Jingle Balls

by Waltz, Vanessa

  "Where do you think you’re going?"

  Ronan spins me into his ballooned belly. Suddenly, I’m pinned against the wall, and his face is inches from mine.

  "I’ve changed my mind. You’re not good. Giving a man a boner and leaving him high and dry? Naughty."

  Why am I lusting after Ronan, of all people?

  I want him, and now he knows. "Calm down, Ronan. I’m drunk."

  He sees through me, grinning. "You don’t have to lie."

  "I’m not. All I wanted was to force the next girl to feel what I did to you."

  Ronan moves, blocking my exit. A fire banks higher in his eyes. "You want me, and you can’t admit it."

  "Actually, I just enjoy humiliating you."

  "Well, climb onto my lap anytime." He brushes hair from my shoulder, his fingers lingering on my lacy top. "That was…really sexy. I liked it."

  He strokes my skin, the sensation slamming into me with a jolt. I’ve never felt so hot from only one touch.

  I shouldn’t feel like this.

  "Consider it an open invitation," he whispers. "I’m right next door."

  Ronan

  "Morning!"

  I wave at Gigi, who startles at my voice. A glittering black scarf contrasts her creamy skin and ruby-red lipstick.

  "Want some cocoa?" I lift my stone-cold mug, marshmallows long dissolved into unappetizing white circles. It’s freezing outside, but I waited until my fingers were red and numb.

  Anything to see her again.

  A cascade of glistening, chestnut hair rides down her back. She pauses, hand halfway down her purse. Her eyes are like two smoldering coals. "What the hell are you doing?"

  I glance down, shrugging. "I’m wearing boxers, so what?"

  "It’s the middle of December. What are you trying to prove?"

  Teeth clenched against the cold, I descend the porch steps and cross the lawn. Freezing water soaks through my slippers as I approach Gigi. "I figured you needed another reminder what I look like without the fat suit."

  "Yeah. It was only two days ago. I’ve already forgotten how your dick looks."

  "Maybe I should show you."

  Smirking, she crosses her arms. "You really should."

  Wait, what? "Give me something that’s actually a challenge."

  "I am."

  Blood rushes to my cheeks when Gigi’s lips curve. She touches my arm, hissing at the cold. Though it’s freezing, she’s like a heat lamp. This woman will be the death of me.

  "Well?" She leans in. "What are you waiting for?"

  "You want me to whip my dick out…here?" I laugh at her stony faced expression as she glances up and down the street.

  "Why not? It’s deserted."

  Considering my cock is cold, that’s not a good idea. "And a bit nippy."

  White clouds steam from her mouth. "No shit."

  This is a trick, but she’s giving me a look that could melt ice. All night, I painstakingly replayed that Santa Claus lap dance. Her tits were in my face and her ass bounced on my thighs. I couldn’t keep it together.

  Who could?

  Now she’s ogling my boxers as though longing to grab me. "Let’s go inside, Gigi."

  She touches my chest and winces. "Jesus, you’re freezing."

  "Warm me up, then." I can do this. I will do this. She has to realize how bad she wants me. "Just you and me. No parties. No distractions."

  It’s so fucking cold. I’m two seconds from dragging her inside, but my gut tells me to wait. Gigi stares at my mouth with undisguised desire. I grab her waist, hooking my fingers in her jeans. I yank her against my body. She catches herself, palm on my pecs. She begs me with her eyes.

  And then the door to my house bangs open. "Ronan, where—oh! Hello, Gigi!"

  Gigi jumps backward, cheeks flushing. "Good morning!"

  Fuuuck.

  "Ronan!" Mom’s indignant roar booms across the lawn. "Get over here and put on something. You’ll catch a cold."

  Goddamn it, Mom.

  Gigi vanishes into her car, door slamming. That’s twice she got away from me. It won’t happen again.

  * * *

  Gigi should discover the first phase of my revenge. If she’s determined to be a cocktease, she’ll suffer the consequences.

  I can’t wait.

  I jog the deserted high school track, my long sleeve slicked with sweat. Every footfall jars my ankle. It won’t heal. I’ll have to fight through the pain. Talent scouts will be at the next game, and the one after that. If I want a shot at joining the NFL, I have to make every quarter count.

