by Vera Roberts
“If I were a jealous and bitter woman who wanted to get even with my ex and his new girlfriend, what would I do?” Ian’s British voice said aloud to no one.
“You would publish the photos,” Ian’s assistant, Dominique, appeared at the doorway. She was a young beauty with light-colored wavy hair, matching light brown eyes, and a smooth almond skin complexion. Despite the sexual tension between the pair, they never consummated the relationship.
“Besides that,” he shook his head, “I need more.”
Dominique studied Ian’s office calendar and thought about the time. “I would release the photos when everyone would be talking about everything but what they’re known for.” She turned back to Ian and pointed at the calendar.
“I would release them during her art show and his preseason opener,” he replied, “which happens to be during the same week.”
“When’s the new season of Real Housewives?” Dominique asked. “I’m sure that’s coming up soon.”
Ian shook his head, “You know I don’t follow any of that bullshit.”
“Here, I’ll pull it up,” Dominique walked over to Ian and bent over beside him. He leaned back in his chair, took a lingering glance at her apple-shaped rear, and smiled.
“I like how you did your hair,” he complimented.
Dominique slowly smiled and shook her head. Ian knew exactly what to say that wouldn’t cross the lines of sexual harassment. She only wished he would take a more romantic interest in her instead of toeing the line. “Thank you. Here, I got it.” She scrolled down the Bravo network site and clicked on Rebecca’s show. “Well, well, well…lookahere.”
Ian sat up in his chair and smiled at the coincidence from God. Rebecca’s new season premiere was also the same week of Sydney’s show. “She’s either dumber than we thought or smarter than we’d anticipated.”
“I feel it’s a little bit of both.” Dominique stood up. “What’s your game plan?”
“The game plan is tell Dean so he can tell Sydney. He’ll have no choice and this is something I do not want to break to her,” Ian replied, “and then once that’s done, we need to get ahead of this so it won’t become breaking news.” He paused and thought of one of his friends. “And I know just the person to handle this.”
Nine
It was her, God, and a blank canvas.
As Kimbra’s “Waltz Me to the Grave” blasted through her earbuds, Sydney began to sketch Quinn’s mural. She already had a few ideas to work on it – a definite giraffe, baseball diamond, and a stack of books. The other things would be more difficult to figure out.
She needed to know about his likes, his loves, his pet peeves, and his turn-ons. She wanted to know his favorite ice cream, if he liked coffee or tea, and what was his current Netflix addiction?
She didn’t want to be like some other artists who painted just the subject and that was it. No, she wanted to know the ins and outs, the ups and downs, the sideways and backwards. Why was this 24-year-old phenom so misunderstood? Or was that his intention?
Sydney sketched with a pencil, going through several in a box. She erased and started over. She cursed when she became distracted. She smiled when she finally got it right.
If she wanted to be honest, the mural was never about Quinn; it was all about Sydney. She knew the power of social media and the power of word of mouth. She wanted to prove she was beyond the hype of Instagram, Twitter, and the like. She wanted to shout to everyone who had purchased her artwork she was worth much more and that their art was going to be priceless.
Hopeful dreams, she thought.
It was incredibly hard to make it in the art world and many artists often held fulltime jobs while they did art shows and gallery openings. The public’s taste was fleeting and fickle with many people wanting to have the art free instead of paying the cost for it.
Despite the not-so hidden masochist feeling of being a creative, Sydney remained steadfast. She was bored when she worked at Macy’s and she often scribbled between waiting for customers. Now she was fulfilling her lifelong dream and the pressure was on.
The real question was – could she live up to her own hype?
~~~~~~
The baseball world was significantly different from the hockey one.
Sydney couldn’t explain it. It seemed each player was an entity by himself before he joined the team. She guessed she could say that about hockey and maybe all of the other sports. It was just strange. There was a definite star and then there was everyone else.
Quinn was a star but he definitely didn’t act like one.
