by Liz Crowe
The first week of pre-season non-stop running he’d lost four kids—lazy fuckers to his mind, so no great loss. At least three sets of parents had questioned his methods. He’d deferred them to their principal, who’d assured them that Terry was highly qualified to coach and would demand nothing of their sons that the boys couldn’t handle.
Surprisingly, the team hadn’t sucked. They’d even won a few games—half of them, now that the season was almost over. But at times, he missed the strict discipline of the Operators, their single minded focus on being in the best shape, with the sharpest set of skills whether they were in languages, computers, marksmanship, hand-to-hand. Babysitting this pack of kids at times felt like the world’s biggest comedown.
The fact that Mariah Bailey had been blowing him off for a solid two months didn’t help matters. He’d even gone to Kieran to see if he’d plead his case, but his friend had gently reminded him that this was not middle school, so he was on his own in the relationship department.
Granted, she was busy too. The Lucasville High music program was extremely robust. It had even won Grammy awards for excellence in the past, so she had big shoes to fill, plus it was her first real teaching job. He got that. So he’d remained on his best behavior, even attending church once he figured out that was what she did on Sundays.
The time he’d spent catching back up with the entire, boisterous Love family had been well spent. Thanks to Miss Lindsay’s welcoming attitude— “come by anytime for Sunday dinner, or just to hang around”—he did feel like he’d slipped back into his old life, but in a good way.
“Okay, all right,” he said to the pack of wheezing, gasping young men. “Beat it. Get some rest, eat right, and no fucking around…you know what I mean.”
They laughed. He laughed. The concept of fit, healthy, handsome young men in high school not fucking around was pretty damn funny. But he said it at the end of every practice anyway.
His ball boys—kids from the JV team hoping to work their way onto Varsity—gathered the balls and helped him drag the nets off the football field. Exhaustion nailed him right between the eyes. The mental and emotional energy required to keep on the straight and narrow, to not dive deep into depravity, or at least get himself laid, was wearing on him. His fault, he knew. But maybe he owed himself a little trip a few cities away, visit a strip club, get shit-faced.
No. That wasn’t what he wanted.
Even though, on cue, his mouth watered at the thought of a beer, of a lot of beers with a fifth of bourbon chaser. His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket so he dragged it out, knowing it wouldn’t be her, but surprised to see who it was—actually calling and not sending the usual busybody text message.
“Hey, Ghost what up?” He kicked a few errant balls to the middle of the field for the kids to grab.
“Hey Trigger, guess who’s gonna be in your neck of the woods next month?”
“Rhianna? Blake Lively? Anna Kendrick?”
“No, smartass. We are, at least three of us anyway. Headed to Ft. Knox, which I think is where they keep a shit ton of gold and which is, I see from my handy phone map, shouting distance from that burg you call home these days.”
“Yeah, it’s not too far.” A sudden longing for his life as an Operator tore through him, making him have to drop down on the bench and stare at the bag of soccer balls.
“So we figured we’d look you up. Go out or something, catch up.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Well shit, man don’t sound too excited about it. I’d hate to have you stroke out or something.”
“Sorry, Ghost. I’m just… I don’t know.”
“So all those text messages you send me about being great and happy and whatever, that’s all bullshit then? What about that woman, the singer?”
“She’s ignoring my ass like it’s her job,” he admitted, leaning and letting his head flop back. He stared up at the clouds scudding across the bright blue sky.
“I looked her up online from that Singing show. Damn son. I think she’s above your paygrade anyway.”
“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “Good to hear your voice, Ghost.”
“Ah now don’t go all mushy on me. I’m not gonna spoon with you or anything. But, I do want you to meet us. There’s a guy nearby who’s looking for some security help. He loves ex-Operators. He’s ex-SEAL.”
“Oh,” Terry said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Thanks to the doctor here, he had his migraines under a semblance of control. Not drinking had helped, he figured. Nonetheless, his mouth watered at the thought of a healthy pour of bourbon.
