All Men Fall

by C. M. Lally

  “Yes, sir,” I laugh, and salute him. “I’ll guard it with my life.”

  Within ten minutes, we’re out the door and hunting for food. We pull into The First Street AleHouse, and I’m thankful that it doesn’t look too crowded. We’re seated right away and head up to the buffet together. I load my plate with a little bit of everything and head back to our table. Nick returns within a few minutes and his plate is piled as high as mine is. He takes a look at my plate and shoots me a smile that could light up Las Vegas. Damn that smile—it warms my body and makes my head fuzzy and my breathing erratic.

  “I’m just gonna take bets now that you aren’t going to eat all that,” he laughs.

  “Well, I’m going to warn you now,” I smirk, “I’m not one of those girls who don’t eat. Food and I have a passionate romance going on, and I don’t see it ending any time soon. You should just feel lucky that you offered up a buffet.”

  “Passionate romance, huh? What’s it take to get that started with you?” he asks. I meet his gaze and see a barely-controlled inferno blazing in those green eyes.

  I’m not sure how to respond to that comment. Do I want to stay on the literal path of this conversation or take it to the romance side? I try to keep the teasing out of my voice and simply state, “One just has to taste good and offer sustenance.”

  He pins me with his stare for what seems like forever, teasing me with a naughty grin, but then digs heartily into his French toast without another word. Halfway through our meal, my cell phone rings. It’s an unknown number and I hope it’s the detective, because I have to clear this entire mess up today. I don’t think I can stay with Nick another night without losing control.

  Thankfully, it is the detective, and I explain that I’m at breakfast, but am only a few minutes from the bar. I glance at Nick, who agrees to take me to my car, and I make plans to meet the detective within half an hour.

  After we rushed through breakfast, we arrive at the bar right on time. It looks like they’re wrapping up. I can see one man taking photos and another guy approaches us and introduces himself as Detective Lewis. I answer his preliminary questions, then walk him through everything that happened last night, ending with the mess at my apartment.

  I keep looking at Nick and start to feel bad that he’s waiting around for me to deal with this. He’s also a distraction, and I can’t focus on my conversation with the detective. I’m sure I sound like an idiot, but Nick is in my brain and I’m having trouble forming a coherent sentence.

  He’s leaning casually up against his truck, waiting patiently. After a few minutes, he moves to the rear of the truck and lowers the tailgate. He hops up on it, swinging his legs in the air. Surprisingly, he doesn’t try to interfere or offer assistance of any kind. He stays back while I handle my business, without trying to take control. Luke would have been in the middle of everything if he were here, causing confusion and chaos. The two men couldn’t be more different.

  I finish up with the detective and he explains that he’s heading to my apartment to meet up with his partner to process that scene. He offers to give me a ride before he leaves, but I tell him that I’ll follow behind with Nick. I know Nick probably has a thousand other things to do, but I’m not ready to leave him yet, and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. His presence is soothing, and I need that right now. Otherwise, I’ll go ballistic on Luke for putting me through this bullshit. He is so lucky I’m without wheels right now, because I’d hunt his ass down if I had another car.

  I casually stroll over to Nick and realize, now that we’re alone again, he’s staring me down like a panther assessing his prey. I think I rattled his cage at breakfast. He spreads his knees, leaving a gap, so I enter his personal space to get close enough to talk to him. I explain what I need to do at my apartment and the more I talk, the tighter my throat gets.

  The stress of yesterday is finally hitting me as I mull over everything the detective said to me. My voice quivers and tears well up in my eyes. I lower my head, allowing my hair to cover most of my face because I don’t want him to see me fall apart. He must have sensed I was on the edge of a breakdown because he rubs my arms up and down in a light caress, causing goose bumps to break out over my skin.

  His touch heats me, and I know there’s a flush creeping up my neckline. He brushes my hair back over my shoulders and lifts my chin with a soft touch. He whispers, “It’s gonna be all right. No tears are needed.” He leans in and brushes his lips across mine—once. He leans his forehead against mine and wipes my tears away with his thumbs. “I know I can offer sustenance,” he says, “but how did I taste?”