  But if I can’t handle a light jog around the path, how am I going to hold up when I sprint across the field?

  I slow to a walk, wincing.

  Damn it.

  "Reliving your high school days?" My brother taunts from the bleachers, hands wrapping a Starbucks cup. He insisted on coming, and then he parked his ass on the bench.

  "Don’t be jealous. It’s not a good look."

  "Neither are your desperate attempts to win the girl next door’s heart. Watching her reject you over and over is getting sad."

  I shake the stiffness from my legs. "She’s not rejecting me."

  "Wow, you’re in serious denial. You leaned in for the kiss and she dodged you, man."

  My cheeks burn. "Don’t you have anything better to do than spy on me?"

  "No." Liam jigs his leg, souring. "It’s so dull here. I don’t know why Mom doesn’t move closer to me. Then we wouldn’t have to spend two weeks in this podunk town."

  "Only fourteen days."

  Danville, Connecticut isn’t a place anyone relocates to start a new career. It’s where everyone goes to retire. There’s nothing here but tall, thick trees, so many of them that they block out the sun, and endless roads weaving through forests.

  But at least I’m far away from Northwestern and its football hero-worship. I can’t step into a convenience store without someone wanting a selfie or a signature. After a while, you feel like a commodity. I mean I signed up for it, but I’m not sure I want it forever. I definitely need a break from the madness.

  Not Liam. One week away from Manhattan, and he’s dying of boredom. Holding a conversation with him is impossible because he’s always staring at his goddamn phone. He groans and stows it in his pocket. "Still ten days left."

  "I thought you had plenty of options on Tinder."

  He shrugs, uttering a noncommittal sound. "I’m not into the one-night stands anymore. Also, it’s weird to keep telling women I’m a thirty-year-old temporarily living at his mother’s house."

  "Sounds like you’re getting old."

  "Whatever." He walks on the bench. "Point is, your dumb ass is my only entertainment."

  "Sucks to be you." I sit, massaging my swollen ankle. "Fuck."

  "Why are you wasting your time with her?"

  I glower at him, knowing I can’t outright deny the truth. I have a thing for Good Girl. It’s annoying how bad it is, and I don’t know where it started or how. She’s a far cry from the bubbly, sorority chicks or the star struck fans attending every game. They’re fine until their paper-thin personalities crumble. Then I’m bored.

  A woman like Gigi couldn’t care less about my fame. To her, I’m still that dipshit from high school. A brainless jock. A sexy, cardboard cutout of a man.

  It bothers the hell out of me.

  Liam’s laughter rings across the field. "Jesus, you really are obsessed."

  "Shut up." I leave the bench and walk the track. Anything to get away from him.

  "Ronan, Ronan, Ronan." Liam jogs to my side, his annoying voice hammering into my skull. "You’ve got to let it go."

  "Why?"

  "Because in less than two weeks, you’ll be gone. So will she. What’s the point?"

  "I’ve asked myself that a lot, lately." Maybe it took coming home to cement that I’m not an attention-seeking asshole. "I found Dad on Facebook."

  "Oh yeah?"

  Liam’s not even remotely
curious. "I made the mistake of friending him. His timeline is pathetic."

  Fifteen minutes of scrolling through Dad’s feed told me nothing changed. He’s still the lowlife who left Mom when I was ten. The deadbeat who’d rather fill his stomach with cheap beer than visit his sons, who missed his visitations and failed me, time and time again. Sometimes I forget everything and wish he were part of my life.

  Time to let him go.

  Maybe that’s why I’m thinking about Gigi nonstop. She’s a welcome distraction.

  Liam stops, scoping the parking lot. "Hey, isn’t that Lance?"

  Oh no.

  Waving, Lance descends from his truck in bold-red gym shorts. Liam stifles a laugh as Lance’s man bun sways precariously.

  "Sup, bros!"

  Liam steps away, whispering. "He’s all yours, bro."

  "Don’t leave me with him."

  Liam waves at Lance as he disappears into his car, smirking at me behind the windshield.

