans at my pulsing and pushes in so tight I feel like we’re one. Then he turns onto his back with me on his chest and we lie together for the longest time. While his fingers roam my lower back, I play with the small dark curls in front of my eyes, tasting his tangy sweat. I must’ve fallen asleep with him still inside me, never wanting this moment to end.

Chapter 12

She’s mine. I knew she would be but never counted on falling for her. She’s my heroin, my pot and my cocaine. Ever since that first kiss, I’ve never wanted anyone more. And every time we fuck? Ah, hell. I swear if it weren’t for getting my knee back in shape, I’d never let her wear clothes. I need to spend more time with my trainer as February turns into March. Then it’s April and Easter. My Mom makes a big deal out of the holiday and I know better than to say no when she asks me to come home. As long as I stay clear of the fake fiancé thing, I can speak the gospel. I tell her how Mel is my physical therapist, my best friend, and how mind blowing she is at just about everything. Mom tries to find out if I’m sleeping with her. Fornicatin’ is the term she uses, her new favorite word. This is pretty weird because she never used it with all the other women I’ve had, especially not Mary. When I ask her why, she clams up, just insisting I bring Mel home to meet the family. It’s best not to argue with my Mom when she gets something in her head. She’s got God on her side. I swear I can hear the gospel choir all the way up here. Mom’s leading the congregation as the rest pray for the redemption of my soul. I don’t tell Mel we’re heading south until I can think of the best way to make her agree. Jaz, however is thrilled for the photo opportunity. My brothers and sisters think it’s a hoot. The church is all invited to the house for a big Easter party, complete with a giant yellow cake in the shape of a lamb, courtesy of Darlene’s Home Baked Goods. Tonight, I throw a couple of hamburger patties on a frypan and slide some frozen fries into the oven. That’s the extent of my cooking skills, especially on her limited budget which she still insists on keeping. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, wearing one of my football hoodies and a pair of used blue jeans with horizontal slits in the upper thigh. Spatula in hand, I wander over and grab a kiss. My left index finger slides up the holes in her jeans tearing the cotton a little more, making her moan. Eventually I’ll make the pants unwearable in public. Those are way too sexy for anyone but me. Laughing, she pulls away, and points to the stove. “They’re going to burn.” Shit. When I’m kissing her, my mind goes blank and that needs to stop before the season starts. I guess I’ll just have to screw her until she’s out of my system but so far that hasn’t worked so well. While our gourmet meal cooks, I pour us a glass of wine. “Would you like to get out of the city for a while? Go down south where it’s warm?”

Her blue eyes brighten. “Oh my God. I’d love to.” Then her gaze lowers, pretty pink lips in a pout. “Probably costs a fortune.” The thought of being cramped in a car for days doesn’t thrill me but if I can convince her to see my mom, it’ll be worth it. “We could drive and I know a family willing to put us up. I’ll split the cost of gas…” “Really? That would be awesome, but your knee—” She touches my leg, sending chills up and down my spine. My cock jumps to attention reminding me we haven’t had sex since morning. “If you come, I’ll promise to continue my exercises while we’re there.” “Where is there?” She licks ketchup from the side of her mouth and that’s the final straw. I lick her mouth, pick her up and walk down the hall toward the bedroom. “My mom has invited us for Easter.” “Wow. Does she know? About us?” She giggles and kicks like she doesn’t want sex but I know she does. She’s always willing. I lower her onto the bed, unsnap her jeans, and slide them off her butt. “Everyone knows about the engagement.” “But does she know it’s fake?” She blushes at her grocery store undies that I constantly tease her about. What she doesn’t know is that her granny-panties drive me wild. They’re white, waist high, and made for good girls. Every time I take them off, I’m reminded of how I’m only the second man in her life. She doesn’t know it yet but there’s never going to be a third. Our relationship isn’t fake and just maybe visiting my family will prove that to her. I need to make her understand that she’s not just public relations. She isn’t temporary, she’s forever. As I toss my clothes on the floor, I watch her staring, wondering what she’s thinking. Our sex is beyond awesome but she still tallies up every cent, making sure that I know she’s not taking anything from me, other than my cock. Shit. If anyone feels used in our little deal, it’s me. Mel’s staring at me, waiting and I don’t even recall the question she just asked. My insides are all fucked up. I want her in my bed, sure. But now there’s more. I like having coffee with her in the morning. I love doing the Sunday Times crossword in bed while eating bagels. Most of all, I love waking up in the night and turning her over. She opens wide, every time. The woman has an insatiable hunger for sex, as much as my own.

How can I ever go back to impersonal one night stands from strangers I meet in a bar? Fuck it all. She’s ruined me. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, babe.” I hate how she reads my mind. I hate how she gets under my skin and I hate that she’s going to leave me as soon as we get married. I kiss her and when she comes up for air I say, “We’ll leave on Thursday. Bring a dress for church? My mom’s a real holy roller. You okay with that?” She smiles. “Sure. Sounds nice.” When we arrive, Mom’s there, arms wide and hugging us like everything is right with the world. In fact, my whole family is on the front lawn, hooting, laughing, and hugging. It takes me almost an hour to introduce everyone but soon, with a beer in my hand, it’s all good. I can’t believe how my little nieces and nephews have grown. Baby Carly’s already walking, Drew’s in kindergarten, and the oldest, Theo, is twelve. The others are running around like crazy. Apparently, a small green snake was found in the grass, and the boys are torturing the girls, telling them it’s poisonous. Mel’s cheeks are all rosy and the late afternoon sun kisses those freckles on her nose. I’ll bet she’ll have a bunch more before we head home for New York. While she’s led away by the women, Andy takes me aside and hands me another beer. I haven’t seen him since we signed all those papers a few weeks ago. “What the fuck, bro? You screwin’ her?” “It’s not what you think.” “It’s obvious by the way you two move, man. You’re so into her you might as well have it plastered on your football jersey.” I sigh, finish the beer, and squish the can with my heel. “Shit. She’s got my head all screwed up. I would marry her for real, but it’s obvious she’s just in it for the wedding money. Counts every fucking cent.” “Huh? What do you mean?” “She doesn’t want to be beholding to me. Who the fuck even uses that word?” Andy smirks. “Mom does. C’mon now. There’s some pulled pork on a roll, and some corn roasting on the grill. After a bit, we’ll have a sit down and figure this thing all out. I think you got to let the ladies in on your secret, though. They’ll help.” I moan as I walk to the backyard that smells like heaven. I always wanted to be picked up by a southern team but the Giants made the biggest bid, by far. Maybe I ought to rethink my priorities. It isn’t too late. Because of my little screw up, my contract is only for another year. Maybe that’s a sign.

