by Nikki Winter
“Darlin’,” Noel warned softly. “You must want to be late for work.”
Standing straight again, Alana placed the jar back on the counter top. She peered up at him through her lashes and asked, “Coffee?”
He jerked his head to the inside of his bedroom. “To-go mug on the dresser.”
“Thank you.”
Alana pulled her dress up easily enough and took a seat in a leather armchair to strap on her shoes. With that done, she checked for her purse, her phone and her keys, finger combing her bangs away from her face.
“Got supper plans?”
She stopped midway to the cup he’d left for her and turned slowly. They stared at one another for several beats. “Noel…no.”
He looked confused. “No, what? No, you don’t have dinner plans?”
“No, I’m not making dinner plans with you.”
That confusion just seemed to grow more. “Why not? Think I’ll take you to a cheesesteak stand in the park? I do have a little more class than that, sugar. Can even manage to tie a tie.”
Alana shook her head. “That’s not the reason I’m telling you no and you know it.”
Noel placed his mug down and walked closer. “Explain it to me because I seem to be running a bit slow this morning.”
She made a square with her fingers. “Window. Small. Window. Used. Window closed now.”
His lips twitched. “Ah. That.”
“Yes, that. That thing that you agreed to.”
One copper brow went up. “Did I now?”
Nodding, she walked backwards as he came forward. “Yes. Yes you did.”
“Hmm. I seem to recall some nonsense about how you would leave in the morning and there’d be no carrying on afterwards but I don’t believe I agreed to anything.”
“You did,” Alana insisted. “You agreed.”
He shook his head as he backed her into a wall. “No. I simply asked, ‘Done?’ to which you nodded. That was when I tugged you over for a kiss and you let out the sweetest little sound.” Angling towards her, he placed his hands on either side of her shoulders. “Heard that same sound when I bent you over by the armoire. And then again when I told you to ride my tongue. Do believe it came out one more time when I—”
“Hey, hey, hey!” She interrupted, pushing at his shoulders. “We do not need to relive noises and bending over and the riding of tongues and such. I was there, I know what happened.”
His grin was lecherous. “Why not make it happen again?”
Her chest heaved. “Because one time was more than enough. I enjoyed it, you enjoyed it. Let’s just revel in the fact that no one hurt themselves, put things in the wrong places or almost lost a nipple, okay?”
Noel snorted. “Those things happen to you before?”
“Yes,” she answered. “And much like then, I need not reminisce too much now.”
The grin slowly melted. “I want to see you again, Alana.”
“No, Noel.”
“So that’s it. You use me and then you just walk out? Last night meant absolutely nothing? Was I just another conquest?”
She blinked. “Those words. I’m so confused by you using them.”
“Why? I’ve got feelings. Right now they’re being terribly hurt by the fact that I seem to be no more than what‘s between my legs to you.”
Alana closed her eyes. “You’re fucking with me. You have to be fucking with me.”
“I like you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. And what I know, I like.”
“Noel…”
“Alana…”
“My voice doesn’t sound anything like that. That pitch of whining isn’t even in my range,” she told him.
“Oh, sugar. I know exactly how far your range can go. Spanking your clit showed me that.”
“Annnd we’re done here.” Alana slipped beneath his arm and around him. Snatching up the to-go mug, she made her way out of the room and down the stairs. Noel followed.
“I don’t understand. We had a good time. Great even. Then you wake up this morning antsier than a baby pig around a wolf pack wearing a shirt that says, ‘My rump, your roast.”
Country colloquialisms. How lovely. And charming. Annoyingly charming! He was doing it again!
“Listen, the thing of it is, this was nice—great even, just like you said—but it can’t happen again, it won’t happen again,” she responded, making a beeline for the door.
“Why?” Noel demanded.
Alana got it open and managed to get down the front steps as she called over her shoulder, “Because I’ve never been interested in eating oyster po’boys in the bathroom and I’m not about to start now.”
“I don’t even know what that means!” he called as she reached her car.
“That’s half the problem!” she called back as she climbed inside and pulled onto the road that would lead her out of his million dollar neighborhood. A quick glance in her rearview showed her a very determined looking Noel still standing on his porch, watching her drive away. Normally she relished in longing stares and crestfallen expressions. But this time something told her she was about to find out why he’d been dubbed the Brute up close and personal. Alana had no idea what worried her more. The fact that he was going to come after her or the fact that she sort of, kind of, way deep down wanted him to.
He’d been dismissed. Like a whore who’d served his purpose. The only thing that would’ve made this worse was waking up to money on his night stand and a note telling him to buy himself something pretty. The horrifying part of Alana’s departure was that he didn’t want her to leave. As a matter of fact, Noel had come seconds away from begging her not to. It was the cocoa butter and the legs. The best fucking legs this side of Philadelphia and he’d had them around his waist, thrown over his shoulders and locked about his head for hours on end the night before. Each time she came, each time she laughed, each time she flashed those goddamn dimples at him had been burned into both sides of his brain. The woman was perfection. Toffee skinned, sinful perfection. And just as he’d predicted, one night wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. Because now she was under his skin.
