by Maria Benson
A few minutes later, after I had absorbed just how seriously the guys were taking this, Scott scanned my responses before looking at me like I had grown a second nose. “You’re kidding me, right man?” Seemingly checking himself, he lowered his tone before continuing. “You’ve only been with six women? A twenty-eight-year-old man? You’re leaving a few out, right? You know, the one-night stands, the ones you banged from behind while trying to remember if her name was Sara or Cindy–”
I held up all fingers one on hand, while giving a guffawing Bobby my middle one with the other. “Five plus one, Scott.”
“Oh, wow.” He took a deep breath, exhaled. “Wow. When did you first learn about this thing we call sex?”
“Watch it. My limited exploits have been by choice–kind of,” I stammered. “Women do flirt with me, I’m just selective. The young temp girls at work are always checking me out–”
Scott nodded, unimpressed. “Yes, they see a walking paycheck, nothing more. You’d be the guy who would help them feed and clothe their kids while they sneak out for booty calls with their dead-beat baby-daddies.”
Bobby cleared his throat respectfully. “He should, uh, still hit it with those ladies, right Scott?”
Scott nodded slowly. “For the ones he finds attractive, I think so.” He stared at me. “You do realize you need encounters with women to help you build some experience, some moves? You can’t start out at the top, Mike: You have to climb the ladder.”
I shook my head. “Guys, shoot me but I didn’t come up looking at sex as a sport. I’ve been reserving it for women I actually give a shit about.”
This sent poor Bobby into a spasm of amusement, one Scott ignored as he spoke. “That’s sweet, Michael, it really is, and one day you’ll be able to live by that principle. My question is how you reconcile it with your relationship with Alicia Parker?”
I wasn’t even going to ask how Scott knew that my friendship with Alicia, who had taken my virginity in high school, had veered regularly across the line separating the platonic from the physically romantic. The grapevine was no joke.
I peered into the screen of my iPhone as I replied to Scott. “No. I haven’t talked to her in years, but Alicia was too good a friend.” I looked up. “She’s off limits.” I had no intention of spooling out the complex nature of my and Alicia’s friendship with these two. I would always love her in my own way, and I knew she had my back as well. There had been a brief moment in time where we tried to actually operate like a couple, but the weight of romantic expectations–calling regularly, acting as if we were head-over-heels for one another and having eyes for no one else, buying each other gifts on holidays and birthdays–had felt like anchors for us. We had ended our relationship on just the right note–as friends.
“Well, look who touched a nerve?” Scott smirked. “That’s alright. Let’s leave your, ah, sparse past in the rearview. Who would you liked to have slept with? Pay attention. This is important, because in order to start racking up a respectable body count, you’ve got to have goals. You need to know what you want.”
“What are you talking about?” My patience was gone. “Why do I need to fantasize about who I should have slept with before now? I’ve been doing that my whole life!”
Scott slapped the table. “Hey buddy, do you want to do this or not? Getting to where I was, where Bobby is now, it requires the ability to get with any woman you desire when she crosses your path. That means a string, a trail, of past lovers, partners, one-night stands, girlfriends, and women picked up at places like this. It’s a self-reinforcing cycle, man. The longer the trail you leave behind, the more desirable you are to the next one. I’m exaggerating a little bit to get the point across, but I don’t know how else to help you. These ladies have to see you as a challenge, man.”
“This is sounding like a bit much,” I said, hands raised in concern. “A woman like Aimee Chase may like a man with an adventurous past, but I don’t think she wants a complete pig.”
Bobby snapped a finger at me. “Mikey,” he said, “we don’t need to hear Aimee’s name no more, got me?” He glanced at Scott, sighed. “No true man focuses all his efforts on one woman; if he did, she wouldn’t want him. Ain’t you figured out that much? The appeal is when she has to work to get your attention, or at least to get you to put her at the front of your line.”
Scott pointed affirmatively at Bobby. “Nicely put. Michael, you’ve got to start yesterday on building the confidence and experience that get women’s attention.” He paused in sudden thought. “We’ll train you up fast on pick-up techniques, and we’ll grease the tracks for you. Bobby and I know the right spots to drop you into, ones where the women are quick to go home with anything with a pulse.”