Mel looks like the girl next door in her summer cotton dress and flip flops. The fact she wears almost no makeup I am sure has ingratiated all the church folks. But it’s more than that. She really is a nice girl. Andy had her pegged before he’d even met her. It’s clear she doesn’t belong with me except for a toaster, a blender, and a salad spinner. Once she’s got all that, she can start all over. Without me. Mom, of course, puts us in separate bedrooms so I don’t even get a chance to tell Mel what I’m feeling. In church, Easter morning, the preacher talks about eternal salvation and when we sing Jesus Christ has Risen, my throat gets all tight. Damned if I’m not heartsick right about now. Mel must sense my mood because her hand slips into my elbow as she shares her choir book and belts out the last refrain. Hey God. If you’re listening? I think I love a good girl. You think you could arrange that? After dinner, one of the guys grabs a guitar, and a few couples start to dance. She drags me onto the lawn, holding me tight to her. “You okay?” “Why do you keep asking me that?” “I don’t know.” She smiles and sighs. “I just really like your family.” “Make you miss yours?” “Yeah.” “Good, I have a surprise for you. Next month we’re booked to see yours. Jaz is paying so no excuses about not being able to afford the flight. Some magazine wants an exclusive on our engagement party out there.” She pales, shaking, and I put my arms around her. Oh shit. This is not good.

Chapter 13

I start freaking out somewhere over the Great Lakes as I pace up and down the aisle of firstclass. I want everything to be just right but there’s no way I can handle my screwed-up family. Sure, my father will behave in front of all that media. Then all I have to do is hang with my cousins and make it through the party. What could possibly go wrong? When I sit back down, my fake fiancé squeezes my hand, inspecting my face. “You worried about seeing your family?” “No, no. Just excited.” My smile is forced while a tsunami of memories loom, waiting to break into my consciousness. A rough finger tucks under my chin and soft lips caress across mine. “Tell me, baby. What’s going on behind those blue eyes of yours?” I can’t lose it. Not today of all days. If only I could share but I won’t let my father ruin CJ’s advert deal. Surely, I can spend just one evening with my family without it turning into a circus. Just in case, I order a double vodka on-the-rocks. By the time we set down on the tarmac, I’m ready to take on the world, that is until we get to the baggage area. There, a wave of paparazzi surrounds us and a man in lime pants grabs CJ and puts him in front of a mic. While my fiancé starts the speech that he’s been practicing for days, I slip away and into the arms of my favorite cousins, Kaley and Sueann. The same age as me, we were inseparable as kids and after sharing a couple of sentences, it’s like I never left. When they ask about the wedding, I need to remind myself it’s all fake, a way to get my life on track. Soon, CJ will have an actress on his arm, or a model, or some other famous bimbo. He’ll go his way, I’ll go mine and I’ll be just fine. Tom says our website is getting more hits than ever and the rehab center is getting booked by professional athletes instead of Medicaid. He’s even thinking of opening up a place in Manhattan. With that, I’ll get a good raise and my money worries will be over. Why then, do I want to weep? My thoughts of the future fall away when I spot my parents accompanied by my siblings and their spouses. I keep waiting for lightening to strike me dead. Everyone is happy and hugging and the cameras are snapping. Why doesn’t God do something? See this for the farce it is? My dad hugs me warmly and I stiffen, remembering all the times his hand would slip under my shirt to grope a breast. The room gets smaller, I push him away, and hug my mom. She’s got real tears in her eyes as she says, “It’s so good to see you. It’s been so long.”

Damn. How can such extreme emotions co-exist? I love my totally screwed-up family and yet don’t trust myself to speak. I can do this. After CJ finishes, he shakes hands with the men of my family and kisses the women on the cheeks. This makes every one of them, including my grandmother, blush. Then he takes my hand and we follow green-pants, who I figure must be Jaz, into waiting limos. When it looks like I might be seated next to my dad, I insist CJ get in first. He gives me a weird look but I shrug it off and push him forward. “You guys should get to know each other. I’ll sit next to my mom.” Crisis averted, we head to the barn. I have to hand it to Jaz. The place resembles a Hollywood ho-down like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Luckily, the hay is just for show, there’s real chairs, and the place hasn’t had cattle in it for years. I recognize it as an old auction house from when I was a kid. Some of the larger pieces are on display, like a huge mantel, and a barroom mirror. I wonder how long it took them to clear out all the rest of the junk. When CJ starts talking football with my brothers, I wander over to the bar where my sister and a couple cousins have gathered. Without the paparazzi, Stefanie, my oldest sibling, turns her back on me, refusing to even say hello. SueAnn grabs my arm and says, “Forget her. How’ve you been?” We talk about everything I’ve been up to for the last few years while I keep one eye watching out for my dad. After a few drinks, I let my guard down, the sun sets, and a cover band starts up. Then I’m dancing like I’m in high school again having a hoot. Suddenly someone taps my shoulder. I figure it’s CJ but then my heart freezes when I turn. It’s my dad. A part of me wants to rant at him and force him to apologize. Another part of me wants him to say he loves me and is proud of who I’ve become. All of me wants to run but there’s cameras surrounding us and no graceful way out. So, we dance and I keep a good three or four inches between us. Me? By now I got pretty good at faking a smile. When the media finally disappears, I try to break away but he grabs my arm, preventing my getaway. “Why haven’t you come home, Melanie? You’ve broken your mother’s heart.” I’ve never confronted him about the abuse but I can’t let that comment go unchallenged. “I think you know why.”