  Fucker.

  "Your mom said you’d be here." Looking sheepish, he rubs his arms.

  Good God, he’s wearing his high school shorts. His name is printed on the nylon in fading black marker.

  "Uh—hey. What are you doing here?"

  "I had the day off. Thought you might want to shoot the shit. Pass the football around."

  Brocode or not, I didn’t have it in me to swap stories from the good old days.

  "Actually, I finished working out. I was heading home."

  "Oh." Disappointment flashes across his face. "Well, I can drive you."

  "That’s okay, I prefer to walk."

  His eyebrows narrow. "Dude."

  Shit. Did I sound too condescending? "What?"

  "Why are you blowing me off all the time? I thought we were friends."

  Dealing with him is exhausting. "We are, but I’ve got commitments. I can’t drop everything to hang out."

  "I could’ve made the team. I had a shot at a career in professional football. Remember?"

  I feel heartless saying he didn’t. Between the drinking, the partying, and missed practices, no school would’ve ever accepted him.

  "Listen, it’s not the end of the world. There are hundreds of things you could be."

  Hope flits across his desolate face. "I always saw us going to college together. Playing on the same team."

  "I don’t even know if I want this forever."

  "What? Why the hell not?"

  I can’t list the reasons while he stares at me like that. It’s as bad as waving a steak in front of a starving man. "I’m looking at other options."

  "You’re living the dream. You can’t throw it away!"

  "There are other things in life. I don’t have to do this."

  "What the fuck?" It’s as though an electric current zips Lance’s spine. "Don’t you dare quit, you selfish prick."

  "Why do you even care?"

  "Because you’re a beacon of hope to us blowhards. If you can make it, anyone can."

  "Wow."

  "No offense, man. But you weren’t exactly the brightest in high school. Or the nicest. Plenty of people might say you don’t deserve your success."

  An acid tone creeps into my voice. "Only jealous assholes."

  "You know I’m right!" His jealousy stings my back as I turn away. "Gigi’s probably one of those people."

  Anger pulses in my throat, low and hot. "Fuck you, Lance."

  "Hey, I’m only being honest!"

  Bullshit.

  The loser has no idea the work it took. I spent weeks traveling across the country, busting my ass in showcasing camps, schmoozing my high school coach, visiting campuses and impressing those football coaches.

  Yeah, joining the pros was a cakewalk.

  I stalk away and walk home, ignoring the cold biting my limbs as Lance’s words haunt my thoughts. Bastard might be right about Gigi and I hate that.

  A chime echoes from my pocket. I grab my phone and laugh at the screen.

  Gigi: I saw it. You are DEAD.

  Gigi

  My Christmas tree is covered with dicks. Purple, green, red, and blue lights twinkle prettily from small penises. The phallic, translucent bulbs splash the walls with color. Tiny cocks. Everywhere.

  It’s not just lights. Golden dongs weigh down branches. A pair of hairy balls swings next to a seductive UPS man. The strangest ornaments I’ve ever seen—a winking merman, a unicorn with a penis horn, and dicks of every shape and shade.

  Where did he get all this? And how?

  Easy. Ronan has the key.

  I stand back, admiring the decorations. It should piss me off that he’s breaking into my house with impunity, but I don’t hate this. It looks nice. Expensive. It belongs in a strip club, but still.

  A package is tucked under the tree. It’s suspiciously long and thin. The wrapping paper is a plain gold, finished with a silky golden bow. A small card is attached. I flip it open.

  Have yourself a merry little you-time

  Let your imagination go wild

  Open up this gift

  And do with it as you wish

  <3

  Santa

  I laugh and pick up the present. When I shoot Ronan a text, he calls me right away. I stab the button.

  Ronan’s purr slides into my ear. "So, you found it?"

  "Yeah, I did. Gotta hand it to you. I’ve never seen so many dicks."

  He chuckles. "Did you open your gift yet?"

  "I was planning to open it in front of your mom."

  "That’s a terrible idea."

  "Oh?" My voice lifts in mock surprise. "Why’s that?"

  "You know why, Good Girl."

