by Shey Stahl
They all nod. Even the toddler. I can’t even tell you how cute she is. So freaking adorable. I want to pick her up and squeeze her, and every time I look at her I think of her sleeping on Landon the entire flight back.
Adler steps closer, examining my arms as I pull the iPads out of the bags. “Where do you get your ink? I’m thinking of getting a sleeve done.”
Marley shoves his shoulder. “Shut up, Adler. You are not.”
He stumbles, then straightens his posture, angry with his sister. “I can too if I want.”
Braylee stands next to Adler. “No, you have to be eighteen.”
“Not true,” he defends, trying to stand taller and next to me. “With a parent’s permission I could.”
“Actually, that’s incorrect,” I add, handing him a donut from the counter. I’m not one to give anyone false hope, but I also don’t want him running away looking to get ink. “Not in the state of Washington. You gotta be eighteen, dude.”
His shoulders slump. “Damn it.” He groans, licking the chocolate frosting from his donut. “Way to crush my dreams.”
I fight back laughter.
“What are your names?” Cat asks, reaching for her coffee again.
Marley speaks up first. “I’m Marley. I’m thirteen.” She slaps her hand on the back of Adler’s head. “That’s Adler, Braylee, Haisley…” She pauses, touching each one’s head as she calls out their names. “And this little one is Nalani. We call her Lani… sometimes.”
The moment she says Lani… Nalani growls at her.
“We don’t think she likes it,” Marley adds.
“Do you know Landon?” Adler asks, looking at Cat.
I fight the heat in my cheeks and the tug of my lips by hiding my face behind the coffee the moment his name is mentioned. I take a sip.
“I know him really well. I’ve been friends with him for years,” Cat tells them.
“Do you like him?” Braylee asks, her expression unreadable.
Cat is always honest. “When he’s not being a jerk, yeah.”
“Me either.” Haisley hops up on the counter and starts opening the bags. “He doesn’t have any food there, and his condo is like so small.”
“We have food in here.” Cat opens the cupboards. “What do you guys want?” And just like that, five hungry kids are looking through the cupboards and picking out anything remotely edible.
Adler, he takes his donut and sits down on the couch, pointing to the television. “Landon’s is huge, ya know.”
“I know.” Shit. Now I’m not thinking about his TV. I’m imagining just how big his cock is. It’s just kind of where my head is today, or always. Especially after that night in Hawaii and any other time we find ourselves in that position. I’ve felt it, a few times, and seen it twice. It’s beautiful and thick, long… and bound to get the friction on. Admit it, your head went there too. Thank you, Sir Mix-A-Lot, you musical genius.
Haisley starts reading the sticky notes I’m forced to leave Cat around the condo, things like, Dude, lock the door, or worse, Did you remember to turn off the stove? You shouldn’t have had it on in the first place. Go turn it off! You’re probably wondering why I leave notes like those, aren’t you? And if you are, remember… she has a brain injury. While her long-term memory is there, her short term isn’t great. Okay, it’s awful. Most days she can’t even remember if she showered let alone remember to turn off the lights. Which is why she lives with me now.
Looking around, I notice Marley’s in the hall next to the door, staring at the paintings on the wall. My paintings.
“These are amazing,” Marley notes, running her fingers over the canvas. “Where’d you find these?”
“They’re Ember’s,” Cat tells her from beside Haisley and Nalani, who are fascinated with Cat’s dreads. They’re also sharing a bagel with cream cheese.
“No way!” Marley turns to face me. “Did you paint these yourself?”
I nod, pride swelling in my chest. I can tell by looking at Marley, she’s artistic. Also, she carries around a sketch book so there’s that. But there’s appreciation in her eyes and if not there, the artful way she dresses herself in the bright red pants and purple T-shirt that’s a few sizes too big. I stare at her beautiful blue eyes. Mine are cold and used, hers are hopeful, yet sad. “I notice you’re drawing all the time. Do you paint?”
Tears well up, but she holds them back. “I used to, but I haven’t in a while.”
“How come?”
