by Kara Hart
“There’s my boy,” I say, as the crowd fizzles out. “Man, you nailed it out there. You’re the best on the team!”
“Thanks dad,” he says, humbly. “I’m okay, I guess.”
I still haven’t figured out how to talk to teenagers. It’s almost as if I’m talking to a brick wall. “You’re the best in your school,” I assure him. “There’s no doubt about that. Remember when we used to play, when we lived at the house on Wilshire? You used to love going to the park back then. We should go back someday.”
Memories come tearing into your heart sometimes. There’s not much you can do other than try to hold onto them as tightly as you can. “I remember,” he says it simply. “I’m game. You think you could take me on?”
“You? The MVP? You’ll annihilate me,” I laugh. “But I have to try.”
“Come on, you two!” Erica calls out from the bleachers. She’s been sitting in the front, waiting until the gym cleared out completely. She’s wrapped in her pea coat and drinking a hot chocolate and boy does she look as cute as ever.
“Alright! Let’s go!” I clap my hands together.
Tonight, I’ve been getting all these flashbacks. Sometimes it feels like you live multiple lives. I try and pinpoint how I got here. Here I am, fulfilled in just about every way. But when I started out, I had nothing. There was Hawk, the gang, and the streets I grew up on. Now, all of that is over. It’s as if it never happened.
Was that me? I still don’t know. I feel as if I’ve found myself, finally in someone else. It’s funny how that happens sometimes. You search and you search, and you fight the world around you. But when you see her, you realize you need to duck your head and fight for one thing only: Love. I found love in Erica. I didn’t know Aidan would come from all of this, but the surprise was well worth it.
At home, Aidan goes into his room and I can hear him talking to his friends, on his phone. Erica and I take a step outside, and we roam around the acre-long backyard we bought just after the incident in Manchester.
There’s not much that’s said. The crickets echo in the distance. The stars are covered by the lights of the earth, but I know they’re out there somewhere. Tonight, is a period of reflection for us parents, because tonight is one of those nights our son will look back on and smile.
“I love you, my sweetheart,” I whisper. She intertwines her fingers with mine. I kiss her cold cheek and smell her perfume. It’s the same scent she’s worn since I met her. I close my eyes and remember it all. The pain, the anger, and the uncertainty of it all. I almost miss it, though I know the present can always be missed if you don’t keep an eye out for it.
“Forever and always,” she says, reminding me of my vows to her.
“That’s my promise to you,” I repeat.
“You mean it? Even after all these years?” she asks.
I look at her and place my fingers against my lips slowly. I arch my head down and kiss her, keeping my finger in between us. “I think about you everyday,” I whisper. “When you go to the grocery store, I think about you. When you’re in the other room, I’m dreaming about you. When I’m with our son, I can’t help but think about you. You are my world, Erica. You’re everything to me. I would rather die than live without you.”
Her eyes reflect against the moonlight, like glass orbs. I place my hand around her waist and feel her skin. She hasn’t aged a bit, or maybe I just haven’t realized it. I feel her gorgeous tits and I still want to stuff my face in between them. I roll my fingers over her nipples and she moans lightly against the cold night air.
“Walker,” she moans. “Aidan is inside.”
“So what?” I smile wildly, remembering the time we spent in the women’s bathroom. My cock grows hard and thick against my basketball shorts. She feels it against her legs and gulps.
She doesn’t protest after that. I feel her wetness with my fingers and I begin fingering her slowly. “You like that?”
“Harder,” she whispers. “Make me your slut.”
I have to admit. She’s gotten more intense sexually since we’ve grown older. I always thought your sexual prime was in your 20s, but it turns out, it’s around your 40s.
I fall to my knees and stuff her beautiful cunt in my mouth. She drips against my tongue and I enjoy her endlessly. Her thighs wrap around my shoulders, like she’s about to go for the ride of her life, and she clutches against my hair, moaning loudly now.
