by M. J. Fields
“And before that?”
“From now through that. Who the fuck knows what’s after?”
She smiles then wraps her hand around my wrist. “You’re going pro.”
I nod. “You bet that hot little body I’m gonna be.”
“I know you are.” She leans in and kisses me. Then she whispers, “I know.”
On the ledge
Keeka
Trucker calls the bar, and when I answer, he asks for my damn number so he can text me goodnight.
“I’ll grab a card tomorrow.” I laugh.
He sighs. “You okay? Not freaked out by your picture on the internet?”
“I’m good.” I yawn as I wipe down the spot on the bar that’s already clean. “Are you okay?”
“Better than okay. We’re going to crush Pitt on Saturday. The entire team is high as hell over what this little shit did. It’s actually cool.”
“That’s great, Trucker.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Let me take you to get that card tomorrow, first thing in the morning, before classes start.”
“I’m a big girl. I can handle walking five blocks to the cell shop.”
“Who’s your carrier?”
“My what?”
“Carrier. Verizon, AT&T, Sprint?”
“The one with the T.”
“You better have unlimited text or some plan that lets AT&T messages come in by the boat load. I wanted to text you like a hundred times already tonight.”
I swear my heart smiles. “I’ll have to see.”
“Speaking of seeing … When am I gonna see you again?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Keeka, I seem to be empty.”
“Give me just a second, Gary,” I tell him then whisper to Trucker, “I gotta go.”
“Who’s Gary?”
“A regular.”
“How regular?” His voice is deeper.
“I’ll message you sometime tomorrow.”
“You remember my number?”
How could I forget?
“Twenty-one, twenty-one.”
“Remember cuddle season. Fuck … pre-cuddle season, Ray. I’m your number one, not Gary.”
“Ew.” I laugh. “He’s … old.”
“Good. See you later, Ray.”
“See you later, your highness”
I hang up the phone and put it back on the bar. “Same thing, Gary?”
“Same thing, doll.”
My figurative toes are just touching the clouds. I’m on my tippy-toes. Closer to the sun. I’m practically floating on air. New, clean, fresh air that Trucker Cohen has breathed into my lungs.
I sit with my legs crossed on the rooftop ledge and look down at my sketchpad. I haven’t drawn since I left Brooklyn behind.
It’s a picture of the Dome, from memory of course, because aside from the flashlight sitting next to me and the few stars visible in the sky, it’s pitch-dark.
It’s also one o’clock in the morning.
A knocking sound disrupts me, and I look down. It’s Trucker.
“Hey,” I yell down, and he looks up. “Bar’s closed.”
“Ray, what the hell are you doing up there? Jesus, you’re gonna fall.”
“I’m fine.” I set my sketchpad down and stand. “See? Nothing to it.”
“I’m gonna kick the damn door in and drag your ass inside if you don’t get down, right the fuck now.”
I stand on one foot.
“Stop fucking around.” He points an angry finger at me.
I set my foot down, and it slips on the sketchpad.
“RAY!”
“I’m fine,” I say when I get my balance back.
He grabs my sketchpad off the ground where it fell. “I’m not, so get the hell off that ledge and get your ass down here.”
“It’s late.” I smile. God, I have smiled so much lately that my face is starting to hurt.
“I swear I’ll kick it in. Then Lou will call the cops, and you’ll be all over the paper as the girl who drove me crazy enough to show up at one in the morning because I can’t text you.”
“That’s kind of sweet, you know.”
“Then be sweet back, Ray. Get off the damn ledge.”
I look down at him, illuminated by the street light. He’s model perfect.
“Please, Ray, for me?”
How can I say no to please?
I jump back and land on the rooftop, because there’s no way I can.
Downstairs, when I open the door, he immediately takes my hand and holds it over his chest. “Feel this?”
His heart is beating a million miles an hour.
I nod.
“You scared the fuck out of me.”
“You’re afraid of heights?”
“No, but I’m deathly afraid of the fall. Of you falling. Don’t do that shit again, okay?”
I look away because I will do it again. I always do.
“Ray, seriously, especially not when no one’s around. Not cool.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He looks down at my drawing. “This is good. Real good.”
“Lemme see.” I pull it away from him to look at it.
“Did you draw it?”
I nod.
“Then, why do you need to see it?”
“It was dark up there.” I shield my eyes from the light above him as I look up at him.
“You gonna ask me to come in?”
I shake my head. “It’s kind of a mess.”
“I came all this way, and you’re gonna deny me?”
I nod.
“I live with four other guys; messes don’t bother me.”
He’s not going to give up, and honestly, if we are going to continue to hang out, he’s going to see it someday.
“Just remember it’s temporary. Someday, I’ll be able to afford a bigger place.”
“Ray, I came to see you.” He steps back and grabs a bag. “Besides, I can’t have this thing in the truck when I have a vehicle full of guys getting in it when we hit the gym at seven in the morning.”
