by Kara Hart
We’re always exploring the area together. Soon enough, we’ll be exploring the world, as a family. Once we get our passports approved, we’re taking a boat over to Europe. We’ve already saved enough money to do it.
“What is that?” I set her down near the cactus and examine it. All the sharp pricks have fallen off and now it looks like a hollow shell.
“An elephant trunk,” she says, proudly identifying it in her own way.
“An elephant trunk!” I laugh. “Well, I’ll be.”
Slowly, Vi walks up and kneels down with us. “Where are the other elephants?” she asks Marybell.
“Well, they must be close by,” I say.
“They’re at home, silly!” Marybell says, touching a part of the yellowing cactus. The world is so strange out here and she loves exploring. Soon, however, we’re moving to the city. We found a private school there that’s hailed as one of the best in the country. Parent shit. PTA meetings. Homework. Truth is, I’m actually excited.
Virginia
It’s not the life a lot of people envision for themselves. We’ve had to jump through a million hoops just to find normality. However, when I think back on my childhood, I would have killed to be in Marybell’s shoes. Truthfully, she has it made compared to both of us.
Our life is dedicated to our love and she is the perfect gift out of the shit storm we ran from. But it’s not like we have it perfect. We have the white-picket fence, the pool, the nicest house we could ask for, and a flourishing business, sure. But we’re still on the fringe of everything.
So when the lights seem dim and the cold worry from the world seems to burst in our doors, we bask in our warmth and huddle together. We tell stories and try to give Marybell as much as we can. We go out to restaurants, we take plenty of beach vacations in the west, and we start to build memories together.
When Marybell finally goes to sleep, we invest in ourselves. I can’t help but dive into the past, to think of all that we’ve escaped and done, all the wrongs I committed. My memory always drops into the fateful night we bumped into each other at the bar back home. I was so scared. So nervous about what he’d do to me. I didn’t know he’d become the center of my life. I didn’t understand how deep this would all get.
We’re getting older, but we grow closer every day. We build an empire with our love. We hold it down and cement it for future generations to wonder back on. This is the Marshall family, we say. Here’s our story. Look at all we’ve accomplished.
“Remember the candles?” he asks me, before bed. We’re close tonight, lost in the same dream together. His strong arms wrap around my cold body. He heats me up by sliding his hands over my ribs to my stomach.
“The candles?” I ask him.
“At our wedding,” he says. He kisses my cheek. I feel his cock rising against my pussy as he says the words. Some things never change.
“How could I forget?” I smile. I reach around and feel his shaft grow in my palm.
“Let’s do it again,” he says. “Let’s replay it all over.”
“I wish,” I say. “It’s been so…”
“Crazy,” he finishes my sentence. “So fucking wonderful. So fucking crazy.”
“It’s only going to get crazier. Once Marybell is all grown up, she’s going to start teaching us,” I laugh.
“I think we should have another one,” he says. “Let’s just keep going with this. Why the hell not?”
His hand is around my ass now. His fingers are moving toward my lips. He spreads me open and I moan quietly. “Come on,” he says. “You want this dick?”
Pompous bastard. And yes, I want that fucking dick, dammit. Another kid? Oh jeeze. I hate to say it, but it does actually sound kind of perfect. Just… not yet.
“Give me a year, you horn dog,” I say.
“You don’t want this?” he holds his cock proudly. He looks better than ever. As my tits drop lower, his body gets more chiseled. And yet, he loves me more than he did back when we first met.
“Give me that thing,” I say. He keeps his fingers against my lips, spreading me open. When he enters me, my mouth drops and my toes curl.
We still got it, that’s for sure. And the world is at our fingertips. Sure, we’re fugitives. But that’s just one small piece of the story.
We’re the fucking Marshalls. Get used to it.
Author’s Note:
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Prologue: Jackson Leeman
You want to know what my idea of a good time is? A bottle of Jameson, a girl on my lap, and one hell of a winning touchdown pass. I can’t say it any clearer: I don’t give a fuck. You want to know why?
Because I’m the world’s leading man. I’m their darling fucking boy. They scouted me in college and brought me all the way to the pros. Now, I’m the best there is. If you get me the ball, I’ll show you how it’s done. I’ll nail it in. Deep.
But now they’re trying to tell me I need to step up my game. All my agents are saying I need to chill out a little bit. “Start a family,” they tell me. “Invest in your character.”
Fuck that.
I’m not a guy who likes to be told what to do. I follow my gut. That’s what led me to fame and fortune. That’s what led me to win so many Championship games and got me into the pros. So, yeah. I’m not about to settle down anytime soon.
Tonight, all it took was one catch. I ran the ball into the end zone and slammed it in hard.
After the game, I come out of that locker room, soaking wet and ready to party, but the coach has to ruin my fun. “Meet your new PR agent,” he says. And I’m scrambling to figure out how the hell this even happened.
I’m going to fuck this up. There’s no way I can give her everything she needs. I’m just not that kind of guy. But, if she wants, I’ll give her everything she’s ever yearned for. I’ll give her what she wants. I’ll leave her gasping for air, begging me for more.
