by Megan McCoy
After the TV people started packing up, he took the rest of the shirts out and started passing them out. He could have let the coach do it, sure, but suddenly going home didn’t seem as attractive.
Maggie said, as he started down the line, “Hey, everyone, this is my neighbor, and he’s new in town. Think we should invite him to pizza with us after practice?” A chorus of wolf whistles and cheers followed, and he half smiled, forgetting at times how rowdy a group of women could be. His work was male dominated and he was rarely around many women. It was hard to think of many things he wanted to do less than hang out with a bunch of women in a pizza joint. One on one women were fine. A group of them who wolf whistled, not so much.
“I’m sorry, I’d love to, but I have another appointment,” he said, causing a chorus of groans, as he gave out the last shirt to Maggie and smiled down at her. “How’s your mom?” he asked softly.
“Home and resting, thank you for asking,” she said, smiling up at him, looking adorably cute in her red T-shirt and long tanned legs under those tiny denim shorts.
“What position do you play?” he asked, not wanting the conversation to end for some reason.
“First base,” she said, taking the shirt.
“Maggie is our best hitter,” the tall redhead next to her said. “The main reason we’re going to make state.”
“We have a few more games yet,” Maggie laughed. “But yeah, we’re going to make it.”
“Best hitter, huh?” he said and then turned to face her. “See you later.”
Why had he said that? He never said things he didn’t mean, so apparently, he meant it. He picked up the empty box, half waved at the coach and headed back to his car.
He did have an appointment. An appointment with a beer and a game, then to unpack and take a look at his office and see if he could find anything to prove she’d been snooping. Not that it really mattered, there was nothing but business papers in there, and none of them were secret. He just felt curious and wanted to know. Wondering if she’d gone in his bedroom, too, he told the car he wanted to go home. The map and her voice led him down the side streets. He needed to take some time to look around the town more. So far, he hadn’t had any time to do that. Unpacking and working were his two main priorities. He liked his house comfortable and welcoming when he came home at night. He’d be there a few months, then make some decisions and start renovating. Allowing himself a small flight of fantasy, he wondered what it would be like to come home to a warm, comfortable and welcoming woman? His brain flashed an image of huge hazel brown eyes with thick lashes, looking up at him with guilt, with panic, with submission. He smiled, while pulling onto his street. He liked that vision very much and what Sebastian Jones liked, he generally got.
Chapter 3
Maggie left the diner’s parking lot, oddly in a hurry to get home. Placing her phone in the holder, she dialed her parents. “Hi, Maggie,” her dad answered.
“Hi, Dad, just wanted to check on you and Mom,” she said. “Everything going fine? Mom feeling okay?”
“She’s already antsy to get out and check her garden, like it changed in twenty-four hours,” he said exasperatedly.
“She’s supposed to rest for a few days, isn’t she?” Maggie asked, almost alarmed.
“I’m tired of resting,” her mom’s voice came from the background. Apparently, she was on speaker.
“Rest is supposed to make you not tired,” Maggie said. “Watch TV, and learn something,” she teased.
“I’ve already caught up on all my recorded shows,” she complained. “I need to pick green beans.”
“I’ll come out tomorrow and pick beans, you can snap them from your recliner chair,” she said.
“I guess,” her mom said unhappily. “Maybe I’ll get ahead on my French classes since no one is letting me do anything.”
Maggie shook her head, wishing she had her mom’s energy and drive and clicked off as she pulled into her driveway a few minutes later, noting that Sebastian’s car was in his driveway. His meeting that he’d skipped pizza for must have been a short one. Or maybe it was online, the phone, or something? So, he was a hot shot in Jones’ Farm Equipment, huh? Everyone had heard of them, it was where all the farmers went to buy their tractors and combines and whatever else they used in their fields. Despite growing up in farm country, she knew very little about farming. Sure, she knew they had big equipment in the fields, but she didn’t know a tiller from a harrow or a plow. While, yes, her family lived on a few acres in the country, and they always had a huge garden and a few chickens, and an occasional pig named Bacon or Sausage Patty, her mom was a nurse and her dad sold insurance. The little place in the country was their refuge and hobby, they weren’t farmers.
