The Wrath of Eli

by Lily Zante

  I prop myself up on my elbows, I'm completely naked, and I make sure there's no comforter covering me so that we can continue from where we left off.

  She straddles me.

  Looks like we're definitely continuing from where we were. This must be good news, and I'm relieved for her sake.

  “What did he say?” I ask. My head rests on the pillow, and I get a great view of her naked body, especially with her sitting the way she does.

  “He's invited us to dinner. I said I'd check with you first.”

  “He's invited me too?” I ask, to clarify. From everything I've heard about the man, I have a gut feeling he's not too keen on me. Or that he wasn't.

  Maybe seeing pictures of me and Harper in the papers this morning, at an awards ceremony last night, might have helped him form a better impression of me.

  Athena is no longer needed.

  Harper is my real girlfriend and ever since we got back together a couple of weeks ago, we've been inseparable.

  Lou's given me a few weeks to ‘make up for lost time’, he says. But I'm back onto a strict training schedule soon enough.

  “He’s invited both of us,” she says, leaning over and planting a kiss on my lips.

  Something stirs between my legs. Something big. Any moment now she's going to feel it.

  I plant my hands on her buttocks and squeeze.

  “Will I need elocution lessons?” I ask.

  She frowns at me. “He's not that judgmental.”

  “Are you sure? Because with the picture you've painted of him, I don’t know.” No man, no father is ever going to see his daughter the same way after seeing those pictures. “I think it would be better for the two of you to meet alone first,” I suggest.

  She moves her face away an inch. “Are you scared of my dad?”

  “No.” Maybe a little. I want him to like me but that’s more for Harper’s sake than mine.

  “I think it would be better, for this first time, if we both go. That way there won't be any talk about the ...” She clears her throat, “About the photos.” She whispers the last word.

  “Only if you're sure,” I reply, giving her a chance to change her mind. This makes me happy that her dad has made a move and called her. The guy behaved like a jerk, if you ask me, ignoring her for as long as he did. It tells me that he's got some issues. Money and status, and all that bullshit.

  My gut tells me I wouldn't get an invite to dinner had I not beaten Garrison. I don't care what he thinks of me, in all honesty. I just want him to like me for Harper's sake. She wants him to like me, and I wish the dude would do what makes her happy.

  She's happy as far as work is concerned. She got a job working for a tech magazine, and did this without her father pulling any strings. It's something different, she says, but more importantly, it gets her away from Merv and Gerry.

  She finishes next week at the paper, and I have a surprise vacation for her. It wasn’t four million dollars I made from the fight, but more like eight million. If I win the rematch, we’re talking about even crazier numbers—numbers I can’t imagine. I can afford to take her away somewhere far, somewhere exotic, and stay in the most expensive places, and eat the most expensive food, except that I’m not that kind of guy, and I don’t think Harper would want that either. So, we're spending a week in a log cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains. There's a hot tub and a sauna, and that’s all we need; me and her together for a week uninterrupted.

  We have some memories to rekindle.

  I used to think boxing was my salvation, and it was, before I met Harper, but now she is. Even though our getting together didn't start from a date, or a movie or a dinner, there is hope for us for a future together. I can already see it in my mind’s eye.

  You could say we met in the boxing ring. We danced around for more than a few rounds, judging one another, appraising, hating, and fighting. But that’s where the analogy ends.

  In the end, we succumbed.

  I got my title, and she got her story. It may not have turned out exactly as we imagined it, but it gave us each other.

  And for that, I have no regrets.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading The Wrath of Eli! I hope you enjoyed Eli and Harper’s story as much as I loved writing it.

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  The Problem with Lust, Book 2 in The Seven Sins series, is now available:

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  Lily

  Preview: The Problem With Lust

  MAX

  * * *

  “Hot Gina’s in town?” Al asks. There’s a hint of jealousy in his voice.

  I wipe the grease off my hands with a cloth and nod, a huge smile spreads across my lips. “She sure is.”

  “You let me know if she—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He wants to hook up with her friend, any friend of hers, Al says, but he’s joking. He’s been with Sammy for years and has eyes for no one but her. Sometimes, like on a Hot Gina weekend, a sliver of excitement passes over his expression, but I know it’s only fleeting. He would never risk losing what he has with Sammy to have what I have.

  Besides, I don’t know about Gina’s friends. We don’t waste time talking about insignificant stuff. Come to think of it, we don’t talk much at all, not immediately when we see one another. Gina is unique. She has the sexual appetite of a man. She’s a bona fide nymphomaniac, and I’ve known a fair share of them to be able to confirm this. She’s coming home for the weekend, on leave from the military, and that means forty-eight hours of sex.

  She calls, and I answer on the first ring.

  “Haven’t you left yet?” she cries. I hear the anger in her voice, and it adds to my frustration. I’m already mad at Enzo because a customer walked in at the last minute and needed something looked at and Enzo told me to deal with it.

