Butt Ending: A Big Stick Novel 2 (Standalone)

by R. C. Stephens

  I stand on my couch in a pair of stilettos that will probably poke a hole in the fabric. I look down to my phone, pondering who I can call at ten o’clock on a Saturday night. I think of Sierra, but she mentioned she had a date tonight. I’ve got to hand it to her. The girl has met a number of frogs lately, yet she still perseveres and goes on those dreaded first dates where you realize the guy is a total weirdo, or totally into himself, or worse. I think of Austin and how my first impression of him was of a sweet, nice southern gentleman, then we met and ew! Gross! I still remember his words . . . I like to fuck pretty girls . . .Who the hell says shit like that? I know Sierra would probably drop her date and head right over, but she may have a phobia of mice too.

  It leaves only one person to call: Mr. Nice Guy. I know he’ll jump at the opportunity to help, which sucks, because he messaged me earlier saying he was going to a club with the team and asked if I wanted to join. I declined because our friendly relationship is truly not working for either of us. Yet, it seems fate has its own plans tonight.

  He won’t be scared of a mouse. He’s a fucking giant. The mouse will see his size and probably drop dead of a heart attack. I take a deep breath and apologize to my vagina because the sight of him will torture her. I make the call. I hear him pick up and say hello over the loud music in the background.

  “Hey. Shorty? Give me a minute. I have to go outside, or I won’t hear ya,” he says, and the thumping music fades in the background. He blows out a breath. When he calls me Shorty it is the most unsexy thing in the world. I swear he does it as a deterrent to himself. To remind him I am in the no-fly zone.

  “What’s up?” he finally asks.

  “Um, I’m kind of in a bind,” I mutter.

  “Do you care to elaborate?” he asks, his tone playful and curious. I can just picture that perfect smile, the way his lips only slightly turn up, and that mischievous twinkle he usually has in his eyes as he anticipates what I’m about to say.

  “I need you to come over. I have a fucking mouse in my apartment, and I’m freaking the hell out.” My voice is a little too high-pitched and needy, but that can’t be helped.

  He chuckles, deep and gravelly. My stomach flips. “I’m coming,” he replies.

  “Just like that?” I ask, and I don’t mean for the words to slip.

  “Just like that, Shorty,” he replies, as if it’s obvious he would come because this is what friends do. I internally groan. “Let me just say ’bye to the guys. I’m assuming I need to bring a trap or something?” he asks, his voice a little thick and raspy, probably from talking over the noise in the club.

  “That would be a good idea. You weren’t drinking, were you? I wouldn’t want you to drive,” I say softly.

  “No, babe, no drinking tonight. We’re flying out to Florida tomorrow for a week to play some golf and do some intense training. Need the body strong,” he replies.

  “I’m kind of stuck on my couch. I’m scared to move. Hurry.” I squeak, my voice dripping desperation. I don’t even try for cool and collected; there’s no use. That mouse has me by the balls.

  Oli chortles. “Don’t worry. I’m not far. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  I end the call and with my other hand, I hold the broom up in a protective stance just as Mr. Mouse makes a run toward my television stand. The sight of the little bugger in my home makes me scream again. As I yelp at the top of my lungs, my heart rate picks up. Fuck! I may die of a heart attack before Oli even gets here.

  Needing a distraction, I go on Instagram and scroll through pictures. I see pics of old friends from back home. I don’t even remember following them. Hmm. Is this some sort of sign telling me it’s time to head home for a visit? I shrug off the question as I usually do and continue to scroll.

  I want to dial Flynn, but she’s probably in the middle of sexy times with Myles. I lift my eyes up to see the damn mouse has run for my kitchen. My apartment isn’t very big, but it’s larger than the studio I used to live in. The freaking mouse doesn’t find a hole in the kitchen to run under so he’s hiding behind my garbage bin. Not able to handle the tension any longer, I dial Oli again.

  He picks up after one ring. “Hey,” he says.

