by Leigh Lennon
Crush
The doorbell has Brooklyn running toward it. For all intents and purposes, Al was a bad wife, but she’s a fierce mom. Sure, there are things I don’t agree with, like letting our daughter get away with everything, but Alison would lay down her life for Brooklyn. And for that reason, and that reason alone, I can stomach all the shit she throws my way.
“Ask first, peanut, to make sure it’s your mom,” I command as Brooklyn pulls on the door.
“Whood it?” she calls out.
“It’s Mommy, baby.” Alison’s screechy voice can still get under my skin, and flinch the second her pitch hits my ears.
When my daughter swings the door open, Brooklyn bounces into her arms, but Alison isn’t alone, and she jumps over to the guy on her mother’s arm. This tells me she’s met him before. Alison’s eyes pierce mine, and she helps herself into my home with this stranger attached to her, and he’s still fucking holding my daughter.
“Do you need anything?” she asks Brooklyn, acting as if there’s not a virtual stranger in my house.
We never pack a bag for Brooklyn. She has clothes at my house, clothes at Al’s, and it’s not a big deal where they all end up.
“No, Mommy, just meee,” my daughter teases, and I laugh at her sense of humor shining through.
I’m still staring at the man. Alison has never had great manners to begin with. “Hey man, I’m Crush.” I extend my hand to him.
“Oh, yeah, Christopher, I wanted you to meet James. We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months now. Thought it was about time y’all both met.” My shoulders tense at this little unforeseen situation landing on my front porch. I mean, I knew Alison would date again, but I didn’t expect she’d show up without warning. Ah, who the hell am I fooling? Of course I should’ve seen this coming.
“James, it’s nice to meet you,” I begin, and he extends his hand to mine as Brooklyn has her arms around his neck.
“Wow, Crush Colton. I’m so honored to meet you. Man, I’ve been a fan of yours for years. I just know you’ll be taking us to the big game this year.” James’s face reddens, and he has a large goofy ass grin on his face. And, I wasn’t happy when he was holding my daughter a minute ago, and I’m even less happy about this little fact—as he still holds her.
Fuck, not only has Al’s new man showed up on my porch but he’s a gushing fan, too.
“Peanut, baby, I think you still have your bed to make. Can you go do your chore right quick?” James places her down as Alison’s glare meets my own when our eyes connect, once Brooklyn is out of the room. I shift my gaze to James, a tight smile on my face.
“Listen, I’m sure you’re a great guy, and I’m sorry for doing this to you, but…” My gaze is back on my ex-wife. “It’s wrong in so many ways for you to just show up on my front doorstep, Al. And though I’ve known this was coming because our daughter can’t keep a secret, I thought we’d decided we’d have an open discussion about new people we’d introduce Brooklyn to.”
Alison’s reddened face doesn’t scare me as she opens her mouth, and I can only imagine what will come out of it. James waves her off to stop her. “You’re right, Christopher. We should have done it differently. How about we meet for dinner one night, and I can prove to you I’m not a pedophile?”
He attempts to defuse an uncomfortable situation with odd humor, and I can appreciate it, a little. “Yeah, James, it’s a great idea.” I walk to the kitchen and write my cell number on a piece of paper for him. “Here, call me or text me, and we’ll set something up. And thanks for understanding my concern.”
He gives me a little nod even though Alison’s ears are about to erupt in flames. “Well, since you already know I’ve been around Brooklyn, she’s a sweet girl, and I only want to respect you and any boundaries you have.”
“Before you ask, he’s not slept over with Brooklyn in the house, but—” Alison begins, and the but is her way of saying it’s what she wants.
“Thanks for being honest with me, Al.” I cut her off when Brooklyn comes bounding out of her room, this time jumping into my arms. “If you trust him, it’s good enough for now, and if this is the way you want to proceed, I know you always have her happiness in mind. But I’d still like to have dinner.” My tone changes once Brooklyn has popped herself into this conversation, but Alison’s bitch demeanor doesn’t change.
“Thanks, Christopher,” James responds.