Fiona Breckinridge
“You’re what?” I nearly scream into the phone, face turning red, feeling my heart race. “You’re transferring me over? Why? What did I do?”
I’ve been working for the same team for the past five years. This is not the news I want to hear right now. “I just bought a house,” I protest, but the bosses don’t seem to give two craps about how I feel.
“Listen,” the head of the PR management firm, Joseph Larkins says to me. “We’re very happy with your work with the company. That’s not the issue.”
“Then what’s the issue, Joseph? Money? Pay me a little less. I don’t care. Do whatever it takes,” I say. “I don’t want to have to start all this over again with a new roster. Not this year at least. Throw me a fucking bone here.”
He takes a long pause and I can just feel what he’s going to tell me next. “I’m sorry, Fiona. It’s not in the cards right now. Maybe next year.”
Click.
I get an email not too long after, describing the details of my new job. I’ll be moving from sunny Los Angeles, to dreary Portland, Oregon. I’ll be managing a team with a brand new player, predicted to be the best in the league, for the Black Wings. This is a team that is notorious for being awful on the field. Great.
I reply back with a simple message. “So, who’s the new player? This better be good.”
I’ve been in the business for a long time. Joseph knows this and so do my colleagues. I don’t fuck around when it c
omes to my job. If they’re going to put me on the worst team in the league, they better have a good reason. This, no doubt, will make me look bad.
I get another reply. This time it’s with a few links to some positive articles, some pictures, and a name. Jackson Leeman. My heart drops to the center of the Earth.
Jackson Leeman. The boy I went to prom with in high school. The boy who said he was going spend the rest of his life with me.
My jaw drops and my stomach sinks. This is going to be the worst year of my life. I already know it.
“Oh God,” I press my head against the warm keys of my laptop, scrunching in an awkward position. It’s the only thing I can think to do to kill the anguish inside. I click the links and scroll through the articles.
I scan certain phrases and hope to God he’s good. “Wild At Heart… Loose cannon… Party animal almost loses scholarship…” The articles paint a vivid picture. He’s a basket case and apparently he’s gotten much worse since I knew him back in high school. Well, this is the pros. He better be worth the time.
Luckily, his stats are great. There are only a few losses in his ragged history, in fact. But we have history and this is not something I want to deal with right now.
Click, click, click. He’s rough and he’s covered in tattoos. This isn’t a problem in modern day sports. Sometimes it even makes for a better story. Still, it makes the job that much harder. You have to come up with ways to assure the audience he’s a good guy. Well, I can attest. Jackson Leeman is not a good guy. He’s a certifiable jerk and I don’t care how good he looks. It doesn’t excuse how he treats the world around him.
The pictures are worse. He’s either flipping off a police officer or mooning a crowd of fans. Sometimes he’s pouring a bottle of whiskey over his face at a party, or he’s punching out an angry staffer. He’s been arrested at least three times, put on probation once, and he’s settled multiple disputes out of court. He’s a PR nightmare.
A few emails later and they’re trying to sweeten me on the idea. “You’re the only one suitable for this job. He’s a damn good player, but a complete liability. That’s why we chose you to do it. Don’t let us down. We’ll have a private jet come pick you up in the morning. Be ready, 5 AM sharp.”
And that’s it. After that, my life is out of my control. I’m going to be the Public Relations Manager of Jackson Leeman, the baddest bad boy in the world.
Jackson
“That’s right baby,” I moan loudly. “Work it, girl.”
My buddy Landon “Brickwall” Karagon, a guard on the team, is standing off to the side, drinking out of a bottle of champagne. He’s as mean as sin and tougher than nails, and he just won the fucking game of the century. “When’re you going to be done with her, bro? Time’s up,” he says, taking another swig. He sets the bottle in a bucket of ice and sighs.
“Alright,” I laugh, spanking the stripper’s ass. She bounces those juicy cheeks right into my face and I nearly take a bite. “Damn. Just as I was starting to having fun, too.”
“It’s only an extra 500 to stay the whole night,” she reminds me, winking and pressing her tits together. She slides off my lap and waits for Landon to saddle up.
We’re pretty drunk at this point in the day and it’s only fucking noon. I’m actually thinking about spending the extra 500, though I’ve already spent all I need on the sports car and four-story mansion after I got signed. My accountant keeps saying I need to think about my future. I keep telling him he needs to relax a little. I think we all know who’s right in the situation.
I kill off the bottle of champagne as this woman takes off her thong and shoves it into Landon’s face. I laugh and head into the kitchen for some orange juice.
“Damn,” I sigh. I’m feeling that feeling again. It’s the feeling of disappointment. I’ve made it to the fucking pros. I’ve won all those college championship games. The only thing left is the damn Super Bowl, but even that seems like a waste of time. The only reason I’m here right now is my hunger to get to the top, my hunger to be the best there is.
