And he did.
It wasn’t until after the game was over that he found out that Danny Archer—the sports agent who had given him the tickets to the party—had been watching from the owner’s box. “Randy, you’re exactly the kind of kid I want on my client roster,” Archer said, slapping him on the back. “The kind of kid I need on my roster. Sign with me, kid, and I’ll guarantee you a spot on one of the majors.”
“See,” Randy told Cheryl after he signed on the dotted line, “you really are my good luck charm.”
Two days later, the baseball commissioner announced that Alex Rodriguez would be suspended for the rest of the 2013 season, and the entire 2014 season.
Cheryl attended four more of Randy’s games in Scranton before the big news came in September. He and a third baseman from another farm team were being sent up to the New York Yankees.
“Can you believe it? I can’t believe it,” Randy excitedly told Cheryl on the telephone. “They’re only signing me for league minimum, and only for the two months left in the regular season, but that’s still more than ten times what I make now, ya know?”
“Baby, I’m so proud of you!” Cheryl gushed appropriately.
“I know you are, babe. That’s why I love you!” He waited a beat before adding: “Will you marry me, now?”
Cheryl emitted a heavy sigh, before giving the response she’d rehearsed for the past two days. “I don’t know if that would be fair to you, Randy.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Randy demanded.
“Big things are happening for you. You’re young. Do you really want to get tied down now, Randy?”
Randy was quiet for a moment, then finally said: “I don’t get it. You know how I feel. I love you, girl.”
Cheryl took a deep breath. “I know how you feel right now, but what about when all this money starts rolling in, and all the girls are all over you? Are you going to be thinking, ‘Damn, look at what I’m missing?’ I don’t want that. I don’t want you to resent me. And I damn sure don’t want you cheating on me.”
“What you talking about, Cheryl?” Randy pleaded. “Man, me getting a shot at the majors is exactly that . . . a shot. We don’t know if I’ma get a real contract. And all these girls you talking about . . . where are they now? They ain’t sweating me now, so why would I pay them any mind later? I ain’t stupid, Cheryl. You’ve proved you want me for me, ya know? I ain’t even trynta to be thinking about someone who wants me only ’cause I mights gots some money.”
“Babe, that’s what you say now—”
“Marry me, Cheryl.”
“Randy—”
“I love you, Cheryl. Marry me—”
“Randy, I’m going to have to hang up—”
“Cheryl, I love you. Tell me you’re gonna marry me—”
Click.
Cheryl looked up to see Stephen standing in her bedroom doorway, eating strawberry Häagen-Dazs ice cream from the carton. “I guess that was the young country bumpkin, huh?”
“I’ll thank you to not call my possible multimillionaire husband a ‘young country bumpkin,’ ” Cheryl said, walking over to Stephen and sticking a finger in the carton.
“Fair enough. How about I call him ‘young country boy’?”
“That’ll do,” Cheryl said, making another finger scoop.
“So, how long are you going to make ‘young country boy’ wait?”
“I don’t know yet,” Cheryl answered after she swallowed.
“What are you waiting for?”
Cheryl shrugged. “I’m not in a hurry.”
“Bet you’ll be in a damn hurry if he gets a ten million-dollar contract,” Stephen said, taking another spoonful himself.
Cheryl laughed.
“Okay, now here’s the big question,” Stephen said, waving his spoon in the air. “When are you going to give young country boy a makeover? My God, every time I see him I want to buy a pair of hedging shears and whack that shit off his head. I get the heebie-jeebies every time I think about the mess he must leave on pillows. Ew!”
“Uh-uh,” Cheryl said, wagging her finger. “No makeover yet.”
“But—”
“Trust me . . . I know what I’m doing.”
“Well, make sure you give him some diction lessons, too.” Stephen made a face, then added, “Ya know?”
Cheryl rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh, God, why does he have to say that every other sentence?”
Since the Yankees were already mathematically out of the pennant race, Cheryl knew there was a good chance that the coach would put Randy and Arnold Vare—the other third baseman who was getting a tryout—into a few games, so he could check them out. As luck would have it, however, it was Vare who was given the first shot while Randy rode the bench.