The crickets stop making their noise to listen. Luckily, Aidan begins blasting music in the other room.
“Taste me,” she moans. “I’m close.”
I focus my tongue against her clit and start pumping my fingers faster and harder. I massage her pussy in an upward motion. She works so fucking hard. She deserves to cum. Keeping my tongue working on her, I become fixed with intense pressure. I’m glued to her.
When she starts twitching, I know she’s about to give it to me. I quickly take out my cock and I hold her down. She screams, “Yes!” as my hand wraps loosely around her neck. I thrust hard once. I pump twice. And when she opens her eyes to tell me she’s cumming, I cum inside her, just like that night at the motel.
“Fuuuuckkkk!” I scream. Her pussy feels so fucking good around my shaft.
“Walker!” she moans.
“I love you, Erica,” I moan, releasing every last ounce I have inside my body.
There’s nothing real in this world, except for the novel moments you share with the ones you love. Whatever happened in the past is the past. It’s turned to Ash. When we’re eighty and chipping away at our memories, I know that I’ll still have her by my side. And when she’s down and out, I’ll be there for her because that’s the kind of guy I am now.
Remember the boyfriend experience? Yeah, well. Let’s pretend that never happened.
Author’s Note:
Thank you so much for reading!
Remember, to get for my weekly newsletter with discounts and free books, all you have to do is sign up here: Click Here! Remember to add [email protected] to your email list, so it doesn’t get added to your spam folder!
Please note: if you sign up for my ARC team, you will receive my books for free, but my policy is that if you read it, you must leave your HONEST review on time or you will be deleted. Thank you!
For all my new readers, I’ve included another one of my books: Irresistible. It’s all free and I really hope you enjoy and continue to read all my new works. Thank you so much.
Helena
The move has been hard on me. With college behind me now, I set out to the Midwest. Illinois, actually. A small town called Canton. It’s not exactly my dream town, but it’ll do. Besides, I am ready for a change from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. I can’t take that lifestyle anymore. Parties, drinking, always being up at the crack of dawn — that kind of life gets to you after a while.
I’m getting older. It’s time to find out who I really am. Of course, my friends are all completely shattered over the fact that I’m leaving them. “You’ll hate it out there,” they told me. “Canton, Illinois is the worst place on the planet. I’m pretty sure there’s like no people under 50 years old.”
I figure it’ll be a nice change of pace. Besides, Chicago is just a short drive away.
I set out to become a teacher. Despite my friends’ constant groans, this is what I’ve always wanted to do with my life. I want to help kids grow through their circumstances. America doesn’t have the best education system, but the country deserves the best teachers and I’m willing to try and be that.
When I set my suitcases down and the movers have unloaded all of my boxes into my house, I sit in the study and look out the window. It’s snowing outside and it’s beautiful. I go and make a cup of coffee and sip the hot contents. There’s nature out here. Real nature. Trees, bushes, and even the occasional animal runs by.
In New York, we had all of that too, only it was covered up by skyscrapers, and the concrete jungle that is the Big Apple. Here, I can breathe freely. I ca
n finally rest knowing that I’m part of a community.
When I finish my coffee, I click the light on in the kitchen and notice it’s broken. In fact, I test all the lights in the house and none of them turn on. “Dammit,” I mutter. I grab a new set of bulbs and try them. Still, nothing is working. I add that to my list of things to do this week and walk outside into the cold.
I head “downtown” for the Winter Parade and Festival. I don’t know a soul out here and I figure it might be a good place to meet new people, maybe even people my age.
I grab my bike and go, feeling the cold winter air against my face. The snow is light and just forming around the sides of the street, but there’s a visible path toward downtown, which is only about ten minutes away from my home. The downtown here is quite a bit smaller than the one I’m used to, but it’s got a nice quaint feeling to it. That, coupled with the festivities of the season, I feel like a child again, carefree and happy.
