by Fields, MJ
Must be the night for that. I laugh to myself at the thought.
Eric.
StixandStars1.
Swoony McHottie pants … shorts … naked. … Gaw.
Sweet baby J, the man definitely is hot, hot, hot.
I sit back in the soft leather seat and look out the window at the ocean, which will never … ever look the same to me again.
Just like locker rooms, but so much better.
* * *
As soon as I’m back to the room and before even bolting the door, I dive across the bed and plug my phone into my charger. It feels like years before I have enough battery to allow me to use it.
I close my eyes, knowing that if I see a Snap, I’m going to reply, which will make me seem … easy.
Fat chance of that happening … twice tonight. I laugh to myself.
I hit the side button on my phone and say, “Siri, call Angela.”
She replies, “Calling Angela.”
Angela answers after two rings. “Hey.”
“I’m back at my hotel.” I can’t help giggling.
“I’m heading to my room as we speak. How did it go?”
“Eric was amazing! So amazing that I let go of all my inhibitions and …” I pause, and then it all spills out, “We had sex on the beach. With protection, of course.” Not that I wouldn’t have without it, but I don’t tell her that. It’s just wrong!
I stand up and look in the mirror to see if anything has changed, because I feel like a brand-new woman. A grittier Autumn.
Laughing, I tell her, “And Ang, I have sand in places sand should never be.”
When she doesn’t say anything, I wonder if I have spotty service.
“Ang?”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
“You lost me at sex on the beach.”
I laugh. “You drank a lot tonight, huh?”
“I did.”
“We’ll catch up tomorrow.”
“Absolutely,” she says through a yawn.
“Chat later.”
“I’m glad you had a good night. Sleep well, Autumn.”
“You, too.”
I feel like a bad wing-woman, not sticking around to make sure she had a good time. I mean, we both live and breathe this company and since the founder and CEO passed away, we’ve done nothing much more than work.
“Tomorrow,” I say out loud. “Tomorrow, I will make sure she has a great time.”
I roll to my back and hit my home button then hit the app and see StixandStars1 has sent a message.
StixandStars1:
- Hey gorgeous.
- Not replying?
- I feel we’re past playing hard to get, don’t you?
- Apparently not.
- Well, sleep well and make sure you contact me when ‘sisters before misters’ time is over. I need between those sweet thighs again. I’m craving your taste like a fat kid craves Reese’s peanut butter cups.
- If you’re a good girl, I might let you sink to your knees again.
- Can’t get that fucking image out of my head.
- Wasn’t just the sex, though. You and I both know it.
I read over the messages a hundred time, smiling like an idiot. Thank God no one can see me. Then, after I’ve practically memorized them, I hit reply, but I have no idea what to type. Do I do sexy, sweet, or play hard to get, even though he pointed out the obvious—it’s a little too late?
StixandStars1:
- There she is, yet nothing to say?
AutumnsSeason:
- How do you know I’m here?
StixandStars1:
- It says read, and that you’re typing. I’ll keep going so you’ll see what I mean.
- Your pussy tastes like candy. Your eyes are bright as stars. Speaking of stars, shooting stars are really meteors, and Uranus isn’t a planet, but I’d Saturn that hot ass with my tongue any day of the week. And if that’s a no-go area, a rule of yours, let’s break that real soon.
I read his message and laugh out loud.
AutumnsSeason:
- It wasn’t on the list of rules, but it is now.
StixandStars1:
- Because you want to break it. Totally understand. Will do tomorrow.
AutumnsSeason:
- If tomorrow happens, your tongue isn’t going near my ass.
StixandStars1:
- Would you prefer my cock? Thinking you may want to reconsider, unless you’re into that kind of thing.
AutumnsSeason:
- I was a virgin until tonight, remember?
StixandStars1:
- That’s my girl.
My girl. Ugh, the feels. Fucking swoony feels. Butterflies in the belly feels.
StixandStars1:
- You fall asleep on me or are your hands as busy as mine?
He’s masturbating.
Okay, that’s a no-go for me … but that’s because, before a first meet, I don’t like to open the present before I’ve had time to get acquainted with its giver. In that case, I’m very well acquainted.
But the thought of him stroking his thick, long cock …
StixandStars1:
- I swear I would have let you sleep. I can guarantee you would have slept like a baby. Damn sure I would have. Sleep well, Autumn of Queens.
Six
Eric
Waking up in the pool house hangover free is a first in many years. And it’s definitely a first for me not having someone next to me when I am forced to be here. It’s not as bad as I always thought it would be, though. It’s actually pretty fucking amazing that I actually remember a dream for the first time in forever.
Yes, I’ve dreamt before. More accurately, I’ve had nightmares about being in the car that hit my mom. But she got hit while running in the morning, not at night, like in my nightmares, and I wasn’t there.
Always fucked with my head. Still does, if I let it, but enough shrinks have told me that it’s fear manifesting itself in my sleep. The fear of loss and not being in control.