“Yeah, I’ll email you the details. But plan on it. It’s I.T., and I told him you were the ultimate computer geek plus Operator trained. He’s stoked to meet you.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Don’t give up, man,” Ghost said. Terry knew what he meant. “I didn’t and I couldn’t be happier with Rayne.”
“Whatever you say. I’m gonna go,” he said, his need to avoid listening to his former commander pressing on his chest like a weight. “Talk soon.” He ended the call with a wince, knowing he’d pay for that. Sure enough he had a text message inside of five minutes.
“I’ll let you hang up on me once, soldier. Watch for my email. We’ll see you next month.”
***
Mariah sat and watched the final match of the season, cheering along with the rest of the newly restored Lucasville soccer fans. She kept her eyes on the action, trying to follow it, and not on the man standing stock still on the sidelines, his muscular arms crossed, his blue eyes fixated on his players.
He rarely spoke during games, she’d noticed. It was one of the many things she was dying to ask him about. At the end of ninety minutes, the score was Lucasville two, Visitors one. The team erupted, ran over as a group and snatched up their coach, then walked him over on their shoulders to the fans. She stood, not really wanting to see him that close up.
As she was headed for her car, her ears ringing, her skin tingly with memory, she heard someone shout her name. As she turned, waving to several of her music students, and then realized too late that she should have ignored it.
Terry was running towards her, dripping wet, she noticed, with a huge smile on his face. When he grabbed her hand and pulled her close she fought it, concerned about all the kids watching them with rapt attention.
But he wouldn’t give up and once she found herself in his arms, in the middle of a cat-calling, applauding group, she no longer cared. All the weeks she’d spent convincing herself that he was a bad idea—that they would never work—fell away like the autumn leaves swirling around their feet.
“You’re sticky,” she said, unable to tear her gaze from his. He grinned. “And you reek—what is that? Gatorade? Gross.” She made a fake attempt to squirm away but he tightened his grip.
“Go out with me, Mariah. Tonight? Please? To celebrate?”
She sighed, then nodded. His grin widened and he kissed her full on the mouth in front of God and all the damn teenagers then released her and ran back to his pack of players who all high fived him before they headed into their locker room. She stood, staring at his retreating back, frozen, thrilled, horrified, her front covered in the Gatorade he’d been doused with before he ran to catch her.
She ran a shaky hand through her hair and looked around at all the kids, mostly girls, staring at her with dreamy expressions. “Move along. Nothing to see here,” she said. They laughed and dispersed. She got into her car and sat, trying to calm her pulse, and wondering just how she and Terry O’Leary might celebrate tonight.
He sent her a text that said he’d pick her up at seven-thirty, and she should dress up. They were going into Lexington to a nice place. So she picked Cole up from the sitter she used after school and told him she had a date and that Henry or Lindee would put him to bed. This made him pout, before he recalled that hanging out with Henry and Lindee meant popcorn and movies, not reading and vegetables.
At seven-thirty sharp, Terry
knocked, startling her. She’d been anticipating a text telling her he was in the parking lot. When she saw him standing there wearing khaki trousers and a soft-looking, crisply ironed blue button down over his broad shoulders and trim torso, she almost had to take a seat before her legs gave out.
“Soccer,” Cole yelped, latching onto the man’s leg. “Can we play?”
Terry hauled her son up and onto his shoulders and they had a quick romp around the living room, while Cole brayed with delight. “Your mom and I have a date, Cole,” he said, setting the boy down. “She looks so nice. I’d hate to disappoint her since she got all dressed up.” His eyes sparkled when he looked at her. “But maybe we can play this weekend, if she’ll let us.” He shot her a coy look. She rolled her eyes.
“Please Mama, can we?”
“Maybe. For now, let me call Henry and let him know I’m leaving.”
“So, congrats on the win, coach,” she said, once he had them pointed toward Lexington. “Quite the feat, according to our principal.”