I looked at Scott cock-eyed. “I appreciate your faith in me.”
Scott shrugged. “You gotta crawl before you walk. You’ll get rejected a lot, but pretty soon you’ll get in with some of these babes and that will get your name into the social water cooler. Once your new hook-ups run their mouths, Bobby and I here can fan the flames a bit, plus we’ll make sure to get everyone in your social circle talking about how shocked they are. Choirboy Mike Blake is hitting everything that moves! Everyone will speculate about why, and your legend will only grow.”
“I don’t know if I like this.” I started to massage my temples.
Scott patted my shoulder. “Michael, trust me. First step’s always the hardest. Remember when we went out for the varsity baseball squad as freshmen? You were obviously scared shitless, the way your knees knocked and your eyes looked ready to burst. Well, you know what? I never told you, but I was frightened, too. Couldn’t imagine how we were going to outhit, outfield, those upperclassmen. But we did it, didn’t we? By the first real game, I don’t think we even remembered how impossible making the team had seemed.”
“And?”
“And it’s the same with this. You can’t imagine taking such a savvy step to improve your love life. You don’t think you can do it. Well, I believe in you, Michael. I know you can do this. You, too, can Man Up.”
I sat there, my so-called friends standing over me, my nephew José visible not far behind them as he cheered another Bulls basket. The responsible uncle in me wanted to tell Scott and Bobby to go to hell, and he nearly won out. I might have grabbed José and jetted out of there right then, until the memory of Aimee tossing wine in my face materialized again.
I grimaced, but spoke the words. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”
CHAPTER 13
Aimee
As I closed the Executive Suite door behind me, Ian turned toward me with eyes glinting. “You weren’t followed, were you?”
I stepped down into a wide space laid out like a sunken living room, one replete with leather couches, lounge chairs and two rows of movie theater-style seating. Joining Ian on a cozy love seat, I snuggled up against him. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t tracked. I had Sydney pick me up and we made a couple stops along the way here.”
Leaning back as if to survey the very sight of me, Ian stroked my hair gently. “I appreciate your risking this.”
Heart racing, I leaned in and delivered a warm, lingering kiss. “Our last visit was the type that keeps a girl coming back.”
“Glad to hear I’m addictive.” Ian licked his lips and leaned back toward me as if wanting more. “Not to be too presumptuous, but in case you want a repeat performance, you should know we have this suite to ourselves.”
I grinned at the pleasant surprise. “I thought we were going to have to play at being friendly colleagues in front of your MLS buddies.” On the field below us, a Chicago Fire soccer game was underway. The suite belonged to one of the owners in Ian’s league.
“Nope,” Ian replied, his hands in my hair again, “Bob decided he’d rather use his Bulls suite tonight. When he said he and his crew wouldn’t be here, I decided not to publicize my presence. I’ll make some surprise stops by a bunch of the exec suites during halftime.” He smiled. “You don’t hav
e to join me.”
I gave a play frown. “I had no intention of doing so.”
Ian stood and ambled over to a portable wet bar. “What can I get you?” While he grabbed himself a beer and poured me a glass of Riesling, we discussed his deliberations over the latest league star to be caught on video knocking the hell out of his girlfriend.
“These guys are unbelievable,” he said, returning to the couch armed with the drinks. “From the moment they sign their contracts, we do everything we can to provide them training and to offer relationship counseling. So many times, it’s like they already come to us broken.”
I nodded gently. “You sound like my mother when she goes on about her at-risk students.”
“The challenge is real,” Ian said, shrugging. “The only difference between me and your mom is that she has plenty of company–every underpaid teacher out there, pretty much–sharing the blame when her students fail. When my guys wet the bed, everything falls on me.”
I draped an arm around his shoulder. “Well, there’s that difference, plus the fact you’ve earned the equivalent of her salary in the time it took you to speak those words.”