  “Where are you?” I ask almost in tears, serious tears from a mouse. I’m not ashamed. This damn mouse has chipped away at my strength and left me feeling completely helpless. I hate rodents. Hate. Hate. Hate.

  “Sloane?” Oli’s voice pulls me from my internal meltdown.

  “Yes,” I practically whimper.

  “I’m at your door. Open up,” he says.

  “I’m scared to get off the couch,” I admit, albeit hesitantly.

  He laughs but it’s a sweet laugh. “I can’t get in there and catch the sucker if you don’t let me in,” he explains, as if it’s a foreign concept to me.

  “I know.” I pause as I contemplate making a run for the door. “Okay. Don’t hang up. I’m running to open the door.” My voice shakes as I step off the couch with my broom and hold it in a protective stance, eyeing the corner where I last saw the mouse. I run quickly, my heels clapping against the wood floor, and unlock the door with shaky hands. I swing the door open quickly and take in a wide-eyed Oli dressed in a fitted black dress shirt, the cuffs rolled up his forearms show his sexy muscles. I want to lick my lips, and my eyes haven’t even reached his jeans and the way they hug his muscular legs and behind yet. I’m such a goner when it comes to him. It isn’t fair. I let out a soft sigh that I hope only I hear.

  The thought of the mouse running across the space again pulls me from my reverie. I wave him in. “Come,” I say as I make a mad dash back to the couch. I just can’t handle sharing floor space with that mouse.

  Oli laughs from deep in the back of his throat and follows me into the apartment.

  Twenty-Eight

  Oli

  Fuck me! I was out at a club tonight with some of the guys from the team. We were just hanging out and mingling, meaning there were lots of chicks around vying for our attention. Most of them were wearing dresses that barely covered their behinds, and bras that pushed their breasts so high up they were practically popping out at the seams. None of them held a light to the lady in front of me. In her tiny little white shorts with silver snowflakes, a little grey tank, and the fucking sexiest high heels I’ve ever seen, she takes my breath away. This woman, who I haven’t been able to get out of my head since we spent the night together, has me in a daze as I watch her standing on her couch, looking like a sexy witch holding a broom. If it weren’t for my hard-on pressing against my jeans, I would think this was a dirty dream.

  Keeping in the friend zone is totally working for us. Well, at least, in a way it is. I love spending time with her while I try to work shit out in my head. I can’t admit this to her, but I’ve been talking to a therapist about my past. I’ve kept the therapist a secret, and although I know I shouldn’t feel shame in getting help, I still do. I’m supposed to be the strong one who has his shit together no matter what. I’m not supposed to realize that I have broken parts of me that I’ve buried so deep I didn’t know they existed until her.

  I push my confusing thoughts aside and cock a brow as I take in Sloane’s stance on the couch with a broom in her hand.

  She places a hand over her heart and says, “Fuck, Oli. I’m so glad to see you. I don’t know what it is, but every time that weasel makes a run for it I feel like my heart is going to stop.”

  I take a few steps, closing the space between us. “Hey,” I say softly. “Come here.”

  I wrap my arm around her waist and bring her close to me. Her floral scent brings back memories of my face buried between her thighs. Her head rests on my shoulder, and her body shakes in my arms.

  I run a hand over her smooth, dark hair, hoping to soothe her. “Relax. I’m going to catch it if it’s the last thing I do. Dave was at the club; I told him the problem. He grew up on a farm. Told me that mice are suckers for peanut butter, so I picked some up along the way,” I whisper aga
inst her ear, and notice a trail of goose bumps where my breath hits her pale skin. She lifts her head to look at me, her green eyes questioning in a way that silently asks can I trust you?

  “Take a seat on the couch. Give me that darn broom.” I laugh, taking it out of her hand. “And let me get to work.”

  She concedes, nodding, only she doesn’t take a seat on the couch. She remains standing.

  “I can practically see the entire apartment from here. It’s better I stay standing; the freaking mouse has been running around here like he owns the place. I don’t want to lose his spot. Then it will be more difficult to find him,” she says with defeat, only it isn’t her usual snarky tone.