  Forget about going home to freshen up. “I’m coming,” I tell her, as I walk over to my locker.

  “I should be coming,” she grumbles, clearly not amused.

  “You will be, over and over again,” I promise her as I pull out a clean shirt. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, some people say, but I can tell you that absence makes the dick grow harder.

  “How long are you going to be?” she asks. “I have pizza slices all over me.”

  “All over you?”

  “On me, like I’m a plate. I’m not wearing anything either.”

  I hiss out a breath, and in the same instant my cock hardens.

  “Gimme ten minutes,” I tell her, as I unbutton my shirt and quickly take it off.

  “Hurry up! I feel like an idiot lying here like this.”

  I can see I’m going to have to make it up to her big time when I get there. I quickly whip out a clean T-shirt from my locker. “I’m going to have to take a shower at your place—”

  “I have to wait for you to take a shower too?”

  “No, no. Just lie back and spread your legs. I’ll take good care of you first, and that’s a promise.”

  “That’s more like it.” I can imagine the huge grin on her face as she says this.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” I order. “See you on Monday,” I say to Al.

  “Come over to Waquito’s. Rumors are Cardoza’s going to be there.�
��

  I scowl at him.

  “The boxer. The heavyweight champion of the world. Chicago’s New Ho—”

  I raise my arm in a dismissive gesture. Al is a huge fan of Elias Cardoza—the local underdog who surprised many by winning the belt. “Gonna be busy, dude. Probably not going to get out of bed.”

  “Goddamn lucky son of a bitch,” he mutters good-naturedly and loud enough for me to hear.

  I rush out of the door and over to my bike.

  Weekends like this are few and far between. With my regular friends-with-benefits setups—and I have one or two lucky women here in Chicago—it’s just an instant gratification, before I return to my place after. Or she leaves to go to hers. We never spend the night together. It’s an unspoken rule.

  With Gina it’s different, because she only gets leave once in a while and it’s usually only for the weekend. With her, we spend the whole weekend together.

  We fuck like rabbits.

  It’s beautiful.

  * * *

  TRINITY

  * * *

  “You’re doing amazing, Dylan. Absolutely amazing. I love this drawing.” School only started a few weeks ago, and this scrawny, skinny little boy has already stolen my heart.

  Each morning he comes to my classroom looking a little rougher, dirtier, hungrier, and sad, but by the end of the school day, his eyes are all lit up, and there’s a smile on his face. But also, by the end of the day, he’s in no hurry to go home, unlike most of the others. He drags his feet as if he doesn’t want to leave.

  I shouldn’t have favorites, and I try not to, but as I’m slowly getting to know my new class of seven-year-olds, something about this child makes it impossible for me not to reach out. This isn’t about having a favorite, it’s about me adding something to this kid’s life to make him smile.

  “Oh, look,” I say, pulling a banana out of my bag. “I forgot to eat this at lunchtime. I’d hate to waste it. Would you like it?”

  He eyes the banana without blinking “You could have it tomorrow, miss.”

  Smart kid. “I could, but I’m worried I might squash it by the time I get home.” I hold it out to him. “It would be a shame to let it go to waste.” This is the third time I’ve done this in the past few weeks, and it’s getting to a point now where I deliberately don’t eat my fruit and save it for him.

  “Can I eat it here?”

  It’s the first time he’s asked this. I don’t want him to stay too late because I know his mother will be waiting for him. “Here? Won’t your mom be waiting for you?”

  He shrugs, and seems reluctant to take it. “Well, sure, you can eat it here,” I say.

  No sooner has he peeled the banana than he wolfs it down greedily. It disappears in about three seconds. I hold my hand out for the banana skin.

  His mouth is still full, but he nods, a sort of ‘thank you.’

  “Off you go, and don’t forget your reading.”

  He rushes off, and I stare after him long after he’s disappeared from sight. I worry about him, but I’m also not sure if I’m reading too much into things.

  “Are you still here?” Ed, my colleague from the classroom next to mine, walks in.

  “I’m killing time before I pick Benji up from the vet. What’s your excuse?”

  “Prepping my lessons for next week.” He walks up to my desk with a smug smile, obviously pleased at himself. “How is your soulmate?”

  I grin at the term of endearment he uses for my cat. Though, he’s not far wrong. My furry friend and I have shared many a cozy night in front of the TV. “Benji is well, but he doesn’t like going to the vet.”

  “Is he ill?”

  “No. He’s getting up there, though, and it’s his usual yearly check-up, all the blood work, etcetera. He’s going to be in a stinker of a mood when he comes home,” I state, and am glad that I have my crochet class later to escape to.

  “You give that cat too much importance.”

  “He rules the roost. What can I do? He’s the best company.”

  I’m no better when it comes to leading an exciting life. Ed is staying behind on Friday to prepare next week’s lessons, and I have a crochet class.

  Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll is an alien concept for both of us. We’re both similar in some respects. It’s probably why we get along so well, aside from the fact that he usually passes by my classroom for a quick chat on most days.

  “Any plans for the weekend?” he asks, straightening his tie.

  “We have a trip to the Nature Sanctuary over by North Pond.”

  “We?” There’s a spark of uneasiness in his tone.

  I relax and sit back, trying hard not to smile. “My adult art class.”

  His expression smooths to a smile. “I can’t believe how you give up your weekends for these things, Trinity. Your life is already hectic enough.”

  “Best way to be.” I volunteer on Monday evenings to teach art to adults with minor learning difficulties. This weekend the other teacher and I have organized a picnic at a local nature reserve. We never work weekends, but this has become a yearly thing. I don’t mind giving up most of my Saturday for this. It’s something different for the students and they’re all excited about it.

  Ed looks at me the way he usually looks at me, with curiosity, as if he can’t quite figure me out. But there’s something else behind those irises today. He looks especially nice this evening in a dark shirt. He’s almost always in a white shirt and the contrast of him in something dark makes him look slightly sexy, at least, to my eyes.

  He and I are on the same page. He’s not overly pushy, and I’m not overly flirty. In fact, I’m never flirty, though I do take a few seconds longer to gaze at him today.

  “Isn’t teaching seven-year-olds enough?”

  “I love my job, but you know me, Ed—”

  “Do I?” he asks. His comment stops me momentarily, and suddenly I’m not so sure what he means.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do I know you, Trinity? I don’t think I do. We’ve been friends for what, two years now? And I still don’t think I know you that well.”

  This naturally begs the question of how well does he need to know me?

  “Maybe…” He clears his throat and then seems to hesitate.

  “Maybe what?” I ask. Does he have a point to make, or is he still making small talk?

  “Maybe you’re just too nice for your own good.”

  “Meaning what exactly, Ed?”

  “Spending a weekend going on a picnic with your art class?”

  “It’s only for a few hours and on one day, not the entire weekend,” I correct him. “You teach Sunday school and you do that every weekend. I only teach art classes on a Monday night. I’m not as selfless as you, when it comes to these things.”

  “It’s just a few hours on a Sunday,” he clarifies.

  I’m still not sure where he’s going with this, but Ed has a way of going around and around in circles and can take forever to get to the point. But I’m used to it now.

  “How about you? What are your plans?” I ask him.

  “I’m looking for a new bed.”

  I widen my eyes a little to show interest. “A new bed?”

  He nods. “I’m not sleeping well and my back’s starting to hurt. The foam in the mattress is worn out and I can feel the springs more.”

  “I highly recommend a memory foam mattress.”

  “A memory foam mattress?” he asks, with interest. “Is that what you sleep on?”

  I nod vigorously. “I swear by it.”

  “I’ll take your advice.”

  We fall silent. Us both talking about a bed is, and isn’t, weird. A bed is an intimate part of the household furniture, or it’s a place to sleep. Nobody has ever shared my bed, and I know, through our conversations, that Ed is like me, saving himself for marriage. One life partner forever.

  Our gazes lock for a moment so fleeting that I’m not sure if I imagined it. Even thou
gh all we’ve ever done is talk, I sense that Ed likes me.

  I like him, too.

  He’s sweet.

  This is nice enough, and pleasant enough, and it is enough; talking, and getting to know one another. He makes me smile whenever he walks into my classroom for an end-of-day chat.

  Maybe we’ll talk for another year or two before he makes a move. That suits me just fine. He’s good-looking, well, pleasant looking, I’d say. He’s no Chris Hemsworth. He’s skinny and angular, with thinning hair, but more importantly, his eyes don’t drop to my chest during our conversations. I am aware that most men can’t shift their eyes away from my ample bosom, because I see this with the dads at parents evening.

  Ed is nothing like that.

  He’s the type of man I can see myself with. The type of man I am saving myself for. He plays it safe, as do I. Life isn’t exactly riveting, but it is smooth sailing which is fine by me.

  I hear some of the sob stories from a few of my teacher friends—broken hearts, a trail of cheating boyfriends, jealousy and heartbreak. If that’s what love is all about, I don’t want it. I don’t want to risk wading through a load of boyfriends before I find ‘the one’.

  No, thank you.

  I’m saving myself.

  “Well, if you ever have a weekend free, maybe…maybe we could …uh…go for a pizza or something,” he offers, looking at the floor as he shuffles from one foot to the other.

  “A pizza?”

  “Or something. Just you and me.”

  “Oh.” My heart sinks a little, and I’m not sure why. It’s definitely not a heartbeat skip, more like a feeling of it sinking slowly to the pit of my stomach.

  “Like, maybe next weekend or the weekend after that,” Ed continues, his face looking slightly shinier now.