  I let out a shaky laugh. I wasn’t expecting him to say that, but I appreciate the flirty levity. “I need another sample to make sure it’s going to be worth starting another romance. I’m not sure I can maintain two at a time, and I’m not giving up food. Convince me,” I whisper back to him.

  He drops his thumbs from my face and wraps one hand around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His other hand drops to rest on my hip, but then gently slides around under my—his—T-shirt to splay across my back, holding me tight between his legs. I take a deep breath as he presses his lips fully against mine. I open my mouth for him, and his tongue is sweet and warm—gently stroking and dancing with mine. His lips are soft, but firm. He gives me no reprieve until he’s finished trying to convincing me.

  I finally remember to breathe, because my entire focus is on what he’s doing to my mouth. I’m overwhelmed with his musky scent. He tastes like maple syrup and raspberries, and his touch is hot and blistering on my back. I can feel his fingers wrapped around the back of my bra. God, I want to touch him. I settle for reaching up and wrapping my hands around his neck, pulling him closer.

  One hand slides around and strokes the lobe of his ear, while my other thumb rubs the scruff of beard growth on his jaw. Breaking free of the kiss, I climb up his legs to straddle him, then rain kisses up his jaw line, panting hotly against his skin. He feathers kisses at the base of my neck, then his tongue darts out and licks straight up my neck to the back of my ear. I rock against him and shudder, feeling his hard cock through his shorts as he gathers my hair into his fingers, holding me tightly to his chest. I hear a car horn in the distance and suddenly pull away from him, remembering where we are and where we need to be.

  “Oh my god,” I gasp trying to catch my breath. “I completely forgot where we are.”

  I unwrap my legs from around him and climb to his left, scooting off the tailgate. He walks me to the passenger side and helps me up into my seat. We drive in silence, and I pray the detectives are still there waiting for me. I need to put some distance between Nick and me after I practically fucked him in the parking lot of my uncle’s bar. We pull up to my apartment within a few minutes and he turns toward me after turning off the ignition.

  “Listen, I know you have a lot to do here and you don’t need me hanging around getting in the way. I’m right around the corner. Please take my number and call me if you need anything, okay?” He hands me his business card and his fingers brush mine as I take it.

  “Sure,” I reply, tucking his card into an outside pocket of my purse. I open my door and slide down out of the cab. Before I walk up the driveway to my door, I impulsively turn back toward him, feeling like I’m leaving unfinished business. I step up onto the driver side running board, lean into his window, hook my finger into his T-shirt collar, and tug so that his ear is right next to my lips. I breathe three words, “You were delicious.” I smooth down the wrinkle I made in his collar, and step back down from his truck. I bounce up my drive and away from him, not daring to look back.

  Chapter 8

  Nick

  That little minx just left me in ten thousand kinds of a hot and bothered mess without even saying goodbye, unless of course that was her goodbye. I think about her exit for a few seconds. No, that wasn’t a goodbye. I may not have seen her face, but I felt every single breath that escaped her lips. Her final sultry words melted
into my ear and shimmered through my body, making my dick hard all over again. She was thoroughly enjoying herself—that wasn’t a final act. My phone dings on the seat and I pick it up to see a text from an unknown sender.

  J: Thanks for the place to sleep, the clothes, and the breakfast. All were divine. :)

  N: You’re more than welcome.

  J: You have no idea how hard it’s going to be to stop thinking about you today.

  N: Call me when you are done and we’ll discuss it.

  J: Hmmmm, maybe! ;)

  I realize I’m still sitting in her driveway, stupidly smiling and staring at her text thread. I rub my thumb over the words like I can feel her through the phone. She likes to play. Oh, this is gonna be fun. I turn the ignition and pull out of her drive. It’s Sunday, so my day is wide open. I’ll wait for her.

  I head over to my office and finish up some paperwork, then, after checking the weather forecast, I line up the work schedule for my men. What normally takes me an hour has turned into three—she keeps floating through my mind. I don’t know what move to make next with her. I’m way out of practice with dating, and she isn’t the type of woman I’m used to.