He pursed his lips playfully. “Shot fired, and fairly so. Now, about you.”
“What about me?”
“I’d like to help you find a new gig.” He put a hand on my knee. “I really value our relationship, Aimee, but the joy gets dimmed when I think about what happens if we’re ever caught.”
I sat up in my seat, a chill infecting the warmth between the two of us. “Ian, when I’m ready I can find a new job on my own. In the meantime, I’m grown. If I want to risk my job by spending time with you, that’s my right.”
His eyes flashed something merging anger and sympathy. “You’re a proud, highly capable woman. I get it.”
“I know you remember that,” I said, “because you said as much when you tried to let me down easy.” The memory surfaced from my mental database: Ian standing before me in his kitchen, his unfaltering eye contact offset by tears as he explained why he was going to propose to Nadine. This isn’t just about what our families want, Aimee. Nadine wants a life with me, I think she needs me. You? You’re so on top of everything, so remote, I can never tell if you really need anything, least of all me.
“You’re really determined to spoil the mood, huh?” Ian turned up his beer bottle, emptying it, then stood and pulled me up with him.
My heart stirred as I stared up into his eyes, defiance and excitement filling me. “What are you gonna do about it?”
We both knew the answer to that question. We attacked each other with fierce kisses, then began removing each other’s clothing an article at a time. Even more than our recent escapade in his office, I knew Ian and I were tempting fate–who knew how many keys there were that could open this luxury box, and what was to stop any holder of one from barging in? For two highly organized, analytical people, however, I think that knowledge made this reckless moment even more thrilling.
Straddling Ian, limiting the range of his hands to my swelling breasts, I ran my hands across the rocky curves of his shoulders and down his smooth pecs. I had asked him before how he stayed in such amazing shape while working fifteen-hour days, but he treated the topic like a matter of national security. Knocking his eager hands from my nipples, I pushed him back and slid down his crotch until my mouth rested atop his washboard stomach, which smelled of expensive oatmeal-spiced lotion and musky cologne. Smiling into his favorite foreplay hot spot– his navel–I licked it and smiled as his erection tested the limits of his zipper.
Within minutes, once we had draped the couch in a massive, freshly laundered towel, Ian laid me atop it and went to work with manual stimulation of the moist, swollen slit between my thighs. “God, Aimee,” he whispered, his cock throbbing, “I really need you.”
“Don’t tell me,” I said, panting, “show me.” Light glinted off of the condom sheathing his dick as he rammed it toward me, and I gasped in anticipation as we merged tumultuously. Ian pumped forcefully, rhythmically, but I quickly recognized the flushed look in his eyes; he was already in danger of coming. “First one may be quick,” he said matter-of-factly, “but I’ll make it count.”
“Do what you need,” I replied, palming his head, “but I expect a quick recovery.”
By the time Ian delivered on my demand, not once but twice, the fact we hadn’t been interrupted increased our boldness. I was leading him over to the kitchenette’s island, determined to have him take me from behind, when there was a knock at the door.
I turned to face him, planted my hands to his chest as I mouthed the words. OhJesusGod.
“Mr. Wallace? Sir, I have guests of yours with me.” A pause, a clearing of the throat. “Sir, despite our orders of privacy this one seemed to merit the interruption. It’s your wife and family?”
Ian raised a pointer finger to his lips at the sight of the horror in my eyes. Wordlessly, he grabbed for his pants and then his shirt. “One second please,” he yelled as he stepped toward the door while buttoning up the shirt. He joked through the door about having been in the bathroom, which he pointed me toward calmly as he retrieved his suit jacket.
Grabbing up the scattered elements of my wardrobe, I made a mad dash toward the suite’s bathroom as Ian opened the door and slipped into the hallway. I couldn’t imagine what story he had in mind for Nadine and his daughters. The one thing I knew for sure was that I needed to get my ass dressed and out of that suite.
I slammed the bathroom door with my backside, dropping my blazer, blouse, jeans and heels in frustration, only to see my own phone slap the ground and skitter into a far corner. Dismayed, I leapt after it and retrieved it in hopes it hadn’t been damaged. I breathed a sigh of relief when the screen demanding my PIN popped up reliably and the screen unlocked without issue.
