by Shandi Boyes
That’s a humbling thought.
I thought being rich would make me powerful, whereas all it seems to have done is made me arrogant—like my father.
I’ve always believed karma works in mysterious ways. My logic is proven correct when the man in the seat in front of me attempts to place his overnight bag into the locker above my head. Not only is his shirt two sizes too small, but the hair on his stomach is also wetter than a dog’s coat at a pet wash.
How do I know this? His stomach grazes my cheek every time he lunges forward.
If his damp body hair isn’t enough to have my dick planning a three-month vacation to Shrivelville, the constant grind of his crotch on my shoulder guarantees my manly parts are packed and ready to depart.
He’s either too short to reach the overhead locker, or he’s hoping to ride my shoulder all the way to orgasm station.
If his grunts are anything to go by, I’m leaning toward the latter.
“Don’t you dare,” I mutter to Skylar when the shudders of her laughter vibrate my opposite shoulder. “He didn’t even have the courtesy to buy me a drink first.”
Her hysterical howl shocks the stranger so much, he jumps in surprise, meaning the object humping my shoulder the last thirty seconds is now an inch from my mouth.
“Quick,” Skylar garbles between boisterous giggles. “He’s ready to quench your thirst.”
Three hours and one shoulder fuck later, our taxi arrives at the front of a clapped-board house in the middle of suburbia. This residence, along with many others on the street, is modest in size but looks cozy compared to the dreary conditions outside. If the dew point gets any lower, I’m confident we’ll wake up with snow on the ground tomorrow morning, which is shocking considering how late in the season it is.
“Whose home is this?”
Skylar stops curling out of the taxi halfway to peer back at me. “Mine.”
I should be sprinting for the hills, panicked she’s taken us straight to her family home instead of the hotel we booked, but for some reason, I’m not. Family is a vital necessity of mine, and I’m dying to discover if Skylar has the same crutch.
As we walk up the cracked footpath to the front porch, Skylar gives me a rundown on her family dynamic as if she hasn’t done the same thing numerous times the past two months. She reminds me that she has two older brothers and a younger sister who’s in her final year of high school before affectionately referring to her family as ‘football obsessed.’
When my eyes flare, excited by her response, she’s quick to remind me she means real football, not the ‘silly game’ I play with my feet. I could tell her my version of football was invented between the years 220 and 680—many many centuries before her inaccurate version of football, but since she meant her comment in jest, I let it slide. The difference between my contract and Elvis’s proves which sport reigns supreme.
It isn’t the one where you hold a ball with your hands.
“Grandma is super friendly, so don’t panic if she gives your backside a feel, and Legend can be somewhat arrogant. He means well, he’s just convinced everyone is his enemy.” She climbs the three stairs of the porch before spinning around to face me. “If you insult my mom’s pie, expect to die, and if you need to use the bathroom, only flush if it’s a number two.”
“Is there anything else I should know?”
She twists her lips in a totally fuckable way. “Only one thing.” She grips the lapels of my jacket before dragging me to within an inch of her beautiful face. “Remember, you asked for this.”
“When?” I choke out, my worry a ruse. She’s so happy right now, I’m eager to see if Paxton needs a new star striker.
Skylar fans her hands across her childhood home. “You want a true American experience? What more American can you get than this?”
After hitting me with a playful wink, she swings open the front door. Chaos fills my ears when she walks me into the entryway. Even with it being off-season for Skylar’s version of football, someone is screaming at a man sprinting down the sideline on the colossal television mounted to the wall in the living room.
“Even telling him multiple times the result won’t change no matter how many times he watches it, Legend never listens,” Skylar garbles before offering to take my coat.
While she hangs it on a rack brimming with winter jackets, I take in her family home. It’s the first time I’ve entered someone’s residence since I arrived stateside, but I’m reasonably sure it’s a quintessential American home. Big, bulky leather sofas take up a majority of the floor space in the living room. They all face the game Legend is watching. The dining room is separated from the living area by a shrine to all things football—ribbons, trophies, photographs, and a framed jersey take up every inch of the cubed bookshelf.