“How could I have forgotten those?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t want old Gary staring at my tits another night without some coverage.” He looks down. They are already hard.
“I swear this only happens when you’re …” I stop when I think about how desperate that sounds.
He takes my hand and pulls it toward his … Oh shit.
“May I?”
I nod slowly as he pulls my hand to his obvious erection.
“This only happens when that does. You drive me fucking crazy, Ray.”
And now, I’m touching a dick. A very hard, very big dick. And what’s worse is that his hand isn’t even on mine anymore and I’m still touching it.
“You like what you’re feeling?” His breath is labored, lower, heated.
I nod.
He closes his eyes. “You gonna take your hand off it or you gonna wait until I come all over myself?”
I don’t move, feeling it thicken beneath my touch.
“Fuck, Ray,” he hisses, right before he wraps his arm around me, picks me up, and instructs, “Wrap ’em around me.”
I try to reach between us, so I can feel what I do to him again.
Through his teeth, he hisses, “Ray, your legs, babe.”
“Oh, my bad.” I bury my head in his neck as I wrap my legs around him.
He palms my ass and groans, then starts up the stairs. “You’re so fucking hot.”
I grab his face with both hands and kiss him like I want him to kiss me again. I kiss him like he’s mine because, for four months, he is.
He drops the bag at the door as he pushes my back against it. Then he opens it.
“We keeping this PG or are we a go?” He kisses my neck, and my head falls back.
“13,” I whimper. “PG-13.”
He sighs as he nips my earlobe. “Okay.” Then he
sets me on my feet.
“PG-13 involves kissing and maybe some heavy petting, right?”
“Give me a damn minute. And fuck, Ray, don’t say heavy petting unless you’re ready for it.”
“I am.”
He turns around and growls as he leans forward with his hands on his knees. His ass in workout pants is … mouthwatering.
I wipe my mouth, fearing I may have actually drooled on myself.
“You okay?”
“This is the part where I blow it all over myself if you say one more word.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“Don’t be fucking sorry, Ray,” he sighs out. “Just … fuck, you seem like you know what you’re doing.”
“I’ve seen my share of porn.”
“Ray,” he hisses. “What the fuck?”
“My mom’s boyfriends used to leave the TV on, and I’d go shut it off and see all sorts of things.” I laugh.
“Well, I can assure you, you haven’t seen it all. I’ve got moves a porn star would be envious of.”
I laugh. “Sure you—”
He looks back at me from over his shoulder, his eyes telling me without even saying the word that he’s telling the truth.
I snap my mouth shut. “I’ll be quiet.”
He nods then looks away. After a couple of minutes, he stands up.
I hate that I mentioned pornos. They actually disgust me. I hate that I gave him the wrong impression.
“I don’t like pornos.”
“I see that.” He laughs.
“I don’t. They’re kind of gross. I guess I was just doing what felt right, good. You know, following my body’s—”
“Ray,” he sighs, leaning down again.
“Sorry. I just really like the way you make me feel.”
When he stands up and turns around, I can’t help looking down. “You’re big. Like really—”
“Yeah, I know. And I really like the way you make me feel, too.”
I nod and finally take a deep breath, looking around. “So, this is my place.”
I watch as he looks around, glad he doesn’t look disgusted.
“It’s nice.” He walks over to the crate table I put an old door on and painted and swipes his finger across it. “Clean, too.” Then he takes a deep breath and crosses his arms.
“I know it may not look like much.”
“It’s not much, Ray.” He chuckles, and I immediately feel self-conscious. He turns and looks at me. “But if it’s everything you need to be happy …”
I nod and smile.
“Then it’s perfect.” He leans back on the table.
“Oh, you should be—”
Too late. The door falls backward, and so does Trucker.
“Are you okay?”
He laughs as he stands up. “I’m good.”
“I’ve been meaning to, like, attach it. It’s just …” I blow out a breath and look up. “I’ve been busy.”
“I know.” He smiles, a very different smile. It’s sweet. It’s a smile that one would give a child to. But he doesn’t like kids, and I sure as hell don’t want him to think I’m one. I’m not. Never have been.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper, looking away.
“Like what?” He walks over and takes my hand before pulling me toward the bed then stops. “This thing secure?”
I nod. “It’s a real frame, box spring, and mattress.”
He smirks. “A frame and a box spring?”
I look away, because now, now I wish I hadn’t let him in.
He grips my chin and makes me look back at him. “I had a mattress.”
I nod.
“No, Ray. I had a mattress on the floor, in a double-wide trailer. I didn’t have a frame or a box spring. I didn’t have shit, actually.”
“Truth?” I whisper.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. It made me hungrier. It made me want to fight harder. It made me who I am today.”
I smile, but he doesn’t.
“Did you have a nice childhood, Ray?”
I look up. “I had just enough. I assume that’s the case with you as well?”
He nods. “I knew there was something different about you. Something so familiar in your eyes. Something that made me look at you and think she’s truly fucking different. Something special.”