“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “It was fun. I’m seeing a guy about a different job next week. One that pays a whole hell of a lot more, so I’m not sure about next year.”
“Oh,” she said, disappointment flaring in her chest. “What sort of job?”
He shot her a quick look as they waited at a stop light. “Security,” he said.
“How so? I mean, all I know about you is what people tell me.”
“That’s your fault,” he said, mildly, as he turned onto the four-lane highway. “You’re the one who’s made a hobby out of ignoring me.”
“I know,” she said. “I don’t know why. Other than I figured we shouldn’t jump right back into the sack and since that’s what I want to do when I’m around you…” She shrugged. He laughed.
“Huh, well we’ve got that in common anyway.” He put his large hand over hers, calming her instantly. She closed her eyes, allowing herself the moment of intimacy. “Hope you like steak,” he said, picking her hand up and putting it to his lips, even as he drove. Mariah felt her entire body loosen, and melt into itself at the sensation. “You look beautiful, by the way. Sorry I didn’t say so earlier.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, staring straight ahead as he threaded his fingers in hers and set their hands on the console between them. He kept running his thumb over her knuckles, slowly, carefully. It made heat crawl up her spine, lighting up her brain like a Christmas tree. She tried like hell not to give herself away, to let him know she was having a hard time not breathing in gasps, now desperate for more from him, steak dinner be damned.
He drove them straight through downtown, past the two restaurants she knew about that might have sufficed, and straight on over to a small little burb to the east of it. “Where are we—”
“Shh,” he said, grazing the back of her hand with his lips again. “Just trust me.”
When he pulled up to what looked like a Georgian style mansion, she blinked at the sign. “Okay, I didn’t really plan for breakfast and, uh, bed.”
“That’s okay. I did. Sit tight,” he said, hopping down from the driver’s side and coming around to help her out. Keeping his arm around her waist, he tugged her close. She could hear the night noises of the country filling her ears as he pressed his lips to hers, easy-going, gentle, yet firm, like she remembered. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back as if she’d been doing it her whole adult life.
“Mmm,” he said, breaking away. “Nice. Now, let’s go eat.”
“Okay,” she said, shaky as she shouldered her small purse and clutched his hand. “But I’m pretty sure there isn’t a restaurant in there.”
He held open the front door for her, his hand pressed into the small of her back in a proprietary, wonderful way. “There isn’t,” he whispered, smiling as a woman handed him a key.
“Trust me. I won’t let you starve.”
She followed him up a flight of stairs, then hesitated when he unlocked a door and opened it for her. “I can’t do this Terry. I’m honestly afraid of how I feel about you.”
“Good, that makes two of us. Now if you don’t mind, I am a trained killer and we trained killers must eat on a regular schedule. My kind of ‘hangry’ is something you don’t want to experience.” He grinned and touched her lips, then slid his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close again. “But if you wanna skip the meal in favor of…you know…I think I’ll make it.” He ran his tongue along her lips, teasing her.
“Mmm…” she sighed, grabbing his shirtfront and yanking him close. “A little ‘you know’ is exactly what I want,” she muttered, letting her hand wander down until she located the unmistakable indication of his desire to skip dinner.
He tugged her into the room and shut the door, pinning her against it, his hands on either side of her head, his body held away from her, his gaze intent. “I’ve been waiting for this, planning it, for months, Mariah. I dream about having you in my arms again, all night long, waking up and feeding you pancakes then fucking you again until we can’t walk.”
“I don’t like pancakes,” she whispered, smiling, pushing him until the back of his legs hit the bed. “But if you must know, those are my dreams too.”
“Then why in the hell have you been ignoring me?” She unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers and gripped the hot shaft of his erect cock in one hand. “Not that I care right now,” he said, getting breathless as she stroked, touching the bead of lubrication at the head and making him shiver. “You have on too many clothes,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “Take them off.”
