by Jessica Ashe
My parents were liberal. Really liberal. Not only didn’t they mind Tasha fooling around with loads of guys, they practically encouraged it.
“You don’t want to settle down before you’re ready, honey,” Dad had said many times in the past. “Play the field a bit first. Have fun.”
Yeah, not your typical father.
We all started pouring over the takeout menus when there was another loud knock at the door.
This time it was Barton.
“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Barton said, the second the door was open. He grabbed my ass, lifted me into the air, and pressed his lips against mine before I could get a word out.
Barton thrust me up against the wall, while I frantically slapped him on the back to get him off me. Finally, he took his lips from mine, but not before getting hard and ready to go.
“Bedroom. Now,” he growled.
“Uh, Barton.” I pointed over his shoulder.
“What?”
He looked round and saw my parents, Tasha, and Clyde all staring at us, and trying desperately not to laugh.
“Barton, I’d like you to meet my parents.”
* * *
“Sorry again about earlier,” Barton said to my parents, apologizing for about the fifth time in the last hour. That was probably more than he’d ever apologized in his entire life.
“It’s really fine,” Dad replied. “We’re a little relieved to be honest. I was beginning to wonder whether Kristi would ever let her hair down with a guy.”
“Not to put any pressure on you two, or anything,” Mom quickly added. “I’m sure you kids are just having fun. What is it, a ‘Netflix and chill’ kind of situation?”
“Oh my God,” I exclaimed. “Mom, never use that phrase, please.”
Barton had his hand in front of his mouth to hide his laugh, and it looked like Clyde was biting his tongue to stifle a smile.
Growing up, it had always been like this. Whenever Tasha and I brought friends home, they always raved about how cool our parents were and how lucky we were to get such a liberal upbringing. They were right; we were lucky. I knew it, but sometimes I needed reminding of that. You know what they say, you don’t appreciate what you already have. Grass is always greener, et cetera, et cetera.
“Is Netflix and chill already out of date?” Dad asked. “I just can’t keep up. Let’s just say you’re having fun then. That can cover all sorts of situations.”
“I’m definitely having a lot of fun with your daughter,” Barton said.
“Me too,” Clyde said. “A lot.”
“And judging by the glowing look on their faces,” Mom said, “our daughters are having a lot of fun too.”
“That’s a look of embarrassment, Mom,” Tasha said.
“You’ve no need to be embarrassed dear. In fact, I used to date a footballer who looked a little like young Barton here, and let me tell you, we had a lot of fun. We had fun five or six times a day, if I recall correctly.”
“Mom,” I scolded. “You know Dad is sitting right here?”
“Don’t worry about me, dear,” Dad said. “When your mother was dating the footballer, I was with the head cheerleader. Let me tell you, I was—what’s the phrase?—‘balls deep’ in her whenever we got a moment alone.”
“Okay, I’m putting the television on,” I said abruptly, standing up and switching on another reality television show.
“Did we tell you how excited we are to have you in town?” Tasha asked dryly.
“No, I don’t believe you did,” Mom replied with a smile.
“Do you have any plans?” I asked.
“Not really,” Dad replied. “But this is a big city, and we’ve barely scratched the surface on our previous visits. I’m sure we can keep ourselves amused.”
“Care for a stadium tour?” Barton asked. “There won’t be much going on tomorrow, but you can check out the facilities if you like.”
“You sure?” Dad asked. “We don’t want to put you out.”
“It’d be no problem at all. You can all come if you like.”
My parents looked surprised and delighted at the idea. They’d never even been to a game, let alone had a tour of a stadium from the first team quarterback.
After dinner, Tasha started yawning and talking about going to bed, which was her not so subtle way of telling my parents that she was ready for them to leave now. She’d certainly be going straight to bed, as would Barton and I.
Mom and Dad picked up on the hint immediately. “We’d better be getting back to the hotel,” Mom said. “We still need to unpack.”
“Yeah, and after a few drinks, your mother and I like to, you know, watch a bit of Netflix and chill.”
“Ugh,” Tasha and I both grunted simultaneously.
“Okay girls,” Dad said cheerfully. “Have fun.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Barton
“When you said you were taking me for a ride, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“You like the blindfold though, right?” I asked.
“I could get used to it.”
I drove the car off the freeway and onto the long, quiet road that would take us right to our destination.
“You can take it off now,” I said. “You didn’t really need it anyway. I just liked the idea of blindfolding you.”
Kristi peeled off the blindfold and looked around to get her bearings. “I have no idea where we are.”
“We’re in my car.”
“Very funny. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
We’d spent most of yesterday with Kristi’s parents, giving them a stadium tour and then grabbing a late lunch. To the outside observer, she probably didn’t have much in common with her parents. Tasha was the free spirit, but Kristi was the hard worker who was afraid to let her hair down. Or at least, she had been.