“Honestly? I don’t.” Brows creased in concern, he gives me this sad, hurt look, like he’s the victim. Holy fuck. He hasn’t changed a bit. This is so not the time to have this conversation but my mouth isn’t in sync with my brain. “Jesus Christ, Dad, you sexually abused me. You think that might have some effect on how I feel about coming home?” Instead of looking guilty, he chuckles. He actually laughs as I stare aghast. I think I’m going to throw up or perhaps kill him. Instead one stupid tear drips down my face. A strong man, he grips my wrist. “You shouldn’t make such a big deal. What we shared was perfectly normal.” “Let go of me!” I snap my hand away and dash for the door as it dawns on me that the only person that’s changed is me. Why the hell did I think I could handle this? Every fucking emotion crashes into my head and I can’t breathe. In the parking lot, I squat with my face to my knees and try to push away my childhood memories. “What happened? Are you sick?” CJ’s suddenly lifting me into his chest and I dig my face into the sweet smell of him, reaching my arms around his back. It’s irrational to think this but what if it gets out that my father molested me? What will the paparazzi have to say? What will CJ think? “Please. Get me out of here.” The ground falls away as he whisks me across the lot to where his driver waits with the door open. “Hotel.” “Sure thing, Mr. Quinn. There’s water or something stronger if she needs, in the bar.” Then the driver raises the privacy window and we’re alone. Sitting there in the dark behind the tinted windows I feel safe for the first time since landing in Iowa. Slowly my breathing turns to normal and the awful memories fade to the background. I don’t know what to say. Why couldn’t I stand up to my father and shout at him and tell him what a pervert he is. Perfectly normal? To touch a little girl for years? Fuck that and fuck him. “Tell me. What’s up with you and your dad?” CJ’s oblivious to the storm going on in my head. I shrug and try to act cool. “I don’t get along with him, that’s all.” “Why?” He clamps his hands around mine to stop me from wringing. “It’s personal.” I shift away on the seat. I just can’t tell him, can I?

“Did he hit you?” His voice grows tense and I swallow hard. Something inside me is bubbling, trying to break free and I can’t stop it. “Worse.” “How worse?” I whisper, as if saying the words too loud might send me into the past. “He touched me inappropriately... for years.” I wait for the disgust in his face and when it comes, I look down. Why the hell did I open my big fat mouth? “How old were you?” His body stiffens and his breathing grows uneven but as long as I’ve gone this far I might as well keep going. “The first time, I was maybe ten, maybe younger. I’m not really sure.” He curses. “Why the hell didn’t you tell someone?” He’s angry. Well I’m angry, too. Haven’t I asked myself that time and time again? I try to explain as best I can. “I was on my own. My mother wouldn’t admit to it even though she walked in on it more than once. Understand?” “No.” There’s more but I don’t say it aloud. Growing up, my family was more like a cult. I learned at an early age that love would be withheld for the slightest infraction of the rules and one of the rules was that family privacy was sacred above all else. Tears drip down my face which I angrily wipe away. “What are you going to tell the press?” “Fuck the press, Mel. Tell me, have you ever gotten any help for this?” He still sounds annoyed, and I get it. This is a lot more than he bargained for. My laugh sounds weak, even to me. “I don’t need my head examined, he does. Listen, if you want to call this off, we can.” I can’t even look into CJ’s face I’m so damn sad. “I don’t want to call this off. I want to kill someone.” “I really am sorry, CJ. I tried. I really did.” Could this day get any worse? “Ah, shit. Mel. I’m not mad at you. I want to fucking murder your father.” “You believe me?” My eyes bravely rise up to meet his and my stupid heart almost stops because he’s crying. Then his forehead meets mine. “Why the hell would you lie? About something like that?”