This morning, the only thing fucking with my head is the need to see that woman again. That’s not my norm either.
I had to laugh to myself when she said bros before hos. Every chick that I fucked more than once used to get pissed that I spent too much time with my friends, surfing, boating, drinking, partying, just passing time. And once I got my head around the idea of being part of a team, playing lacrosse and spending time at the gym became an out for me.
I laugh again when I remember she said she hated kids. I happen to be allergic to the little shits myself. The only cure is to stay the hell out of the way around here.
So pissed that I came back, instead of telling him to stick it in his ass, like he deserves.
When Father insisted I come back to the Hamptons for the De La Porte Labor Day company picnic, I laughed, thinking he was joking. Hell, I just began my sophomore year at Duke University weeks before.
I chose Duke for lacrosse. Duke’s Blue Devils men’s lacrosse team is an NCAA division one team. We are already deep in our preseason training of my second season, and I had no plans to fuck up my chance as starting attacker, so putting in the time before the spring season even started was a good way to prove my dedication. Then he firmly reminded me that Jean Paul de la Porte, the owner of the company he had worked for over the past seventeen years, had passed away and that he needed to make a good impression on the new CEO yet to be named.
“A united front, Eric,” he said. Then added, “Or this family could lose everything.”
I have five half-siblings from Father’s current wife, and two ex-wives. I am the oldest. My mother is the only one not collecting a hefty amount of alimony or child support, since she died when I was five.
It’s not like me to bitch or complain about the fact that my father married three women since her passing, and up until Suzi, wife number four, and him were having issues, I used to believe my father and mother were madly i
n love and would still be together if she hadn’t died because of a fluke accident at age thirty while out for her morning run.
Stripping me of the ignorantly blissful belief, Suzy made damn sure I knew that Kimmi, wife number two, gave birth to my half-sister, screaming Shelby, within eight months of my mother’s death. Yep, he had been fucking around on my mother.
Daniel Cartwright was thirty when he married my mother, Erica Simmons-Cartwright and, at thirty-six, he buried her. Then he married Kimmi Whiteman-Cartwright just months later, and they had Shelby.
The woman is a bitch, who didn’t like me one bit. And, well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She insisted I was the cause of Shelby’s screaming and that Father send me to counseling. He opted to hire a nanny who was a recent NYU graduate with a bachelor’s in psychology.
Becki Smith became Becki Smith-Cartwright. Yeah, she was pregnant when Father, then forty-one, married her.
I liked Becki a lot. She was less abrasive, more chill, fun, and kind … unlike Kimmi. Shit changed when she miscarried, though. She became quiet, withdrawn, and when she started taking graduate classes, which didn’t make my father happy, she wasn’t around as much.
When I was sixteen, she had Daniel Jr. and Daisy. They weren’t half as bad as screaming Shelby … who still hadn’t a clue as to what an inside voice was, until they hit the terrible twos. Now nine, they’re still little demons.
Becki and my father had a much different relationship than I remember him and Kimmi having. They talked a lot, traveled together. She was stronger, much, much stronger than Kimmi, who we still deal with every other weekend.
That didn’t last long.
When I started college, he married Suzy, she is only seven years older than me, and yep … she had been pregnant. She had Danielle and Donavan. Donovan was born just a few months ago.
I spent my entire life watching friends’ fathers and the way they acted with their wives, girlfriends, and kids. The ones who were happiest did things like held doors for them, respected them. Hell, some even—gasp—did things to make them happy that didn’t include spending a bunch of money then bitching about money. They had integrity, morals. They didn’t check out other women while with their woman. And—again, gasp—they didn’t have near knock-down, drag-out fights in front of their kids and their friends. They loved them and showed affection. They respected, not degraded them. They role modeled appropriate behavior and showed the fuck up for the big moments. And some showed up for even the little moments. They didn’t lie. They didn’t cheat. They volunteered, and some even went to church.
So, this family—my family—is a fucking joke.
I spent all my damn life avoiding as much of the bullshit as I could.
I dated a lot. All my relationships lasted a couple months or more. None were good. Teenage angst and bullshit by the droves. I realized really quick that I was picking the crazies, just like my father always did.
When Autumn mumbled, “Why do I always pick the crazies?” I wanted to high-five her and be like, same, babe, same. But it’s really not something most people want to draw attention to.
She didn’t hide that shit, though, any more than she hid that she was an orally fixated, little fuck fiend.
Again, same, babe, same.
However, she did ruin pussy eating for me. No cunt that I have ever licked has tasted so fucking good.
If I were sticking around, I would be tripping over myself to keep her under my fucking arm. She’s that girl, the one that movie characters say, “You’re so different from all the others,” and you call bullshit when you’re watching with friends. Well, I just got schooled.
They do exist.
I’ve learned some shit in college about women. Not just in my studies either. I’m majoring in Literature and minoring in Psychology, so that’s kind of helped answer questions I’ve never been able to ask my father.
I’ve also learned that some women don’t give a damn about relationships or exclusivity. They just want to fuck.