She stepped back from him with a smile. He dropped his phone into a speaker and the room filled with R&B. She slid her skirt down, kicking it aside, keeping her gaze fixed on his as he sat and watched her. Her silky shirt only had a few buttons so she did a little shimmy, turned her back to him and let the shirt slide off her shoulders and arms, meeting the skirt on the floor.
Raising her arms up over her head, feeling happier than she had in years—almost drunk with it—she danced around the large room. A table was set in one corner, complete with lit candles, fancy plates and crystal. She spotted a bowl of fresh strawberries and grabbed one, put it between her lips and let it slide out again before biting down on it. The juice dripped down her chin.
She had no idea what had come over her. She hadn’t had a drop to drink in weeks. But she’d never felt freer to use her body, to make her man—yes, her man—happy by showing off. The music changed to Beyonce, and she couldn’t help but sing along as she slid her panties down her legs and unhooked her bra.
Terry sucked in a breath and his eyes darkened as she kept dancing and singing, putting a strawberry to his lips then taking it back and eating it herself. When the song ended she stood, breathing heavy, staring at him. He rose, slowly, unbuttoned his shirt, then tugged off the tight gray undershirt, leaving him as exposed as she was.
She stepped close, needing her hands on him more than she needed to draw a breath. “Let me touch,” she said, going up on tiptoes to nibble his ear, walking all the way around him and running her palms over every inch of his incredible physique. The firm, tight muscles in his shoulders and arms, the carved marble of his back, the firm bulge of his pecs, the intricate beauty of his abs.
She stroked his ass, noting how his glutes tightened under her touch. His thigh muscles were long, lean and firm. Surprised to discover that her mouth was actually watering, she ended her inspection in front of him, one hand gripping his cock, which was leaking again, straining, so hard it felt like she was holding a flesh covered iron rod. His eyes closed as she leaned over to bite his nipple while she stroked. Her body was floating on a cloud of raw lust. If he touched her once, she’d come.
He grabbed her and shoved his tongue into her mouth, as he picked her up so she had wrapped her legs around his waist. Blind and deaf to anything not him, not them, not their joined bodies, she shifted so he was inside her, deep inside, making them groan into each
other’s mouths. He pressed her against the door, using his leg muscles to keep her aloft as he thrust deep, once, again, slowly, with the sort of control and grace most men never learn.
“God,” she said, angling her hips to take him deeper as he dug his fingertips into her ass. “God…God, yes!” She cried out as the exquisite interior and exterior stimulation culminated in a release so complete it made her see stars for a half second, right before he pulled her close and walked them to the bed, dropping her down onto her back with a bounce that made her giggle.
“No it’s just me, Terry,” he said, licking his way up the inside of her leg until he latched onto her clit, already swollen and sensitive and slid some combination of fingers inside her, drawing out the orgasm, stretching it to impossible lengths. She dug her heels into the muscles of his back, gripped the bedspread in both fists and let it take her, transport her in ways she’d never experienced.
He rose, his slick wet lips split in a huge grin, fisting his cock. “Dear God,” she sighed propping on her elbows. “You’re amazing.”
“Eh, you’re not too bad yourself—whoa, okay, that works.”
She lunged forward, positioning herself between his legs and sucked his cock into her mouth, sighing with happiness at the sounds of satisfaction he made as he thrust and gripped her hair. Before she released him, she slid her tongue around the edges of his head, knowing the effect this would have.
When she touched the smooth skin beneath his balls, he moaned louder and thrust faster, urging her on, so she deep throated him once more and gave him the slightest pressure at his asshole. “Shit,” he burst out. “Gonna…” With a grunt he filled her throat with his warm essence, so much of it that some leaked out the side of her mouth as she drank him down with a sigh of satisfaction.
She dropped back on the bed, stretching like a cat, watching as he shivered all over, his straining dick still leaking fluid. Mine, she thought, running her hands down her breasts and stomach, the sensation of feeling sated, yet still needy at the same time, making all her nerve endings hum with joy.