Neither was Sebastian Jones, with his very expensive highly polished shoes, and his fancy suits, and even fancier car. He was an interesting conundrum. He seemed very comfortable being interviewed on TV, something most people would find nerve wracking. He’d done it before, obviously. And he was opening a new store in town. That was always good news. Any new businesses were welcome in town, and a big, high end productive store was even better. Her little town of Fenway was about twelve thousand people, but encompassed a lot of farmland and farmers around. The school buses started running before six am to get all the kids to school before eight, they were that spread out over farmland.
He apparently was one of the Joneses of Jones’ Farm Equipment. She wondered why he bought a house in her little neighborhood when he could afford, more than likely, one of the big ones on the other side of town. When she got to know him better, she’d ask him. It would be a little rude to do it this soon, and really, she cared more about the fact he smacked her butt than his bank balance. She did okay, enjoyed her job, and wasn’t looking for a rich husband or a sugar daddy. He was interesting though, and she felt greatly attracted to him. Now, she had to figure out a way to get to know him better. How sneaky could she be?
Hmm. Maybe she should be a modern woman and just ask him out? Nah. Why would he be interested in a ball playing teacher when he could have his pick of socialites? She got out of her car, giggling at the thought of socialites in their town.
Calling as she walked in the house, “Hey, Simon, you want to go to the back yard or on a walk?”
He trotted over to where she hung the leash, so she snapped it on him and grabbed a bag. “Come on, just once around the block though, I’ve had a long day,” she told him, letting him lead the way out the door. He turned at the end of the walk and headed opposite from Sebastian’s house. Oh, well, she’d get to walk by it in a few minutes. She felt like a teenager with her first crush, wanting to walk by his house and calling to just hear his voice then hang up. With caller ID, it was harder to do that. Most people either knew it was you or simply didn’t answer, but you could still walk or drive by their house, which was better than nothing.
She tried to hurry Simon around the block, but as usual he was in no hurry. There were trees to be sniffed and squirrels in the trees to guard her from. Resigning herself to their usual saunter, they finally made it to the last turn that led them back home. She walked looking at his house, until she noticed Simon had stopped. Of course, he had to do his business on Sebastian’s lawn. Why not? She got the bag out and put it on her hand, and just as she bent over to pick it up, heard from behind her, “Just don’t throw that one my porch.”
Oh, yeah, that. Could she die of mortification right here and now? The yard swallow her up or something? Tree branch on her head. Nope, no luck today. She stood up slowly, and turned, trying to put a cocky grin or something that passed for one, on her face.
“You sure?” she asked as if concerned. “I could.”
“Once was plenty,” he said dryly.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, I dropped it there and forgot about it,” she confessed. “But I cleaned your shoe!”
Sebastian simply stared at her impassively. She dropped her eyes, “Yeah, it wouldn’t have needed cleaned if I hadn’
t forgotten to pick it up,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Actions have consequences, Maggie,” he said, and turned to go back in the house.
Staring at him opened mouthed, she shut it and tied her bag up, to take home and properly dispose of it. She watched him walk in and was tempted, just a little, to loosen the knot and toss the bag back on the porch, but she wasn’t that kind of childish. Was she? No.
“Come on, Simon,” she said and tugged on his leash to get him moving toward home. They went in, she fed him, and he then curled up and went to bed in the laundry room. He liked it in there sometimes, she suspected it was the cozy bed Ryan had given him for Christmas last year, or the warmth and sounds of the washer and dryer, but of course, he couldn’t tell her.