  She’s confident and bold, yet humble—not arrogant like many beautiful women are—and maybe a little bit shy. She’s mysterious, but outgoing and sassy; intelligent and curious, but not a know-it-all. She is definitely funny, sexy as hell, and kisses like a tornado. Those lips sweep you up and knock you on your ass. I’m undeniably dazed and confused after getting caught up in her storm last night.

  I’ve got nothing to offer her but me, and that’s not saying much. The fame is gone. The endorsements have long since left my life. The notoriety is still there, but it’s bad publicity to be seen with me. My public life is nothing but boos and angry words, at least in this area. Everybody has an opinion about my final game but no one has ever asked me what happened; they just accuse me of throwing the game and play Monday morning quarterback.

  I’m the only man in this state to ever make a mistake at his job and be publicly lynched for it. I can’t bring her into my life. I live the life of a hermit—I send my men out to be the face of my business and I conduct most meetings here in my office via teleconference. The public doesn’t need to see me. She doesn’t need to be put through my hellish existence. Even I hate living my life.

  But God, I just want to move past it all. Move forward with my life. I want a wife and kids. I hate being lonely. I like to laugh and go to movies. I enjoy great music, and walking Zeus in the park. I love playing at the beach and running through the waves. Some of the best times of my life have been doing things with my family.

  My Mom always had a plan for Funday Sundays and I want that in my life. How long does it take people to forget one man’s mistakes? Who the fuck am I kidding? When it comes to football—never. Highlight clips and video reels on milestones and anniversaries constantly remind everyone of times and events best left forgotten. I will never escape it.

  My phone dings with an incoming text from my sister, Aran.

  A: Dude, whatcha doin’?

  N: Working, what’re you doing?

  A: Shopping. Come eat with me and give me a ride home?

  N: Where are you?

  A: The Streets of Brentwood– Johnny Garlic’s, I need some Kimchi.

  N: Be there in 20 minutes– get a table.

  A: :)

  I can suffer through watching her eat Kimchi, I guess. I haven’t see my sister in two months and now she’s home for summer break from the Academy of Art University in San Francisco. She has a rock-star talent for photography and I really miss watching her concentrate on the “getting the action” shots. That’s where she thrives. She has taken some of my favorite pictures of me playing in college and for the Raiders. She has natural talent; that’s for sure. My Mom would have been so proud to see her follow her dreams.

  I head into the restaurant and see Aran stand, waving her arms at me. Just like always, she has her eyes on me. You can’t miss my sister. She is a blazing fire in the night sky. I point in her direction when the hostess asks me how many are in my party. I saunter over to her and she pulls my chair out for me and tries to shove it, and me, under the table at the same time like a gentlemen would do while seating a lady.

  “Ha-ha. Very funny twerpling,” I tease her.

  “Oh my God, don’t call me that,” she laughs. “I am not ten anymore. And besides, I’m just showing you the respect you deserve, my fabulous brother.” She states that last comment in her most sarcastic voice. She’s always treated me like a king, and I secretly adore it. She and my Mom were always my most loyal fans.

  “I no longer hold any titles in this fair land, and I gave up my kingdom to be a lowly keeper of the grounds, milady,” I jest in my best British accent. The waitress arrives and takes our drink orders, forcing us back to the 21st century. My Mom was a high school drama teacher and loved Shakespeare. My sister and I were her screenplay readers at home, while she decided which one her class would perform. We would try to get on her nerves by speaking in Shakespearian language for days, but she never told us to stop. We would eventually get on our own nerves and forget about it until the next drama performance came along.

  “Hey! Speaking of which, they’re having the Valhalla Renaissance Fair over in South Lake Tahoe at the end of July. We should go and hang out for the day, like when Mom used to take us,” I say casually in case she already made plans this summer with her friends. “Surely you can spare one day for your big brother.” I flash my puppy dog eyes at her and whimper, laying on the guilt. She knows she’s neglected me lately with that new boyfriend of hers.