“No problem, and call me Crush, almost everyone else does.” I take Brooklyn’s light body, placing her over my head as if she were a pillow. “I’ll see you soon, depending on my practice, okay, peanut?”
“I’ll miss you, Pops.”
I bring her down to my head and place a kiss on her forehead. “I miss you already, peanut. See you later, and be good for your mommy.”
James and Brooklyn pass through the door first, then Alison follows them, but as she does, she glances back at me, giving me the bird before slamming the door. Glad to know some things never change.
I’m in a comfortable pair of khaki shorts and a button-down blue gingham top, and I walk past my phone on the way to the grocery store, and an incoming text has me stopping—actually, several of them—and my heart leaps.
Pretty Boy: Thought I’d see if you wanted to let me kick your ass in Call of Duty. Of course, I have several games I can kick your ass in.
The mere thought of his name on my screen sends a shiver down my spine. This has me realizing I need to come to terms with my apparent feelings for Ryder Hanley. I’ve known for a while, but having him smack dab back in my life just doesn’t mess with my cock as it hardens against the zipper of my khaki shorts, but it fills me with hope I can find happiness with someone who won’t rip my heart out and dance on it.
Speaking of the devil, I notice a text from her, and I click on it immediately. A parent’s worry never subsides when their child is away from them. Anxious about Brooklyn, I deal with my ex first.
The Anti-Christ: You throw a fit over James and you let that fucker asshole around my daughter.
I’ll choose to ignore this. Brooklyn has a big mouth, so I should have known she’d tell her mom about her new friend. And speaking of Ryder, I bypass his text to call him instead.
“Hey,” he answers, and his normal upbeat tone is subdued.
“Hey there—with Brooklyn here, I got up, and we did our traditional pancakes for breakfast. We ate those while watching a Barbie movie, and then the anti-Christ came to pick her up with her new boyfriend, who I’ve never met. I started a shopping list, took a shower, and am avoiding calling the bitch back when she threw a fit about you spending the evening with us. But don’t worry your pretty little head because I’ll be over soon.”
He begins to whistle through the line. “Are you sure you’re not part girl with as gabby as you just were?” I don’t have a chance to respond to him before his inquiry continues. “So, what was the devil's excuse for losing her shit about me last night?”
“Let’s see, I think it has to do with her thinking you’re a fucker of an asshole, or something along those lines,” I explain, running back into my bathroom to rake a brush through my hair and keeping it in place with some gel.
“Oh, just that? And to think I was worried she’d overreact.”
“Yeah, just like taxes and death, Alison doesn’t change either.”
We both howl through the phone, and my smile is so large, it stretches from end to end, at the sound of his voice.
“So, you wanted to kick my ass at Call of Duty?” I change the subject.
"Or I can kick your ass at something else, too, if you're interested?" Ryder's words don't hold a hint of flirt in his voice, but they spur me on, nonetheless.
“Kick my ass? Do you think you can kick my ass at anything?” My own words carry a hint of flirt in them.
He’s quiet on the other line for a beat longer than normal. “Yeah, dude, I’m pretty confident there’s not much I can’t kick your ass in except for quarterbacking. But g
ive me some time, and I could overthrow you on your position, too.”
This time, his timbre does carry a suggestive undertone. “Okay, I’ll be over in a couple of hours. Maybe you’ll be able to figure out how you’ll kick my said ass. And good luck, pretty boy, you’re going to need it.”
I hang up before he can respond, and I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. But I don’t think I want to backpedal either. I’ve ignored all emotional sentiments when it comes to Ry for too long, and I don’t want to continue.
9
Ryder
Without a doubt, I’d been waiting for him to call. There has been a shift, and I keep telling myself it’s due to being back as part of his life.
The doorbell rings, and I sprint to it because watching him smile pulls at my heart and other parts of my body.
I take just a beat longer in order not to appear the horny man I am at the thought of spending any amount of time with Crush.
Pulling back the door, I forget to breathe. His gingham button-up top gives him a preppy yet country look. It’s fitting for the man who used to blare Toby Keith and Kenny Chesney. It’s why I know all the words to “Big Green Tractor.”