Now, Sebastian could have told her whatever she needed to know, but instead preferred to be cryptic and terse. Why did she feel guilty? Because she’d done something wrong? But she’d fixed it. She’d cleaned his shoe, checked the porch to make sure it was clean, and confessed. What more could she do? Not much that she could think of. Those were the consequences to her silly action of tossing the sack on the porch. What other consequences could there be? She never did take him that thank you she was going to, the pie or casserole or something. Looking in her pantry, she saw a home canned jar of blackberries in syrup. There was a carton of vanilla ice cream in the freezer. They could have dessert together.
Then she would just see what kind of man he really was. Maybe, or maybe he would just send her home.
Sebastian changed into his jeans and hung his suit up in the closet. She’d be over soon. He felt certain of it. He knew that look in her eyes, she would bring some kind of peace offering and an apology. She might not be sure what she was apologizing for, but she’d be doing it. If that happened, well, then he’d know he was right, and the next months ahead would be much more interesting in this small town. He wasn’t, of course, interested in anything long term. With his lifestyle of moving every year or two, what woman would want to tag along, and besides, there were always new women in every town. The chase was part of the excitement, and despite what he realized was his male equivalent of resting bitch face, he craved some excitement now and then. Teaching and training a new woman was his idea of the ultimate thrill, though really the last few rather blended in his brain. Maybe this one would challenge him a little more.
Sure enough, about half an hour later, there was a knock on his door. Opening it, he looked down to see his small neighbor. She truly was a knockout with a contagious impish grin, and a small sprinkle of freckles across her nose. All that sun while she played ball he imagined. He wondered how the junior high boys in her classes fared. Lots of drooling going on in the class, he imagined. Clad in those denim shorts with long legs that ended in bright pink sneakers, she sported an excellent tan. She’d changed into a longer T-shirt and he approved of this one.
“Cardinals, huh?” he said.
“Don’t tell me you're a Cubs fan,” she moaned. “I can’t live next to a Cubs fan.”
“Good thing I don’t have to sell my house,” he said, and opened the door to let her in.
“Well, that proves you’re smart,” she grinned at him, and held up her containers. “I brought dessert, ice cream with homemade blackberry syrup, and yes, I not only picked them but put them up myself.”
“You didn’t need to do that,” he led the way to the kitchen. This was a good peace offering.
“Sure, I did. Blackberries are stubborn and won’t can themselves,” she said.
Throwing her an almost startled look, he got out a couple bowls. She started talking about her favorite team, and he threw in a word now and then to let her know she was being listened to. The woman liked the sound of her own voice. She must be a good teacher.
Finally, they finished the ice cream and on her own, she went to the sink and washed the bowls. She stood there, in front of him, clenching and unclenching her fists. He waited patiently.
“Sebastian,” she finally started.
“Yes, Maggie,” he said as gently as he was able.
“I’m sorry for the bag on the porch. I tossed it there, and let the window guys in and out the back door and forgot about it. There was no excuse for that and I’m usually not that careless. I’m very particular about cleaning up after my dog. That’s the first time that’s happened,” she blurted out in one breath, and kept eyeing him oddly. So, there was more.
“You’re forgiven for that,” he said. “I know it wasn’t malicious”
This time she looked at him startled as if that thought hadn’t occurred to her. She shook her head and her bouncy hair swung around her face. “It wasn’t,” she said. “But, well.” She stopped as if she couldn’t go on. Okay, he knew how to handle that.
He stood up, took her by the hand and led her to the living room sofa. Settling her next to him, he turned the TV on, and turned it to low. He didn’t know what was on, but knew a bit of noise and not having to look at him would help whatever confession she was trying to make. He knew women.
“Okay, spill,” he said, and reached over to stroke her hair. He’d been wanting to touch it. It seemed almost alive, bouncing in a ponytail or tumbling free about her shoulders, glossy and clean. She didn’t seem to mind, and actually put her head on his shoulder.
“You’re different in jeans,” she said.
“Not really. I’m always me,” he told her.