Freshman year, that was just fine with me. I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to give a fuck about a relationship until I knew that the chick I ventured into one with wanted one that lasted. But down deep, I want what I believed my parents had, until that ex-step-monster number one, Kimmi, pissed all over it, of course.
I knew it was attainable. I had seen it outside of this estate’s walls. But until I found a woman who wanted it, too, the real shit, I had decided, fuck relationships.
Last night, Autumn … well, she was the closest thing I had ever come to seeing what I want in a woman. And it isn’t just that she’s a hot piece of ass. She’s fucking gorgeous. She’s also clearly intelligent, intuitive, and fun to be around.
My face still fucking hurts from smiling. And now my dick’s hard.
I glance down at the tented sheet and scold my cock, “You’ll have to wait.”
Then I get an idea.
Grabbing my phone, I see it’s ten in the morning. I slept in.
I hit the Snap app and take a pic.
StixandStars1:
- Boo!
AutumnsSeason:
- Much better than the yellow one.
StixandStars1:
- What? (Good morning, gorgeous)
AutumnsSeason”
- I thought you were trying to become the new Snap mascot. (Good morning, Prince Eric)
I begin typing a response when another message comes up from Autumn.
AutumnsSeason:
- Snatchchat.
“What the fuck?” I laugh as I type back.
StixandStars1:
- Nice! *high five* Now, how about you send me one? We’ll call it Snackchat, ’cause I want to eat it again. Underwear optional. BTW, no use looking for these.
I send a picture of hers draped over my ghost dick.
AutumnsSeason:
- Underwear thief.
StixandStars1:
- They’re a souvenir.
I watch the bubbles disappear and wait patiently for a solid two minutes before I get a reply.
AutumnsSeason:
- No comment? That underwhelming?
StixandStars1:
- Still waiting ‘G.’ (as in gorgeous.)
AutumnsSeason:
- I sent it!
I sit up quickly and hit stories.
“Well, fuck.” I cock my head to the side and get lost in white lace hiding … not fucking much. Then I realize that shit’s not in a message.
StixandStars1:
- G … babe, it’s on your story.
AutumnsSeason:
- What does that mean?
- NO!!! How do I delete it!
StixandStars1:
- Hit your story, then the three vertical dots on the top right, then trash can on the bottom.
AutumnsSeason:
- What do eyeballs mean?
- Why are there names?
StixandStars1:
- Delete and ignore any fucking messages for a few days, except mine, of course.
AutumnsSeason:
- DID THEY ALL SEE MY PICTURE?
StixandStars1:
- It’s not a big deal. Tomorrow, someone else will be on their radar.
AutumnsSeason:
- MY MOM SAW THIS?! MY EX HUSBAND?! EVERYONE ELSE, TOO?!?!
StixandStars1:
- Would it help if I said no?
AutumnsSeason:
- This is not funny!
As I’m typing, another message from her pops up.
AutumnsSeason:
- It’s not!
StixandStars1:
- It’s not. Not the story. Your reaction however …
Fuck, I hit send.
AutumnsSeason:
- FUCK YOU!
StixandStars1:
- In the words of Autumn of Queens, “Why do I always find the crazies?”
Laughing, I send it to her then follow up really quick.
- I don’t think it’s funny. La
ughing at your reaction to something you can’t do a thing about and because it’s kinda cute that you’re worried about your mom.
- This messaging sucks because tone is lost. I do feel for you.
She starts and stops typing a few times, and I wait.
AutumnsSeason:
- That was sweet.
StixandStars1:
- It would be totally wrong if I said so on that picture, but damn, you’re sexy.
AutumnsSeason:
- SHUT UP!
StixandStars1:
- I know you’re smiling. When can I see you?
AutumnsSeason:
- Eight work?
StixandStars1:
- Sooner would be better, but yeah, it’ll work.
- What changed your mind?
- Boo?
AutumnsSeason:
- Angela isn’t feeling well.
StixandStars1:
- Should say that’s too bad, but I get you sooner than I thought. Pack a bag. I plan to keep you.
AutumnsSeason:
- Plans for tomorrow. You’ll have to take what you can get.
StixandStars1:
- Dress warm or come naked and I’ll keep you warm.
- I’ll check in later.
- Don’t stress that pic either. Tell your mom that you were hacked, ignore all the rest.
AutumnsSeason:
- Chat later.
As much as I’d love to lie here all day, it’s time I face Father.
Walking across the lawn, I notice how the landscape has changed over the years. Each time Father remarries, the architecture of the estate’s landscaping changes.
I don’t remember much about my mother, but from pictures, I know she liked wildflowers and gardens with vegetables and berries. Kimmi liked roses and sculpted bushes. I mean like sculpted bunnies and shit. Becki let the bushes grow and had the roses yanked, stating, “Roses are common.” She liked tulips and flowering bushes. Suzy clearly doesn’t give a shit, since everything is overgrown and stonework has replaced much of the grass leading up to the main house.