by Lolita Lane
The feeling of wanting to smash something over his head was quickly returning. "Bruce, I'm not here to discuss our relationship, or how much of a gigantic asshole you are."
I saw him chewing on his lip. He was holding something back. Probably the truth that he was as scummy as I thought he was. "Then what are you here for, Noelle? I doubt you hunted me down to insult me to my face."
"You were expecting a journalist from the Norfolk Courier? You're looking at her."
"So you're here to interview me?"
I nodded.
"So you did it, Noelle. You actually became a journalist. I knew you could do it."
I blushed. I hated that I did so, but I guess that was an involuntary function. "Please, Bruce. My boss insisted that I do this story because we come from the same town." I left out that he knew that we were an item all those years ago.
"Ah, I see. I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job on the article."
"Don't push it. I could paint you as literally the next coming of Hitler you know."
"I'm sure I'll get my dreams of genocide accomplished by playing football well."
"You know what I mean, Bruce."
"Yeah, yeah. I also know you're too damn goody goody to go and do that. You complained about bias in the news all the time, you'd never shut up about it."
I grit my teeth. This was the problem of someone knowing you so well. It was really hard to bluff them to get them to go along with what you want. "Why don't you give me a tour of your estate, Bruce? Show me House Flynn."
He scratched his head. "Okay, I guess."
Bruce waved me in, and closed the door behind me. I walked near him, coping with the attraction that was still there, to my dismay. It wasn't that he was hot, or sexy, it was just the want I had for him. It never really went away, despite my best efforts. My instincts wanted to grab him and have him ravish me right there in that fancy foyer, but my common sense wouldn't allow it.
I stepped away from him to buy myself some breathing room. "There's something feminine about your interior design," I said, looking toward a crystal bowl filled with wax fruit and looking at a painting that if not by Georgia O’Keeffe, was definitely inspired by her.
"Accusing me of not being manly is not very modern of you."
"I didn't say it was bad, just that it doesn't match what I'd think you'd design your place as."
"Well, I wasn't really responsible for a lot of the furniture placement. I spend a lot of my time on the road, and when I moved in, there were boxes everywhere and I was usually too out of it after travel and training to do anything. So my mother came in, decided I shouldn't live like this, and asked to put a mother's touch on the place. I shrugged, gave her my credit card, and this is what happened."
"Vagina paintings and potpourri. Yeah, I can see this from your mother." Mrs. Flynn was the walking stereotype of an older woman. Loved collecting knick knacks, had about eleven cats, and had a weekly bridge game. This aesthetic was a natural extension of her stereotype. She was a sweet lady, really, and I oddly sort of missed her. With my relationship status though, going to spend time with her wasn't on the table. "Do you visit your mother often?"
"Well yeah, it's the reason I stayed with the knights after my first year. Seattle offered me a big raise, but I wanted to stay close to home. I had a lot of stuff that I missed here after being in Los Angeles for so long."
I wondered if I was included in those things he missed?
"This is where you write that I'm a mama's boy, right?" He winked at me.
"I don't know, are you a mama's boy?"
"You know me, Noelle. She has a recipe for potatoes that'd make any man do what she says, and I'm no different. I'm a huge mama's boy for her."
"The star and juggernaut of the Norfolk Knights really loves Mommy," I said, bemused. "That'll sell your tough guy image."
"I look at it this way, I'll let tough guys know it's okay to show love to those you hold dear." He winked at me and waved me forward. "Come on, let's show you my theater set up. I did design that."
I followed him through his home. Everything was so elegant. Did he really live here all alone? I didn't even see evidence of any staff, but I could understand wanting to be a private person like that.
He brought me into a darkened room, before he flicked some switches and lit it up. It was definitely quite the set up. A huge screen was hanging down, complete with a projector across from it, and attached to it, a computer tower. It seemed nonstandard, but in the modern day, you could run anything from a proper computer. From internet cat videos to Hollywood blockbusters to Miami Butt Invaders 39. He gestured as he walked to the front. "What do you think?"