A spicy smell is filtering in the air. It makes my stomach grumble but has me worried the toilet won’t handle the amount of flushing needed after consuming a spicy meal like that.
My inward chuckles simmer when a petite blonde with big blue eyes enters the entryway unexpectedly. She balks, as surprised by our presence as I am of her height. She’d be lucky to be five feet tall. Although she could pass as Skylar’s elder sister, Skylar’s rundown of her family disclosed she only has older brothers and a younger sister, so this must be her mother.
Damn! If Skylar’s mother is a representation of how Skylar will age, I hit the motherlode.
Her mother is gorgeous.
“Sky!” She throws her arms around Skylar’s neck to hug her tight before her twinkling eyes turn to me. “And who’s this fine gentleman?”
Skylar ribs her mom with her elbow before shifting on her feet to face me. “Lorenzo, this is my mom, Summer. Mom, this is Lorenzo. He’s attending my college on a scholarship from Italy.”
“I am?” When her elbow switches its focus to my ribs, I murmur, “I am,” more convincingly.
I’m not a good liar, but thankfully, before Skylar’s mom can sniff out a rat, a commotion sounds from the living room. “Oh, come on, ref, it was a spot foul. Are you fucking blind?” Legend is standing a mere inch from the television glaring at it like he’s seconds from ripping it off its wall mount.
Skylar’s breath tickles my ear when she murmurs, “That was the last thirty seconds of his high school championship game. His team lost.”
I twist my lips, finally understanding Legend’s anger. I hate losing as well, but I can imagine it’s worse when you have a name like Legend to live up to.
When the players on the field drop to their knees to commiserate their loss, Legend switches off the television, then spins around to face us. Blond hair falls into his blue eyes when he slants his head to eye me curiously.
I’m confident I’m on the verge of being recognized, so you can imagine my surprise when he locks his eyes with Skylar and grunts, “Bit short, isn’t he?”
I can’t help but laugh. He’d be lucky to be six feet.
Upon hearing my laughter, Legend jerks his head to his mother. “I came out of that. What’s your excuse?”
I realize his question is rhetorical when he snickers about Skylar’s narrowed eyes before he enters the dining room on our left. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
“Me, too.” After curling her arm around my elbow, Skylar leads me into the dining room on the heels of her mother. “Where’s Dad and Jethro?”
While gesturing for us to sit at the end of the table, Summer says, “Jethro is on a date, and your father is getting the breadsticks Legend forgot to pick up on his way home.”
“What?” Legend says with a grunt. “It was raining…”
I drop my head to hide my smile when his reply is cut off by his mom’s hand getting friendly with the back of his head. Since his hair is clipped at the back, a slap echoes around the room. It reminds me so much of my mamma’s challenge to raise her rowdy children with the manners their father doesn’t have.
“What about Brooklyn?”
Summer watches me pull out Sk
ylar’s chair for her before answering, “She had cheerleading practice. She should be home soon.”
After plopping into her seat, Skylar raises her eyes to mine. An adorable pout is protruding her bottom lip. “Brooklyn’s legs are longer than mine.”
I’d twang her lip, but I’m having too many inappropriate thoughts about her sister to breathe, much less command my body to move.
I’m joking. Calm down.
Even if Skylar hadn’t mentioned Brooklyn was still in high school many times the past two months, I can’t take my eyes of Skylar’s legs. I don’t need another pair thrown into the mix. The length of Skylar’s skirt is already indecent, not to mention the way its hem glides up her thighs anytime she sits. I’m pleased to have finally met the family she’s mentioned more than she realizes, but I’m itching to rip her dress off.
“Sit, Lorenzo.” Skylar peers up at me with a cocked brow. “Before you poke out my eye.”
When her eyes glide to my crotch struggling to hold in the enormity of my inflated cock, I slot into the seat next to her. We’ve tested a range of positions the past two months, and I’ve heard her scream my name in ecstasy many many times, yet, my cock still acts like a pre-pubescent boy in her presence. I’d be ashamed if Skylar didn’t take advantage of my body’s response to her beauty at every available opportunity.