  I squeeze the gift, fingers sliding around the hard object. "It’s a dildo, isn’t it?" I wait for his giggling to stop. "Do you have any idea how inappropriate and weird that is?"

  He ignores me, laughing. "Open it."

  Sighing, I tuck the phone into the crook of my neck and tear the wrapping paper. A sleek purple shaft pokes out. I rip a strip along its length, and the silicone object rolls out. It is, in fact, a dildo. One whose packaging advertises the O-Matic as a three-in-one pleasure enhancement device.

  "It vibrates and contains a heating mechanism." Bemused, I study its other features. "Does it talk, too?"

  Wild laughter booms from the speaker.

  "I’m glad this is so hilarious to you, because when I pay you back—and I will—you won’t be smiling."

  "Awww, come on. It’s funny. We’re having fun."

  "What if my mom was here? How do you think she’d handle her Christmas tree befouled like this?

  "Exactly why I did it while she was gone."

  "Are you trying to piss me off?"

  "No, I’m simply paying you back. You gave me a boner, so I covered your tree in dicks. That’s how this works."

  "Subtle." I seize the dildo and its wrapping paper, walking to my room. "I didn’t mean to get you excited."

  "I’m sorry, what?"

  My cheeks flush as I search for a place to hide my gift. Why throw it away? I might use it, but he’ll never, ever find out.

  I shove everything under the mattress. "You heard me. I was drunk."

  "Oh, you were drunk. Yeah, keep using that excuse. I’m sure that’ll convince everyone who was at the party."

  "I had like five Jell-O shots! You had to drive us home, remember?" I bite my lip as he chortles, willing to stay calm. "Ronan, I’m done with this stupidity. All I want is some peace and quiet before I return to school."

  "If you’re done, why can’t you quit me?" Heat rolls through his soft voice. "Gigi, we’re adults—"

  "Is that a joke?"

  "We’re both adults. Why can’t you admit that you want me?"

  A ball lodges in my throat. I swallow the lump, catching a glimpse of my scarlet face in the mirror. "Because you’re the most arrogant ass I’ve ever met, and I definitely do not want you."

  "That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t fuck me."

  The phone s
lips. I catch it, uttering a small gasp. "Ronan."

  "Gigi. I want you."

  "No." I end the call, holding the screen against my pounding heart.

  * * *

  The cold wind does nothing to hide my burning shame. A Santa Claus suit should be the most non-arousing costume on the planet, but Ronan can make it seductive. He turns his head, grinning at me through that ugly fake beard, and winks. Heat pools between my legs, where unfed hunger quickly leads to sharp frustration.

  I played with the dildo. I came close to using it twice, but, if I had, I knew who I’d think about. It’s out of question. Ronan doesn’t belong in my thoughts. He certainly has no place in my fantasies.

  Before this, I’d never lusted after him. I’d never pleasured myself to thoughts of him, danced on his lap, or harbored a deep desire to touch him. His confession had opened a door I never knew was there.

  Gigi. I want you.

  I can’t stop thinking about what if. I could say yes, sleep with him, purge this ridiculous obsession from my system, and go back to hating him in peace.

  But it’s what he wants.

  "Get your head in the game, Good Girl." Ronan sits straighter in the plastic chair. "Everyone can tell you’re lusting after me."

  "Go to hell."

  Smirking, he raises his gloved hand and waves at nobody in particular. Occasionally, he belts out a ho-ho-ho that’s more and more weary as the hour wears on.

  Ronan’s mom begged us to appear at the neighborhood block party. The street is filled with festivities. Inane Christmas music blares from speakers as kids raid a table covered with sweets. More children line up to sit on Santa’s lap.

  "Jesus, when will it end?" He drops the growl and booms, "Ho, ho, ho!"

  An afternoon of toddlers climbing onto his legs with sticky hands was making him cranky. A baby had already vomited on his suit. Another kid screamed bloody murder, puncturing both our eardrums. Ronan took it all in stride. I’m impressed, and that annoys me because I’m not looking for reasons to like him.

  "Thanks so much for doing this." A father with a swaddled baby on his chest pats Ronan’s back. "Could we get a picture of you holding her?"