Sinful Intentions

by Devon Hartford

  I was hard the whole time, even after we toweled off.

  Brooke pretended not to notice until she hung her towel on my dick with a giggle and walked naked out of the bathroom, her ass bouncing perfection.

  I watched her pull yoga pants, panties, and a T-shirt out of her over-stuffed backpack, then dress. Clothed, she aimed the TV remote at the TV, holding it at arms length to turn it on and flip through channels, eyes glazey as images flickered by. When her remote arm got tired, she put her other arm under her breasts and rested the elbow of her remote arm against the wrist of her breast arm, supporting it. There was something very feminine and intimately private about the pose, a thoughtless little thing Brooke did when she was alone and her guard was down, when she wasn’t performing for anyone, when she was lost in a vulnerable moment of mental quiet no one was supposed to see.

  I felt lucky to be seeing it.

  “What do you feel like watching?” she asked, still flipping.

  “You,” I grinned.

  She hooded her eyes and made a sensual noise, an amused laugh I couldn’t describe. “You’re the one with the awesome body.” She casually sat down on the edge of the motel bed.

  Still naked, I sat down next to her, hip to hip. I was disappointed she was dressed, my dick a lonely throbbing ramrod wondering what to do.

  “Are you ever not hard?” she pondered, amused, her flickering eyes still glued to the TV.

  “Not when I’m around you.”

  “I think I’ve met my match.” She rolled her eyes with a smile and looked at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you fuck me later. This time, it’ll be your turn to do all the work.”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “You’re a bad influence,” she said in a good way.

  “You started it,” I chuckled.

  “Did not. You’re the stalker.” She handed me the remote. “Pick something. Not porn,” she giggled.

  “I told you this afternoon. You’re all the porn I need,” I grinned and surfed channels until I found what I was looking for.

  “The news?” she scoffed. “I hate the news. It’s always bad.”

  “Don’t you like knowing what’s going on in the world?”

  “No! I have enough problems of my own. I don’t need to hear everyone else’s.”

  “You don’t have it that bad,” I chuckled. Since I was little, Mom had drilled into me that our family had it easy compared to the rest of the world, that I should be grateful for what I had, what we had, because most families didn’t have a tenth of our wealth, opportunity, and good fortune.

  “I don’t?” Brooke challenged.

  I frowned, “I’ve seen inside your house. It’s like a mini mansion. Your parents both drive brand new BMWs. You drive a brand new Miata. You have all you’ll ever need.”

  “Do I?” she challenged.

  “Yeah,” I snorted. “Your family is richer than mine.” Aside from my dad’s treasured Mustang, which was starting to show its age, everything else we had was old. Even his Harley was old. He’d had it twenty years and it was used when he’d bought it. It was a classic bike and he babied it, doing all the maintenance himself or with my help. My face soured. I didn’t want to think about that asshole ever again.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Mike,” Brooke peeved. “Money doesn’t fix everything.”

  “No, I was—”

  “Judging me. It’s okay. Everyone does.” She jumped up from the bed. “This was a bad idea.”

  “What was a bad idea?”

  “All of it! You never should’ve stalked me, Mike! Look what happened! I fought with my parents and you fought with yours and they kicked us both out because of what you did today!”

  “Me?!” I was instantly on the defensive.

  “Yes, you! This never would’ve happened if you hadn’t been jerking off watching me!” Brooke backed away from the bed like I might attack her.

  The sands of my one and only fantasy began slipping through my fingers at a sandstorm pace. “Brooke, I—”

  “You what?! You couldn’t stop yourself from invading my privacy?!”

  “Why are you being like this, Brooke?”

  “Why are you being like this?!”

  “I don’t understand. We just had sex a bunch of times. I thought you, don’t you like me?”

  “Fucking and liking are not the same thing. Grow up, Mike. People fuck. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

  Her rapier words pierced my chest, puncturing my heart.

  She turned into a whirlwind, packing her backpack and yanking the zipper shut. She slung it over her shoulder, squatted down for her sandals, and strode toward the door.

