Ways in the Guardian: A Menage Romance Book Collection

by Barbara Downey

  “Please, Gurgi, let’s just act like this never happened and I promise you that I will owe you one,” Zarkosy pleaded, and as Gurgi turned to look at him, he could see that he was already turning orange with worry.

  “Okay, I'm going to go with you on this one, but the next time that you attempt to blackmail me, I am going to make sure that it is ten times worse for you,” Gurgi said, smiling at Zarkosy before he turned back to concentrate on the controls of the shuttle.

  All that he could think of was the pleasure that the humans had given him, and he wondered if anything like that would ever happen to him again.

  THE END

  See the next bonus story at the next page!

  7 of 25 Bonus Stories

  Hearts and Hoops

  “Moooo-oooom!”

  There was a particular talent that children had which involved multiplying a single syllable word by ten to get their frustration across. Sofie, who was distracted by the sparse offerings of her wardrobe, took it in maternal stride as her son fixed his big brown eyes on her and pleaded, “Hurry up!”

  “Gee, Hayden,” she said, plucking at the cuff on a sweater that was two washes short of being an antique, “that's usually my line.”

  He dragged his hands over his face and made an unintelligible sound. Sofie looked at his hands; they weren't as plump as they used to be since he had shot up three inches in as many months. His seven, no, she amended mentally, his eight-year-old body flopped bonelessly onto her floral bedspread, disrupting the coverlet.

  “You aren't funny.”

  “Moms aren't allowed to be funny; it's the law,” she responded demurely. She paused in her perusal of her wardrobe, which was currently full of oversized sweaters and outdated jeans, and took one look at his lower lip, slowly puffing out and sighed with defeat. “Sweetie, I swear we will get there on time. I know we are running a few minutes behind, but I had a client.”

  “Uuugh. You always have a client!”

  “And that's why you get to eat.”

  “What's taking you so long?” he demanded. He stood up on her bed, and threw his arms wide as if to display his pitch-black jersey with wine red lettering. It was a minor miracle that his socks matched. “I'm ready. Before you are, even!”

  She laughed, and continued to poke through her closet. There was a dress in there somewhere, Sofie was almost sure of it. “And I continue to be shocked that the world did not freeze over.”

  “Mom!”

  She knew she was in trouble now. When he went from the elongated 'mom' to the single syllable 'mom' she knew that Hayden was past mild frustration and fast approaching a meltdown. She turned away from her clothes, and faced the puddle of youthful misery that was her son.

  His short crop of hair, the same rich chestnut shade as her own locks, was haloed around his face. A normally cherubic face was scrunched up in an admirable effort to keep from crying.

  “Hayden,” she kept her voice gentle. “Sweetie, what's wrong?”

  “We are going to be late.” His voice nearly broke with the last word.

  “Am I ever late?”

  He paused for a moment before admitting. “No. But this is different.”

  She raised a brow and crossed the short distance to her son's side. Sofie sat down on the edge of the bed and slowly tugged her son towards her, wrapping an arm around his middle. “How so?”

  “What if they come out before the game? Or what if we miss them warming up or something? I wanna see what happens.”

  Suddenly, Sofie understood. Sure, she knew next to nothing about basketball, she knew only that it was her son's newest obsession, and one that seemed to be sticking. It was why she had been so excited to win the VIP tickets. It meant that she'd be able to do more for Hayden's birthday than a dinner at the mall and a visit to the arcade.

  Her mistake, of course, had been in expecting her eight-year-old offspring to know that this was her first night out in, literally, years and she didn't want to look like a slob. It had also been her mistake to make this evening about her. This was Hayden's day, and it didn't much matter what she looked like, as long as he had fun.

  “Okay, you are right. I'm sorry. I was just trying to dress up pretty for your birthday and I got a little distracted. It was very rude of me. Go bug your great-grandma Lily for a few minutes, and I'll get ready in no time.”

  “Promise?” His lip quivered in hope.

  “Promise.”

