Hardball: (A Kinky Sexy Dirty Standalone)

by CD Reiss

  Okay

  Just imagine what I’m going to do to you and how much I’m going to love doing it.

  (…)

  Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, stray lower where the pleasant fountains lie

  (…)

  (…)

  (…)

  (…)

  Are you coming?

  You quoted Shakespeare. I didn’t have much of a choice

  I’ll make a note

  I’m so sleepy now

  Good night, sweetapple.

  Good night, Dashiell.

  seventeen

  Dash

  The Dodger batting cages were tucked in a warehouse downtown, on the east side of the river. The building was the best kept on the block—unmarked, guarded, with a small parking lot. No one from the street could see the helipad or the world-class training facility inside.

  The machine clicked and whooshed. My bat made contact with a thwock. Line drive to left. Too low to get over the shortstop. I set up again. Thwock. Good for triple A. I had a long way to go here. No worse than I’d been any other winter.

  Randy waited by the gate in a Nickelback T-shirt and old Nikes. “What happened to you?” He pointed at a bruise on my forearm.

  “Accident on the way back from Joe’s.”

  “Fuck.” He shook his head. “No one knows how to drive in the rain here, man.”

  Everyone said that, and it meant they thought people drove too slow or too fast, but no one knew what it meant to drive in Ithaca winters.

  “I got T-boned,” I said. “It was bad. Car was totaled.”

  “And you got a bruise?” He raised his eyebrows in shock. “That bruise?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you eat before? Did you have the fucking fish?”

  I shook my head but didn’t answer. What was he talking about?

  “Eat that every day. I’m telling you, whatever you did to get that luck going, do it every day.” He pulled a bat out of the bin. “The universe just gave you a big heads-up.”

  He closed the gate and got ready to bat.

  Trust Randy to tell me what I already knew.

  eighteen

  Vivian

  Mom’s closet had been a disappointment. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but nothing worked. Too formal, too farty, too much my mother’s taste.

  Francine put a long pleated skirt up against my waist. It was too her.

  “No,” I said, getting jostled by a woman with a big tote. The sale section in the back of the store was a wreck at the end of the day, and we’d found nothing. “Too long.”

  “You have three hours,” she said, clicking through hangers. “Let’s do this. Tell me your vision when you imagine yourself going on this date.”

  “Sexy. Not slutty. But I want to look…” I waved my hands in circles and lowered my voice to call up the only adjective I could muster. “Delicious.”

  She raised a perfectly-manicured eyebrow. My cheeks tingled.

  “What are you going to do tonight?” she asked.

  “I have no idea. He didn’t say.”

  “But what do you say?”

  “I say we’re going to do fun things. Alone together kinds of fun things.”

  She looked at her watch. “We’re in the wrong store.”

  She took my hand and pulled me out of the sale section, through the expensive stuff, past the designer cosmetics and shoes, and out to the fake courtyard of the Grotto. The tree was still up next to Santa’s village, but the sparkle had left both in favor of CAUTION tape as they were dismantled. SALE signs were plastered over every store window.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Do you trust me?” she called back.

  “I do. Mostly.”

  She didn’t answer as she wove through the crowd, over the stone pavement, past the fountain, the movie theater, the high-end storefronts, and down a small pathway between the mall and the street. A candy store. A custom shoe store. And…

  “No way…” I said.

  “Yes way.”

  “I can’t,” I said when we were outside her destination. “He’ll expect it. I don’t want him to expect it. I can’t wear this.”

  “Oh, you can, and you will. Not for him and not for what he thinks. But for you.” She poked me in the chest. “Because there’s nothing wrong with feeling sexy, and this stuff does it.”

  She took me by the elbow and pulled me into La Perla. The bustle and rush of the mall was shut out the moment we entered, and we were engulfed in undulating music, dark corners, spotlights, and perfectly formed mannequins in garters and stockings.

  I clutched my bag. “I can’t.”

  “Can I help you find something?” the salesgirl asked. She wore a man’s shirt opened to the navel, revealing a lace bra with a crystal heart where the cups met.

  “No,” I said.

  “Yes,” Francine said. “My friend here has a date tonight with a rich, handsome, and smart man she has a ton in common with. She wants it to go well.”

  The girl smiled, eyes lighting up like the Vegas strip. “We specialize in that.”

  “I don’t want him to think I do this for everyone,” I said.

  “He won’t think that. We’ll make sure. Do you have a budget in mind?”

  “A hundred?”

  The sales girl seemed undaunted, but Francine held up her hands. “More.”

  “Francine!”

  She pulled me aside, next to a Swarovski crystal-covered bra. “You have credit cards?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Do you have a balance on any of them?”

  “Well, no.”

  “When was the last time you spent anything on yourself?”

  “I’m not a stylist. I’m a teacher. We’re notoriously broke.”

  “Once, Vivian. Once, you can carry a balance on the card for one thing for one guy. I’m not saying to get in over your head. I’m not saying to go into bankruptcy. I’m saying maybe you should trust yourself. Trust you’re spending too much just once and it’s not some downhill ride. Treat yourself as well as you treat everyone else.”