He’d had her scream into his mouth, claw at his shoulders and bite down over his nipple. A man didn’t forget these things. Her insane humor and the bewildered stare she shot him upon each climax, as though she hadn’t seen it coming, charmed him to no end. And Noel wasn’t easily charmed. Generally when he spent the night with someone, it was done at her place. He could make his excuses and be gone before she ever noticed. But he’d broken one of his cardinal laws and had brought Alana home with him, a place where he’d never taken another woman; a tidbit of information he hadn’t shared. He liked her in his bed, liked the scent of her all over his sheets. It was…foreign.
Her “window” as she liked to call it, had been expanded as far as he was concerned the second he sent her tumbling with him to the living room floor, hands groping beneath her dress. Skin as soft as it was smooth had pimpled with each brush of his hands and the moment she gave him that wicked smile, any thought of gentility fled because he knew that wasn’t what she wanted. Alana wasn’t interested in softness, sweetness. At least not in the midst of cinching her teeth down on the bottom rim of his mouth and begging him to fuck her harder. Filthy words only seemed to spur her on and so he’d denied his gentlemanly side and gave her what she wanted while taking what he needed.
The second her alarm had gone off this morning, he’d debated throwing her phone clear across the room but knew that would only get her ornery. He’d listened to it for a few minutes, enjoying the press of her ass up against his groin, the silkiness of those legs tangled with his own. Decadent. That was Alana. She was decadence personified and he wanted more of it. He’d brought her home with him because she wasn’t desperate to be in his space. She didn’t beg or pout or do that thing women seemed to enjoy where they told you nothing was wrong but really everything was wrong. She was blunt; v
ery, very blunt. Noel came from a family of blunt people. Southern bred Scotsmen with the inability to lie about their intentions so he could appreciate honesty while navigating a world full of liars and opportunists.
He’d had his fair share of female company simply looking for a gullible dimwit willing to nod to everything like their lapdog. And he’d had his fair share of female company that only ever seemed interested in what he could do for their image. Date one of the highest grossing quarterbacks in the league and you could find yourself invited to all kinds of fancy get-togethers and the like. He’d made the mistake of office entanglements a time or two before but had broken the habit when it had only gotten him migraines and unnecessary drama. Alana already had the juice for that with her career choice and she lacked a reputation of going after anyone too closely examined by the public eye. Noel didn’t question it. He didn’t question most things that seemed pretty obvious in their answers. She didn’t want her life poured across tabloids and blogs or broadcasted on breakfast time radio and he saw nothing wrong with that. What he did have a problem with was her skipping away from him as though he’d just stand there and pretend like nothing had ever happened between them.
Nah. That wasn’t gonna be the case. He’d make sure to tell her so soon enough.
Three
“Harlot!”
“Ah!” Alana yelped, spinning around quickly from the soft click of her front door and turning to glare at the very loud and very ridiculous individual just a few feet away. “Why. Are. You. Here?”
Alexander Stafford smirked at her from his comfortable post on her sofa. “The better question is where are you coming in from, strumpet?”
Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Spring break. In Cancun. You’re supposed to be there.”
“Meh,” her, younger-by-four-years, brother retorted casually. “Why go watch people behave lasciviously all the way in Mexico when I’ve got you and your sassy ways right here at home?”
Alana narrowed her gaze on him after reopening her eyes and walked closer to the sofa. “You passed up Cancun in prime beach sex season to be…here?”
Alexander shrugged. “Yeah.”
Closer still. “Because…?”
Another shrug. “I missed you. Being away at Pittsburgh has really made me grow to—you’re choking me!”
Tightening the arm she had wrapped around his throat, she questioned calmly, “Why are you here Alex?”
“I just really wanted to take the time to visit my—losing oxygen!”
Alana loosened her grip slightly. “The truth. I want to hear the truth. And then maybe the nice couple who raised us won’t have to bury you in a week.”
“You mean our parents?”
“That’s what I said,” she snapped. “Now give me answers!”
“You’re not a very optimistic girl, are yah?”
Balling up her free hand, she rasped her knuckles across his head, digging past the multitude of neatly twisted locs covering it until he bit her forearm and made her release him with a yelp. “You crazy bastard!”
“Says she of the Hulk Hogan biceps!”
Alana was almost across the couch, going for his eyes when he flailed and covered his face. “Wait! Wait! Wait! I’ll tell the truth!”
She stopped.
Irises a few shades darker than her own chanced a peek from between long fingers. “My birthday’s in a week.”
Yeah. She was aware. Which was why she’d spent time setting up the best suite she could at the best resort she could in Mexico. And yet…he was here as opposed to bringing in his twenty-first with authentic tequila and girls who wore sling shots as bathing suits. The sad part was, she really couldn’t claim surprise. Alexander wasn’t exactly like her. He was orderly, organized…obsessive compulsive. Her brother was an obsessive compulsive lunatic.