  His face transformed from morose to elated in the span of a heartbeat. He gave a thrilled 'whoop!' before charging out of the bedroom, mindful to close the door.

  “Hey, Mom?” he said poking his head back in.

  “Yes, Hayden?”

  “You are pretty. Your clothes don't matter.”

  Her heart melted and she gave him a smile. “Thank you, Hayden.”

  The door shut with a click and Sofie wondered how she got so lucky with her kid, when she had been so unlucky with men. She tugged out her best pair of jeans and a simple scoop neck t-shirt and mused over the strange turns that life took.

  She could not expect her son, with all the wisdom that eight years gave, could understand what his simple statement of 'you are pretty' meant to her.

  When Sofie had been in high school, with head-gear braces and glasses so thick that her eyes were distorted in every picture ever taken, her life had been a struggle for acceptance. A few years later, when laser eye surgery and contacts had caught up with dental hygiene she had blossomed into the kind of woman that guys looked at. It had been an intoxicating experience, rife with bad decisions.

  It had been a little plus sign on the end of a pink stick that had changed all of that.

  Suddenly it wasn't just her, it was Sofie plus a squalling baby boy with a heart murmur, and a confident grip. It had taken her a year of living on her grandmother's couch (bless that woman for her good heart) for Sofie to realize that she was going to have to stand on her own two feet. She'd cataloged her skills, depressingly few in number, and put together a five-year-plan. There had been a few jumps and hurdles but, finally, For Your Eyes Only had been created.

  The world of custom glasses (and after too many years of ugly glasses, who better to create stylish ones?) was just lucrative enough that she'd been able to move herself, Hayden, and Grandma Lily into a nicer place. However, the glasses business didn't allow room for a lot of extra luxuries, or boyfriends, or going out at all.

  God, it was going to be nice to get out, even if she didn't know the first thing about basketball. With that in mind, she tugged on a pair of comfortable sneakers and styled her thick chestnut hair into a high ponytail. She took just enough time to line her green eyes with an eye pencil before she went to go make her son as happy as side court seats could make an eight-year-old boy.

  *****

  Hayden's concerns had not been without validity. Traffic was a nightmare, even with VIP passes. Who knew that sports fans could be so aggressive? There were at least three accidents on the way in. It was insanity, it was ridiculous, and Hayden was thrilled.

  “Alright, Hayden,” she said as she navigated her way through the rows of cars. “Tell me about the Night Talons.”

  “They are the best! They made it to the playoffs last year.”

  “That's good.” She hoped it was good. All she really knew about the playoffs was that a lot of people posted things on Facebook when it happened. “Did they win?”

  “No, Luke got hurt in the final game; he's their best player.”

  That was a name that she knew. It had been on her son's lips more often than 'mom' which was an odd and unexpected blessing. Luke Nielsen was the one who wore the jersey with the big 23 on the back. Her son's bedroom was currently papered in pictures of the guy.

  “What happened?”

  “I don't really know. I think he got sick and then he fell and it wasn't good.”

  “Getting sick is never good. Ah! A spot!”

  She maneuvered her ancient Toyota into a spot and triple checked t
he tickets. Hayden was already out of the car and bouncing in anticipation.

  “Come on, Mom!”

  “Hold up, Hayden. Not so fast.”

  He waited just long enough for her to lock the doors before he was off. She managed to keep up, thankful that she had opted for the sneakers rather than a pair of heels. She hooked a finger in the back of her son's jersey and reminded him for the thousandth time to stay with her. He responded by explaining that he was eight and 'barely a kid anymore'. It was going to be a very long night.

  ~*~

  The indoor court smelled like plastic, sweat, and (for some reason) paint. The crowd, which was growing by the minute, was full of supporters decked out in their team colors, already hollering despite the fact that the game was an hour and a half away from starting. It was overwhelming and mob-like. Hayden fit right in.

  After showing their tickets, Hayden and Sofie were escorted all the way down to the floor, which she took to be an excellent thing by the way other people were glaring. Hayden's eyes were big as saucers as he plopped down in the chair, his legs dangling a few inches above the floor. But, she had to admit, they weren't dangling as much as they used to.