“He made an unbelievable catch in the seventh inning,” Randy told Cheryl at the 40-40 Club, where he went with other players after the game. “It’s a shame they lost, but if he keeps playing like that, I might not even get a shot at showing what I can do, ya know?”
“Hey, stop worrying!” Cheryl lightly kissed him on the cheek. “I have faith in you, babe.”
“Yeah, but if I don’t get a chance to show what I can do—” Randy repeated.
“Shush!” Cheryl put a finger against Randy’s lips. “I have faith that you will.”
Randy shook his head, though a smile finally began to find its way to his face. “I love you, Cheryl.”
“Good! Keep that thought.” She patted him on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
The ladies room was only about four yards away, but Cheryl’s strut toward it garnered a lot of attention. Maybe it was the Yankees team crop top, or the low-rider jeans, but by the time she made it to her destination, she had been approached five times—twice by celebrities whom she recognized.
Cheryl emerged from the bathroom stall in time to hear a petite blonde, who was putting on lipstick in the mirror, tell another woman: “Wow, did you see who arrived and was looking good? The guy that plays on the TV show, Law & Order: SVU.”
“Shit! I thought that was him! I’m on it.” The second woman turned and ran out of the bathroom, without drying her hands or even turning off the faucet.
“Oh, no you don’t, bitch! I saw him first,” the platinum blonde said, scurrying after her.
Yeah, tonight is definitely a gold-digger’s payday, Cheryl thought grimly, looking in the mirror. So why am I sitting on a bar stool consoling a guy who might never make more than $30,000 a year when I can be pushing up on someone already worth millions? Unable to answer the question, and unwilling to ponder it further, Cheryl headed back into the club. As she was passing a group of woman huddled together, she heard one say, “Ew, who’s that guy there? I hope he’s rich, because he’s sure ugly as shit.” Cheryl didn’t need to look and see to whom the woman was pointing; the look on Randy’s face let her know that he had both heard and seen.
Without missing a stride, Cheryl walked up to Randy’s bar stool, positioned herself between his legs, and drew him into a long soulful kiss—so long and passionate that it elicited first giggles, then laughter, and finally applause from the people around them.
“Thank you,” Randy whispered in her ear when she finally released his lips.
“I love you,” she whispered back in response. It didn’t matter to her if it was true or not; he needed to hear it, and she figured it wouldn’t cost her a dime to fulfill that simple need.
The next day the coach once again put Vare in the game, and he once again did a magnificent job on third base, making an extremely difficult out in the first inning. But then in the bottom of the inning, the centerfielder was hurt while sliding into first base. Cheryl’s heart almost stopped when it was announced that Randall Alston was coming in to replace the player. Randy trotted out to first base, to no fanfare since no one had heard of him, but that wasn’t to last long. As soon as he got there, he started edging toward second as if to steal. Derek Jeter was at the plate, and the pitcher should have
been focusing all of his attention on that homerun hitter, but couldn’t since he was continually being forced to throw to keep Randy honest. And the crowd loved it. Finally, one of the pitcher’s throws to first was too low and bounced off the first baseman’s glove. The man on third stole home, and not only did Randy steal second base, he also stole third.
But that was only the start. In the fourth inning—his first time at bat—Randy hit a grand slam home run that put the Yankees up by three. Then, when Randy was playing defense at the top of the fourth, he made an unbelievable catch. As soon as the ball was hit, he began backing up, and within milliseconds was at the warning track—the ball only now beginning to curve downward. It seemed that the ball would go into the stands, giving the batter a home run, but Randy made an incredible leap at the fence and grabbed the ball. The hometown crowd went wild, and so did the pitcher on the mound as well as the relief pitchers sitting in the bullpen.
For the remainder of the season, Vare got virtually no playing time, and Jayson Nix and Randy alternated at third base. Randy was batting an amazing .410 and hit an astounding nine home runs in thirty at bat, and the New York media was having a field day. Randy’s name was all over newspaper headlines, radio talk shows, and television sports broadcasts. But it was the Yankees home finale that Randy put on his best performance, hitting three back-to-back home runs and committing two steals.