  I looked around the store. If I was going to treat myself, it was going to be for more books and more things for the kids. But that little bra made the salesgirl’s chest look so nice, and the mannequin next to me with the black stockings and garter, the way the stockings stopped at the upper thigh, highlighting the tiny string of a bikini and the place he wanted to put his tongue… I shuddered.

  “I want stockings like this,” I said. “And if I get this stuff, I’m pulling a dress out of my mom’s closet, even if it’s boring.”

  “Perfect. The more boring, the better. He’ll die when he sees this underneath.”

  I filled my lungs with confidence. “He may or may not, but I’m pretty sure I will.”

  Francine put her fists in front of her mouth to hide her smile, but she couldn’t stop herself from stamping a foot in glee. “Let’s go!”

  She pulled me back to the salesgirl, and I gulped down all my shame and followed her. I was giving myself a ton of mixed messages about what I expected from this evening. Poor guy. If he thought he was confused, he should have tried living in my brain for a few hours.

  nineteen

  Vivian

  I didn’t have long to get dressed. I ran past Dad, who was standing at the counter and cooking something that smelled wonderful, so he wouldn’t see the La Perla bag.

  “Hey, peanut!”

  “Hi, Dad!” I said as I walked by.

  “You staying for dinner?”

  “Um, no. I have a date,” I called from the den.

  “What?”

  Shit. I shouldn’t have told him. “A date, Dad!”

  I rushed into Mom’s old room. I slipped into the closet and snapped the door shut.

  A knock came soon after. “Vivian?”

  “He’s coming at eight. I’m nerv
ous. I’m going to have a stroke. Please don’t make it worse. Don’t even mention it. Just don’t even say anything.”

  A moment of silence.

  “All right. I’ll save you some dinner for later. Or tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  He shuffled away. I heard the bedroom door click. Thank God. He was really leaving me alone.

  I brought my stuff to Mom’s bathroom because it was next to the closet where my dress was. I always cleaned between my legs, but that night, I was extra thorough. I bent over to see my flattened blond hairs. Was I supposed to shave?

  Of course I was supposed to shave. I soaped up and took my razor off the shelf. How old was it? Should I get a fresh one?

  I was being silly. Razors didn’t have…

  Expiration dates.

  I had to stop myself to think about that. He’d agreed that we didn’t have an artificial end date. That worked for me. But why was I going into this with my legs open? If we were going into spring training and beyond, then there was no rush.

  Right?

  Could I trust him? Could I trust that he wasn’t going to use me and throw me away? Did it matter? I was a grown woman. Not terribly experienced, sure, but I was perfectly capable of enjoying sex when I wanted to. I didn’t need artificial timelines any more than he did.

  I put down the razor.

  I believed all of that, and I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t even ready for what we’d already done on the kitchen bar stool. I needed to get to know him better. I lacked a very basic trust in our relationship, in him, even in myself.

  Right. Okay.

  I shut off the water as if the decision had nothing to do with my hair care choices and everything to do with the shower itself. But it was a punctuation at the end of the process.

  Deep breath.

  I toweled off and peeked in the bag. My new underwear was wrapped in gold tissue paper. I undid it carefully and folded it up. It was too nice to just throw away.

  I laid out the black stockings and lace panties on the bed. The bra was the same as the salesgirl’s but had a star in the center.

  “You wear this when you want to get laid. Not when you don’t.” I said it to myself because I was the one who needed clarity.

  I wanted to wear it because I’d just sold the farm to get it.

  As long as the dress covered it, I was okay. That was what I told myself as I chose a bra-hiding burgundy dress with long sleeves and a flouncy knee-length skirt. It was so chaste I would have worn it to work if it wasn’t so expensive and rare.

  Done.

  “Here goes,” I exhaled.

  I got the stockings, panties, and garter on, and I was hooking the bra when the bed buzzed. I rifled around for my phone.

  I can’t wait to see you

  I smiled to the phone. Another text came before I could reply.

  Wear something comfortable

  Now was the time. This moment. If I was going to prepare him to be refused for tonight, then now was the time to warn him.

  About that

  I want to take it slow

  Slow is my middle name

  That’s not true

  My middle name is Beaumont, but that’s a secret. If you tell another soul I’ll deny it

  Dashiell Beaumont Wallace

  It had a terrible ring to it, and I laughed to myself.

  LOL

  Next week I’ll cook you Mom’s Scotts/Norman specialty. We’ll see who laughs then

  I bit my lip. He was planning something for next week. That was a good sign. I typed something polite into the phone then felt the skin of my hips goose-bump, and I looked down at my body. I was texting him in this getup, and I was going to see him in—

  Wait. Are you driving? You shouldn’t text and drive

  I’m out front. In the car. I got here early and didn’t want to crowd you

  I saw myself in the closet mirror. I looked like the mannequin. A little less waxen. A little more human. A little like a sex kitten.

  Holy shit. Was that me?