Not long after I’ve taken my seat, the creak of a door sounds over the silence teeming between Skylar, Summer, Legend, and me. My hearing suffers irreparable damage when Skylar screams in excitement at the curvy blonde bouncing into the dining room. Her cheerleading outfit gives away her identity, much less her features. She’s the spitting image of Skylar, just a handful of years younger and several inches taller.
This must be Brooklyn.
The ringing in my ears doubles when Brooklyn squeals, “Oh my God, you’re Lorenzo Ricci!”
My eyes rocket to Brooklyn as quickly as Skylar’s jaw drops. “You know who he is?”
Brooklyn stares at me star-struck while blubbering, “Of course, I know who he is. Don’t you? He’s the number one striker in the professional league. He’s carried his team to four championships and represented his country in the Olympics not once, not twice, but three times.” She cocks a hip, her attitude as high as my ego is spiking. “Should I tell her about the record-breaking contract you signed, or should we keep it our little secret?”
Skylar looks prepared to dissect her sister’s liver and serve it to her for dinner from the way she said ‘our.’ “Or you could sit down and stop acting like a fool.”
After narrowing her eyes at her big sister, Brooklyn dumps her backpack on the ground, then skips to the seat across from me. While she scoots her chair close to the table, Legend locks his scorning eyes with mine. “You play soccer?”
I’m tempted to amend his incorrect label of the game I play and love, but words are alluding me. My brain is too busy struggling to work out if Skylar suddenly developed contortionist skills, or if her sister isn’t as innocent as her face implies.
When I notch my chair back, narrowly escaping the toes tiptoeing up my leg before they can reach my crotch, Skylar eyeballs me through scrunched brows. I don’t know what she sees on my face, but it has her eyes zooming to the other side of the table quicker than a bullet being fired from a gun.
After she grunts, Legend howls. “What the fuck, Sky? Why are you kicking me?”
“I wasn’t aiming for you,” Skylar growls through clenched teeth while glaring at her sister like she’s seconds from leaping over the table to strangle her. “Don’t make me bring out Squidward.”
The pink hue on Brooklyn’s cheeks drains to her shoes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Skylar balances her elbows onto the table, the expression on her face equally terrifying and sexy as fuck. “Test me.”
Brooklyn’s eyes bounce between Skylar and me for several heart-thrashing seconds before the foot sitting an inch from my crotch slips into a ballet flat dumped haphazardly under the table.
While Summer commences serving her children chili, utterly oblivious to the tension hanging thickly in the air, I tilt into Skylar’s side. “Should I ask what Squidward is about?”
“Not if you want to live,” she replies before turning her bello eyes to mine. “You had the sport you love dissed, your height scrutinized, and you’ve been hit on by both my mom and my baby sister, and the festivities have only just begun. Don’t wish away your true American experience before it occurs, Shortie J. The night is young. Live a little.”
I feed off the playfulness in her tone. “Are you saying I should be worried?”
Ignoring her sister’s stare that’s hotter than the chili Summer is serving, Skylar brings her lips to within an inch of mine. “I’m not saying you should be worried, Shortie J.” I grow envious of her tongue when it darts out to sample the lip gloss I’m obsessed with. I’m aware she’s teasing me, but it doesn’t stop my dick from hardening to the point it’s painful. “I’m merely making sure you are.”
Eager to return her tease, I drag the bristles on my chin across her neck before whispering in her ear, “You don’t scare me, amore mio. Being scared merely means you’re about to do something courageous… or stupid.” She shudders when I lick the shell of her ear. “Do you want to be stupid with me, amore mio?”
Before she can answer me, a real-life motherfucking giant enters the dining room from stage left. He’s so tall, he had to duck to save his noggin bumping the archway separating the kitchen from the dining room. His palms are the size of my head, and I’m reasonably sure he’s wearing trousers as shorts.