Still, I keep thinking to myself, what happens when I get there? I buy more shit, buy more women and champagne, and celebrate too fucking hard. Then, I break a leg or something stupid and I retire in the Hamptons somewhere and work in team management. It doesn’t sound that great, if I’m being honest with myself. It sounds… boring.
That’s when the doorbell rings. “God damn.” I sigh even louder this time. My shirt is off and I’m freeballin’ it underneath these basketball shorts. My eyes are heavy and red and I’m most likely looking like a total wreck. Still, I answer the door, knowing there’s going to be bad news behind it, and there she is.
She’s standing right in front of me, waiting for an explanation. “Uhh…” I mumble to myself, opening my eyes semi-rapidly. “Shit.”
I clear my throat and turn around. “Turn the damn music off,” I yell back at Landon and Misty, that hot little number gyrating on his lap. “And get the fuck out of here. I have unexpected business to take care of.”
Misty grabs her things in a hurry and runs out. “Asshole,” she whispers.
“Whatever,” I mutter under my breath. When she’s out on lawn, half-naked still, I yell after her. “If I wake up to any extra charges or fees, I’ll never fucking hire you again!”
“Um, can I come in?” she asks. It’s Fiona. The girl from high school. The one girl I mistakenly professed my love to. You know, the one who I was going to settle down with. I feel like I just got punched in the gut. I fall back, almost literally. I have to close my eyes and catch my breath. It’s like a thousand bricks have fallen from the sky and landed directly on top of me.
The guilt weighs on me like nothing else. Back then, before I left her, I was sure I would end up as a janitor somewhere. And then I won all those championship games. And it all clicked in my head. I could be the most famous man in the world.
I left her and never looked back.
“Yeah, sure,” I mutter. “Come in. Uh, I didn’t expect anyone today, sorry about all of this.”
She walks inside, stepping over a broken beer bottle and some underwear. They’re not mine. Maybe they’re Misty’s. Who the hell knows anymore?
She sighs lightly and makes her way to my living room. “I would’ve cleaned up had I known,” I explain. She keeps on ignoring me, something I’ve always disliked about her, but maybe it’s because we’re both too shocked to know how to act. Fuck, I feel like a boy again. This isn’t good.
She’s wearing this short, black shirt and it hugs around her thick thighs perfectly. I’m used to dealing with these skin and bones women and that works just fine. But when I see a woman who knows how to carry her body with confidence and sexiness, it always gets my blood pumping. Especially this woman.
I glance at her tits and though she’s wearing a modest skirt suit, they’re begging to be held by me. Shit, I’m not in the right state of mind for all this. I can’t be trusted.
“I would’ve thought Joseph or your manager would have warned you,” she says. “So, I guess we’ll just get the basics out of the way. I’m Fiona Breckinridge, your new Public Relations manager. Yes, we went to high school. Yes, we dated. It’s not a big deal. We don’t have to let it ruin a good season together.”
She purses her lips and I sigh. This is already too heavy for me. “I—” She cuts me off.
“No need to explain yourself,” she says, quite methodically, like she’s been rehearsing lines for days. “Look, here’s the deal. I just came from Los Angeles. I was used to living on the coast. In fact, I loved it out there so much that I bought a house. However, things don’t always go as planned. The Oregon Black Wings hired you on the team and now they need me to make you look good.”
“I—” Again, she cuts me off, holding her hand in the air and taking a deep breath. Come on, woman. I don’t give a shit.
“Let me finish,” she sighs. “I’m used to professionalism. I’m used to working with the best players in th
e league. They say that you were good. Well, I need you to prove that to me and the world around us. I’m not going to lose my job just because they assigned me to a loose cannon.” She sits back in a chair, making herself right at home, and waits for me to speak. Landon sits, dazed in the corner of the room. I can already tell he’s bored with this. I am too.
Loose cannon? Who does she think she is? Fucking Obama’s PR agent? “Look, honey,” I smile, looking smug as all hell. “This isn’t your first rodeo. I get it. It ain’t mine either. But you need to get a few things straight before we start working together. First, you’re my PR manager. Not my fucking mother. You do your job and make me look good. That’s it. Second…” I try to think of a second point I want to make, but nothing comes to mind. “Second, just leave me alone.”
“I—” This time, I cut her off.
“I’ve been hailed as the best player in the league right now because it’s the truth. I am the best. I will be the best. I won’t go home without winning. On the off chance that one of my teammates fucks up a play, I will go and train ten thousand times harder than the rest and I’ll come back on the field the next weekend and drive it on home. I’m not finishing my career without a plaque in the hall of fame. Got it?”
“I—”
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have some important things to take care of,” I say. I glance over at Landon who nods and opens another bottle of champagne. He turns the stereo surround sound on again and I lean back in my $3,000 Italian leather chair. I smile and I know I’ve gotten to her.
Still, I can’t stop staring at the stockings gripping her tight flesh, her creamy legs. The way they disappear underneath the trim of her skirt drives me crazy. So many thoughts come to mind. What I’d do to her, what she’d do to me. I imagine her crawling toward me on her knees, mouth wide open and ready for me.