BENCHED

by Abigail Graham

  I follow them back to the house. As I start in on dinner, I call Phoebe into the kitchen.

  “Yeah?”

  “Help me. You’re going to learn how to cook proper.”

  She gives me a defiant look, but does as she’s told. I like that. It feels natural. It’s hard not to touch her. I satisfy myself with a light caress on her back here, a kiss on her cheek there. She bristles when I tell her what to do, but almost giggles when I touch my lips to her cheek or give her a light pat on the butt.

  “Lou called me. My agent. He got me out of the community service thing. Said I could go back to football.”

  Phoebe stops kneading the dough. “What?”

  “Yeah. He pulled strings or whatever guys like him do.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I quit. I’m out. I’m staying here.”

  “Alex?” she says, looking genuinely bewildered. “Don’t you want to go home?”

  I look around the little kitchen, then look at her. Hard. Her expression shifts from the scrutiny, her lips pursing just a bit as she buckles under the intensity of my gaze.

  “I am home.”

  An almost dreamy look softens her expression, and she smiles a real, genuine smile. She is so damn beautiful.

  “You’re living with us now?” she says.

  “Yeah. For as long as you want me to.”

  The joy on her face lights up something inside me. I didn’t know I could feel this way anymore. Her hands smear flour on my chest as I embrace her and hold her in my arms. She finally surrenders and hugs me back.

  “I need to finish the dough,” she says, wriggling loose.

  “Yeah, let’s get dinner going.”

  It has to bake, so I have some time to lounge on the couch with Phoebe and Carrie. I want to shelter them both. Phoebe is so tired from work, she almost nods off my shoulder a few times, stirring when Carrie laughs at the television.

  I barely even pay attention to it. I just sit there and savor the feeling of being home, in a real home.

  Yawning, I lift my foot onto the table.

  “Think I can take this off?”

  Phoebe glances down at the ankle monitor.

  “Yeah,” she yawns. “You’re not running away, are you?”

  “Not a chance.”

  She leans down and takes the thing off me, and tosses it on the table.

  “Can you get Grace to stay with Carrie on Friday?” I ask Phoebe.

  “Sure, why not,” she says. “Want to go out?”

  “As long as I’ve got an okay from the judge and all, yeah. Where’s a movie theater near here?”

  “Next town over, South Bridge. They have an Imax. What do you want to see?”

  “Whatever you want. I don’t care.”

  She snorts. “Are we going to do this? The whatever you want, I don’t care thing.”

  “It’s a treat for you. Where do you like to eat? We can just do something fun.”

  “Aunt Grace makes me go to bed,” Carrie whines.

  “Yeah, that’s why I have her over here to watch you. If I didn’t, you’d light the house on fire and figure out a way to crash it into the creek.”

  Carrie sticks her tongue out at her mother.

  “Hey,” I say, in warning.

  As we eat, Carrie goes on and on about what she did in school, how they have a lizard in her classroom for a pet, all kinds of things that she just sounds so interested in. I listen to all of it. It mostly passes in one ear and out the other, but her insistence is… cute. Phoebe has been playing the game longer, and keeps her going with questions.

  Once we put Carrie to bed and Phoebe has checked her homework, we go into her bedroom together. She lets her hair down and slips out of her clothes.

  She looks slyly over her shoulder at me. I ask, “What do you usually sleep in?”

  “Huh?”

  “With me, you’ve been sleeping naked. What do you usually wear?”

  She grimaces in embarrassment and produces a ratty, oversized Hello Kitty T-shirt, which she slips into.

  “Sexy, isn’t it?” she says.

  I grab her and pull her onto the bed. “Yes, it is.”

  I strip down to a T-shirt and boxers and climb in the bed with her.

  “Alex, I’m a little, um, sore, I don’t think I can…”

  I reach over her and flick off the light, close my eyes and pull her close. She tenses for a moment, then goes still.

  “I want this, right now,” I tell her. “I want to make love to you a million times, but right now, I just want to fall asleep smelling your hair.”

  Phoebe makes a little noise, half whimper and half something else, and snuggles against me.