I realized now that I had missed a couple of calls and texts myself, and was eager to distract myself by checking them. Unfortunately, the last voice mail was an unwelcome surprise and not a distraction from the emotions coursing through me. Frankly, it just twisted the knife deeper.
Aimee, Michael Blake here. Didn’t want anything, just thought about you recently after running into Tara at Wrigley Field. Hope all’s well and that you didn’t take our blow-up too seriously. I just want to see you happy. Take it easy.
“Oh Michael,” I said to no one who could hear, “I am so not happy. I’m sure you’d be pleased.” I wasn’t sure whether to be more humiliated by the specter of having my illicit affair interrupted, or by the idea that Nadine–from whom Ian was supposed to be pretty much separated–was now trailing after him like a woman who was still devoted to the marriage.
I had specifically avoided challenging Ian about where their marriage was headed. It seemed clear the relationship was not healthy, but given Ian’s need to manage his image and avoid unnecessary controversy, I didn’t see him divorcing her anytime soon. Somehow, as I sat there panting after fleeing into the bathroom like a roach, I realized that I had dared to hope that I might soon be freed from slinking around as Ian’s other woman.
Wiping at my eyes, I fumed at the sight of a text from Ian. 'You presentable yet?' When I replied in the affirmative, he indicated that he had bought time by taking the family to a nearby suite occupied by the Fire’s owner and some other MLS stars. 'I asked the cleaning staff to pay a quick visit.'
I got the message. 'I’ll be gone when they get here.'
That was my intention at least. Fully dressed and standing before the bathroom mirror to adjust my hair and makeup, I heard the suite’s outer door creak open ominously. Shutting my eyes, I cursed under my breath. The suite was still chock full of red-flag evidence from my rendezvous with Ian, and here I was stuck there as an obvious participant. Leaning over the sink, pressing my hands against its cool, slick sides, I tried to hold my breath and wait out the visitor.
“Hello?” The woman’s voice on the other side of the bathroom door jarred me, and not just because I had assume
d the visitor was a male custodian. I recognized this woman’s voice, but I refused to believe it belonged to Nadine Wallace.
She tried the door this time. “Hello, Aimee? I told Ian that I would meet him in the other suite after I caught up with an old friend. He just didn’t know that I had you in mind. Open up, please.”
I stepped toward the door, one hand on a hip, then retreated. If it was possible to be both indignant and shamed, I had pulled it off. Shaking my head at the situation, I stepped forward and yanked the door open.
“Wow, look at you.” It was her: Shoulder-length-blonde, long-legged, expensively decked-out Nadine Wallace, the First Lady of Ian’s league. Peering down as I grudgingly admired her form-fitting cream-colored skirt and matching, elegant bare-shouldered blouse, she crossed her arms. “You’re still a stunner, Aimee.”
Struggling against sudden tightness in my chest, feeling as disheveled as if Nadine had walked in on me and Ian fifteen minutes earlier, I tried to project nonchalance. “Hi, Nadine.”
Nadine took a glance around the suite as I emerged from the bathroom. “Are you enjoying the game?”
I knew that I was the mistress, the one who should be full of shame in the moment, but Nadine was clearly no cuckold. Recovering from her presence, I reminded myself of the full history of our love triangle. “I’m having a blast, Nadine,” I said, my eyes narrowing though my voice shook, “and so is Ian.”
Nadine’s blue eyes told me to go to hell, but her lips spread into a smile. “I hope you two had a ball, because it was your last time together.”
The twinge in my heart confirmed that Nadine had hit her mark, but I bit my lip and made my stare as cold as possible. “You flew all the way to Chicago to tell me that?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, shaking her head at such a notion. “My parents live out in Winnetka, and with their getting on in years I’m in the area nearly once a month. No, this little appearance at the game is just a bonus. Ian’s security force really likes me, see, so they keep me up to speed on his daily itinerary.