I glance to my right and see a squirrel scurry up a tree. To my left, other cyclists ride by. In front of me, the marching band slowly walks by, with their bellowing trumpets and crashing cymbals. Everything is so beautiful here, I just feel so—
I hit an ice patch and skid, veering until I crash into a big man, and then a pile of snow, bike sliding from underneath my feet. “Shit!” I yell, plunging headfirst. I completely black out.
I open my eyes to a sea of people forming around me. If this happened in New York, things would be different. People would just walk by me, ignoring my pain.
“You alright? You crashed right into me,” someone says. It’s that man I slid into, but it’s not like I meant to. I glance over my shoulder and see him, tall and strong, standing over me.
“Shit,” I say again, covering my mouth. “I’m okay, I think. Sorry about that.”
He’s got tattoos and a military-type haircut. “It’s okay. Just try and watch where you’re going. It’s not really the time of year to ride your bike around,” he says, holding his hand out.
“Okay,” I sigh, disregarding his hand. I help myself up, feeling annoyed he would even say that to me. “Sorry for ruining your day I guess.” I rub my head and get back onto my bike
“Hey, wait,” he says, as I pedal away. “You shouldn’t get up so fast. You could have a concussion!”
“Leave me alone,” I find myself saying. I could have said worse. If this happened in the city, I would have flipped him off. However, I know customs are a little different here. People act a little politer. Well, sort of. That guy was kind of a dick.
Muscular, tall, broad-shouldered, and a total prick. Great. Somehow, I know I’m going to run into him again. This town is way too small not to.
I park my bike in the center of the festival, locking it up tight. I head for the nearest kettle corn stand. That was always my favorite as a kid. “Hey,” I hear his voice again. Dammit. Just leave me alone.
I turn around near the stand. “What?” I ask him. “Look, I’m sorry for bumping into you. It was an accident, okay?” I stand there, breathing quickly. I don’t know anyone out here yet and so far, the interactions with the townsfolk aren’t going too well.
“I just came over here to—” he starts talking, but I interrupt him. I don’t care what he has to say. I didn’t invite him over for a full-blown conversation.
“Can’t you just let it go?” I ask him. “I told you, it was an accident.”
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says. “Okay? I didn’t mean to rub you the wrong way. I was startled myself. I just wanted to know if you’re really okay. You hit your head pretty hard.”
“Oh,” I stop myself, taking in a deep breath. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.” I finally get a good look at the guy and even though he’s the type of guy I would assume would be a total dickhead, he’s actually got very kind eyes.
“Okay, good. I’m sorry again, ma’am, but I had to make sure before I head back into town to do some repairs. You’re all good? You sure?” he asks.
I notice him glance at my tits quickly and I blush. He looks away fast, trying not to be rude. Still, I saw it. “No, I’m okay,” I tell him again. “Thanks, and, um, I’m sorry again.”
“I’m sorry too,” he says, looking away awkwardly.
“We’re both sorry then,” I smile, looking down.
“Okay, well, uh. Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says.
“Hey, you do repairs?” I ask him, remembering the broken light switches.
“Yeah, I own a repair company,” he says. “You need something fixed?”
“Yeah, actually. I have some light switches that won’t turn on any lights,” I tell him.
“Did you try new bulbs?” he asks, smiling.
“Yes,” I haughtily reply. “Do you want my business, or what? You have a card?”
He reaches into his wallet and I can’t help but notice his undershirt, clutching to his abs and chest. His biceps are practically ripping at the seams. I gulp down and quickly make eye contact with him, hoping to God he didn’t see me just do that. When he smiles and hands me his card, I know that he saw me. Ugh.
I quickly make up an excuse. “Did those hurt?” I ask him, motioning at his tattoos.
“Nah,” he laughs. “Not worse than getting shot.”
I take his card and pocket it. “What? You’ve gotten shot before?” I ask him.