“Yo, cat got your tongue, pretty boy?” His words hit me, stepping around my body as I’ve not moved. I can’t when his cologne, consisting primarily of pine but also mint and citrus, permeates my senses.
I turn toward his voice, and he has both a duffel and grocery bag in his hands. I realize I’ve not been able to utter a word when the only thing floating around in my head leaves my mouth. “Are you planning on staying a while?” Yeah, this is wishful thinking.
“I can if it helps you sleep better at night. Always been a little scared of the dark, if I remember right.”
His borderline flirtatious tone carries a lot of bullshit. “If I remember correctly,” Crush continues, “you would need me to hold you, so you could get back to sleep.”
In his joke is almost a sensual nature, and I want to hold onto it and never let go. “Yeah, I was being hopeful, knowing I could really rock your world.” I’ll flirt with him, too—if I can.
A red blush creeps from his neck onto his face, and I fear I’ve pushed it too far, too quick. But there’s no awkwardness in the air when he quips, “So, all those times I woke up and the space next to me was warm, it was you?” In his pitch, I know there’s still a teasing atmosphere present, yet if I were to guess, I’d almost say there’s a carnal desire in his words.
I had some fantastic sex with Garrison last week. Am I in need of a good old-fashioned fucking again? I’m horny and need to be laid. It’s the only reason I’m imagining something that doesn’t exist.
“No, seriously, man,” I begin as I pray for common sense to return to all parts of my body. “What’s up with the bags?”
He searches his hands as if he’s forgotten he’s brought stuff over. “Oh, yeah.” He pulls at the grocery bag. “Thought I’d contribute to dinner with this kick-ass salad I make.” Reaching for the duffel, he brings it to my line of sight. “And I brought some swim trunks. Thinking after you kick my ass in video games, I’d kick your ass at something physical because you know it’s where I shine.”
Oh, if he wants something physical, I sure as hell can raise the ante. But then again, here I go imagining shit that’s not there.
“Okay, big guy, let’s get you fed and give you a fighting chance to kick my ass in some way, shape, or form.” He follows me to the kitchen, and something about us has immediately shifted. And as before, I keep telling myself it’s simply due to being back in each other’s lives again. And this is all it’ll ever be.
My sweats are slung low, and every time I turn around in the kitchen to grab ingredients for dinner, I catch him looking at me. Sitting on the counter, he’s far enough away from the stove but just close enough to me that I can smack his arm for some smart-ass comment every once in a while.
He’s already put together a cabbage salad with bacon, cranberries, and a homemade oriental salad dressing with soy sauce, sugar, vinegar, and garlic, or so it’s what he’s told me. Watching him in my kitchen is almost as sexy as when he’s in his skintight pants on the field throwing a football.
“What are you cooking me, pretty boy?” He has an all-American boyish fashion about him, and as he shakes his head of hair, I realize I’d rather have my fingers in his blond locks than to be cooking.
“I’m making shrimp alfredo tonight with a low-fat cream sauce and carb-less noodles. I know it doesn’t quite go with your salad, but believe me, I can’t wait to sink my teeth into both.”
I turn around after the statement, not meaning for it to sound as erotic as it does, and I swear I hear a low guttural moan from behind me where he’s sitting.
I twist toward the noise, and a pained look crosses his face. “Did you say something?”
His features soften at my question. “Um, no, just sitting here being quiet.”
Did I imagine the sound? Did I make it myself when I realized how sensual my statement had really been? I guess it doesn’t matter at this point.
“Yeah, dude, both sound awesome. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into our dinner either.”
Is he messing with me by using my words against me? But when he says it, it sounds almost naughty. I wish some sort of sports emergency in Nashville would bring Garrison back. A good old-fashioned fucking is what I need. But then at the thought of Garrison, his image is replaced with Crush, and that’s when I realize I’m screwed but not in the way I’d like.
I push dinner away, full to the max on carb-less pasta with the oriental salad.