“I wouldn’t. I just... dammit. I never thought... ” My throat constricts and tears roll down my cheeks, but I’m not crying for me. I’m crying for the little kid that somehow managed to endure the unspeakable and break free. The limo stops at a light and I’m struck at how ordinary everything is outside the window. I told someone about the abuse and time didn’t stand still. Nothing has changed. No one died. I’m still me. A huge weight is lifted off my shoulders and this tightness around my heart loosens. CJ watches my face intently. “Why do you bother to stay in touch with him? For Christ sake, you danced with him.” In the afternoon sun, kids ride their bikes in the park as parents look on. My first two-wheeler had three speeds, was green, and way too big for me. My dad said I would grow into it. How can I describe what it’s like? “If you ignore what happened behind closed doors, he was a good dad. He was kind, went to all my back-to-school nights and science fairs. He bought me my first car, sent me to college…” “That doesn’t make up for what he did to you.” His mouth is still grim when we pull up to the back door of a strange hotel. “Imagine you loved strawberry pie as a kid, and your mom would bring a piece into your bedroom just for you, every night.” He looks at me, and grunts. “Okay.” “That pie feels so good goin’ down. It doesn’t hurt. It feels great. Best damn pie in the whole world.” I don’t think he gets where I’m coming from but I keep trying. “Then, when your Dad walks in the room, you Mom hides the pie. She doesn’t say anything, but you’re not stupid. For some reason, your Dad isn’t supposed to know about the pie. You like pie, don’t want it to stop, so you don’t say anything. And, coming from a big family, it’s the only time your Mom pays you any mind. You feel really special.” CJ watches me intently, and nods. “One day, you’re in school, you hear some stuff and it dawns on you that your Mom should not be feeding you pie at night in your bedroom, when she tucks you in.” “Shit. I don’t want to hear this.” He closes his eyes, brows creased and I grab his hands in mine until he opens them again. “But you need to, if you really want to understand what my life is like.” A squeeze indicates he’s with me. “Okay, keep going.” “So, one day you tell your Dad that Mom is feeding you pie at night. He freaks and tells you it can’t be. Mom would never feed you pie at night. You must be mistaken and refuses to talk to you about it. Now you’re on your own. If your own Dad doesn’t believe you about the pie, who

will? So instead, from that point on, you try to convince your Mom, no pie at night. Sometimes she listens, sometimes she doesn’t but always there’s a kind of manipulation. That if you don’t eat pie, you will no longer be special or be loved.” “Wait here.” He jumps out of the limo, speaks to the front desk, and then comes right back. “We need to change hotels, and then come up with a new plan.”

Chapter 14

My phone is buzzing nonstop in my back pocket so I turn it off. I need a moment to think. My brain’s about to explode from her confession. Didn’t I know she didn’t get along with her family? I figured maybe her dad had spanked her as a kid or maybe he was a bit over-protective as a teen, the normal shit. Incest. Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to deal with that? I grab a couple beers and sit down next to this amazing woman. A part of me wants to believe she’s lying, that the man I shook hands with couldn’t possibly have touched her as a little girl. How the hell is she so normal? By the way she clenches her glass, the tears, and the silence, I know she’s told the truth. It takes all my self-control not to go back to that party and pound that bastard into the dirt. What kind of father messes with his own daughter? I swallow hard, open another beer, then dump it down the sink, opting for clear thinking, instead. She hasn’t said anything since we got back to the room. She just stares at the bubbles in her drink, swirling them around and around, eyes overflowing. I should say something but I’m not that guy. I’m also pretty certain she should speak to a shrink but who knows? That might not be right either. I finally decide on damage control with Jaz. Not because it’s the most important thing but because I can’t think of anything else better to do. His voice is up an octave, making his gay persuasion more pronounced. “Speak to me. What the hell just happened? Where did you go?” I glance over at her sad face and my chest tightens into a fucking knot. Just when did she become my whole world? “She felt ill. I took her back to the hotel. It happens.” “Everyone here is whispering all sorts of rumors.” The band is playing in the background and I have to shout to be heard. “You’re the master of deception. Just fix it.” “Fine, but give me something to work with. The press will want a juicy story and if we don’t give them one, they’ll make one up. One we might not like as much.” I don’t give a shit about the paparazzi or her fucked up family. My only thoughts are of Mel sitting on my couch, crying her eyes out. I suspect her siblings know a lot more than they let on and the fact not one of them called to find out if she was okay, pisses me off even more.

I want to get back to consoling her so say the first thing that comes into my mind. “Tell them she’s pregnant.” Shit. The minute the words come out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Jaz gasps. “Is she?” I picture her large with my baby and wish it were so. “No, for fuck’s sake.” “I like it.” He hangs up and I may have just made things worse, but I’ll deal with that later. Right now, my lady needs me and I sit next to her on the bed. “Hey.” Sad blue eyes surrounded by wet lashes stare up at me. “Hey.” “You okay?” She shrugs. “Yeah. I guess.” I take her beer can, place it on the end table, and scoop her into my lap. “Can I get you anything?” Her fingers pull the hair behind my head and sharp teeth nibble my ear lobe. “Just you, hotshot. I need you inside me, fucking me hard. I don’t want to think, just feel.” I cup her cheeks, eyes glued to hers, not wanting to give her what she’s asking. I don’t want to fuck, I want so much more. “Let me make love to you, baby.” I haven’t used the ‘L’ word in so long that it surprises the hell out of me. If she notices, she says nothing but leans in, lips parted. That’s all the invite I need. I kiss her salty cheeks, her eyelids, and those freckles across her nose. Then one fist loops her silky hair holding her in place. My other hand caresses up and down her body, showing her how much I care. When she moans, my tongue plunges deep, mimicking what’s to come. Suddenly she stops tangling and sucks, nails sharp on the back of my neck, driving me wild. My little Barbie is sexy as hell. Imaging her mouth on my cock, my body shudders as I lay her back onto the bed. I could die a happy man kissing her like this, kneading her full breasts. When her hands slip to the hem of her dress, I grab her wrists and hold them over her head. Then I push my knee up between her legs, “Oh my God.” She pushes her wet core against my pant leg, wetting the fabric with her desire.