"Looks very expensive."
"Want me to turn it on? The bass these speakers can put out shake the entire house. It's almost deafening. It might actually be deafening, honestly." He ran a finger around the speaker's cone.
"I'll pass. I need to understand you for the interview to actually work, you know."
"Oh, if you wanna be logical about it." He walked over to a couch that was resting on the bottom tier of the room. Each higher step had fancy movie-theater quality steps, but the bottom level only had the couch. "I have this set up, so if it's just me and someone very close to me, like a certain reporter who will remain nameless, wanted to watch something together, we'd have the best seats in the house," he said, winking at me.
I sort of turned away, hoping he wouldn't see me blush. Damn, why did he have to be so charming? It was a natural charm he always had too, it wasn't something he taught himself. His innate humor was what made me fall for him the first time, but I reminded myself I wasn't foolish enough to fall for it again.
"You can be that reporter if you want, Noelle. Come down here, chill, and maybe I'll put on some Netflix."
I laughed, but didn't move. "I'm working, Bruce."
"Ah, kay, guess that's makes my approach too obvious," he said, standing back up. "You can scribble down my appreciation for the arts or something. Make it sound classier than just wanting a ludicrously nice home entertainment system."
"I'll work on it. Making it something to sound intriguing is what I'm supposed to be good at anyway."
"Let's keep the tour going. Show you something else that I'm very proud to have."
He gestured to me and wasted no time setting the pace. I rushed along and behind him in hopes of catching up. Bruce wasn't that cruel and soon let me catch up as he led me into a huge room, with clear windows letting the sunset pour through the windows. The scent of chlorine hit my nose, and I soon realized he had a huge indoor pool set up. I wasn't any expert on pools, but it looked to be nearly Olympic sized, if not actually at that level.
"This is how I keep myself in shape when I pull something," Bruce began. "Heated, so its never too cold. There's even a section over there that functions like a Jacuzzi."
He pointed over to a corner that was sectioned off, running and bubbling like a hot tub proper. That wasn't Olympic regulation, that much I knew of.
"Biggest perk of all? Indoor, so it's completely private. I don't have to worry about paparazzi popping up and trying to get creep shots of me – or anyone else who I invite to swim with me."
"You deal with paparazzi often?"
"Oh yeah. Ever since I started being a big deal, they won't leave me alone. I have to run them off of the property ever so often. I'm projected as this Dudley Do-Right football player, but they're trying to find dirt on me. Nothing sells papers more than a fallen hero."
I sighed. "I know that all too well. I hope I never have to resort to writing for the tabloids."
"They're just trying to make a living. I get that. Being so aggressive about it though, well, it drives me crazy sometimes."
I walked over to the corner of the pool, and looked over it. It'd been so long since I had a good swim. It made me even more jealous of him than I had been.
"Did you want to enjoy the pool for yourself, Noelle?" Bruce said, raising his eyebrows suggestively at me.
"Oh, um, I didn't really bring a bathing suit. It's not really part of the standard reporter toolkit."
"Noelle, what part of private, indoor pool don't you understand? Modesty is hardly a requirement in here."
I shuddered as he spoke, just the thought of being bare and even remotely intimate with him again. "You just want an excuse to see me naked again, don't you?"
He shrugged. "You're a beautiful woman. You always have been. I like looking at beautiful things. Can you really blame me?"
I was breathing deliberately, trying to control my body and its reactions to the words that he spoke, the flirtations he relentless sent my way. He wanted me, still. That wasn't in doubt.
It wasn't as if I didn't receive any attention from boys all through my college years. Their interest, however, was easily brushed off because I had no attraction to them in return.
"Well, if we're not going to have a good old fashioned naked swim together, I guess we have to move on," the humor in his voice clear. He knew what he was doing to me. He again gestured me forward. "Come on, Noelle."
