by Xavier Neal
Pride appears in my expression.
Damn right it was amazing.
Normally, it’s me who feels compelled to reassure women of that, even when it’s not true. That’s not the case here. Yet again, London lives outside the box.
“Lattes are for celebrations. Fraps for disappointments, because the high amount of sugar helps soothe the spirit.”
Slightly baffled by her answer, I slowly shake my head and retort, “Don’t um….Don’t remember my doctor mentioning that little fact about sugar the last time I had a physical.”
“He probably didn’t. It’s a secret known to those outside of western medicine. Learned it in a little village close to the Swiss Alps.”
My eyebrows can’t resist shooting up. “What was the name of the village?”
“Le Starbucks.”
The joke causes me to scowl, but she sneaks out another snicker. I shake my head again. “Have you ever even been to the Swiss Alps?”
“Actually, yes,” she answers, putting down her cup to grab a piece of bacon. “I’m friends with Guy Klinger, the world famous extreme snowboarder, and after winning yet another competition, he decided he wanted to unwind in the Alps, so he took me and a few others there for a week.”
“Did you two…” I try to smother out the growl growing, “sleep together?”
London shamelessly giggles again. “I tell you I spent the week with a world-famous athlete and instead of asking me obnoxious questions about who else I know, you get grumpy over the idea of me having sex with someone else.” She wets her lips with a smirk. “Gotta say, Hot Stuff, you’re making me feel special.”
“You are.”
I knew that the minute she looked up at me with her light blue stare. It hit me like a punch I would’ve never predicted encountering and keeps hitting me like an unseen force goading me towards something extraordinary.
“What about you?” She swiftly avoids the compliment. “Do you always like cappuccinos, or is this your first time? You know kinda like it’s your first time hooking up with a total stranger.”
“How’d you know that?”
London picks a grape from the bowl of fruit. “The whole ‘let’s talk thing’ is a dead giveaway.”
Embarrassment burrows into my cheeks once more.
What can I say? I prefer to know a little bit about the person who’s letting me bury my dick between their legs. Women aren’t just objects for men to get off with. They’re people. They deserve to be treated like it.
“Not a bad thing, Hot Stuff.”
Her reassurance lifts my chest back up. “I prefer cappuccinos all the time. Since the first day of college actually. Ordered one at an attempt to stand out from everyone else in my family who had always sworn by black coffee with a splash of milk.” The memory returns my smile. “I will say the best ones I’ve had were at this little shop in Venice.”
Intrigue appears in her blue glare, and my heart speeds up. “Why were you in Venice?”
“Woman I dated my last year in college begged to go for her birthday, so…I saved every penny I could and took her.”
London swoons from behind a strawberry.
“Unfortunately, she ended up cheating on me while we were there, and I cut the trip short.”
“Bitch,” the foul mouth red head scoffs. “What kinda fucking person does that to someone who went the extra mile for her? What kinda person puts that poison into their karmatic stream?!”
I shrug. “Women cheat on me constantly. I always chalked it up to the whole nice guys finish last bullshit.”
“You do finish last.” The smirk on her lips stirs my sleeping cock back awake. “It’s a pro not a con.”
With a smirk, I state, “If only you knew just how hard it was to finish last with you, Sunshine.…”
She winks, grabs the bowl of fruit, and bounces back over to the bed. “Do you like to travel?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t done much outside of work. You know, a conference here. A conference there.”
“Conferences for…?”
“Technology. I work with computers. I actually just changed jobs. I’m now head of the IT department for McCormick and McCordick, the art company.”
“Congratulations!”
The sound of genuine praise from someone besides my parents feels incredible.
It’s not that my brothers aren’t happy for me, it’s just anytime I mention work or start to, it always feels like they have to find a way to one up me with an achievement or announce a woe, rather than just let me have a moment. And because I love them, I let them have it. I put my excitement or accomplishment on the back burner to give them what they need. It’s always been this way. Probably always will be.
“Thanks….” I bat away the burden of my brotherly thoughts. “Anyway, I haven’t travelled for fun since…well-”
“The twat waffle incident.”
A louder laugh escapes at the same time she settles beside me on the bed. “What about you? Do you like to travel?”
“Love!” She exclaims. “Which is a good thing since I’ve been doing it from the womb.”
I remain silent in hopes she’ll willingly explain.
To no surprise she doesn’t. “When I go somewhere completely new for the first time, I always get a new ray for the sun on my back.”
My mind momentarily pictures the beautiful orange and yellow bursting design I prayed would assist in fusing her soul with mine. I assumed the vibrant colors and zig zag letter lines were the result of drunken chaos, nothing as significant as she’s stating.