This is how I want her, all hot and sweet. When I pull her dress up to her waist, I’m shocked to find a tiny thong instead of the Catholic-good-girl briefs. Oh shit yeah. Kneeling, I pull that tiny piece of fabric down her smooth legs, then spread her knees wide, staring at her pink swollen and glistening flesh. All mine. My fingertip slips along her wet length, she sighs, and opens wider. When her nub points up quivering, I can’t help but go down on her, sucking and licking. Then I have to unbutton my jeans and unzip my fly because she tastes of sweet peaches in the heat of a southern summer. I need her naked so I peel her dress over her head. Thank God for front closure bras. One click, one tug, and her breasts fall free. I swallow hard when she opens her eyes, the centers big, black, and dilated. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, the dark nipples of her breasts hard, and her legs open and waiting. Never have I been so damn into a woman. I want to own her, make her understand she’s mine forever and that none of her past shit matters. After kissing every inch of her body, I slip one finger in, then two, as she rubs against my thumb, trying to reach her need. Then suddenly she slips out of my grasp, pulls down my slacks and grabs my cock. “Oh fuck.” My self-control cracks like a tree in a hurricane. Then I turn her onto her hands and knees and enter her so deep our bases touch. She goes crazy, bucking back against me, making me swell inside her. Shaking, I hold her hips slowing her down, setting our pace. I drag in and out of her fully, while she whimpers with little sexy breaths. It’s the most fucking awesome thing in the world when we speed up again. She bumps into me all hard and fierce while I ride her hard. “Now, Dammit.” She sinks her teeth into my hand, thrusts her butt to my abs, and squeezes my cock with her inner muscles. “Oh fuck.” My cock goes so fucking hard. I press one finger to her clit while twisting her nipple. “Now baby, now.” She screams and then suddenly all her insides quiver milking me, prolonging my mindblowing high. I pump and come hard and she meets me again, shouting my name. Finally, I roll onto my back and slide her sweaty body on top of me. Her heart beats like a jackhammer, as does mine. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m never letting her go.

Chapter 15

We board the flight, sit in first class, and yet she says nothing about the cost. That’s how I know how messed up things are inside her head. She awoke in the night and cried herself back to sleep. Then before the sun came up, she was sobbing again. She wept all the way to the airport and through security. Finally, in the boarding area, she’s calm and watching my laptop, leaning into my shoulder. “Mel, baby? You see this?” I turn my computer her way. She nods at the website I found with women who were abused as kids. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. I’m not like them.” “I think you need to talk to someone.” In one of the many pages, I found a bulleted list for husbands and boyfriends. Apparently, her crying jag and denials are just the beginning of what may be a long hard road. “I told you. I’m not crazy, he is.” She starts to stand up but I’m too fast and pull her into my lap. “Baby, I’m not saying you’re crazy but you’re hurt. It says so right here. Says you should talk about it.” “I did talk, CJ. Look where it got me. I need to make it like it was before. I just need to fix this.” She shakes her head, face so sad that my stupid heart cracks. Suddenly, I’m so angry at her fucking father that if he were here, I’d kick him in the balls so hard that he’d never piss again. Then I have a better idea. When I get home, I’ll have a chat with my brother to see what her legal options are. Meanwhile I’ll just try to learn as much as I can about sexual abuse as fast as I can. So far, going just on instinct, it seems like I haven’t fucked up too bad. There is no normal, but if I’m reading this right, I only got a short window before she tries to bury all her feelings again and that would be bad. I remember she said there was a therapist at that homeless place she stayed at. Maybe she’ll talk to her. After she sleeps, we talk for a bit and then I lay it on her. “Mel? I think you should go talk to that therapist in the homeless shelter. I called someone there who can help.” Tears pour down her face but she nods in agreement. Well, it wasn’t the best I could have hoped for but at least I won’t have to commit her. I’m really worried she might harm herself. From the airport, I drive her right to a swanky place on Fifth Avenue. I sign a bunch of papers, promising to pay if her insurance won’t. Again, I know how much my baby is hurting because she doesn’t put up a fuss about the money. Then the doctor takes Mel by the hand and leads her into the office.

Outside in the lobby, I wait and pace, wishing like hell she’d broken a leg or an arm. That, like my knee, can be fixed with time. This kind of hurt, I have no idea how to handle. While they talk quietly, I do some more researching, growing more despondent with each website. She may never recover and if she does, she may not be the girl I remember.

Chapter 16

Entering the peaceful room for crazy people, I figure this is CJ’s first step at kicking me out of his life. The sounds of the ocean that are supposed to chill me out, make me edgy. Why, oh why had I told anyone about the abuse? And why can’t I stuff my memories back where they belong? When I close my eyes, the ballerina is broken, lying on her back on the top shelf. The music won’t play and there’s holes in the jewelry box, like it’s been hit with a shotgun. The nice woman sitting across from me introduces herself as Doctor somebody, and hands me some tissues. Wondering why, I put my hand to my face, surprised to find it wet. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” She leans back and waits as if I would spill my guts to a perfect stranger. Finally, in the awkward silence I shrug, shredding the Kleenexes into tiny pieces. “It’s nothing. My Dad laughed at me, I left a party, and everyone’s making a big deal out of it.” “Okay.” Her face stays impassive. “What happened next?” “I ran out of the room. What else could I do? My whole family was there.” The knot in my throat is back, and again with the ache in my gut that refuses to leave. It hurts so bad and I just don’t understand why. “What happened to me was years ago. Why now?” She smiles sadly. “You’re ready. You weren’t before.” “It’s that simple?” “Funny enough, it is.” “Would you believe someone if they told you they were abused as a kid and yet had no proof.” “Is that person a liar?” I shake my head, no. “I’m not.” Then we talk for over an hour about everything. She gives me a prescription in case I can’t sleep along with some books. She tells me to stay off the internet until I feel stronger and wants to see me twice a week for a while but that sounds too intrusive. I promise to return in a week. I’m not crazy, just sad. On the way out, I crumple the prescription and toss it into the garbage. I’m not an addict, either.