Her voice wavers with the words, “Haven’t felt much inspiration these days.”
I’ve loved art and color since the day I was born. After my mom died, color just didn’t look the same, but after some time, I found healing in the escape creativity gave me. “When I paint, I don’t know what it will look like until the end. I begin with no direction, but a feeling. A way to escape. I can’t even name the feeling, just what it provokes inside me. A smile, a tear, tension… whatever it is, I let the brush take me there.”
Marley’s eyes that were on the painting, drop with my words. “I’m not sure I want to paint what’s provoking me.” Her words shake, tears welling up.
Emotion lodges in my throat. I want to go so far as to say I don’t know what she’s going through, but I do. I lost my mom suddenly and my dad, might as well have lost him too. I do know what she’s going through. I know what it’s like to be so lost inside, you fear you’ll never find a way out.
“So why are you guys staying at Landon’s place?” Cat asks. My eyes snap to hers. Hadn’t I told her about Landon’s brother? Well, fuck. She probably forgot already. I should have written a note on the counter.
“He got us,” Braylee says, her eyes on the floor.
Cat’s eyebrows pull together. “Got you how?”
“Our parents died. In a car accident,” Adler tells her, switching through channels on the television like he’s looking for something in particular.
I turn to Marley. “Was he nice to you guys last night?”
She nods, then clears her throat. “I guess so. You can tell he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“He really doesn’t.” She has no idea how clueless he really is in all this.
Man to Man – (Coverage/defense) A defender is assigned a specific player to cover regardless of where the offensive player goes.
I like to think I stay in pretty good shape for the most part. I’m exhausted by the end of practice, just like I knew I would be. It’s not even a “hey, I’m sore and want to go to bed.” It’s a “shit, I might not be able to move tomorrow.”
So yeah, I’m really looking forward to some sleep. And then I remember that’s not going to happen. My days of sleep are over now that there are five kids living with me. Damn it, I really need to get a bigger place. I mentally make a note that I need to call Harper and see if she found me, one, a bigger place and two, a bigger car. As it is, I can’t take them anywhere and sooner or later they’re going to want to get out of the condo.
Seattle traffic after five is insane. Doesn’t matter where you go, it’s a nightmare. For the first year I lived here, I refused to drive anywhere and called for a car whenever I went anywhere. Then I discovered my love for cars. My problem now seems to be I have expensive taste. Not only does everyone stare at my car now, they know it and know who’s inside. So while my drive home already sucked, it’s even worse because people are gawking at my car and trying to get a glimpse of who’s inside.
Road rage and stupidity gets the better of me. “What the fuck!” I yell at the fourth driver in the last mile to literally stop on the road to point at my car. Do they not realize they’re the reason for all this traffic? People actually have somewhere to be.
It’s the same fucking thing every day. I tell myself I’m going to start hiring a driver again. But fuck, man, I love this car. Not the attention, just the speed and power.
Once I’m in the parking garage, my blood pressure lowers, but only for a moment. Guess what happens when I’m at my condo and mentally prepar
ing myself for five angry kids…? They’re gone. As in, not there.
What the fuck? Okay, don’t panic. I bet Harper took them somewhere, right? I check my phone to see if she left me a message. Nothing.
Tension rolls my stomach and Oma’s words rattle in my head. “Landon, if anything happens to these babies, I’ll come to Seattle and kill you.”
She might not have been serious, but it’s Oma Valkema, you never question that woman. Hence why I wrote that I hated her on the underside of the dining room table when I was a kid. She used to make me so angry with all her rules, yet I was too much of a chicken shit to write it on the wall like Revel did. She beat the shit out of him with a belt for that one.
Keeping her threat in mind, imagine my concern when I open the door and they’re gone.
In what can only be described as “fear of Oma syndrome,” I stand in the foyer, calling out their names, but none answer. Big surprise since this is a one-bedroom condo. Not a lot of places for them to be.
Next, I call Ember. She answers after the third or fourth ring. “No, I’m not bringing them dinner too. You’re on your own.”