  I beat her there and threw myself in front of it, still naked. “Don’t go, Brooke. We can work this out.”

  “NO WE CAN’T! MY LIFE IS A FUCKING MESS, MIKE! I’M FLUNKING OUT OF COLLEGE BECAUSE I’M TOO STUPID!” Her face trembled with rage.

  “You’re not stupid.” My mom had armored me since I was a toddler by telling me how smart I was constantly. Saying it to others came naturally.

  Brooke burst into tears, “Yes I am! I fucking suck at school! Do you have any idea how much advanced math a vet needs? And physics? And chemistry? And biochemistry? I just want to take care of animals! I want to be Dr. Oakley on Nat Geo, not doctor Stephen fucking Hawking! Why do you think I’ve been at Greenville three years? I’ll be lucky to finish my Associate’s Degree in four! It should’ve taken me two years, Mike! Two! But nooooo! I keep having to retake classes because I can’t pass the first time! It’s a miracle I actually passed my calculus classes in one try! But not organic chemistry! Nope! I almost didn’t pass it the second time either! The second! The professor gave me a C-minus as a favor! I had to practically beg her for it!”

  I wanted to tell Brooke I was amazed she had passed calculus the first time because I’d be taking it next year as a senior at Franklin. Cameron, Jorge, Gavin and I were already studying ahead at Cam’s insistence. His brothers and sisters had taken it, and he knew how tough it was. He was right. I was struggling with what little we’d covered.

  I also knew from talking to Cam’s older brother Calvin, who would be starting medical school at Columbia this fall, that organic chemistry, which he’d done as an undergrad, was so hard that he had taken it twice, and that was with him getting straight A’s in high school and acing his SATs. When Calvin had told me that, I was shocked. That Brooke had managed to pass calculus in one go, and pass O-Chem at all, was a huge accomplishment. I was about to tell her as much, but before I could, she rolled on with her frightened tirade:

  “Same with physics and biochem! I’m sure it’ll only get worse when I go to vet school! Do you realize how demoralizing it is when you have to do everything twice that everyone else only has to do once?!”

  I wanted to tell her about Calvin, but she was a steamroller of frustration.

  “Please, Mike! I’m begging you! Be the one person in the world who doesn’t fight me! It’s war everywhere else! I don’t have a single ally and I can’t fight one more fight than I already am!”

  “My friend Cameron from dinner, his brother Calvin had to—”

  “I don’t care about your friends, Mike! My life is falling apart! I need to go!” She reached for the door handle, but my naked self was blocking her way.

  “If you stay, I’ll be your ally.”

  “What?” She was shaking in fear.

  “If you let me, I’ll be your ally. I’ll fight your fights for you.”

  “You can’t fight my fights! Nobody can! I’m the one taking the stupid tests!”

  “I can help.”

  “No!”

  “Yes,” I said softly. “Me and my nerd friends can help you study.”

  “You’re still in high school! I’m taking college classes! Trust me, they’re way harder!”

  “My friends are smarter than I am. Cameron’s family knows good tutors.”

  “Who’s going to pay them?! Because I won�
�t be able to afford a tutor when I’m paying rent! I don’t know how I’m going to manage that! I barely make anything at the animal shelter!”

  “We’ll figure something out.” I reached up for her backpack strap, which she white-knuckled with one tan hand.

  She cringed. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking off your backpack.” I slid it off her shoulder and set it down.

  “Why?”

  “Because I, because…” I didn’t want to scare her off by saying how I truly felt. The situation was too delicate. So I told her what I wanted. “Stay.”

  Her eyes darted indecisively. She was going to leave. A moment later, she nodded almost imperceptibly, but I saw it. Her eyes and mouth trembling, she sniffled and hitched. Tears spilled down her broken face. She reached out with weak arms, a desperate child lost and alone in the world. I pulled her collapsing into my arms and she sobbed against me.

  Chapter 20

  “Tonight’s MegaLotto numbers are lucky seven, thirteen, twenty-one…” the African-American TV news anchor read the rest of them off with a smile. “Are those the numbers on your ticket, Laura?”