CJ jumps up and searches my face when I meet him in the waiting area. How long do I have before he kicks me out onto the street? My whole reality is skewed. I’m a zombie or in the twilight zone. I want there to be truth between me and CJ, too. Lies bring nothing but problems. When I told the shrink about the phony wedding she actually laughed. She figured my subconscious was trying to get payback. I agreed but explained that it doesn’t change the fact I don’t own a blender. In the next weeks, me and her talk about everything. We both figure the fake wedding is a really bad idea. I just don’t know how to tell CJ. He was counting on that to make his advert deal.

Chapter 17

I’m not sure what I expected, but not this. After Iowa, Mel started sleeping on the couch, saying she didn’t want to wake me up with her early morning crying jags. I don’t care if she keeps me up all night. All I want to do is wrap myself around her and make her forget everything but me. Most of the websites say don’t push and follow her lead. I say fuck that but do as they say. Instead I stay awake all night, praying she’ll come back into my bed. I guess our relationship was always about the fake wedding. She never really wanted me. Who am I kidding? Finally, after about four weeks of living in limbo, she sits me down and lets me have it with both barrels. “I’m calling off the wedding.” The room spins, my chest tightens, and I clamp onto the edge of the table. “You sure?” She nods, liquid pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I called Jaz. Told him he can make me the bad guy. He loves it. The whole jilted lover thing. I told him to say I’m still in love with my ex.” “Are you?’ My eyes snap to hers. What the fuck? She can’t possibly be considering going back to Des-picable. “Jeesh, CJ. No. Jaz wanted some reason so I gave him one.” Tears stick to her blond lashes as she shakes her head back and forth. “Then why, baby? Why? I thought we were good.” I cover her hand with mine, thinking physical contact will make her want to stay. “Because it’s a lie. We’re a lie. I talked it over with my Doctor and she agrees. I need to free myself from that kind of messed up stuff, where what’s said doesn’t match reality. She says in a way, I’m still reliving my past. That’s all kinds of fucked-up.” I nod, understanding that we need truth. For me, it’s easy. I’m so damned in love with her that my whole life is being sucked into a black hole. I can’t breathe without her. I stand slowly, kiss the top of her head, and leave because I don’t trust what I might say next. I would beg on one knee, cry, and she would agree to stay because she’s that sweet. What good would that do? I don’t want her for the wrong reasons. After wandering around town for over an hour and hitting a couple bars, I take the subway to my brother’s place in Brooklyn. A night owl like me, he’s still dressed and his computer is on with a bunch of work files piled high on his kitchen table. “Whiskey?” I nod and he takes out the Rebel Yell, the stuff from when we were stupid teens. I must really look like shit.

“You want to tell me what’s up?” A couple glasses come out of his cupboard and he pours three fingers, each. “She’s called off the wedding.” My stupid voice cracks. A grown man crying. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Not surprised.” Andy pretends not to notice. “You knew?” My fists clench. “No, dude. I told you right from the start she was a good girl. I knew eventually she couldn’t pull off a scam like that. So what happened? What brought it to a head?” His eyes are sharp and lawyer-like. I can see why he’s so good at his job. Without saying too much, I tell him about her childhood, what really happened at our party, and how she’s been trying to recover since. How she’s been crying nonstop. “Bro. I love her. I can’t let her go. She’s my whole fucking world. Like, my chest is all tight. It hurts so bad, I feel like I’m drowning.” I wipe away a fucking tear. Dammit. Andy’s studying his drink, now, giving me some space to pull it together. A good man to have at your side in times like this. “Stay here tonight. Drink. Do whatever you need to do. And give me your phone. No drunk texting. Women hate that.” My brother must’ve read my mind. “Shit. Then what can I do?” “Since when are you a quitter? Figure it out.”

Chapter 18

I stare at the door, numb and stunned. That was fast. Not even a goodbye? Just I need to get some air? I guess I was right to call off the wedding. I thought CJ would at least try to convince me to change my mind. Wow. Suddenly, the apartment seems way too big and quiet as I pace. In the past, I’d call my mom but since starting therapy, I’ve come to realize she was complicit in my abuse. When I told her about my dad, she should’ve protected me. I was just a kid, for crying out loud. For years, I’ve been dragging this guilt around but it really belongs to my parents. It still hurts like fucking hell to face my memories square on every day but it’s getting easier. It took someone else’s perspective to make me realize that none of what happened to me was my fault. Now, when I look for the jewelry box in my head, it’s faded and almost disappeared. In some ways, however, it’s like a toddler losing a security blanket. I grab the remote, channel surfing. What have I done? You freed him from the burden of having to keep a promise. The you before Iowa is not the you now. Around midnight, I get a text from Andy, telling me CJ is there. Of course he is! He just couldn’t wait to leave me. It was always about the publicity but dammit. I really thought we’d become more than that. Shit. Ever since Iowa, he hasn’t made one move to fuck me. He’s probably got someone on the side and who could blame him? The whole incest thing probably turned him off. It’s really not the kind of thing that makes a man all hot and bothered over a woman. I really wish I hadn’t told him but then again, I needed to get better. Something inside me is changing. Even though I’m sad a lot, when I’m happy, I’m like really, really happy. Sometimes the smallest things make my heart race and I know I’m finally alive. My therapist says that when I locked away the incest, I locked away some vital part of me. Every once in a while, I see the me I’m going to be, and I like her a lot. But tonight, my new feelings hurt me so bad, I don’t know how I’ll make it through the next hour. When another text from Andy pops up on my phone, I click the video he sent. CJ is sitting in Andy’s kitchen, a giant tear rolling down his face. “I love her. I can’t let her go. She’s my whole fucking world.” Watching my alpha hotshot crying might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I play it over again and again, not really believing what I’m seeing. CJ loves me? Dammit. Why didn’t he say so?