When he notices my gawking stare, he hits me with a killer wink before grumbling, “Fee-fi-fo-fum, do I smell the blood of an Englishman?”
I kid you not, I shit my pants.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lorenzo
“You fucking cheated. Mom, he cheated.”
When Legend drifts his eyes to Summer for confirmation of my so-called cheating ways, Skylar snatches the Wii remote out of his hand. “The ball landed halfway over the line. In tennis, that’s out of bounds.” She shoves him to the other side of the basement, so she has room to swing her remote. “It’s not like you were one point away from victory. You’ve been getting slaughtered all night.”
I’m confident Legend needs to cut back on the steroids when he kicks a coffee table while mumbling numerous curse words under his breath. His tantrum must be nothing new to his family as none of them balk at his theatrics. His dad, Tyler, tells him to take out the empty beer bottles along with his attitude while his mom attempts to lift his protruding bottom lip by offering him a second slice of pie.
If acting like a child secures more pie, I’m tempted to throw myself onto the floor right now. That’s how good Summer’s apple pie is.
Although it’s not quite as appetizing as that.
Eager to win the Wii Summer Sports Playoff competition we’ve been contending the past three hours, Skylar hitches the hem of her dress into her panties before swooping down low like a professional tennis player. It has inches upon inches of her luscious legs on display, and me missing her serve.
“Come on, hotshot. If you can play a sport like soccer, I’m sure you can handle a little bit of tennis.”
This scorn didn’t come from Skylar. It was on behalf of her father, Tyler. He’s been ribbing me nonstop about ‘my sport of choice’ ever since Legend let slip about what I do for a living. I’ve heard all his scorns before, but they’ve made me a tad bit competitive—like it could get any worse.
“Really?” Skylar gasps, her eyes shooting to me. “Get on your side of the court, Shortie J. I don’t like my competition up in my business.”
She barges me into the sofa Tyler’s giant height makes look like dollhouse furniture before returning my serve. When I send the ball back to her side of the net with the perfect swing of my remote, Skylar’s elbow lands in my ribcage. I’m not talking a playful we’re-being-flirty jab. I’m talking air-removed-fr
om-my-lungs-I-might-cry-like-a-Nancy jab.
When I go down for the count, like all good football players do when seeking a penalty, Skylar uses my slumped form as leverage to slam the ball down an inch on my side of the net.
“Oh… did you see that? Maine has skills.”
Tyler mimics noises of a boisterous crowd as Skylar bounces around me as if she’s waiting for the bell to ding at the commencement of our fight. We’ve already endured the boxing part of our tournament. I’m displeased to say she kicked my ass.
When Tyler leaves the den to join Summer, Brooklyn, and Legend in the kitchen, I get my head back into game mode. “Legend isn’t the only Maine cheat. You’re one, too.”
With a grin that makes me wish we were anywhere but in the basement of her family home, Skylar pokes out her tongue. “If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying.”
“Another Vince Lombardi quote?”
A tiny blob of sweat dribbles down her cheek when she shakes her head. “No, that was Eddie Guerrero, a champion wrestler who happened to be as short as you.”
“Happened to be?”
She jerks up her chin along with her controller to return the ball to my side of the court. “He died when I was a kid. My dad was devastated. He was his all-time favorite wrestler.”
“So, your father has nothing against short men? He just doesn’t like me.”
Skylar laughs. “He likes you. He’s just not a fan of men who kick balls with their feet.”
“Foot… ball. Football. Get it.”
I win a point when Skylar stops playing to glare at me. She’s not really mad, but her attempt to make me think she is, is as cute as fuck. Although we’ve spent our evening with her family, despite Brooklyn’s disgrace, there’s been plenty of playful touches and sneaky glances beneath lowered lashes shared between Skylar and me. It’s nice knowing the fire that forever bristles between us can’t be doused even when I’m out of my element. I haven’t had a family outing like this in a very long time. I honestly can’t remember the last time I played a game where I wasn’t paid to play.