I toss my wallet, keys and a bottle of water into a small backpack I wear for my training rides and take the elevator down to the street, where I start off. I'm not really looking at trying to light my quads up today, so I keep it to one of the flatter routes that I've mapped out around my apartment area, a three-mile shot to a park that rises and falls gently as I stay mostly parallel to the bay. The only drawback is the traffic. The route to the park is along some pretty busy streets, but the park itself has dedicated bike lanes. I ride loops of the park until the sun starts to go down and then head back, arriving home just after eight thirty.
Going upstairs, I see that Patricia hasn't tried to contact my Skype or my email, and I remind myself to get my damn phone replaced tomorrow. I have to call her and tell her how I feel, no matter what. I wish I could do it in person, but if I have to, I'll do it over the phone.
A long, hot shower helps not only scrub away the sweat of my ride but also my tension and nervousness. Sure, Patricia was distracted yesterday. I'd called her at work, after all. And she told me that her boss has been a total jerk the past few weeks. I must have just gotten in touch with her at the wrong time.
I finish my shower and change into a looser pair of normal exercise shorts and a fresh tank top, ready to make my evening, and just as I’m about to sit down and eat some leftovers, there's a pounding knock on the door. Whoever the hell it is, they really want to get my attention.
“Hold on, hold on,” I call when the knock comes again, my front door actually rattling in its frame. Jesus. I check the peephole and I'm surprised. Troy? I unlock my door and open the door, a smile coming to my face. “Troy! What are you—”
His shove catches me in the chest, and I go flying. It's been six and a half years since I last played football. Since then, I've stayed in shape in decidedly non-contact ways, and Troy's got fifty pounds of muscle on me. I can actually see him step forward. I'm in the air so long before I land, thankfully semi- on my feet, rolling backward and over my shoulders, ending up on my knees.
“Troy!” I yell, scrambling to my feet. He's already stepped inside my apartment, closing the door behind him, and I see murder on his face. I've never seen such a dark, deadly expression on his face before . . . except for a few weeks right after Whitney went to Europe. We still had the playoffs in high school, and during those weeks, watching Troy Wood play quarterback and linebacker for Silver Lake High was like watching a demon in blue and silver. For the four weeks until we lost at the state semi-finals, he destroyed everything in his way, and even in the game we lost, he was a one-man wrecking crew.
But that was football, and Troy was pouring his pain out against our enemies. This Troy is angrier, stronger, and more dangerous than that version. “Troy . . . What the fuck? What's going on?”
“I warned you,” Troy says, his voice silky, almost contemplative as he comes toward me, his hands bunching into fists, the knuckle pops sounding like pistol shots in the air. “I warned you, back in the Bahamas. I thought you'd understood that it didn't mean just then.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, backing away. I'm in San Francisco, which means that I don't have a gun, and the way Troy looks right now, that'd be about the only thing that would save me if he gets his hands on me. But more importantly, I don't want to get either of us hurt. He's got a game Sunday, he's my best friend, and honestly, I'd like to keep living.
“I told you, if you were in it for just a fuck and dump, I'd end you,” Troy says again, and I remember. “How could you, Cory?”
“How could I what? I haven't dumped anyone, certainly not Patricia!” I reply, circling still. Normally, I'd be able to do this for a long time. My legs usually still have plenty of bounce and athletic ability, but I just got done with a forty-five-minute bike ride, and after a morning workout at the gym, I'm exhausted. And Troy's still pissed. He's not hearing me.
“Troy, stop. I'm telling you, I have no idea what you're talking about. What's this about Patricia?”
I'm so focused on trying to talk and walk that I don't see my backpack on the floor, and I trip, stumbling. It's not much, but it's enough for him to grab my shirt and jack me against the wall, his eyes still steely hard and angry. “Don't lie to me,” Troy yells, bouncing my body off the wall. My head bounces too, and fireworks go off in front of my eyes, white and sparkly. Pretty fireworks . . . “How the fuck could you, after what she told you?”