“What does it mean, actions have consequences?” she asked him tentatively.
“It's not a hard concept,” he said, half smiling.
“What kind of consequences?” she asked.
Ah, this was a very good sign. “Depends. Employees get fired. Speeders gets tickets. Naughty women get spanked.” There it was, that intake of quickly sucked in breath that meant she was interested. He’d known. He didn’t know how he knew, but he’d known.
“What?” she whispered.
“You heard me,” he said, and couldn’t resist stroking her hair again. Very touchable hair.
“Spanked?” This was barely squeaked out, and he felt very pleased. Yeah, she’d be over his knee before the night was over.
“You’ve heard the word before,” he said. “Over the knee, usually bare bottomed, and the brain is reminded via the bottom’s nerve sensors of the transgression.”
“Umm,” she was breathing harder now, or maybe couldn’t catch her breath. It was hard to tell. Righteous indignation time, where she would protest that grown women didn’t need to be spanked and what kind of man was he?
But she surprised him. “I looked in your drawers,” she said. “And your closet.”
Okay, he could think on his feet. “Are you saying you deserve a spanking?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly, then met his eyes. “But actions have consequences,” she said, her body trembling slightly.
“Yes, they do,” he agreed. “Why did you snoop when I gave you my trust?”
“I don’t know,” she said, eyes dropping. “I just sort of wanted to?” A question.
“And now you feel badly about it?” He couldn’t tell if she really felt badly about it, or if she just wanted to experience a spanking. He knew lots of women enjoyed a light spanking for foreplay and many of them wondered about a discipline spanking, but most didn’t ask for one. This one was almost flinging herself over his knees, and his hand ached to begin, but knew he had to do the dance first.
“I do, but I don’t want a…” she choked.
Ah, the token protest.
“No one really wants one, but sometimes they’re deserved, don’t you think?” he said softly.
“I wasn’t really bad,” she wiggled beside him.
“You really weren’t good though, were you?” He tipped her chin up so her eyes met his again.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I deserve… consequences.” He saw fear, anticipation, and something else he couldn’t quite figure out yet, in her eyes. Normal.
“All right,” he said
as if he’d just decided. “I’m going to give you a spanking. Now, spankings hurt, but once it’s over, all will be forgiven.”
“Hurt a lot?” she said doubtfully, looking up at him with those enormous hazel brown eyes.
“Bearable,” he said decisively, wanting to give her the experience but not scare her off. For some reason, he wanted this little miss over his knee often.
“And then you won’t be upset with me for snooping?” she asked plaintively.
Sebastian knew a stalling technique when he heard it and grabbing her by her arm, he hauled her over his lap and administered the first smack before she had a chance to realize what happened. He heard a big gasp and wished she had something on other than denim. Denim hurt his hand and really blocked a lot of sensation for her, whether she would realize that or not.
He smacked her cute butt three more times before she started wiggling, just a little. It took four more before her hand flew back. Not saying a word, he grabbed it and held it to her back, and gave her three more fairly hard swats, the last one on her thigh and it made her squeal. He wasn’t going to explain the rules this time. Only give her just enough to make her think twice, but not to get to panic mode and for her to crave more. Yes, he knew what he was doing.
“You deserve this,” he informed her, continuing the steady slow swats and appreciated the fact she was trying to control her wiggles but failed. So, he was an ass man, sue him.
“No!” she grunted out, and tried fairly hard to squirm off his lap that time He smacked her harder and told her, “Hold still.”
“I can’t!” she wailed.
“Try,” he said. “Naughty girls get their bottoms warmed.”
Yup, as usual, that made her melt for a few seconds. So, he heated her up until she squealed again and gasped. Okay, that was probably enough for the first time around. He gave each cheek two more firm smacks and one extra hard right in between and pulled her up. She wasn’t crying but she was panting and sweating, and her face was red either from exertion or embarrassment.