  “You ready?” she asked him.

  “Yes!”

  “Okay, tell me everything you know about the Night Talons.”

  He did. Sofie couldn't say that she understood half of it, or even a third, but that didn't matter. What mattered was Hayden's obvious enthusiasm and that he knew what he was talking about. He was happy.

  Not that this amused the businessman next to him. He had his smartphone out, and was scrolling through who-knew-what. The moment that Hayden had plopped down next to him, he had shifted himself away. It wasn't difficult to figure out that he wasn't happy about her child's presence.

  The warm ups were the first big moment of the night. The teams came out in steady fashion and began the ritual of stretching the muscles and getting themselves accustomed to the court.

  “Look, Mom! Look! There they are, there's Luke!”

  And indeed, there he was. Sofie had to admit that the posters had not done the man justice. He was tall, yes, with the lanky sleek muscles of a fast-moving athlete. He also had the familiar tussle of dark hair that fell over his brow with a wayward curl, and the perpetual five o'clock shadow on his sharp jawline, but that wasn’t all. There was a gracefulness to his movements that turned his casual stroll down the court into ballet. It was hard to look anywhere else.

  “Alright,” she admitted, more to herself than to her son. “This isn't so bad.”

  “I can tell you more!' Hayden's eyes lit up with the hopeful wonder of getting to keep talking about his favorite subject.

  “I'm all ears.”

  As Hayden prattled on about the players and factoids the businessman next to him seemed to grow more and more sour. His lips took on a permanent frown and his brow furrowed with ever-growing contempt. Sofie watched it happened but was still surprised when he snapped out, “Is he going to ramble the entire time?”

  Hayden was shocked into silence. Sofie felt her ire flare.

  “What?”

  “Do you have no control over your child?”

  Sofie glanced at Hayden who had been such a good kid that he hadn't even got out of his seat to run around.

  “He was just talking. This isn't a movie. It's a game, and it hasn't even started yet.”

  “The refs are talking,” the man pointed out, as if this explained everything. “Warm ups have started.”

  “I'm sorry, does the entire court go quiet when these things happen, or just you?”

  He sneered at her. “If you don't listen to them you won’t what to expect during the game.”

  “Well you could watch, you know, like everyone else.”

  He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth.

  “Hey, everything alright?”

  Sofie flicked her gaze to one side and then froze. Distantly, she heard her son's awe-stricken gasp as none other than Luke Nielsen stopped in front of them. His smile was a work of devastating art. His eyes were a shade of blue so pale they bordered on crystal.

  Hayden was struck mute by intense emotions, but his quick glance to the man next to him spoke volumes. She didn't expect the player to notice, but he knelt down and patted his shoulder.

  “What's your name?” He didn't talk down to Hayden, he kept his tone as level and even as if he was speaking to any other person. Sofie liked that.

  “Hayden.”

  “I see you are sitting in our VIP seats, you know what that means?”

  “What?”

  “You get the best spots in the house. That is pretty special.”

  Hayden's lip curled into a sweet grin. “It's my birthday! I just turned eight!”

  “No kidding!”

  “It is! My birthday is four days before yours!” Hayden informed him.

  “You know what? You are right, it is. How about this? How about after the game we go celebrate our birthdays together? There is a pizza place that's open late. You like pizza?”

  “It's my favorite!! But...I gotta make sure Mom says it's okay.”

  “Well, of course.”

  Luke Nielsen turned those crystal eyes on her, and she felt his gaze all the way down to her toes. They didn't quite curl, but it was close. “Well, what do you say?”

  “Please, Mom? Please?”

  There were plenty of reasons why this was a bad idea. Sofie may not have known much about basketball, but she knew enough about celebrity men, and their exploits, to have reservations. Yet, if she said 'no' she knew that her son would never really forgive her, even if he said it was alright.

  “Alright,” she finally said. “We can meet you at the pizza place.”