I rushed to follow him, through the halls. This place was massive. It was definitely too big for one guy. This was a house meant for a family, and a big one too. I thought about asking him if he had found another woman, if he was far along with her that buying such a place would have been a wise investment.
He led me outside to a part of the backyard. Various training equipment was strewn about. "The pool is to keep me in fit even when an injury takes me down. This, though, is to keep me sharp when such an injury isn't stopping me. Noelle, do me a favor," he handed me a stopwatch. "Hit it in three...two... one."
Confused as to what he meant, I simply did as he said. He took off like a bullet through a gun. He shuffled through the tires, cleared a wall with ease. He burst through a gauntlet of yellow, padded arms that barely gave as he passed. He danced through some ladders as if he were playing hopscotch. He was rushing so quick, so dedicatedly.
I loved watching him go. The way his body moved, flexed, and took things so quickly. For some reason I rarely found muscles alone attractive. I had to know that they were more than just for show, that they had purpose. Right now, Bruce was perfectly showing me that he was a machine, not because he had rippling biceps, but through a collection of speed, training, intelligence, and dedication. I was watching a master of his craft work, a more athletic version of a hibachi chef putting on a show with his knife and your dinner.
Soon, he slid in front of me, and called out. "Time!"
I stopped the watch. "Uhh, forty-seven seconds?"
He let out a relieved breath. "Pretty good. Three seconds short of my usual best, but given I wasn't warmed up, that's nice and solid. Having your pretty eyes track me must have put some extra spark in my step."
I giggled, hating that he could manipulate me so easily. Was it because I wanted to be manipulated, if only by him alone?
He led me away from his training field, and back into the mansion. He was stopped, and a collection of telephone rings rang out. Not just one phone, but two, three, four – there were more phones than I knew there were. They were coming from everywhere, a table I passed, his pocket, in other rooms. The cacophony was silenced when Bruce dug into his pocket and hit the right button to answer it. "Hello? Yes. I'm busy right now, Mr. Brunswick. I'm doing the interview for the Courier. Yes, I'll talk to Sally. Yes, I'll set up the date."
He turned it off. The whole time I was looking at him in confusion. "Setting up a date?"
Bruce blinked. "Oh, it's just another make-a-wish date. He wanted to confirm if I was good on taking on more of them."
"Sally?"
"She's – she's in charge of coordinating them."
That was an odd way to respond to it. He seemed so smooth, so natural, but as soon as that Sally was mentioned, his cool demeanor was shaken.
I pushed it out of my head. He was talking to his boss, the owner of the Norfolk Knights. The man who signed his ridiculous checks. I could understand some anxiety when dealing with him and the rest of the staff.
"So, this is actually the question that's really been nagging at me in the past minute," I began. "Why do you have so many phones? I never thought of you as a collector."
He laughed. "No, I'm not collecting them. I'm in a bidding war at the moment. All these companies want me to endorse their phone as the best. So they keep sending me their top of the line newest phone free of charge."
"And they all ring at the same time because...?"
"I tied my one number to all of them? Figure if I have so many damn phones I should have backup in case one dies on me, which is common with how much I end up traveling. They're all essentially clones of one another. Really, I ought to set the ones I'm not carrying to silent. I'm not a fan of the ring symphony either."
"Hmm, you got one you're leaning toward endorsing?"
"I'm waiting til the last minute, and whatever phone I'm holding then gets it. I literally could care less about my phone's brand."
I laughed, and we kept walking through the mansion. "Give me something with sentimental value, Bruce. I'm supposed to be writing an article about you, and not the newspaper version of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous."
"Hmm." He rubbed his chin, thinking deeply. "I got it. Keep up, now."
This time, he led me to the second floor, and into his bedroom. Then, into his closet, and a vast collection of fancy suits, tuxedos, and also a whole lot of jerseys. "I keep a few of each of the teams I've played for over the years. I find it hard to forget where I came from, and what I really found important. "
Sighing, I exited the closet, him still in earshot. "Your old jerseys? That's what you have to show me that's supposed to tell me something new about you, Bruce?"