Maybe that’s why I like London. Maybe I like that there’s always more than I’m expecting.
“I didn’t get to examine you as much as I liked,” she flirts, “so I’ll just ask. Do you have any tattoos?”
I quickly shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
“Afraid of needles?”
“No.”
“Afraid of strangers with needles?”
“No.”
“Afraid of strangers with needles in seemingly seedy areas?
I furrow my eyebrows at her accusation. “No.”
“Then why not?”
“They’re not professional.”
London leans back on the palms of her hands with a cocky smirk. “Depends on what you do for a living.”
“I can’t think of a single profession where covering your body with ink would be considered professional .”
Despite the slight disgust in my tone, she continues smiling. “When you work with extreme athletes for a living, it’s almost less professional not to have any.”
“Work with them how?”
“I’m more or less a sports blogger.”
The two words freeze my entire body.
Fuck. It’s not bad enough I don’t know shit about sports; she has to also write in the one form that annoys me the most?
“Extreme sports mainly. I work for X-treme X-press. Biggest extreme sports company in the country. Second biggest in the world. I go all around the globe writing about new talent, old talent, competitions, and pretty much whatever else I feel like. Sometimes I do live videos, sometimes I do interviews….It’s really whatever I’m in the mood for. Which is the best part. I can give my energy to whatever moves me when and where it does.”
Loving the light in her eyes as she speaks encourages me to keep her talking. “Is this what makes you famous?”
“That and of course the fact that my father is NBA legend Lamar “Big L” Hall.” When the look on my face doesn’t change, she coos, “You have no idea how much I love the clueless expression.”
I stretch over to place my mug on the cart. “Glad you do….Makes me feel like a moron.”
“Don’t.” Our eyes lock. “It means you’re sitting around listening to me babble because you wanna get the booty not because you want the booty to lead you to a hall of fame champion.”
Playfully, I tease, “I do want the booty.…”
“Then can we banish thi
s twenty questions bullshit for something more fun. Perhaps, twenty moans instead?”
The memory of her moans echoes in my mind causing my cock to nudge the blanket. Briskly, I brush away the fruit bowl barrier, and yank her close to me. She squeaks and drapes her arms around my neck. My mouth lightly feathers hers. “You first….”
London gives my top lip a swift lick. “Think you can make it twenty?”
“Thirty.”
Her blue eyes sparkle as I lean her backwards.
There will be plenty of time to get to know each other later. To ask the normal first and second date questions. Well, at least I plan on there being time. While she seems skeptical in this lasting longer than the time she has this room booked, something in the pit of my stomach is refusing to let that be true. This is not the end of our time. It’s just the beginning.
I slump down further on the BMX park bench. “Remind me again why every time we’re in your hometown you drag me here.”
Azura, my best friend and partner in all things work related, giggles from behind her camera. “Because part of your job is to find new talent, and this place is always filled with it.”
On a displeased groan my attention falls to the tablet waiting to be touched in my lap.
There are very few downsides to my job. I’m more or less my own boss. I get to travel anywhere around the world I want with my best friend. I’m allowed to not only write the way I talk, which apparently makes me a more relatable blogger, but I get to pick the subjects whenever my mood strikes. The only real restraints I have are whenever there are competitions to capture, and even then I only have to go to them if I deem them important enough. Between who my father is and the name I’ve made for myself in the sports industry, I rarely have to pay for anything other than souvenirs, and never have to answer to anyone other than the man at the top of the corporation who signs my pay checks.
“Write about me,” a raspy voice I’m beginning to loathe invades my thoughts.
Ah. The downside. Cocky, arrogant, self-obsessed athletes who feel I should be licking their nut sack as opposed to the other way around.
They make the little things I travel with, like serenity candles, necessary.
Reluctantly, I look up to see Jordan Gallant smugly smiling at me.
He doesn’t have enough real teeth left to be flashing them that proudly.
“Come on, Little L,” he tries to coax. “You know I’m a sure thing, baby. All I’m missing is the world class recommendation from you.”
“The only recommendation you’re getting from me is for a better brand of mouth wash. You smell like cheese balls and desperation.”
Azura tries to stifle her laugh.
The green eyed gremlin continues to grin.
“Shouldn’t you be guarding a bridge or bothering people about paying a toll?” I sneer with a tilt of the head. “Why are you in my face? Why are you obstructing my energy flow?”
He tries not to glare at the reference to his size and abundance of body hair. “Why do you do this to me every time we see each other?”
“Do what?”
“Pretend I’m not the next big thing about to break onto the extreme scene.”
“I’m not pretending.”