  “You’re really staying because you want to.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Alex?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What is this? Are we… I can’t believe this is real.”

  My eyes have adjusted to the dark. Her blue eyes are the brightest thing in the room. How can she think she’s plain? Her dolled up, Holly Homemaker sister is like a candle next to the sun by comparison.

  “I think I’m in love with you,” I confess to her.

  Shock is plain on her face. A smile trembles on her lips, trying to take shape. She hugs me harder and after some shifting, we settle together and sleep pulls me down. It’s an easy sleep with her in my arms.

  “Alex,” she murmurs in the middle of the night, “I love you, too.”

  Something unlocks inside me. I keep her close and swaddle us in her blankets, despite the heat.

  “If I’m not going to play anymore, you don’t have to stay here.”

  I can almost feel her thinking. “You mean move from town.”

  “You don’t have to stay in this place where everybody treats you like a joke.”

  “I don’t really want to quit,” she says. “Alex, I can’t be a happy homemaker in an apron waiting for you to come home or something. That’s not who I am.”

  “I want you to be who you are.”

  “I don’t know who I am,” she whispers.

  “Me, either. But if I’ve ever met anyone who can tell me, it’s you.”

  I contemplate that while Phoebe falls asleep. She tosses and turns a bit, mumbling, clutching me. I only fall asleep again much later and wake with her.

  My days are like dreams. I keep expecting to wake up in a big cold bed in a Philly loft and get ready to leave with the team for a game.

  I don’t. It keeps going. I make dinner for Phoebe and Carrie, and start thinking of them as my girls. I read for Carrie when Phoebe is too tired, help her with her homework, rub Phoebe’s shoulders when they ache.

  When Friday comes, I’m so excited, I can barely contain myself. Grace shows up at the house around two thirty since she knows Phoebe and I plan to get going early for our date.

  “Hey, you,” she says. “My oldest sister wants to murder you.”

  I motion her inside. “Yeah, yeah. Well, her husband is a shithead.”

  Grace giggles. “Yeah, right. You got any of that famous food in here?”

  Phoebe’s sister looks over the leftovers from this week and licks her lips.

  “I almost don’t need to get paid fifty bucks for this.”

  “Watch out for the kid, huh?”

  She snorts.

  “Phoebe tells Carrie to watch out for me, but whatever. You two are going to have a good time, right?”

  “I hope so.”

  “By a good time, I mean sex.”

  “Grace,” I sigh.

  “I think you should get her pregnant. Maybe it would mellow her out and Carrie would have a little brother.”

  “Grace.”

  “Okay, fine. Me, butt, couch.”

  She flops there and waits for Phoebe to get home with Carrie. They roll up half an hour later, and Carrie runs in, her leg now fully healed, and hops on the couch with her aunt to watch cartoons.

  I remember that feeling. Friday. Knowing there’s
no homework. Memories come back to me in a tide. I must have felt that a hundred times. Forgot how liberating it can be.

  Phoebe kisses my cheek. “Let’s get ready.”

  It takes longer than I expected, but Phoebe doesn’t usually wear much makeup. She gets dolled up for me, and even puts on heels. We’re not going anywhere fancy. First dinner, and then a screening of Jaws at this theater. Phoebe likes old movies.

  That’s one of a few thousand things about her I’m eager to learn.

  Phoebe ruffles her daughter’s hair and gives Grace a stay-out-of-trouble look, and we leave. We take my car. Phoebe rests her hand on my arm while I drive.

  For the first time since I got stuck here, I cross the town limits. It’s refreshing and liberating all at once like a deep breath from a cool breeze.

  No talking. We just put the windows down, enjoy the air, and savor each other’s company.

  Of course, I’m recognized at the theater. Half the attendants and the kid in the box office stare at me openly. I wonder if that will ever go away. No endorsements, no post-game shows. I’m done. How long will it take before I can go unrecognized? A year, two, three? I don’t care how Lou tried to puff me up to think I’m some kind of legend, once I’m out of the spotlight, some other big lunk will take my spot.