“Long story,” he laughs. “Anyway, I gotta run. Call me if you want those lights fixed.”
He walks away and I’m left staring at the man’s ass, moving up and down in those jeans. I pull out his card again and look at his name. Addison Williams. Do I really want to do this? Do I really want to hire that hunk of a man to fix my house? The answer is an obvious: Yes, ma’am.
Addison
That woman is one piece of work. First, she crashes into me. Next thing I know, she’s yellin’ at me. I can’t believe it. I’ve been around the world and back, but I’ve never met a chick like her. I know it was a short encounter, but there’s something about the way she carries herself that’s different from most people around this town.
Plus, she totally caught me staring at her tits and didn’t say anything, so I’m pretty sure she’s game. Not to mention, her eyes weren’t exactly making contact with mine either. I didn’t get her name, but I’m hoping she calls back. If anything, it’s another paycheck.
After the war, things have been a little crazy for me. You go into combat because you believe that you can make a difference in the world. You want to protect the people you grew up with, and the rest of the country depends on you. Take the present, for instance. Things are out of control. If I was a bit younger, I’d sign up all over again.
Only thing is, when you get out, you’re back in the real world. You’re not with your SEAL brothers anymore. Sure, you have your merits and your pins, and all of the memories. However, all of that good stuff just starts to fade into the past.
I took to drinking, fast, and to hot women. I came back home to Canton as a hero. You think I wasn’t going to celebrate immediately? Hell no. First thing I did was head down to The Office, a bar not too far from downtown. I always loved that place because when people called you up, you could tell them you were stuck at The Office and not be lying.
So I grabbed a few drinks and some pussy, and had the best week of my life. After all, that’s what I live for. Well, that and taking charge of my surroundings. I’m a fighter, plain and simple.
But after a while, you start to realize that people could give two shits about your battle scars. They could care less that you saw your best friend get killed in a ghost town overseas. They don’t want to hear your war stories, about the glory you once had. They want you to get the fuck to work.
“Make something of yourself,” my dad always told me, right before he left us high and dry. “Go out into the world and do something, for Christ’s sake.”
Of course, those words would be best spoken by someone else. I don’t think that man ever had a steady job in his life. So, I guess I’m doing
better than he was at my age, and that satisfies me for the time being. I can get over all the war shit. I don’t even bring it up anymore. What’s the point of reminiscing?
I knock on my next job’s door and wait for the old woman to open it. “Who is it?” she calls out, knowing full well we scheduled this appointment.
“It’s me, Mrs. Faraday. It’s Addison,” I call out. “I came to fix that sink.”
“Addison who?” she asks, walking to the door. She always does this. It’s like clockwork.
“Addison Williams, Mrs. Lawdale. Can I come in?” I ask.
“One second! I’m getting ready,” she says. I roll my eyes when the door inches open and I see her scurrying away.
“What the fuck,” I whisper.
“Don’t come in,” she calls out as the door keeps inching open. This woman is about 65 years old and every time I come over, she attempts to seduce me. It’s gotten real old at this point. “I’m still changing.”
“Alright, I’ll wait,” I call out.
“Oh, don’t you come in yet!” she says again. “Really, don’t come in.”
“Ma’am, do you want me to fix that sink or what? I’ve got a tight schedule I need to abide by and—”
She opens the door, wearing lingerie and I immediately cover my eyes. “You’re so pushy!” she exclaims. “There, you happy? I couldn’t get dressed in time because of you. I feel so… violated.”
“Excuse me,” I push my way into the house and find my path to the sink.
“You should start in the bedroom, over here,” she calls out to me. “I think my dresser is broken.”
I sigh and turn toward her bedroom. She’s laying on the bed when I walk in and I struggle not to laugh. It’s not that I don’t like it when women want me, but she’s a little out of my range. No, that girl earlier… that’s closer to my type. Sweet, spicy, and a perfect hour-glass shape. Damn, I hope she calls.