If Sydney didn’t know better, she thought Quinn was part of the staff or someone’s overly-excitable kid brother. He genuinely asked about each player and engaged in a conversation that went beyond the typical, ‘Hey, how’s it going?’
He smiled and laughed a lot before it was time for him to get serious. When he did, he secluded himself into a hidden corner where no one bothered him. It seemed to be a rule had the rest of the team slowly made their way to the dugout. Sydney carefully watched how everyone acted and wondered if she should follow their lead but decided to stay back to watch Quinn from a distance.
In methodical fashion, Quinn took out his Legos and grouped them by size and color. Then, little by little, he constructed his Duplo train set.
“Fascinating,” Sydney whispered.
“Isn’t it?”
Sydney was startled by the other voice in the room and the brunette apologized to her. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”
“No, it’s fine. I just thought it was me and him in here,” Sydney held out a hand, “I’m Sydney Walker and I’m shadowing Quinn for the week.”
“Yeah, I heard about you! I’m a huge fan of your art, by the way,” the brunette shook Sydney’s hand, “I’m Bobbi Gibson, athletic trainer for the Dodgers.”
“Ohhh…” Sydney realized she was meeting the Bobbi that Quinn spoke to her about. His special friend. She was rather tall, curvy, with eyes that matched her dark hair. Her skin was so smooth and clear, it reminded Sydney of porcelain. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here.” Bobbi looked back at Quinn, who was constructing another Duplo set. “He accidentally left his Star Wars Legos at home so he has to work with the preschool version.”
“He always does this?” Sydney asked.
“Each and every game,” Bobbi noted. “If he doesn’t, he has a very shitty game. It totally messes up his concentration.”
“Wow,” Sydney wasn’t sure if she was fascinated or confused.
“Does Dean have any pre-game rituals?” Bobbi asked.
“He listens to a lot of hip-hop. He’s on a heavy 90’s kick right now.” Sydney thought about her boyfriend. “That’s all I know, really.”
“That seems so boring compared to Quinn.” Bobbi realized she spoke too much. “I’m sorry if that came out like an ass.”
“No, no offense taken,” Sydney shook her head, “so, are you and Quinn a couple?”
Bobbi thought about whatever was going on between her and Quinn. Was he a friend? No, because friends don’t make out between bites of cashew chicken and broccoli beef. Was he her boyfriend? No, because there was no commitment either way.
They weren’t quite friends with benefits and even Bobbi wondered if she was wasting her time with a guy who still slept with a stuffed giraffe. “No,” she finally answered.
“Oh,” the answer surprised Sydney but she didn’t pursue it further.
“Well,” Bobbi felt the need to explain, “it’s complicated.”
“Okay,” Sydney replied, “that tells me you’re in denial about something.”
“I don’t want the attention of dating an athlete,” Bobbi shrugged, “you know how it goes.”
Sydney was well aware of the attention. She was positive most of the fans on her IG page were just nosy because they wanted to see the woman Dean chose. She was also positive the women were waiting for her and Dean to permanently split so they could get their
thotful paws on him. “Tell me about it.” Sydney commented.
“How do you handle it?” Bobbi asked. “Don’t you get jealous?”
“Insanely,” Sydney was frank, “but I also know he comes home to me.”
“But what about the other women out on the road?” Bobbi asked. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
Sydney remembered a time where a female fan jumped on Dean and wrapped her legs around his body. She was about to wrap her fists around the girl’s face until a team’s wife stopped her. “Of course it does,” Sydney shrugged, “but I can’t be concerned of what might happen when I know what’s going to happen. If Dean wanted someone else, he would be with someone else. He’s not the type to keep me stringing along because he wants to have fun.” Sydney glanced back at Quinn. “Quinn reminds me a lot of Dean. They seem to go full on and in love with the women they want to be with. They either do it all the way or it’s no way.”
Bobbi smiled as she met eyes with Quinn, who smiled back at her. “He’s a great guy.”
Sydney turned back to Bobbi. “Go for it,” she suggested, “you two have nothing to lose if you really dig each other.”