He didn’t concern himself with cutting apple slices perfectly or color coding socks. No, that would’ve been too simple for him. His fanatical behavior leaned towards his future. He was always worried about his future. Whereas Alana had been pretty self-assured from the moment she hit a track and sprinted—even when her plans of Olympic glory had been derailed due to an injury—her sibling remained in a constant state of burden. She understood why, could also sympathize with it. Their parentage was…unconventional.
Instability had become normalcy in their household. Waiting for a mid-life crisis to strike in order to abandon all reason and sensible behavior hadn’t been the M.O. of neither Angela nor David Stafford. Career switches had come and gone at the speed of light. At any moment one could have expected to be sat down and told that Mommy or Daddy was moving out for just a few weeks to get themselves in order. A few weeks would roll into a month which rolled into a year before one decided they couldn’t function without the other and then they’d all be within the same four walls again before the cycle was repeated. This was why Alexander wasn’t particularly privy to the meaning of spontaneity. He hated spontaneity. She would even go as far as to guess that he’d had this little trip catalogued for weeks now. His showing up unannounced? Only done because he had a key to her place. More than likely he had traded in his ticket, canceled his reservation quite some time ago, was good and unpacked already in her office with the futon completely prepared for his lanky form.
“Your birthday’s in a week and…?”
He interlocked his hands and rocked back on his heels. “As opposed to finding myself kidnapped by a cartel and used as a drug mule—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s Cancun, not Guantanamo Bay.”
“—I thought I could enjoy something a bit more…safe.”
Alana started for her bedroom. Taking a shower at Noel’s had cut her usual time to get ready for work in half which meant she had a few extra minutes to check blackboard and her school email. A law degree wasn’t absolutely necessary in the world of sports management but Alana—much like Alexander—had always been one to remain aware of every move she made. Each door she chose to step through could open another room of opportunity so she’d pushed to attend online courses while working at Blackwell & Sultana full-time. Graduation was just around the corner with each class finished and then it was all a matter of passing the bar examination; something that she valiantly tried to keep in perspective so she wouldn’t become manic.
“I swear to God it’s like I tried to send you to Colombia.”
“Oh, I’m sorry if I rather not have my decapitated head attached to a turtle and sent back across the border!”
She closed her door behind her, still arguing with Alexander from the other side. “Why are you crazy? Who made you so goddamn crazy?! Breaking Bad’s last season was almost a year ago, why are you still holding on to the hurt?!”
“Do you even have to ask?”
Right. No. She really didn’t. Alana had managed to escape into the loving arms of adulthood partially unscathed. Any scars gained afterwards were garnered all on her own.
While wrestling with the choice between wearing a flared A-line and a body hugging pencil skirt, she’d already plucked underthings from her drawers and managed to grab shoes. “You still haven’t said why you’ve committed an act of home invasion.”
“I need a favor,” Alexander retorted. She could hear him settle against the door.
“A favor?”
“Yes, a favor.”
“Does this involve me selling my ass to someone or…?”
There was silence and then, “Why are you this way?”
“Isn’t the answer to that obvious?” Alana queried while buttoning up her blouse. “It aggravates you—which means I’m serving my purpose on this big round thing that spins adjacent to the moon.”
A thump, that she took to be his forehead hitting the door, sounded off. “Five minutes. I just need five minutes of you behaving like an adult.”
Alana wrenched the knob and yanked, causing Alexander to stumble. “I’ve always behaved like an adult with you. Like when you were i
n tenth grade and I borrowed your laptop, just to stumble across screenshots of big, busty bimbos and instead of printing them and hanging them around the house, I just informed you that it was perfectly normal to want to play the fiddle every now and again. Then I respectfully asked that you not use my mango body butter for your new found love of instrumentation.”
He stood there for a moment, blinking down at her. “I’m going home.”
She caught his arm before he could dramatically throw himself out onto the street with all his woes. “Calm your tits and tell me what this mysterious favor is.”
Alexander sighed. “I’m aware that you have that very lucrative position at Blackwell & Sultana where you’re pretty much guaranteed a junior partnership once you pass the bar because despite the fact that you’re mouthy, they really seem to like you.”
“This is true…” Alana’s career path rested solely in the hands of Nyssa and she trusted it to remain there. It could take her nowhere but upwards.
“I’m also aware that due to said position you’ve managed to come across a bevy of incredible athletes who have enthusiastic fans like myself that would love to—”
“I see where this is going,” Alana cut in. “I see where this is going and I don’t like it.”
“I just really want to meet Ricardo Sanchez!” Alexander cried. “And maybe, possibly, probably go to his next game and sit in a sky box…”
Of course. Of course this was what he wanted. He practically worshipped at the MLB’s altar and as far as he was concerned Ricardo Sanchez, shortstop for the Newburgh Copperheads was a batting god among mere men. It just so happened that her employers also represented Mr. Sanchez.
“Ah. Well, I can make that happen.”