  Fellow newscaster Laura Chu was intently studying her own MegaLotto ticket on camera. She offered a sympathetic sigh, “Not tonight, Stan. Maybe next time. I wonder if anybody won? Can you imagine what you’d do if you won $1.5 billion?”

  “Small consolation, it’s never that much after taxes.”

  “How much is it after Uncle Sam takes his share? I know they take quite a bit.”

  “On this jackpot, after the state’s cut, and federal taxes, about $500 million remaining.”

  “Is that right?” Laura marveled.

  Stan nodded proudly, “I’ve run the numbers. Twice.”

  “If I had that much money, I’d retire twice,” Laura laughed.

  “If we could only be so lucky,” Stan chuckled jovially at the camera, straightening his papers on his news desk. “That’s all for tonight, folks. We’ll see you right here tomorrow night at eleven.”

  Brooke and I were reclining on the bed, inhaling a bag of microwave popcorn we’d bought from the night manager. Brooke was in her yoga pants and T-shirt. I’d slipped on boxers earlier, but it was too hot for anything else. We’d bickered briefly about how cold to set the A/C. Brooke didn’t want it icy. In the July heat, I would’ve preferred Arctic, but I was used to the Bahamas at home, so I sucked it up for Brooke’s sake. It helped I was used to it from home. And, we’d already fought more than enough for one day. I wasn’t willing to lose her over the A/C setting. Dad was another story. He could burn in hell for all I cared. There, only Satan had the passcode.

  Don’t get me wrong. The happy fact that Dad had disowned me only a few hours ago, on my birthday no less, was eating away at my guts like maggots. I knew Mom had and would continue standing up for me like she always did. That didn’t mean Dad would back down. I’d never seen him so resolved, so distant. Even if he did give in to Mom, it wouldn’t be a happy household when I finally went back.

  If I went.

  I didn’t want to, that was for damn sure.

  Except there was Mom. I hated the idea of torturing her because I wanted to avoid Dad. She didn’t deserve it, but I was never talking to my fucking asshole father again.

  Going home would be a nightmare, no matter what Mom said.

  I had punched out Dad! Call it the Punch Heard Round The World, because my world was now upside down. It had come unhinged. Until a few hours ago, my next five years had been mapped out, comfortably set in stone by my parents and society at large. Senior year at Franklin High and four years at whatever college I went to afterward. Beyond that was a happy eternity I never bothered to imagine.

  Now all of it was gone, decimated into dust by one punch.

  My previously stable life suddenly felt like a wobbling top spinning out of control, threatening to spin me screaming off the damn table of life and send me crashing into one random disaster after another. Who knew what this new dark future of mine would bring? Not me.

  Brooke was the only bright light shining in a vast vista of foggy unknowns.

  Sure, I was eighteen. I could get a job, get a GED, and move on with my life. But what kind of life would it be? Would I be able to provide Brooke with the comforts she was used to? Not with whatever I made at some shit job that barely paid my own bills, let alone hers.

  How long would she want to slum it with me? Not long. She was used to a level of luxury I’d never be able to provide without a good education.

  I swear to fucking Christ, if I lost Brooke because my train wreck of a life pushed her out of it, I’d fucking kill Dad, then myself. Without Brooke, I wouldn’t have any reason to live.

  Not wanting to dwell on it, not while Brooke was lounging comfortably next to me, I did what I always did. I shoved it down, buried my fears where they could rot in the dungeon of my guts, the maggots slowly poisoning me and eating away at my sanity with help from the rabid rats.

  It took a minute to blot out those black thoughts, but I managed it. A lifetime of Dad’s tyranny had given me plenty of practice ignoring my own misery.

  Once my mind was blank, a string of jovial MegaLotto numbers, the ones from the TV, started marching through my mental theater on a continuous loop. Each number had jaunty pipe-cleaner arms and legs, white gloves, funky shoes, and they twirled their canes in one hand while waving their top hats in the other. They sure were in a good mood.

  What was that about?

  Better question, was I remembering them right from the news? Frowning, I said, “Those MegaLotto numbers sounded really familiar.”