“You’re right, we have nothing to lose.” Bobbi waved at Quinn before he went back to his Legos. “Who knows where it would lead to?”
“Exactly!” Sydney watched the couple and figured out another piece in her mural for Quinn. “Who knows where it would lead to?”
~~~~~
Dean could hear the music from the elevator.
As he managed to carry the large pepperoni pizza and case of Blue Moons to Sydney’s loft, he smiled. His girl was in a great mood and in turn he was in a great one. Sydney’s happiness was infectious.
Beyoncé’s “Blow” deafened his ears when he entered the loft, and Dean stared at the sight before him: Sydney drew in front of a canvas and wiggled her ass to the music. She wore the tiniest of bikinis and Dean immediately felt a twitch in his jeans. Her butt was covered and that sight made it worse for him. He knew what was underneath.
Good Lord.
He swallowed once. He blinked twice. He finally let out a soft breath as he stared another few long seconds and watched his girlfriend do her greatest Beyoncé impersonation. The air-conditioned loft suddenly became hot and Dean licked his lips in bewilderment as Sydney continued to dance.
Her dark and flowy locks bounced off her shoulders. Her body shined with oil and looked delicious and supple. Dean already imagined bending Sydney over and taking a bite of her rear before he entered her and…
“You know I have cameras here,” she continued dancing before she bent over backwards and smiled at him. “I knew you were here.”
He forgot how flexible she was. Lord have mercy. “That doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, “keep dancing.”
Sydney straightened up and laughed before she turned down the music. She walked over to her boyfriend and kissed him. “How was your trip to Nike?”
“It was great,” Dean set the pizza and beer down, “everything is set and uh, yeah, that’s it. You officially have a richer boyfriend.”
Sydney shook her head. “You know I don’t care about that.”
“I know,” the thought of Sydney signing the prenup reappeared in Dean’s mind before he shook the image away, “but it’s something to celebrate, yes?”
“I love celebrating with you!” Sydney looked at the beer and frowned a little. “I don’t like to drink while I’m painting, though.”
“Not a problem,” Dean opened a cupboard in the kitchen and was happy at what he saw. “We’ll improvise!” He shook a small packet of Kool-Aid.
Sydney slapped her hands and pointed at her boyfriend. “That’s bae right there.” She took out plates and helped herself to a slice of pizza. She took the plate back with her to the canvas. “I didn’t think you liked Kool-Aid, babe,” Sydney said with a bite in her mouth. “You never drank it when I was at your home.”
“Because you didn’t know how to make it right,” Dean carefully added sugar, “you never added enough sugar.”
“I didn’t want to contribute to drinking liquid diabetes.” Sydney defended. “It’s always too sweet.”
“Because you don’t know how to make it right!” Dean laughed. “It’s supposed to be sweet. Grape, red, blueberry….it’s not supposed to be a safe flavor.”
“Hah!” Sydney chuckled. “You said red.”
Dean stirred the concoction. “My friends used to tease me about red being my favorite flavor,” Dean chuckled, “they always said red wasn’t a flavor.”
“Red is too a flavor!” Sydney argued. “Your friends had no taste!”
“I like your taste,” he took a gulp of Kool-Aid.
Sydney equally gulped before she let out a small sigh. The way he looked at her when he said it was so magical, as if they were the only two people on earth. They told each other a lie that they were better off being friends for now before they continued with rebuilding their relationship.
The elephant in the room was cramping her style.
She missed the way his shirts smelled, a bit of funk, cologne, and all Dean. She missed watching him trim his beard, being so meticulous with the scissors as if he were performing surgery. She missed the way he wrapped his legs and arms around as they slept, as if she was his personal snuggle buddy.
Sydney realized though they were “taking things slow”, that was never their MO. Dean lived hard and fast and Sydney was more than happy to ride shotgun or his face. “I thought we were taking things slow?”
“I’m fully clothed and so are you,” Dean pointed out, “I’m also standing several feet away from you. If we go any slower, I’ll be out on the street.”