“Told me? Troy, my phone's broken. I haven't been able to talk to anyone since Thursday!” I yell back as his words pierce the roaring in my head, grabbing his wrists. It's like grabbing two high-tension cables. There's no give at all, and unless I can convince him of the truth, I'm fucked. “Look, it's on the table!”
Troy bounces me again, not as hard this time, and I let go of his hands. “I'm telling you the truth. I don't know how you got the idea that I want to break up with Patricia, but that's the exact opposite of the truth. Just look at my phone.”
Troy's eyes consider me for a moment before he slowly relaxes, letting me off the wall. He keeps his hands on my shirt as he turns his head and looks at my phone, which is sitting on my coffee table, clearly broken, clearly not working. Troy looks back at me, his voice lowering more toward its normal tone. “You didn't break up with her today?”
I shake my head slowly, putting my hands on his wrists again and pulling my shirt free. Still, I don't move and instead, stay right where I am against the wall. “The last time I talked to Patricia was yesterday morning. I called her to tell her that I got a promotion at work. She was a little distant, said she didn't feel too well, and when I offered to come up to town to take care of her, she turned me down. I figured we'd catch up tonight or over the weekend, but when I got home, I realized my phone was broken, it's probably been that way since this morning. Work was a bitch. I didn't check it all day.”
Troy nods, then his eyes go wide with wonder and surprise. “So . . . so you don't know?”
“Know what?” I ask. “And can you let me off the wall?”
Troy steps back, then gives me a grin. “You . . . you really don't know. This is too good!”
“What?” I ask, feeling like I'm back playing football and just took a hit to the head, where everything is sort of wonky, and I feel like I'm missing something. It's not even the ache in the back of my head right now—that's fading. I just don't understand what the fuck Troy's going off about. Has he taken one too many hits to the head? “What the hell is going on?”
Troy grins and shakes his head. “Here, you can talk to Patricia yourself and find out.”
He reaches for his pocket, then pats it, his head drooping as he laughs. “Great, just great . . . now I left my phone behind too.”
“Troy, just tell me what the hell’s going on,” I say, frustration taking over for my confusion. I've just been jacked against the wall twice in my own apartment by my best friend, who's now laughing and acting like this is the funniest joke of all time, and it all has something to do with Patricia. “You're making me freak out, and with the shit I've been through the past two days, I don't need it!”
Troy stops, still smiling. “Congratulations. Welcome to the Daddy Club.”
What? Daddy Club? But that means . . . “You mean Patricia's pregnant?”
Troy nods, and suddenly, I'm hugging him, pounding on his back and laughing. He's laughing too, although his slaps on my back probably feel a lot more painful to me than mine to him. I won't need to see a chiropractor for a month after this, that's for sure. “Wait, then how did you think I broke up with her?”
“There was a phone call. Whit, Laurie and I were flying into Seattle early for the game. We had a surprise we wanted to tell her, and then she called while we were still in the air. There was a thunderstorm, the call quality sucked, and well . . . it doesn't really matter now, does it?”
I shake my head, then look at my phone. “Fuck this, I'm going to Seattle. How are you getting back?”
Troy shakes his head and shrugs.
“I don't know. I hadn't thought that far ahead. When I thought you'd dumped Patricia because she told you she was pregnant, I hadn't thought much past kicking your ass.”
I run to my bedroom and grab a sports bag, and I throw some clothes inside before running back out and grabbing my backpack. Troy's still standing there, looking at me perplexed, and I turn at the door, frantic and happy and shocked. “Well, are you coming? Let's haul ass!”
I know I've never pushed my car harder as we make our way to the airport, only to be frustrated when we get there when all the flights to Seattle are done for the night. “Don't you understand?” I beg the ticket agent at the Delta counter, who's been trying for fifteen minutes to get me a seat somewhere. “I need to get up there now!”
“I'm sorry, sir, there's nothing here,” she says, punching at her keyboard. “The first flight isn't until six tomorrow morning. Would you like me to book a seat?”