I guess I’ve been so self-centered, I wouldn’t have heard him anyways. I’m such a dope. Andy texts me, “I’m sending a driver. You coming?” I don’t have the words to text so I post a sticker with a goofy dog dancing for joy. My heart, which was in this dark place is now streaking across the sky and sparkling with glitter. Holy shit. I’m either bipolar or crazy in love. One more text dings out of my phone. “Have a nice night. I’m finding someplace else to stay. Beware. U hurt my brother again and I’m coming for U.” Jack arrives just as I finish getting ready and even though he speeds, the trip to Brooklyn seems to take forever. After he unlocks the door and says good luck, I feel my way down the hall. I can tell that CJ’s awake by his breathing as I slip out of my clothes and enter the bedroom. Suddenly the light switches on, his mouth drops open and his eyes widen at my naked body. When he doesn’t say anything, for a second I wonder if he’s going to forgive me. The whole way over, I had this beautiful apology memorized but instead, I just blurt out, “I love you, hotshot.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “Oh man, baby. Come over here.” Running and jumping into the bed, I wrap my arms around him. Then he rolls on top, kissing me like mad, and tasting of warm whiskey. When his lips get to my ears, he whispers, “Never leave me again. Promise me.” I have to pull away from his busy mouth to answer. “I won’t. I swear. I had no idea. You stopped touching me. I thought—” “—I didn’t want to push. Not after all you’ve been through. But how? Why?” His rough palm cups my cheek, hazel eyes dark with desire. Then his brows raise. “Andy?” “He sent your driver to pick me up. Said you were here.” I grab his hand and pull it down between my legs, where I’m slick with desire. “Enough with the questions.” CJ kicks off his boxers and presses his hard want into my abs. “I missed you.” “I missed you more.” As his hands slide all over my body, I’ve never felt so wanton and so full of passion. Somehow releasing my past has made me feel alive. I have this depth that makes my chest tight, my eyes water, and my heart pound. And greedy as I am, I want even more.

Wrapping my hand around his length, I slide down his body until small curls tickle my cheek. Then I kiss the tip of his silky cock, the taste and smell sending tingles straight to my core. When his hands grab onto my hair at the top of my head and his body goes tight, I lick the length of him, tongue exploring. He groans making my clit swell. Bolder, I slide my mouth down, taking him in as far as I can and suck. Then holding his base, I try different motions with my mouth and tongue until I find what he likes best and begin to slide up and down, holding tight. When he grows bigger still, I prepare to swallow what he’s about to offer. I’m so excited, I may just come from making him so aroused. Suddenly my scalp tingles as he tugs me up, his eyes wild with desire. His hands shoot to my waist, he lifts me high and his knees spread me wide, cool air hitting my clit. Watching my face, he presses me down onto him, hard and deep, our cores crashing. “F-FFuck.” Then fireworks explode behind my eyelids and I’m so damn high, I might die. Multiple sensitive waves of orgasm milk him dry while he cries out and pumps the last of his liquids into me. Holy shit. Weak all over, I drop onto his chest, listening to our hearts beating wildly in unison and eventually starting to slow. I kiss his chest, still connected, as a fingertip makes little circles on my back and buttocks. For the longest time, we just lay there like that, silent and happy. I know we’ve got lots of issues to resolve, but none of that matters. What really matters is that right now, right here, we’re in love and here for each other. One beautiful day at a time.

Counter Play

Chapter 1

“What the fuck are you doing here?” My mouth drops open wide at the sight of Mary Jane McAllister lying naked on my bed in my hotel room. When I find out who let her in, heads are going to roll. “You don’t need to be vulgar.” My ex stands to her full six-foot height with her lower lip sticking out and a tear pooling in the corner of one eye. I may have succumbed to her antics long ago but I’ve changed. First off, I don’t want to be fined for having a sleepover the night before a game. Secondly, I don’t need this ditzy blond messing with my head and ruining my concentration. And most important? I don’t need Mel, the woman I’m totally into, finding out I have an ex-fiancé I suppose after six months, most guys would’ve said something about being engaged but there are times I can be a real jerk. Selfish, some might say but it’s not so. I just hate drama about shit that no longer matters. It’s such a waste of energy. I keep my voice low and gentle because despite all she put me through, we grew up together and our families are friends. “Listen up. I thought we agreed. We’re over. I’m with someone else now.” Mary Jane scowls, distorting her near-perfect features. “Don’t lie to me, Chance James Quinn. I keep up with the news. I know that trailer trash left you high and dry last fall.” “It’s complicated.” At the thought of sweet Melanie, I smile. She’s the love of my life and there’s no way I’d ever discuss her problems with my ex. Mary Jane closes the distance between us, smacks a cherry-flavored kiss on my lips, and then her hands clasp around my neck. Expensive boobs press into my chest and her sharp pelvis digs into my lower half. Overly mascaraed eyelashes flutter while she waits for me to react. “Of course, it’s complicated, sugar. It always is with you.” Was I always that easy? Gently, I remove her grip and press her curvy body off from me. I guess, not so long ago, I would’ve taken her up on her offer but now there’s only sadness for the loss of an old friend.