  It was, and I was pretty hot.

  Come in. I’m ready

  I slipped on the black heels. Turned and looked at the seam down the backs of my legs. My ass cheeks stood firm and round in the warm lights, curving the back of the lace panties. I put my hand on my ass and felt the warmth of my own palm.

  I’d just turned myself on.

  Deep breath.

  I put on the dress and a little mascara.

  “Someone’s here for you, peanut,” Dad said from the other side of the door.

  “Coming.” I stuck the ball in my little beaded bag. It bulged. I felt like the bag. Bigger on the inside. Too full. Ready to burst out of my casing.

  Dad was at the front of the house with Dash, who wore a suit and carried flowers. They were laughing about something. Me? I had no idea. I was stuck on the bright bouquet of daisies.

  He’d brought me flowers. No one had ever brought me flowers.

  “Hi,” I said. Whispered. Breathed.

  Dash’s eyes ate me alive, and my skin folded outward to the dark, raw parts where I wanted him to touch me.

  “Hey,” he said. “Your dad was telling me you were a ball girl back in the day.”

  “Dad!”

  “Five more minutes and I’d get the pictures out.”

  Mortifying. Me in my little ponytail and white pants, chasing after fouls.

  “And what you guys did for game six last year,” Dash added.

  I didn’t think I’d been gone that long, but Dad talked fast.

  “It’s a funny story.” Dad shrugged, and I rolled my eyes.

  It was only funny the way Dad told it. We’d bought tickets on eBay, which was completely against the rules unless you bought a four-hundred-dollar hat that happened to come with two nosebleed tickets. When eBay had taken the listing down, we’d done a reverse search on the ticketholder’s email, hunting her back to Lancaster. Then we drove up there in my Nissan, up the mountains while my car choked and hitched, almost got eaten by her four angry pit bulls, paid her cash, and made it to Dodger Stadium with not a second to spare.

  “It was crazy,” I said. “We almost missed the national anthem because of traffic on the 5.”

  “I struck out that night, I think?” Dash said.

  “Stand-up double, two Ks, and a walk, actually,” I replied.

  “I only remember the strikeouts.” He looked at the flowers as if he’d forgotten he had them, and he handed them to me.

  “Thank you, they’re perfect.” I didn’t know what else to say. They were.

  Dad took them from me. “I’ll put them in water. Get out of here. The two of you. I want to go to bed already.”

  Dash shook his hand and led me outside, where a black Volvo sedan waited for us in the driveway. I paused, trying to remember if he’d had a Volvo the other night.

  “Like it?” he asked as he opened the passenger door.

  “You had something different yesterday.”

  “That one got in a little fender bender.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I went to the doc this morning. My arm’s bruised, but that’s it. It was nothing.”

  “Nothing? You got a new car.”

  “This one’s safer. Get in before I put you in.” His lips tightened as if holding back a smile.

  He’d have loved to pick me up and put me in. I might not have minded it either, but Dad was watching. He’d have denied it, but he was watching.

  “Where are we going?” I asked when he got behind the wheel.

  “Someplace fun.”

  I felt the scratch of lace on my skin as he drove. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It reminded me of what I was wearing under the simple dress. I crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap.

  “Did you eat?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  “Can you wait a few hours? I have someplace I want to go fir
st.”

  “Sure.”

  Traffic was nonexistent as he brought me into downtown.

  “Dash, I don’t want to bring this up…”

  “But you kind of are.”

  “The pin.”

  “It’s fine,” he said.

  “I can’t tell you how bad I feel.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “I feel like it’s my fault.”

  He took my hand out of my lap and squeezed it. “If that glove hadn’t been taken, we wouldn’t have met.”

  “I know but—”

  “You were worth it. If I’d been given the choice to trade that good luck charm for you, I would have done it in a second.”

  Was this the same guy who’d wanted to pre-dump me? I was confused, but I wasn’t ready to replace… what? Important artifacts? His sister?

  I shook it off. He was just talking.

  “Well, when I wish, I wish big. You should have me and the pin.”

  “I went to that library ready to pound on your desk and demand you find it or I was going to call the cops. But I saw you coming down the hall, and it all went out the window.”

  “Thank you. I would have broken down crying.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Glad I didn’t.”

  After the red light, his hand stayed in mine, even when he turned onto Pershing Square and stopped in a red zone. A man in a tuxedo rushed toward the car and opened his door.

  “Hang on,” Dash said before getting out. After chatting with the tuxedo guy and handing him the keys, Dash crossed in front of the car. Then he opened my door. “He’s going to park it downstairs in the lot.”

  I took his hand and stepped onto the sidewalk. “You could have taken me down there. I’ve been to the Pershing Square lot before.”

  “Not looking like you do. It’s filthy down there. You’re too good for it.”

  “Silly,” I said even though I loved every word.

  We held hands and walked into the square. It was empty and mostly dark. The playgrounds were locked, and the temporary outdoor skating rink was bathed in white light. The booths were locked. The skate rental had been dismantled until next Christmas season.