“Special all right,” I try to joke.
He shakes his head sternly. “Don’t do that.”
My voice cracks a bit when I say, “Okay.”
“My best friend and his father are the reasons I fell in love with a sport.”
“Logan Links?”
He nods. “I owe them so much, yet they wouldn’t take it if I offered.”
“They sound like Shakeeka’s family.”
He tilts his head to the side, and I smile and reach up, scratching behind his ear. He takes my hand and kisses it.
“Is she your Logan?”
I shake my head. “Kind of my mom’s. She was her best friend.”
“So, you were named after her?”
I nod. I hate deceiving him.
“My past is the reason I fight to be one of the best on the field. My future is why I will make damn sure I stay that way.”
“That’s kind of beautiful, you know.”
His eyes smile. “What are you fighting for, Ray?”
“Happiness, finally being able to figure out who I am with a mother who’s …” I stop mid-sentence.
Shit, shit, shit, now what?
“It’s okay.” He reaches out and pulls me into a hug, kissing the top of my head. “I’m kind of envious that you were that close to your mother. Me and mine are far from close.”
“How about your dad?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his massive, hard body.
“He’s a hard worker, but there’s no balance in his life. Mom kind of fucked him up. Your dad?”
I look up at him. “Never knew him.”
“That’s fucked up. How does a parent have a kid out there whose mom died and doesn’t reach out? I should find him and kick his ass.”
“Trucker?”
“Seriously, Ray. He’d love you if he met you just once. If he didn’t, I’d kill him.”
I can’t help laughing, the Shakeeka coming out of me.
“Think I’m joking?”
“Trucker, he’s dead.”
When his face falls, I push my forehead against his chest and laugh again.
“Truth?”
“Yeah.”
“Christ, that’s twice today. I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t worry about it. I survived. And Trucker?”
“Yeah, Ray?” He rubs my back.
“Can we never talk about our past again? I want to live—
“In the moment,” he finishes my sentence.
Dizzy
Trucker
I wake up with arms and legs wrapped tightly around me. I look down to see she’s still sleeping, and my fucking arms are just as tight around her. I have no idea what came over me last night—to just show up here. Looking at her, though, I don’t regret it. Knowing her on a deeper level is cool, but it scares the fuck out of me.
Four months promised to a girl, and I can’t go four minutes without thinking about. A girl who’s been through some shit and seems stronger than me at times. Times when I get insanely jealous, way over the top protective, and needy as fuck. I would reach down to see if I was wet, but I can feel Boom and the boys are swinging heavy.
I get pissed when I think about Gary, whoever the fuck he is, and guys like him. It’s dangerous. Really fucking dangerous. I need to make sure, whatever the fuck happens at the end of our four months, she’s happier than she is right now. Not sure if that’s possibly because I’m not sure if she always sleeps with the most adorable smile on her face, but she better still have one when the season is over. I need to make sure she’s good. Better than good. And I hope, maybe even pray,
that five or, hell, even twenty years down the road, when she’s found her “football,” her passion, she and I may run into each other again.
“What the fuck are you thinking?” I ask myself.
Girls think shit like that, not men. Well, not me anyway.
I glance over at the old-school, wind-up alarm clock on her little crate she uses for a bedside table. It’s five in the morning, and we stopped talking and kissing at three thirty.
I close my eyes and try to shut off … every-damn-thing about her.
Little Ray, my ass. She’s as big as the moon in my head. Big Ray, with the bare-naked B’s. I laugh at myself then stop right quick when I think of those asshole roommates of mine talking about her, saying the same shit I’m saying … But she’s not theirs.
“You’re mine,” I whisper then kiss the top of her head.
Mine when we get our schedules to mesh. Which I suppose we did last night. She has Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays off. She works when I’m out of school, so seeing her is going to be a pain in the ass, but we both think it’s a good thing. It will keep us excited to see each other when we can.
Fuck. I’m lying here, wrapped up in her, and I’m excited to see her again when I haven’t even fucking left.
Stop being a bitch, I tell myself. Just. Fucking. Stop.
Christ, I like this girl, and she fucking likes me, too.
“Trucker?” she whispers.
“Yeah?” I whisper back.
“Thanks for staying.” She yawns. “Feels good to be held.”
“It does.”
She opens her eyes and looks up at me.
Fucking gorgeous.
“You lied to me.”
“What?” She cocks her head, and I give the spot behind her ear a little scratch. She smiles.
“You lied. You look just as damn beautiful in the morning as you do every other time I see you.”
Still smiling, she closes her eyes. “I didn’t lie. It gets ugly after a full eight hours. Trust me.”
I walk down the street with a smile on my face, heading toward the twenty-four-hour parking lot I left my truck in. I didn’t want to park out in front of her place because that little asshole was still twittering.
When she and I were lying next to each other, me waiting for my dick to stop pulsing and my balls to stop tightening, we checked it out.