I pick up the flimsy dress she dropped on the floor and hand it over. “Honey, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you need to go. You know how it is. No girlfriends allowed.” “That’s so sweeeeet, CJ.” “I didn’t mean—” “—Shush now.” With an index finger to my lips, she smiles brightly and like always, never listens to a word I’ve said. “Ah gave you a little time to recover from that awful corn-fed woman but I’m here now. Don’t y’all worry none. I’ll take good care of you.” “Just get dressed and get out, okay? We’ll talk later.” I manage a weak smile as I hold back the curses about to spew out of my mouth. It wouldn’t do any good, anyhow. The girl’s heart is in the right place, she’s just a bit slow on the up-take. MJ practically beams as she slithers into an almost see-through dress. Then, as she reaches her left hand for the door knob, I notice the engagement ring, the one she never gave back. Shit, she’s got no business wearing that. Obviously, I have to spell that out as well. If I’m honest, this whole situation could’ve been avoided. I should’ve let it out to the public weeks ago that me and my Iowa-honey didn’t break up. It’s just been so damn nice having some privacy without paparazzi constantly snapping pictures. Never in my wildest dreams did I figure Mary Jane would take my public bachelorhood as an open invitation to get back together. “See you later, Chance, honey-kins.” Her voice is unnaturally loud as she flings open my hotel door. A second later I get why. There’s about a half-dozen guys with cameras waiting in the hall as she plants a wet kiss on my mouth and grabs my ass. If it was anyone else but her, I’d bring her up on charges. However, for the sake of expediency, I just shake my head, and slam the fucking door shut. Damn it all to hell. What’s Melanie going to think when she sees those shots? I need to get ahead of the curve. However, when I try to call, I get voice mail. She’s probably with a client. I wish like hell it was me under her talented fingers, getting one of her famous massages, or even getting bossed around the rehab center. Unfortunately, I can’t claim her services anymore. She got my knee working like new. Still, I might put her down as a personal expense so I can keep my eye on her. I trust her, it’s those randy athletes, I don’t. It’s because of me that she got some great recommendations, including my buddy, Kit, a hockey player with more money than God. I just don’t want him thinking my baby’s booty comes with the deal.

At the thought of her passionate kisses on someone else’s mouth, my gut churns. Even after six months of daily sex, I can’t get enough. And now that the season has started and I have to leave her for days at a time. I swear I’m in withdrawal. There’s this incredible quiver thing that happens when she comes apart around me. Man, it’s fucking mind blowing. After that, she melts like chocolate and makes me crazy as she plays with my chest hairs, catching her breath. Another five calls and twenty text messages, I get dressed because there’s nothing more I can do. It’s time to go out with my team, get reamed out for screwing up the game, and have a bite to eat. Then I’ll just have to explain to Mel what happened when I get home. I grin so hard at the thought of make-up-sex that my bruised jaw aches. I’ll have her screaming out my name, begging for release.

Chapter 2 Bushwick Physical Therapy and Sports Rehab Center “You’re all set.” I pat Kit’s strong back as a way of saying that his time is over, switch on my cell phone, and glance down at all the messages from CJ. Once back at the front desk, I try to call but there’s no answer. Darn. He’s probably in the air. I hate that the season has started. I never realized there were so many away games. We both agreed that I’ll never be that trophy wife with nothing else to do but hang out with the WAGS. That’s what the guys call wives and girlfriends. Sounds pretty derogatory to me, like hags, nags, and old bags. Suddenly, I picture him getting hurt, open the Giant’s app, and scroll through his profile. What’s this? The first shot I find is of a model sitting in the stands. The caption reads, Is CJ over his summer’s heartbreak? Check out that ring. My chest tightens so hard I can barely breathe as I scan the article, staring incredulously. It says CJ’s back together with his fiancé. Then, there’s this second photo of the same gorgeous woman kissing my man on the mouth in a see-through dress. Pissed, I put down my phone, open my work computer, and check her out on Facebook. Oh my God! He never once said he was engaged. Biting down on my lower lip, I flip through about a hundred photos of them together. He’s been cheating on me? All this time? He looks so damn happy in every shot that my whole world crumbles into little pieces. How the hell could he do this to me? I should log off but like watching a train wreck, I just can’t stop from myself from clicking. “Hey, you okay?” Kit walks up behind me, looks over my shoulder, and hisses. Then he puts an arm around my shoulder. “That bâtard. You’re too good for him, Melanie. I mean that.” I’m so freaked that I can’t talk and so just nod numbly as I get my coat. Then I head for the door, desperately needing fresh air and a good, stiff drink. “You want me to walk you home?” He’s such a nice guy to offer but my heart belongs to the asshole that just broke my stupid heart. Wishing he’d go, I stare down at the sidewalk, holding back tears. “Give me your cell phone.” He thumbs in his number and hands it back. “Call me, no matter the hour, oui?” “K.” In addition to being a naïve fool, now I’ve let my most important client see how unprofessional I am.

Excellent. So then I trudge up the hill to my Brooklyn apartment on the border of Queens. It’s the one CJ helped me find, the one where we made love a zillion times, and the one when I’m home alone, he’s been double-dipping. Shit, shit, shit. What is it about me and cheaters? I am such an idiot! My last boyfriend, Des, locked me out and stole everything I owned. Then he invited his other girlfriend to come live with him. Déjà vu. Right? Somewhere on my back, I must have a tattoo that reads Tread All Over Me. Or maybe, I just ooze fuck-buddy instead of nice-girl-from-Iowa. I suppose it’s because of being abused as a kid. No matter what I do or say, there’s a stink that guys can smell a mile away. Refusing to sob, I unlock my door and then sit and stare at the black TV screen. I should eat but can’t. Finally, I shut off my phone and hit the hay. I’m never going to speak to that lying, cheating, jerk. I knew what we had was too good to be true.

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