“Please tell me you took them with you?” Can you sense the anxiety in my voice? The way it hitches around the words? “Because they’re not here.”
“What? No.” She sounds disgusted. “They weren’t home when I came by earlier, so I left the food and iPads on the counter and left.”
She has to be joking.
Part of me wants to yell at her for not looking for them when she was here. What kind of person would deliver food to kids and not check to see if they’re home? But then again, what kind of person would leave five kids home alone in the first place?
Fuck. I’m a piece of shit, aren’t I? Swallowing back the lump rising in my throat, my heart continues to pound. “What time did you drop it off?”
“Right after we talked, Landon.” And now she sounds irritated.
I hang up on Ember and remember I gave the oldest one my cell phone number this morning. Luckily enough, I called her to make sure I had hers. Scrolling through my contacts, I find her name and call. Thank God she answers.
“Are you finally home?”
I snort, gripping the counter for support. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Rude much?” she gasps. “We’re next door with Ember and Cat.”
This isn’t the first time Ember’s purposely lied to my face for the sheer fun of having me knock on her door.
Marching next door, I pound on the door only to have Ember open it and smile at me. “Did you really think I’d leave them home by themselves all day? I’m not you, ya jerk.”
Every time I see Ember my cock perks up with anticipation. I’m not even being dramatic here when I say I’d die to fuck this chick. I’ve been blessed in my adult life. I have everything I’ve ever wanted and shit, it’s a good life. The one thing I want but can’t have? Ember Jade.
Therefore, I’d die to fuck her. Seems logical enough for me. But that could be my brain post-practice when I’m too tired to think about much else other than food and fucking. Ember Jade. Even the name rolls off your tongue like you’re talking about a stripper or porn star. The legendary ones people write articles about as being the most prestigious of the industry. Who was that, Jenna Jameson? She wrote a book, she was that good at sucking cock. Only Ember’s not a porn star or a stripper. Fuck that shit. I’d never allow her to be in porn or strip. No fucking way I’d let anyone stare at that gorgeous body of hers. She may not be “officially” mine, but she’s completely off-limits to anyone but me.
With her jet-black hair tied up in a bun, Ember leans into the doorframe and get this, I can hear the kids in her condo, but she doesn’t invite me in.
Instead, I get the evil eye. “You didn’t bother to check on them all day?”
Naturally—because remember, my dick is in charge here—my eyes wander the length of her curvy body I’ve begged her to let me have for a night. I’m not disappointed, other than knowing she’s only going to turn me down again, but she’s wearing those hot gray cotton shorts she wears when she goes down to the gym. The ones that hug her thick hips and tiny waist and leave entirely too much to my dirty mind.
“I was at practice,” I tell her, like it’s a perfectly good excuse for not only leaving them alone but not even checking in on them all day. After the words leave my mouth, they leave me feeling like the biggest jerk of all time. And that includes the time I charged a guy for my autograph thinking he’d leave me alone. Dude paid me five hundred bucks for it. Don’t worry, I’m not a complete shit. I gave it back to him. “What can I say? It’s not like I can say, ‘hey, sorry, gotta take a break and check on the kids.’”
“News flash, golden boy, that’s exactly how it works when you have kids.” And she practically spits those words at me, like I should know all this already.
Ember’s beautiful blue eyes rage with anger, her cheeks flush, and you know, it only makes her hotter. I also can’t understand why she’s so upset with me over this. “Why are you giving me shit? It’s not like I know what the hell I’m doing. My fucking brother died and left them to me. I’m still trying to figure this shit out.” An unfamiliar pain hits my chest out of the blue. Right in my heart. Oh, wow. There’s a hurt to my tone I certainly hadn’t anticipated. Was his death finally hitting me? Or maybe I’m just tired, and the stress of having no clue what I’m doing with my life now, or where it’s taking me is giving me a heart attack. Can a twenty-six-year-old have a heart attack? Uncle Lou probably has.
“I know this is hard on you.” Ember frowns, hidden memories taking her bright eyes to a dull, pain-stricken gloss. “And I’m sorry.”