“Yes, fine . . . but it's not good enough!” I hiss, handing over my card. Thank goodness for a PacFran Platinum Visa, even if it is connected directly to my checking account. “What else can I do?”
“I've got us a flight,” Troy says behind me, rushing up. “Come on.”
I grab my card back from the ticketing agent, who tries to ask some questions as Troy and I run through the terminal. “What flight?”
“Private jet. They can take us right to Silver Field,” Troy says. “Red cap gave me a hint. It's pricey . . .”
“Fuck the price,” I say as we run. We leave the building and jump into a cab, where the driver is surprised when he hears where we want to go.
“You want to go a half-mile?”
“Go, dammit! I've got a plane to catch!” I yell, tossing him twenty bucks from my wallet. “And step on it!”
“Your money, pal,” the cabbie replies, but he lays a streak of black on the pavement as we speed to the small plane terminal, and he tosses us a thanks as we jump out, not worrying about the change.
The plane turns out to be a Gulfstream, and with the short notice and the fact that I'm asking him to fly what is basically a one-way trip, the total comes to over fifteen thousand dollars. I sign the contract without a single worry, putting it on my card. It's half my current checking account, but my only thought as we lift off the ground is that I wish it were possible to rent an F-16. That'd get me there faster.
It's nearly one in the morning when the taxi drops us outside Patricia's house, and I run up the walkway while Troy hurriedly pays the fare. “Cory, wait!”
I stop, knowing he's right. I can't just go breaking down the door, even if I'm desperate to see her and tell her how I really feel. Instead, I take a deep breath and knock. My hand is barely away from the door when it opens, and I see Whitney . . . and she's pregnant too. “Uh . . . hi, Whit.”
“Cory, you're not who . . . there he is,” she says, pushing past me to hug Troy. “You damn fool, you scared me!”
“He scared me too,” I tell her, entering the house. “Whit, uh, we can talk about you later, but where's Patricia?”
“Cory?” Patricia says from the back, half-sleepy. “What are you doing here?”
She comes out in a Wildcats t-shirt and some cotton shorts, still rubbing at her eyes. “I went to put Laurie down and—”
I close the distance between us, taking her in my arms and holding her tightly. “Oh, Patricia . . . thank you, thank you so much.”
She hugs me back, and I feel warmth and amazement flood through me as I hold this precious woman in my arms. “Cory, you're not upset?”
“How could I be?” I ask, letting go just enough to look into her eyes. “I should have said this long ago . . . I love you.”
She blinks, tears quickly forming in her eyes, but she smiles. “I love you too. I've loved you for months, and was too . . . I don't know, too worried or hung up or—”
I kiss her, partly because she doesn't need to apologize and partly because I have my own long, long apology that I need to get out. It evaporates when her lips touch mine, and I know in that moment that I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I have a deeper, more immediate hunger too, and as our kiss grows warm, I'm caught off guard when I hear a cough behind us.
“Uhm, well, I think Troy and I will get Laurie and head over to our house,” Whitney says with a small smile. “No offense, Cory.”
“Whitney, you don't have to,” Patricia says, blushing.
“Yeah, right, Mom,” Whitney says, chuckling lightly. “Knowing that you're in a sexual relationship is one thing, and I'm more than cool that it's Cory. On the other hand, I don't want to listen as it happens. You two do what you need. And Cory?”
“Yeah?” I ask, trying to hide my tented shorts from Whitney's gaze, sliding behind Patricia, where she pushes her hips against me, and I can't help it—I gasp slightly, feeling her ass against my cock.
“We'll talk tomorrow about me, but congratulations. How about all of us get together for brunch?”
Troy goes to the back and gathers up Laurie, who sleepily hangs onto her father's neck as they leave, and I look at Patricia, who's smiling shyly. “You came all the way up here just to tell me you love me?”
I pull her close, picking her up. “I came up here to tell you that I love you, I'm ecstatic that I'm going to be a father, and that no matter what, we're going to have this baby together. And last but not least, enough of this long distance relationship stuff. I want you by my side.”