Two months later, Randy—now sporting a well-trimmed buzz-cut instead of a Jheri curl, long sideburns and a light beard that covered his acne, and a razor-thin mustache that gave him a debonair look—stood at the head of a conference room at Yankee Stadium. Danny Archer and the Yankees owner stood with him at the podium as the Yankees general manager announced that the team had signed Randy to a five-year, $120 million deal.
When it was Randy’s turn at the microphone, he thanked Almighty God, he thanked his mother, his grandparents, and he thanked the good people of New York who had shown so much support for him. Then he looked at Cheryl, who was standing in the back of the room, near an exit, and took a deep breath: “I also need to thank a woman who has been in my corner since the first magical day we met. A woman who has been with me through my ups and downs. A woman who believed me when there were times I didn’t believe in myself. A woman who didn’t care how much money I had in my pocket, but only how much love I had in my heart.”
Cheryl’s breath quickened as Stephen, who had been handing out press kits to the reporters, suddenly appeared at her side.
“Cheryl Blanton.” Randy walked toward her with a bevy of reporters crowding around him. When he was right in front her, he fell to one knee, and pulled out a beautiful diamond solitaire ring. “Will you marry me?”
Under the circumstances, how could she say no?
* * *
The sound of the shower being turned on full blast pulled Cheryl out of her reverie. She shook her head and smiled; since his physical makeover it always took her husband a good twenty minutes to prepare for a shower. First he had to trim the sideburns, then his beard, then tweeze his mustache—it took him almost as long to get ready in the morning as it took her. But it was worth it; the man looked damn good. And she was delighted when the daily speech lessons she encouraged him to take had tamed his diction so much that his heavy Southern accent actually sounded a bit sexy, rather than corny. Yes, she had turned him into a man worthy of being her husband.
And, of course, she looked good enough to be married to a handsome multimillion-dollar baseball star. She turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror. Boobs still high and firm. Stomach still sporting the muscle-tone that made bikinis all the more attractive. Butt and thighs as toned as ever. Yeah, she looked good, she decided. Very good. You would never be able to tell she’d had a child. Luckily, like her mother, she looked years younger than her actual age. In fact, she was able to model for teen magazines, though never for full-body shots because of her voluptuous chest.
But, she began chewing her bottom lip, will I be able to pull this off forever? What if Randy finds out that I’m actually nine years older than him? Will he care?
Worse, she thought dismally, what if he found out about the baby she’d given up?
He’d made it clear, from day-one, that he wanted to start a family right away starting with a Randy Jr. And Cheryl was in total agreement. Most people thought that models made fabulous money, but the reality was it was only supermodels like Joan Smalls and Jourdan Dunn who were pulling in ten or twelve thousand for a photo shoot. Sure, Cheryl was averaging a good twenty thousand or so a month, but she was quite willing to give up an uncertain quarter of a million dollars a year to please a husband who was making a contractual $24 million. But they’d been married four months, and she hadn’t missed a period yet. Once, when her period was two days late, Randy had run out and bought a pregnancy test, and it almost made her cry to see the disappointment in his eyes when the stick refused to turn blue.
How would he react if he knew that I had a kid, a boy no less, and gave him up? There’s no way he’d want anything to do with me, the way he values family.
Her body shivered, involuntarily, though the windows were closed and plenty of heat was coming from the room’s ceiling and floor vents.
“Well,” she said aloud, pointing to her image in the mirror, “It’s only a matter of time, no need to worry; you are going to give your baby a baby.” She moved to put on a robe, so she could get herself a cup of her favorite coffee—Ethiopian Fancy—but then thought the better of it. Despite not having a child to keep her husband happy, she still knew how to keep him dumb and grinning with lust.
“Hey, babe,” she said, entering the bathroom without bothering to knock. “How about I join you for some post-Valentine’s Day shower fun?”