  There, she would be in control of getting to a place, and giving herself a way home. No worries, right? Well, close enough.

  Hayden let out a cheer of joy and threw his arms around Sofie. She tilted her eyes up and found Luke Nielsen looking at her with an unexpected warmth.

  “I'll have one of the coaches let you know where to go,” he offered as a whistle came out across the court.

  He jogged off, leaving a besotted eight-year-old in his wake. And, if Sofie was being completely honest, a besotted single mother.

  ~*~

  “Luke, what are you doing?”

  Luke stepped out of the shower and dragged a towel through his hair. There were twenty or so men whooping and hollering as they crashed through the locker room, some heading for the showers, some to their lockers. All of them were slapping one another on the back in praise of a great game.

  Well, all except the man who was currently giving Luke an impressive glower.

  “I am going out,” Luke answered.

  The other male narrowed his eyes, and placed his hands on his slim hips. “Man, don't play that with me. I might be new to all this, but I don't think you are supposed to be headed out after a game.”

  “We all go out after the games, Rashawn”

  “Yeah,” he responded. “Together. Not going out with some chick you chatted up before the game.”

  Luke walked past his fellow teammate and towards his locker. The other voices echoed loud enough to mask their conversation, yet he dropped his voice anyway. “I'm not going out with 'some chick'. I am going out with a fan who some suit tried to intimidate, and that fan's mother.”

  Rashawn shook his head. His hair, styled into braided rows down his head, shook. The beads that tied off the braids clattered with the man's frustration.

  “What is it with you and rich dudes?”

  Luke jerked his shoulders in a shrug. “The hazard of growing up without, my friend.”

  “You don't gotta tell me about being poor. I know all about it. I mean, I grew up in Michigan. But that doesn't mean you can call out every baller with an attitude problem.”

  “Last I checked we were American. We made a whole country based off of calling out the elite.”

  “Yeah, man, whatever.” Ra
shawn snorted, but he was smiling. “Why this one?”

  “I wish I could tell you, but it's just this...feeling.”

  “Yeah, right.” Rahsawn rolled his dark eyes.

  Luke pulled out a shirt and jeans. He shoved one long leg and then the other into denim. “Are you gonna tell Coach?”

  “Are you gonna eat?”

  Luke shrugged his shoulders. “We're going to a pizza place, not a lot of options for me there.”

  “Why you gotta keep lying to me?”

  “You're still young, it’s easy to lie to you.” Luke tugged his shirt on, his hair left a wet line on the collar of the fabric. “You didn't answer my question.”

  “You didn't answer mine.”

  Luke fixed Rashawn with a steady gaze. Luke's eyes were a vibrant crystalline blue. Rashawn's were the dark of a forest pool in autumn. Flecks of gold and orange like leaves on the surface. The two men stared intently at one another.

  Rashawn sighed and looked away. “No. I owe you for what you did for me, I'll cover. I won’t even have to lie.”

  “Oh?”

  “I'll just tell him you went out for a bite.”

  “Ha-ha, very funny.” Luke shook his head. “I have no intention of-”

  “Dude, don't bother. You are totally going to eat.”

  *****

  The pizza place was located in a well-lit area, in a place that was still heavy with foot traffic despite the late hour. While a professional game, according to her well informed son, was four quarters that were only 12 minutes a piece; the game had still lasted nearly three hours.

  Three hours of watching athletic men with great legs run back and forth in front of her was not the worst way to spend an evening. It helped that a particular one, with dark hair and brilliant eyes, would shoot a smile in their general direction every now and then.

  She couldn't explain it. There was simply something magnetic about the gentleman with the 23 on his jersey. Sofie had been flirted with many times in the past few years, and a few of them had been intriguing enough to daydream about a little rendezvous. Not one of them, however, had bothered giving her son more that the most cursory of attention. When half time came around Luke had stopped by for a second visit to drop of a card with the address of the pizzeria and offered Hayden an armband with his signature scrawled across it.