  I’ve seen this movie. I’m pretty sure Phoebe has too, but she looks excited as we walk into the theater with our popcorn and sodas.

  As we sit, she leans over to me.

  “I use to watch this movie with my dad whenever it was on TV.”

  “Why?”

  “Kind of a weird story,” she says, shifting in her seat. “My grandfather died in a car crash. My dad was with mom at a drive-in to see this movie that night. They didn’t find out until they got back.”

  “Why would he want to see it then?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know, but if he was ever flipping channels and it was on, we’d all end up watching it. Well, Hailey hated it, but I’d sit there with Grace and watch, and so would Mom. It seemed to happen in the summer a lot. They always play this movie around the Fourth of July.”

  The movie starts. You’d think she’d never seen it before. Phoebe tightens her hand around my fingers when the girl at the beginning is pulled under by the shark. When I look at her during the diving scene, her face is a quivering mask of fear. For the last fifteen minutes of the movie, she’s clinging to me, almost in my lap. I put my arm around her, more fascinated by the way she becomes so engrossed in the movie than the action on screen.

  When it’s over, she sits up and swipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand. In the dark of the theater with only the dim light of the rolling credits illuminating her face, she becomes some kind of night angel, innocent and pure in the dark. It feels almost criminal to touch her. Kissing her makes me feel like a thief.

  “Come on,” she says, “can’t sit here forever.”

  It’s full dark when we walk out of the theater. Phoebe is still munching popcorn. Back in my car, I kiss her and her mouth tastes like salt and butter.

  “Last time we fooled around in a car, it was a disaster,” she says.

  “We won’t get locked in this time.”

  She grins. “Let’s go someplace quieter.”

  I smile back at her, and watch her cheeks turn a bright pink. She blushes easily. I like that. I drive with no destination in mind, other than away.

  “There’s a park,” she says.

  I follow Phoebe’s directions up a side road and then a dirt path, finally coming to a sign that says Closed at Dusk in faded white letters on rusty brown.

  Phoebe looks at the sign and looks at me.

  “I can do whatever I want. I’m a cop. Come on.”

  I grab a blanket from the trunk and take her hand. We walk into the park to the edge of the big picnic grove clearing. Phoebe doesn’t say a word. She unclips her gun from inside her waistband and sets it on the blanket, then begins to undress.

  She twists and turns languidly, hiding from me as she exposes herself. She covers her chest with her arm and shimmies out of her jeans, leaving her clothes in a pile on one corner of the blanket.

  When she turns to face me and drops her arms, my chest tightens and I can barely breathe. My head swims. She’s so gorgeous. The moonlight kisses her skin, and all her curves glow. Her blue eyes sparkle in the dim pale light. Her soft smile is full of promise.

  I shed my clothes in quick, blunt motions, desperate to be naked with her. When I step close, she puts her hands on my sides and holds herself a few inches away from me, admiring my body. Her hand falls to my hip, then traces over my thigh. The feeling of her nails on my skin makes my cock rage from an erection to a throbbing, painful need that only intensifies when she slowly draws her hand along the shaft and cups the head in her palm.

  I can’t take it anymore. I pull her to me, and we fall to our knees together, then on our sides. I lie on my back and pull her up, and take her nipple in my mouth. She lets out a soft, restrained gasp and her whole body flexes and shudders in my grip, her muscles tensing under my hands. Her skin is so soft and smooth and warm to the touch.

  I pull her by the hips until she’s straddling my head, and draw her to sit. Surrounded by her, I drive my tongue into her hot, wet pussy as her arousal wets my chin. She sits straight up and rides, moving her hips to guide me as I pleasure her. She tastes so good, so sweet. I want her on my cock, but I want her coming so hard, she begs for mercy.

  Her body quivers. I feel her muscles tightening, her thighs quaking. I hold her by the hips and attack her clit, until she starts to moan loudly, her cries spreading across the clearing. It’s chilly tonight, but she’s already slick with sweat, beads of moisture sliding down her perfect body between her lovely soft breasts.