But getting to know Kristi’s parents helped me to understand her better. She was rebelling. Most kids rebelled against their parents by drinking, sleeping around, and generally causing chaos. Like Tasha, in other words.
Kristi had to rebel by not doing those things. She’d had one boyfriend, and had refused to have casual sex until she met me. She put her career before her own enjoyment. I needed to remind her that she didn’t always have to rebel. There was nothing wrong with taking after your parents.
Now it was time for Kristi to understand where I came from.
Plus, we might actually get some privacy for once.
* * *
“Have you brought me here to murder me?” Kristi asked as she looked up at the house.
We’d driven off the main road and down a long drive. There wasn’t another house for miles around. Neither May nor I had done a great job maintaining the garden and it showed. What had once been a vibrant and beautiful display of color, was now a constant reminder that no one lived here anymore.
“It would make an excellent murder spot,” I admitted. “Come on, it’s nicer inside.”
Kristi walked inside and looked around. The house wasn’t exactly as my parents had left it, but we hadn’t changed it much since they died. May and I had considered selling it at one point, so we’d put a few modern appliances in and redecorated the kitchen and hallways. Mom had wanted to do that for years, but they’d never had enough money.
May had a decent income already, and when I signed for the pros, we realized we didn’t need to sell it. So we kept it, but left it practically abandoned.
“This is where you grew up, isn’t it?” Kirsti asked. She’d found a picture of me and May playing in the garden as kids. I’d been so skinny then. Looking at that kid, no one would have thought I’d bulk up and become a professional footballer.
“Lived here until I went to college,” I replied. “And I came back every summer of course. You really couldn’t beat my mom’s home-cooked meals. The things she could do with steak really were quite remarkable.”
The house had felt small as a kid. All
my friends had lived in bigger houses, and had more land, but compared to the properties in San Francisco this one was huge.
“You never told me about your parents,” Kristi said.
She wasn’t accusing me of anything; it was just a statement of fact. She hadn’t told me about hers either until they showed up. We weren’t really at that stage. Were we now? I guessed so. I had just spent most of the day with her parents.
“They died in a car accident a couple of years ago,” I said softly. “They punctured a tire, and before Dad could bring the car under control, they veered off the road and off a short cliff.”
“My God, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it. Kind of.”
It had taken a while, but after two years, I’d accepted that there was no one to blame. No other car had been on the road at the time. Neither of my parents had been drinking. The tire wasn’t faulty. It was just one of those things.
“I didn’t realize you grew up in the sticks,” Kristi said. “You’d never struck me as the country bumpkin type.”
“I was always a little embarrassed about growing up here,” I admitted. “I went to college in a city, and never intended to come back. Seems silly now.”
“It’s not silly. We don’t appreciate what we have when we’re growing up. It’s human nature. So, you going to give me the tour?”
“Sure. How about we start upstairs. I want to show you my childhood bedroom.”
* * *
I let Kristi walk around my room and examine my pictures and trophies, but after a few minutes I couldn’t take any more. We were alone in a room with a bed. I could only wait so long.
“I always wondered what it would be like to be in the bedroom of a high school quarterback,” Kristi said. “I never even got into the bedroom of the chess club captain.”
“You could have if you’d wanted to; with the quarterback that is. You’re beautiful, and you always have been.”
“You haven’t seen pictures of me as a teenager.”
“I can tell.”
Kristi smiled and walked towards me. “So what happens in the bedroom of a high school quarterback?”
“Get on the bed and I’ll show you.”
Kristi hopped on the bed without a moment’s hesitation and lay there looking absolutely adorable in a loose floral skirt and white frilly top. My mom would have loved her.
I followed her onto the bed and immediately pulled off her panties. I hadn’t tasted her since last night and that was far too long a wait. I lifted up her skirt and buried my head underneath, going straight for the sweet goodness between her legs.
“You’re already dripping wet,” I said as my fingers explored her folds.
“You had me blindfolded in the car.” She gasped as I slipped a finger inside her. “You wouldn’t believe the things that were going through my mind.”
“You liked the blindfold then. Noted.”
I slid a second finger inside her, and started massaging her insides while my tongue pressed against her already engorged clit. I should know how she tasted by now, but her delicious sweetness always felt new and mind blowing.
Her breaths became shorter, and my cock became harder, each time my tongue lapped against her sex.
“Come up and fuck me,” Kristi demanded.
“You’ve gotten bossy,” I teased, as I moved up her body and pressed my lips against hers. Our tongues met and fought in her mouth while I plunged my cock into her tight pussy.
Kristi groaned deeply when I entered her and reached around to grab hold of my ass. Her nails dug into my cheeks as my cock brushed against the spot that always set her body on edge. It didn’t take long before she started moving her hips in rhythm with mine, groaning deeply with each thrust that I slammed deep into her.
She screamed that she was coming, but I could already feel it. Her pussy tightened around my cock, encouraging me to finish as well. I might have been able to hold on for a few more minutes, but the second I saw her face it was all over.
Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was heavy. She looked so beautiful. So perfect. Innocent and filthy at the same time. I thrust one final time and emptied myself inside her tight pussy.
I didn’t take my eyes off her until she insisted on getting up and going to the bathroom ten minutes later. I could look at that woman all day. All day for the rest of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kristi
“Gotta say, I’m surprised you can cook.” Barton stood by the stove cooking pasta, stirring a sauce, and frying sausage all at the same time. I just watched.
“I can cook about three meals,” Barton replied. “And I can only cook them in this kitchen. Mom taught me a few of the basics, but if I’m not using her pots and pans and her gas stove then I’m as hopeless as you.”
“Hey, I’m not a hopeless cook.”
“Oh please. I’ve seen all those frozen pizzas in the freezer. Don’t tell me they all belong to Tasha.”
“I can cook,” I insisted. “I’m just lazy.”
I watched Barton as he combined all the ingredients and served our dinner. We’d both worked up quite an appetite.
“I hope you like it,” Barton said. “This is literally my specialty. It’s all downhill from here.”
“It tastes great,” I said honestly. It was sure as hell better than anything I’d ever cooked.
“Not as good as how Mom used to make it of course, but it’ll do.”
The kitchen table could easily fit six people, and the absence of a full family was a bit sad. The house had a ‘model home’ feel to it now, but I could still imagine Barton’s mom in the kitchen cooking dinner for her husband, May, and Barton.
I loved my parents and their unconventionality, but it would have been cool to come and stay here with Barton and have a traditional family meal.
“What was it like growing up here?” I asked.
Barton shrugged. “I don’t know really. A bit boring at times. I was kind of hyperactive as a child—”
“You shock me.”
“I know, weird right? I wanted to get to the city and live things up a bit. I don’t regret doing that, but I wish I could come back here to a nice family meal once in awhile.”
“You must miss them.”
“Yeah, I do. I’m just annoyed they never got to see me play in the big leagues. Dad would have loved that.”
“He a big football fan?” I asked.
“Lived for it. I’m not going to say he pushed me into it or anything, but he certainly encouraged me the second I showed an interest.”
“He would have been proud.”
“They both would.”
“Your mom liked football as well?”
“God no,” Barton replied. “She hated me playing, and never went to watch any games in case I got injured. That’s not why she would have been proud of me.”
“Why then?” I asked. “She always want you to grow up as a playboy?”
Barton laughed. “No, far from it. Mom just wanted me to find a nice girl. Sounds cliché, but that’s all she ever wanted for me. I’m now a professional football player, and I’ve definitely found a nice girl.” Barton reached out and placed his hand on mine. “I think they’d both be proud.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kristi
Barton’s parents would have been proud of him; mine would be disgusted with me.
I stared at the latest email from Leona on the screen of my laptop. She wanted another update. Barton’s agent had been in touch to say that sponsors were few and far between at the moment. No one wanted to sponsor a player who kept his head down and got on with the game, and Barton had been scandal free for weeks now.
I’d been giving Leona regular updates on my progress, but I’d always told her that things would kick off soon. They never did. Barton had taken my advice on board and now he was behaving himself in public. The visit to the children’s hospital had gone as expected; the news had leaked
and he’d looked like a hero.
I drafted an email explaining that Barton would get plenty of publicity once the season started. He still had a reputation for being a touch hotheaded, and there were bound to be a few flare ups on the field. I couldn’t control those. I stared at the email for twenty minutes and then deleted it.
Time to take a stand. I kept the next email short and to the point. It would get me fired, but I didn’t care anymore. I considered keeping it vague, but then thought ‘fuck it,’ and wrote everything up in detail. Leona would try to fuck up every job interview I went to for the next ten years; I wanted an email that I could use to defend myself if necessary.
I am not happy with the current approach the firm has adopted for Barton Fenner. I understand the rationale behind making him look bad in public, but ultimately his career would be better served if he continued acting positively in the public eye.
Barton may lose some sponsorships, but from my time spent with the client, I don’t believe he would take issue with this. While Barton initially appeared to thrive off bad publicity almost as much as good publicity, he now prefers to develop long-lasting relationships with sponsors that will help him project a positive image to the public.
I cannot, in good conscience, continue working for this client when we are in effect jeopardizing his career.
Please confirm that you are happy for me to support Barton in his goals going forward.
Regards, Kristi
The email was basically my letter of resignation. There were more important things than my fledgling career. So what if I didn’t get a job after this internship? There had to be other jobs. I was only twenty-one; I refused to believe my career could be over before it had begun.
Even if it did cost me my career, some things were worth it. Some people were worth it.
I read the email over again and again, but didn’t change a word. It was ready. I hit send and then immediately went to the ‘Sent’ section of my emails and forwarded it to my personal email account. I took a photograph of the email as well. I wanted proof that I’d sent this email to Leona, because she seemed like the type of boss who could make emails disappear. And people, probably.