Bruce followed me out, and shrugged. "What else am I supposed to show you? You know me, Noelle. You know who I was. You know who I still am. This money hasn't changed me. This is all stuff I always wanted, but not just for me."
"Yeah, I remember all your promises of fabulous wealth. I didn't expect you to ever deliver on them though."
"Dream big, Noelle. I got lucky, and I made it happen. There's something missing in all of it though, a big part of my fantasy that I wanted to make real."
He approached me. Bruce was close, looming over me, his presence so consuming against my own. His hands were on my shoulders, pulling me closer to him, my eyes closing as he did so.
"The last six years, the game has been my life. I've tried to move on, Noelle, but I can't even get near another woman without thinking about you, and how it was all meant to be for you."
What did I say? I was standing right there in his bedroom. So close to him, smelling the hints of sweat that he had worked up. They were tempting me.
I hated him. I was supposed to. He used me. I was just a conquest and nothing more. The first chance he had to get away from me, he leaped at it.
Despite all of that, I felt like I still wanted him. That I still needed him. I wanted more of his touch, more of his love.
More than ever, I understood why it was sometimes so hard for women to leave bad relationships. Sometimes, the heart wants what it shouldn't, and when your heart wants something, it's so damn hard to refuse it when its desire is right in front of you sitting on a silver platter.
"Having you in front of me like this, Noelle, it's cruel and unusual punishment. I want you. I've always wanted you. I never meant to wrong you, and I ask for forgiveness for anything you view me guilty of. More than anything..."
Chapter Eight
He kissed me. Again. Out of nowhere, he kissed me. A deep, sensuous kiss, powerful, and making fireworks go off inside of my head. His hands ran through my hair, tickling my senses further.
The strangest thing of all, was that I was responding. Automatically, my body took over, feeling his back, my tongue interlocking with his. Everything inside me was ignited with need. Pure, powerful need. It'd bee so long since I let a man this close to me, and that ha
lf-decade of abstinence was now built up inside me and hungry to escape.
The kiss broke, his face still so very close to mine. "I want you, Noelle. I want you right here beside me. I wanted all of this not for me, but for you. For us."
He pulled me close, his body now pressed against mine.
"Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me, and I'll take you right here, right now."
My mouth was moving. I was still so conflicted, but being so near him like this, it was driving me mad. "Take me, Bruce. Take me right now before I change my mind."
"Gladly," he said, before his hands circled around me, grabbed my ass, and lifted me off the ground. He used his power to carry me over to his massive bed, and planted me onto it. Kissing me, his hands were almost tearing into my blouse, undoing button by button with amazing urgency. Feeling his hand follow it down, the nostalgia that it invoked was so strong. How I remember that I wanted nothing more than his hands on me every night of my life.
I was yanking at the shirt he was wearing, and he tossed his arms up a moment to allow me to pull it off him, and see how he had changed in the years we were apart. Just as delectable as he ever was, I feeling his hot body under my fingers, running down his spine, clawing at him with my nails. God, I wanted this to be mine again. For it to be mine always.
He too was possessed by need. His hands on my breasts, pulling at my bra. I reached around, undid the clip to let him have it, wanting them to be as free as he did. Palms against nipples, rolling them, tickling me, letting that electricity shoot through me with every little movement. I felt his arms, his firm, strong muscles, and went down to his hips, his basketball shorts, and urged them down to reveal the boxer briefs that were below.
Shuffling, we kicked off our shoes, and I unhooked my skirt. It wasn't long until we were both nearly completely nude, short of thin fabric covering both of our sexes. He was on top of me, his presence so overpowering, so overwhelming, making me yearn for more and more. I even felt his cock through the two layers, and there was nothing more that I wanted to experience than that again. It had been six long years, and despite it all, I had revisited the memory of Bruce inside me so many times. It was the only way I could ever reach orgasm, letting fantasy turn to memory.