“Still working on your figure, aren’t you?” Crush jests and this normalcy we’ve gotten back to is both natural and fun. It’s something I could get used to—every day.
“Are you telling me you’ve been dreaming of my girly figure for years?” I deadpan.
He leans over just enough to touch, but we don’t. “I can’t tell you how many times I spanked the monkey to your image.” His large grin grows on his face, and he’s always been so crass in his joking. Wait, is he joking?
I’m given a chance to return some affection in the same fun-loving nature. “Hell, I’ve missed your humor and jokes.” And as much as I know the truth, I wish it wasn’t a joke. Changing the subject quickly, I choose something which will make Crush’s day. “So, Brooklyn’s party is next weekend.”
His smile widens at the mention of his daughter. “Nope, it’s in two weeks, but please tell me you’re still coming. You’ve made quite the impact on her.”
“Yeah, but Al isn’t a fan of mine, and I don’t want to complicate matters for you after her bitch attack today.”
Crush pushes his plate back. “The woman’s not a fan of me either, so we might as well piss her off together, you think?”
“I want to try to understand something.” And I’m leaning so close to him that I could cup his face. “So, you never wanted to start something with another girl after your divorce. It’s been what, two years?”
He runs his hands through his hair, holding his breath for longer than is expected, only to let it out slowly. “I wouldn’t say that.” Somehow, the idea of him attracted to another does something within me, brewing a wave of possessiveness I don’t know what to do with. “Here’s the thing,” Crush continues, “no one’s really ever captured my heart. Even Alison, I knew it was a mistake to marry her. I never could give her my whole heart, and maybe that’s why she looked for it elsewhere.”
I quiet him immediately when my hand connects with his arm, and it seems so natural. “Don’t blame yourself. Regardless of what was going on in your marriage, it’s never an excuse to cheat. If she wasn’t happy, she could have gone a dozen other routes.”
I won’t let him blame himself for the grenade she had detonated in their marriage.
“Yeah, I understand what you’re saying. I just knew I never loved her. But I’d never do anything differently because of Brooklyn. But what I want, I’m not sure I
’ll ever find. I need a bond so deep, being with said person causes this fucked-up world to almost make sense. If I’m going to commit again, it’ll be a connection so intense that I ache for their next touch as though they were the reason I was put on this earth.”
I chuckle at his statement because he’s captured everything I, too, want, but the only problem is he’s the person I want it with. And then a thought occurs to me, at the pronouns he uses, they and their. “Um, are you looking for some sort of fun ménage?”
He wrinkles his forehead—his telltale sign he’s confused. “Um, what?”
“You say they, so I’m wondering if you have plans to capture two women and not just one. And if that’s the case, I say more power to you,” I tease, but he quiets instantly at my joke. “Man, I was kidding. I just found it odd you said they and not her.”
I give him a slug to the arm to bring him out of his mind and back to this world.
“Oh, I didn’t realize I’d phrased it that way. But I’m not planning a ménage a trois. I’m not against it.” He laughs. “But could you imagine Alison? She’d shit her expensive undies I still seem to pay for and never let me see Brooklyn again. But I thought you might be up for it?”
“Yeah, not against being sandwiched between two hotties, but unlike you, my ménage fantasy consists of cock, not pussy.”
He’s silent again at my words for a split second, then changes his tune quickly when he chuckles at my joke. “Okay, pretty boy, ready for me to whip your ass in water sports?” Crush challenges.
I can handle seeing his tight ass in his swimming trunks, and when he stands and turns, I take a little gander at his fine ass. I can’t wait to see it better after he changes. Yep, I need to get fucked, then maybe I’ll stop imagining every single part of his body.
I don’t know the how or the why, but we end up on the couch after he kicked my ass at volleyball in the pool. We’re watching Bad Boys, starting with the first one. It’s not what I’d pick, but then again, I can’t get out of my own head. And how I want my best friend as much as I had in college. I need my head in his lap and his hands in my hair. It’s been thirty minutes, and Martin Lawrence and Will Smith are not holding my attention. But his fingers tap on his knee as he sits only half a foot from me just as he had last night at his house.