Patricia smiles and wraps her legs around my waist, and I carry her to the bedroom, setting her down on the rumpled surface before we stretch out side by side. “I love you too, Cory. I don't know about moving to San Francisco just yet. Can I think about it for a little while?”
“As long as I get to have my way with you this weekend,” I tease, kissing her neck, tasting her soft, wonderful skin. “Then I can wait.”
“Mmm, good,” she moans in reply, kissing me back and pushing me onto my back. “Actually, I have something now I can't wait any longer to try.”
“What?” I ask, my breath catching when she cups my cock through my shorts and rubs lightly. “But I like the way this is going so far.”
“Good, because I want to . . . explore,” she says, getting to her knees and pulling her shirt off. Her breasts are perfect teardrops that are capped with delicious pink nipples, and they shake a little from side to side as she shifts to the side of the bed. “Can you please get up and take off your clothes?”
“Well, at least you’re polite when asking me to strip butt naked,” I say with a chuckle as I roll up and do as she asks. “You can order me around if you want, you know.”
“Not tonight,” she says, sliding off the bed and getting on her knees. She reaches out, taking my cock in her hand, and pumps slowly. It's amazing torture, each soft stroke sending a wave of pleasure through my body. “Remember when I said I wanted to explore slowly?”
“Of course I do,” I whisper, my voice tight with anticipation. “Are we exploring now?”
She looks up into my eyes and smiles, and I’m thrilled as I look down at her beautiful brown eyes.
I watch with my breath caught in my chest as she leans forward, her tongue hovering so close to the tip of my cock that I can feel her breath on the sensitive skin, her eyes wide as she looks up at me. She takes a deep breath and reaches out and licks carefully, the first touch of her tongue on my cock causing me to groan deeply.
I watch as her tongue licks again, a broad, wonderful taste that swirls around the head of my cock, tickling the underside before she kisses her way down my shaft, her lips silky and amazing. Reaching the root of my cock, she licks up the underside before repeating the mind blowing massage of my cockhead with her tongue. Sitting back, she licks her lips and looks up into my eyes. “Good?”
“Perfect,” I reply, my cock aching. It's so hard. Part of it is the hotness of knowing that for the first time, this angel on her knees in front of me is tasting a man's cock, and the gleam in her eyes is because she likes what she's d
oing. I'm watching the sexual awakening of a woman who's been repressed for far too long, and I nearly come as she kisses the tip of my cock and slowly opens her mouth, sucking me in and wrapping her lips around my shaft.
When I feel myself brush against the back of her throat, she pauses, her eyes still looking into my face, intent and focused. Finally, she pulls back, her tongue dragging over my skin and lighting me up with electricity.
Wave after wave of sensation courses through my body as Patricia sucks, her tongue never stopping, her lips tight and massaging my shaft. I'm washed away in the feeling as she pumps my shaft and sucks the head before plunging herself down again, swallowing as much as she can each time, her tongue finding the spots which light me up more and more. She pauses, my cock buried as deep in her mouth as she can get it, and reaches around, grabbing my ass and mumbling.
I understand and nod, carefully grabbing her head and pulling back. I go slowly at first, letting her adjust before I speed up, pushing faster and faster. She keeps up, and I look down, another jolt going through me when I see that she's reached between her legs and is rubbing herself while I fuck her mouth, her eyes closed in pleasure and ecstasy written on her face.
I pump faster, abandoning myself to the wonderful sensations, until I feel my balls pull up tight, and I know I can't last much longer. “Patricia . . . I'm going to come soon.”
“Mmm,” she moans, her lips and tongue vibrating on my cock, sending me over the edge. I shudder and explode, and she sucks greedily, not wanting to miss a single drop. With a deep, groaning squeal, she comes also, her fingers a blur on her clit before my cock pops out and she cries out softly, her eyes staring sightlessly into mine.
I wrap Patricia up in an embrace, pulling her on top of me and kissing her throat in that special place she likes so much. She sighs happily, and I kiss her neck some more before letting her sit up.
Fourth Down Baby: A May-December Romance Page 14