He rolls his eyes at my rejection.
“You’re B class talent on your best day. You don’t even have the balls to try a double flip in the air let alone something that would actually make my heart pound or panties wet. I live for those vibes. Those are the ones I ride. Those are the ones I chase. Those are the ones that keep multiple zeroes on my paycheck. Your biggest claim to fame isn’t even related to the sport you supposedly love! It’s making out with the actress, Meegan Malone, like that’s some sort of accomplishment. Everyone’s made out with Meegan. Self-included.”
Azura squeaks and slaps me on the arm. “You made out with Meegan Malone and didn’t tell me?”
“What happens in the mountains, stays in the mountains…” I playfully retort without bothering to look her direction.
Well. For the most part. The guy she ended up sleeping with that night had no such luck. Who I physically connect with isn’t based on their ‘sex’ so much as the pull I have to them, or in her case how much Patron I had.
“Point being,” the firmness in my tone hardens, “writing about you, recommending a sponsor picks you up, telling anyone in the extreme sports field that you are worth more than the price you paid for your bike would be bullshit. I don’t tolerate bullshit in my career. You don’t get to the top of the Mt. Kick Ass by supporting those who don’t even have the stones to be themselves. Which you don’t. Your style mimics Michael Glasskoff with fewer risks taken. Your wardrobe mimics Dallas Esterway with a bit more Johnny Cash. And your ego is a carbon copy of Derek Foster who, unlike you, has earned the right to be the cocky bastard he is. I was there when he landed and the crash cushion deflated. There was definitely something much bigger than his padding protecting him that day.” The vibrating of my cell phone in my purse beside me briefly pauses my speech. “Here is my last free recommendation to you . Figure out who the hell you are and who the hell you wanna be. Once you’ve got that, then figure out how to convey that through your sport. BMX riding, like everything else, is not just about skill, but art.”
I pull the ringing device out and am surprised at the name.
With a wide grin, I prepare to hit the answer key, but shoo away the nuisance in my face first. “Go now. I have an important call to answer.”
Jordan tries to hide the hurt from having his ass handed to him. “More important than me?”
“Aw,” my fake coo is offered with a similar look. “Everyone is more important than you.”
His jaw hits the ground as Azura finally lets a laugh free from beside me.
“Hey there, Hot Stuff,” I answer with mirth in my voice, mind immediately picturing how red his face is turning. “Wasn’t expecting your call.”
Honestly, I wasn’t. After he drove me to the airport Monday morning, which is when we finally discussed why I don’t have my own car or apartment even if Highland is where I spend most of my free time, I assumed our time in paradise was over. While we spent the weekend having so much sex it still hurts two days later and avoiding the stereotypical in depth chats about what growing up was like and where we see ourselves in ten years, I just assumed that was enough for him. It would’ve been more than enough for any other guy I hooked up with….But Oliver is far from their type. It’s why this weekend was one of the best I’ve ever had in my life. It’s why him calling secretly scares me. I’m the kind of woman that’s fun for a weekend…not sure how much more. At least…that’s the message the cosmos constantly deliver to me.
“I would’ve called Monday night, Sunshine, but I remembered you were going to be busy at some dinner….”
Not exactly work busy, so much as McCoy busy. My best friend married into a huge family with a fondness for family gatherings. Lucky for me one of her sister in laws makes these amazing twice baked potatoes that makes long flights and overly filled PDA meals with them worth it.
“And then I would’ve called yesterday morning, after my doctor’s appointment, but my brother, Eddie, needed to vent. Then I planned to call last night, but because I got into work late on Monday-”
“I told you I could’ve taken a cab-”
“I had to stay really late and play catch up.”
His ignoring of my interruption expands my smile, while the long drawn out silence shifts me uneasily in my seat.
There’s no reason I should be anxious about him calling. He obviously didn’t do it by mistake . He obviously isn’t calling just to get laid again. He wants something more from me. The big beautiful universe is giving me that clue like it’s daring me to ignore it. Again . I ignored it when I left for the airport and he swore this wasn’t just a onetime thing. I ignored it during the entire flight when I felt like I was soaring and not because we were in the air. I don’t usually ignore signs and vibes from the
cosmos, but what if this path ends in heavy havoc and heartache because he doesn’t feel it too? That’s not a cure I feel like scouring the globe to try to find.
Leaning back against the bench seat, I try to lighten the situation the best way I know how, “Why don’t you just admit you called because you missed seeing me naked and the rest of this conversation will go a lot smoother?”
The scoff sounds on the other end of the phone elicit several snickers from me.
Oliver trips and stumbles over his words, but doesn’t deny the accusation.