  “Sure! That sounds like fun,” she says as she checks her phone screen. She swipes left looking at her notifications and I watch the lines on her forehead crease with frustration.

  “Something wrong?” I ask, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.

  “No. Nothing. I just thought Cole would have called or texted by now, but he hasn’t. That’s all,” she says nonchalantly, but I can hear the disappointment in her voice.

  “Oh, it’s about Cole,” I tease her. “Things are going well, I assume?”

  Grinning, she replies, “Yes, actually. Things are going well, for once. That’s what makes me nervous. I keep waiting for the bottom to drop out of it, ya know? He seems to like me and genuinely wants to spend time with me. Imagine that.”

  “No, thank you,” I laugh as I toss a piece of buttered roll at her.

  “How are things going in your life,” she asks. “Are you still living the lonely, bruised-and-battered-soul existence?”

  I raise my face to her and can tell immediately from the worried look on her face that I can’t ignore the question. She has a way of feeling me out. I might as well give it up now or she’ll wring me dry like a sponge. “I’ve met someone, but you know how it goes with me,” I groan. “The public ridicule of my persona will be enough to keep her at a distance.”

  “Bullshit,” she snaps at me. “The world is going to judge you no matter what you do, so live your life the way you fucking want to. If you want to start fires with how you feel for this girl, then go pyromania. I’ll stand next to you with the hose, if it gets all crazy. I need to see you happy again. Mom would want you to be happy again.”

  Our food arrives at that moment and we instantly slip into a much lighter conversation about school and work. Her classes went well. She informs me that this is her last summer off. For the next two summers, she’ll need to take on internships and continue to build her professional portfolio. She describes her vision for her senior project, and says she might need my help at some point with her inheritance and with opening her own studio. It’s great to see her dreams light up her face. At least one of us still has dreams to pursue, and I’ll do anything to make sure she succeeds. Mom would expect me to keep my eyes on her because God knows Dad isn’t watching her.

  Her phone rings and she scrambles to turn down the volume. Usher is singing �
��Good Kisser” and Aran’s face flushes a ripe strawberry color. I make a mental note to tease her later, as I watch her get up and walk away from our table for privacy. It must be Cole.

  The song rolls my thoughts back to Jenna and our explosive kiss in the back of my truck. She’s full of fire and I want to be scorched by her. I would proudly wear that brand, though I’m used to being the one in control. I’ve never felt totally consumed by a woman before. When she climbed on me and kissed me back, I felt like she was the only thing keeping me alive at that moment. Her oxygen was my oxygen. Her heartbeat was my heartbeat. I check my phone in case I’ve missed a text from her, but only see a blank screen. I know she’s busy, but I feel like chasing her. I press the message app to text her.

  N: I just heard a song and thought of you.

  I start to flip through my emails waiting for her to reply, but it dings immediately and I see her name flash across the screen. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for hours—since that scorching kiss. I suck in a lungful of air and float my finger across the screen to read her thoughts.

  J: Really? Which one?

  N: ‘Good Kisser’– Usher

  J: Wow! *faints* Wish I was kissing you instead of missing you.

  N: That can be arranged.

  J: I am nowhere near done. Door is fixed though. Safe here tonight.

  N: Are you sure? My place is guarded by a lion dog.

  J: Yes, it is. Maybe I can borrow him?

  N: Of course. Anytime. Seriously, let me know if you want to borrow Zeus. I would feel better.

  J: Come see me at 7:00 pm, if you can. Bring Zeus (and his toys)!

  N: Hot Damn, I love a woman that asks me to bring toys. ;)

  Aran comes back to the table with a broad smile on her face, and silly-girl giggles to herself. Oh, she’s got it bad for this guy. I continue to fumble with my phone, trying not to let on that I saw her girly-lovey-face. I really need to meet this guy. She slides back into her seat, places her napkin on her lap, and jumps right back into our conversation exactly where we left off. Alright, second mental note not to pry into her life right now. And I do mean right now.