Randy’s grin answered for him.
Cheryl slipped inside the shower and stood behind Randy. With an arm wrapped around his waist, she lathered his back with mint-scented gel. She worked her way down to his firm butt, thighs, and calves. While kneeling on the floor of the shower, she gently grasped his ankles, turning him around as she began washing his feet. Ducking her head, she kissed his foot and licked between his toes. The soft moan that emanated from Randy spurred Cheryl to move on to his other foot and lavish it with special attention.
Moving upward, she poured gel into her hand. The tingly sensation of the mint gel along with Cheryl’s hand stroke had Randy thrusting so fiercely inside her soapy, closed fist, his dick began to pulsate. Not wanting him to climax too quickly, Cheryl withdrew her hand and said, “Do me.”
Following Cheryl’s lead, Randy positioned himself behind her. He soaped the back of her neck, her back, thighs and magnificent ass, and while still standing behind her, he concentrated on soaping up her breasts. Kneading and squeezing them until Cheryl was purring. “I love your big, titties, babe,” he murmured.
One hand caressed her soapy breasts and the other stroked her satiny-smooth ass cheeks. He slid a hand between her thighs and she parted them for him, allowing him access to her plump, slippery pussy lips. His bold caresses made her jerk and shudder as he teased her pussy lips open.
“Do you want me, baby?” Randy asked hoarsely.
“I want you in the worst way.” Cheryl couldn’t hide the need in her voice as she spread her legs wider.
Randy let out a grunt as he bent behind her and slid his dick forcibly into her tight, plush depths. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and gave it to her nice and slow. But when Cheryl began pushing back with her ass, wordlessly demanding to be fucked harder and deeper, Randy gave her exactly what she wanted.
“You’ve got the best dick in the world,” Cheryl proclaimed.
“Damn, you feel good. I don’t need nothing else except this tight pussy of yours.”
“Randy!” Cheryl’s voice cracked as Randy drove into her. Every stroke of his dick was a hot lash of mutual pleasure. “You’re hitting my spot, babe. Making me cum,” she said, choking out the last word right before her body began to c
onvulse.
* * *
“Baby, you’re too much. I wouldn’t be surprised if we made a baby in that shower,” Randy said after he finally caught his breath. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank God I did it.” A grin suddenly appeared on his face. “And man, that Valentine’s Day present. Whew!”
Cheryl giggled and threw a towel at him, then began drying herself with another one. “You should have seen your face when Vonda walked in the bedroom wearing nothing but a big red bow. Priceless!”
“Yeah, you got me good that time, I gotta admit,” Randy said with a laugh. He walked behind Cheryl and grabbed her into a hug. “I never know what to expect from you, Cheryl; you’re full of surprises. You got us doing role-playing, having sex in cars, having sex in elevators, in public . . . and now even bringing another woman into our bedroom. Wow!”
“Hey,” Cheryl patted her husband’s cheek, “I gotta keep my man happy. You are happy, right?”
“What do you think?” Randy nuzzled Cheryl’s neck.
“So, do you think it’s something you’d like to do again?” Cheryl asked slowly.
“Well, I mean,” Randy stammered. “Are you serious? You wouldn’t mind?”
Cheryl gave a little laugh. “Okay, here’s the deal. It’s not something I would say we do every day, or even every month, but if you ever find there’s a woman you really, really wanna ‘do,’ let me know and I’ll see what I can hook up.”
“For real?” Randy asked excitedly.
“For real. But,” Cheryl added, “the deal is you can’t ever have sex with another woman unless I’m involved. Is that a deal?”
Randy’s expression turned somber, and his voice lowered as he pulled Cheryl firmly into his arms. “Baby, I’m not stupid. You don’t ever have to worry about me cheating on you.” He gave her a lingering kiss, then looked deeply in her eyes and said in a sincere voice: “Cheryl, you’re the woman I love, the woman I married, and the woman who’s going to be the mother of my children. I’ll never do anything to hurt you.”
Sexy
Hittin' It Out the Park Page 5