  Brooke shrugged and popped popcorn into her mouth.

  I had never told her about buying a ticket. It had never occurred to me. Why would it? Nobody ever won anyway.

  But I felt compelled to check. I climbed off the bed and dug my wallet out of my slacks where Brooke had folded them hanging in the closet. My wallet was buttoned into the back pocket. I pulled it out and plucked the ticket from the billfold. The winning numbers were swirling in my mind. I didn’t trust I was remembering them correctly. I checked my slacks for my phone, intending to check the MegaLotto website for the exact numbers. Couldn’t find my phone.

  “Brooke? Do you know where my phone went?”

  Chewing, her teeth squeaked on a mouthful of popcorn. She pointed from the bed and said, “I puh ih ex uh ine on uh esser.”

  “Thanks.” I grabbed it, thumbed in my passcode, and checked the website. The winning numbers were right at the top of the page.

  I compared them to my ticket.

  “That can’t be right,” I muttered. Checked again. “I think somebody made a mistake.”

  “Huh?” Brooke asked absently.

  “They must’ve…” I trailed off. Blinked my eyes, scanned the sets of numbers a third time. Then it hit me. “I think I…” I trailed off again.

  “What, Mike?”

  “I think I just won the jackpot.” When I said it, my eyes glowed golden dollar signs.

  “You mean me, right?” she winked.

  “No, I mean MegaLotto.”

  She smirked, “You were supposed to agree.”

  “I’m not kidding, Brooke. I think I won.”

  “Bullshit,” she snorted.

  “I’m not kidding,” I gasped, looking at my ticket like it had become a living thing.

  “You aren’t, are you?” Brooke slid off the bed to look over my shoulder, which at her height was around the side of my tricep. From there she studied the two sets of numbers in growing awe. “Fuck me, Mike.”

  That’s exactly what I did. Neither of us could sleep from the excitement. We had sex four more times before morning. Seven times in my first 24 hours as a non-virgin.

  Lucky seven.

  Chapter 21

  “What’re we going to do with all the money?” Brooke giggled against me as we walked from her car where we’d left it in the parking lot of the MegaLotto state office. It had taken us
two hours to drive here in her MX5. Three if you included stopping for breakfast on the way.

  I’d already signed the ticket as suggested on the MegaLotto website, making sure to spell out Junior after my name so there was no chance my dad could claim it was his ticket, not that I planned on ever seeing him again. Mom was a different story.

  There’d been a tense moment back at the hotel when I’d signed the ticket. Brooke had asked if she could sign it too. Her eyes had glimmered impishly. I had been on the verge of letting her sign when she’d snorted a no and said it was mine. I was relieved she’d said that.

  “I meant,” Brooke said now, “What are you going to do with all your money?”

  “I don’t know,” I chuckled nervously, my right hand in my front pocket gripping my wallet where the ticket was stashed. I had not let go of my wallet since putting the ticket inside it back at the hotel, literally kept my hand on it in my pocket for three straight hours. I’d eaten breakfast with my left hand, and asked Brooke to pay so I didn’t have to pull my wallet out. I wasn’t taking any chances. It was nerve-wracking, really, like carrying around a bottle of ancient and unstable nitroglycerin.

  When we reached the glass doors of the MegaLotto office, I opened one for Brooke and followed her inside. The process of redeeming the ticket was brief. They already knew someone had won, and that only one person had won the entire jackpot. The only question for them was who.

  Me, obviously.

  Seven staff members quickly verified the ticket and my ID with growing excitement, never once asking me to let it out of my sight or immediate reach.

  “I think we have a jackpot winner,” the most senior staffer smiled. He was a Filipino guy who had introduced himself as Antonio Ocampo. We were in a back office where we’d migrated as it became increasingly clear that my ticket was genuine.

  “We won?!” Brooke laughed. “We really won?!”

  “He won,” Antonio nodded at me.

  “Oh, right.” Brooke clapped her hands and happy danced, which in her case involved a lot of very appealing bouncing with her arms waving over her head before she threw them around my neck for a brief hug. “Oh my God, Mike! This is insane!”