“Come help me with this,” she changed the subject and beckoned him to her. “I’m working on a piece and I need your opinion on it.”
“Okay,” Dean walked over to his ex and stood next to her. He saw a faint outline of two bodies in a sexual position. A woman was leaned over on top of a man. She had one hand on his chest, while his hands were cradling her ass as she rode him.
Dean immediately thought about him and Sydney. As he viewed the drawing, it was easy to come to that conclusion. The woman’s hair was long and flowy while the man’s hair was splayed out behind him.
Dean also didn’t want to think he was looking at an erotic image of themselves when Sydney could’ve had someone completely different in mind. “What am I looking at?”
Sydney wanted to say he was looking at a self-portrait of themselves but kept that information private. “Do you feel anything about this? I’m trying to convey love and emotion.”
Dean twitched in his jeans again and adjusted his stance. “What’s it called?”
“Either Breakfast Can Wait or Insatiable. I can’t really decide between the titles.” She crossed her arms. “I was also thinking No Angel.”
“Well, no. Only one fits.” Dean walked over to the sketch and began tracing it with his fingers. “Your audience needs to feel the emotion of the people connected. What is she feeling? What is he feeling? What is transcending between the two of them? Are they in love? Are they in lust? When he enters her, what is going through his head? Does he just want to get his rocks off? Is that the father of her children? What’s going on here?” He was met with silence. “Sydney? Did I say too much—” He turned around and noticed she stripped down to her bikini bottom. She was topless.
Dean stared at the goddess before him. His eyes traveled from her painted toenails to her toned legs and abs. Tattoos graced her arms and Dean could admit she was the only girl who could rock a sleeve and still be sexy as all get out.
Her nipples were hard enough to cut glass and Dean could see the small rise of her chest. Vegas was officially a month prior and they’d played it safe. They went on dates but they’d never spent the night in the same bed again. Instead, they talked about anything and everything under the sun, sometimes with Dean leaving at daybreak.
Other than the intense dry humping s
ession in Vegas, nothing physical past kissing occurred between the couple. They both felt that step would be taken when it appropriate and when they both were ready. It was no doubt in Dean’s mind where Sydney stood.
“Do we still have to take things slow?” She asked.
Dean peeled off his shirt. “Hell, no.” He walked over to Sydney and picked her up before laying her down on the sofa behind her. He shed his clothing and laid on top of her as they exchanged kisses.
Dean slid down Sydney’s body, softly kissing her breasts before he reached her navel, then finally, her bikini line. His hands slid all over her body, from her breasts down to her balls of her feet before he stopped at her sex. He spread her legs apart and pushed the bikini to the side as he took a small inhale of her.
He brushed his stubble against her inner thigh as his fingers traced her sex, studying the delicacy and intrinsic design of it. Dean’s hands curled underneath Sydney’s rear and he kissed her once before licking along her flower and pearl. His tongue slid up and down as his scratchy stubble tickled her below.
Sydney gasped and sighed as she relished Dean’s tongue on her. He was never shy about orally pleasing her and often did it without expecting anything in return. His tongue had a rhythm that was only matched by his strong thrusts – strong, slow, deliberate, and breathtaking.
He rose up Sydney’s legs, putting both of them over his shoulders as he continued to please her, exchanging the slow movement with rapid-fire licking instead. He placed one hand on her belly and watched her reaction as her face morphed into various expressions of pleasure.
Sydney felt heat swell inside of her, reaching to a fanatic boiling point until she finally climaxed, screaming out Dean’s name, and fell back on the sofa.
Dean rose, grabbed a condom from his jeans, and was about to rip it open when Sydney stopped him.
“I want to put it on you,” Sydney sat up on her elbows. “Please?”
Dean saw the smoldering look in her eyes and a soft grunt escaped his lips. Sydney hurried over to him, ripped the foil packaging open, and covered him. Their mouths fused together as Sydney pulled Dean on top of her back on the sofa.