  “Alex,” she whispers, between breathy moans. “Oh, Alex, it’s so good. Please.”

  Quivering, she hops off and sits on my chest, then slides down my body until she’s lying on me, her soft lips against my throat. I twist my fingers in her hair and savor the look of submission and lust on her face as I pull her head back so I can kiss her. I dig my fingers into her ass until she squirms, then pull my hand back and smack it. It’s like it flips a switch inside her and she bucks and undulates, slippery and soft.

  Phoebe sits up and straddles my stomach, inching backward until she rises, pushes my cock against my belly, and sits on it. She smiles a wicked smile, but blushes even redder as she slides herself along my shaft, wetting it. The heat and slickness are almost as good as being inside her. She digs her nails into my skin and bites her lip, then reaches down and guides me inside her.

  I watch, not even allowing myself to blink. I need the memory etched into my brain, the sight of the pleasure and strain on her face as she pushes me into her. The sight of my cock entering her body makes me so hot, I start to sit up but she gently presses me back down, leaning on my chest with her hands.

  I rest mine on top of hers as she stares into my eyes and rolls her hips, her face slowly going slack from the pleasure. I want to grab her and fuck her into her oblivion, but the sight of her enraptured by riding me is too beautiful.

  My entire body strains as I hold back and yield control to her, just for a moment. I run my hands up her arms and over her shoulders, and down her sides. I want to touch her all over, explore every curve of her body.

  She falls forward on me, her head on my chest, and slowly moves her body.

  “Fuck,” I growl.

  I love it. I love feeling her chest glide against mine as she moves, slicked with our sweat. I love her hair tickling my skin, the way she shudders when my hands glide down her back and cup her ass.

  I love her.

  Phoebe locks her legs around me.

  I roll on top of her, holding back my weight on my arms, and kiss her gently. I savor her body with long slow strokes, fighting the urge to give in to instinct and go faster until I explode. She kisses me and nips at my skin and when our eyes meet there is gratitude in
her gaze, a strangely thankful look that I end up mirroring.

  This is what it is to be happy. I feel whole. No words are spoken. When she cries out, I drive inside her, and I don’t know if it’s me climaxing or her, but it feels the same, a tight blinding moment of pleasure followed by a long slow burn as the tension floods out of my body.

  Phoebe won’t take her hands or mouth off me. Her teeth pinch my skin and I let out a little yelp. She giggles and does it again, leaving little red pinch marks on my shoulder and chest. Love marks. Red lines sting on my back. I didn’t even realize she scratched me.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, then kisses the places where she bit me and strokes the scratches with her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t apologize when I spank you.”

  “I like it when you spank me.”

  “I like it when you bite me. It’s naughty. Naughty means spanks.”

  She giggles, and it turns into laughter.

  “Oh my God, you’re still in me. Your cock is still in there.”

  I wiggle my hips. “There it stays.”

  Phoebe laughs. “Someone might catch us.”

  “Arrest them.”

  “I didn’t bring my handcuffs.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  She turns red and starts laughing so hard no sounds come out, then kisses me and plays with my hair.

  I get hard again. Inside her. She feels it, from the look on her face, I can tell. I slowly start to pump again, and her head falls back. This time she spreads out on the blanket, as relaxed as a cat in the sun. I rest my head next to hers and slowly fuck her until I come again. I’m still hard, so I keep going until she tightens up and starts to shudder, gripping the blanket in her fists. She bucks under me and I slow and stop, holding myself deeply inside her, feeling her clench and quiver around me.

  I draw out of her and sit up. I use the blanket to towel her down, wipe the sweat from her body, then dress her. Tugging her jeans on while she’s half asleep is a chore, but I get them up. Then I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the car, sit her in the front seat, and pack the blanket in the trunk. I put her shoes by her bare feet, and tickle her soles with my fingers. She jumps, her eyes widening before she pushes at me and closes them again. She yawns.

  Halfway back to town, she sits up and rolls down the window. Phoebe grins as the wind dries her hair. She shimmies in the seat and runs her fingers through it, and adjusts her clothes.