Shaking off the thoughts of a minute earlier, I know my opening when I see one. She’s downfield, looking back at me and maybe she might catch this one. “Does that make you want to go have sex with me?”
That one earns me an eye roll and a shove. Nope. Failed pass attempt. “No.”
I capture her hand in mine before she can pull it away. “What would?”
“Nothing.”
I groan. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re relentless.”
And then I ask, “Is it because you’re a lesbian?” It’s the only justifiable answer I can come up with as to why she won’t go out with me.
You can see anger settling in the set frown to the devastatingly beautiful lips I’ve been dying to have wrapped around my cock. Her hands clench, her fingers itching to slap me. Though I don’t know this for sure, I can’t say I blame her. It’s most likely deserving at this point.
“What in the hell would make you think I’m a lesbian?”
I fight back a laugh. “Though I love your feistiness, it wasn’t meant to be derogatory.” And then I pause, leaning into the wall beside her, to give her the full effect, or shall I say, for my own benefit because I know what my appearance does to women. I know what it does to Ember. But lately with her, I have to wonder what am I doing wrong? I’m trying to appear relaxed and unfazed by her constant denial and avoiding talking about Hawaii, but it’s messing with my head and my game. Both on and off the field. I’m sorry if this comes across as me being an arrogant asshole, but nobody has ever denied me. Until I asked Ember last night if she’d continue where we left off in Hawaii and she said, wait for it... no.
To me.
I’m gonna pause here. Let it soak in. Process that for a moment because fuck if it didn’t catch me off guard too. She told me, the highest paid, sexiest man alive—screw you People Magazine, you voted wrong—best NFL quarterback in the world, no. I won’t go into my professional record here, but maybe I should so you can understand how bizarre it is that she told me no. I grew up in Texas, dominated Texas State University, Heisman trophy winner, first-round draft pick by the Seattle Seahawks and just signed a four-year contract with them to become the highest paid athlete in the league.
You probably already knew all that, but does that change your mind?
&nb
sp; Thought so. Now help me convince Ember of this because fuck, her eyes, those devastatingly beautiful blue eyes and that jet-black hair, her thick hips and ass I’d die to grab a handful of, and have before, I have to have her. I’m not even joking when I say I sport wood the moment she comes into view. And she’s nothing like the women I usually fuck. Actually, she’s the complete opposite. At five-four, maybe, that’s pushing it, she’s probably a buck thirty, amazingly full tits, tiny waist, and again, that ass. It doesn’t look fat, either. You know how sometimes a woman with a little meat on her has one of those dimply asses that sorta looks like cottage cheese? Not at all what Ember has. Hers is earned, like she works for it. And goddamn, it screams grab me, fuck me, stick your cock in me.
Trying my luck again, I smile and then wink at the woman who’s immune to my advances. Immune might be a poor choice of word, but it’s what I’m left with. “I’m just curious,” I tell her, wondering why someone so beautiful can be so mean. Then I start to wonder if she’s ever looked happy. She’s like the art she paints, and art isn’t supposed to be pleasant. She tells me it’s supposed to be devastating and provoking. It’s supposed to make you feel something and this girl, she makes me feel everything.
Ember’s eyebrow rises, and the resting bitch face she constantly has around me hardens. “About?” The position of the exposed skin of her neck draws me in. I can see her pulse beneath the perfect skin. I remember that spot. My mouth has been there before and knows the hitch it causes in her breathing. It makes me want to press my lips to the curve, taste her and feel her neck pulsing against my tongue.
I lean in further. I want to make her uncomfortable. It works. It always works with her. “Why are you avoiding talking about Hawaii? It doesn’t make any goddamn sense, unless, of course, you are in fact a lesbian. Then I’d understand.”
There’s a moment when our eyes catch, and I see the spark in hers when she lets them travel the length of my body. Anticipation presents itself. She may not be completely immune to my advances after all. “You’ve known me five goddamn years and now you’re questioning if I’m a lesbian?” She jabs a finger in my face. “And don’t give me those bedroom eyes.”