  I get to work laying the traps around the apartment and filling them with peanut butter. Dave assured me it was a sure thing. I still can’t take my eyes off her legs as she stands on the couch in her barely there shorts and those stripper heels. Very classy, stripper heels. I need to control my thoughts, because my mind has conjured up a vision of me carrying her to her bedroom, lowering her shorts, and fucking her with those shoes on.

  “There he is. Dammit. Little fucker,” she practically squeals as the darn mouse makes a run from the kitchen to underneath her television console.

  “Fuck that was fast.”

  “Right? This mouse is fucking smart. I swear, he’s been toying with me since I discovered him.”

  Suddenly, we see the mouse poke its head out and moves back and forth like it wants to get to the peanut butter.

  “Are we going to be killing it with that trap? Because I’m not sure I can handle that. He may have entered my home uninvited, but I’m no murderer,” she says, pouting her lower lip.

  Shit! I don’t know how to answer that. I’m used to this sensitive stuff with my sister. While I was picking legs off spiders as a little boy, Flynn would lecture me about being humane to animals—the benefits of growing up with a twin sister.

  “Uh, nah. We aren’t going to kill him. I’ll just catch him and set him free,” I respond, and yeah, that was totally a lie. How can you catch a mouse alive? The store didn’t sell those kinds of traps.

  She nods but still looks frantic, not taking her eyes off the corner we know the mouse is hiding in. “We have to find him tonight or else I won’t be able to sleep.”

  “You can always come sleep at my place if you need to,” I say casually, and I really didn’t have any intention behind the suggestion but her cheeks flush. “I mean in Flynn’s old room,” I clarify. I can’t go there again.

  “Right,” she answers, resigned. She must be liking this friendship thing as much as me.

  Before we know it, the mouse has taken the bait and has entered the trap to get at the peanut butter. It’s one of those sticky traps so the mouse can’t move.

  “Fuck yeah,” I shout.

  Sloane starts to freak out on the couch. “Holy shit, that’s gross. I’m completely traumatized. I don’t think I’ll be able to get any shut-eye for months now. Shit.” She turns around and steps off the couch, giving me her back.

  “I can’t watch,” she says, even though she isn’t facing me. Then she plugs her ears. She’s adorable.

  I need a plastic bag to get rid of the sucker. I want to ask her for one, but she seems to be tuning out the world at the moment, and I spot the plastic bag I brought on the kitchen counter, so I reach for it. She tenses and begins to sing a la la song with her eyes closed and her ears plugged.

  I lean in and give her a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Relax. I got this, beautiful.”

  She jostles for a moment. “Just tell me when it’s over.”

  I quickly get to work, doing my thing. I’m not scared of rodents, but fuck, this is gross.

  I get the sucker in the bag and head for the front door. “Where’s the garbage chute?” I ask loudly so she can hear me above her la la la-ing.

  “To the right,” she screams out, and gets back to singing.

  I head down the hall to take care of business, then head back to her apartment. She’s still in the kitchen, only now she’s standing by the kettle.

  I wash my hands quickly in her kitchen sink. Even though I didn’t make contact with the bugger, it was still gross.

  “Come.” I take her by the hand and lead her to the couch. We both sit next to each other and I drape an arm around her. She sinks into my side.

  “Thank you so much for coming. I don’t know what I would’ve done,” she admits, her voice still shaky. “I mean, I appreciate it. You were out, and I ruined your night.”

  “Nah, the club was nothing special. Same old, and I’m glad you called. We’re friends. That’s what friends do,” I explain. What I really want to say is that I like spending time with her way more than I like going to a club and hanging with some bunnies who only talk stats and sex. She’s real and interesting. Only I choose to hold back those words because I don’t want to give her the wrong impression—at least not while I’m still working the shit out in my head.

  “Well, this friend is really appreciating you right now. I know I probably took you away from the bunnies and getting laid, so I thank you for giving up on that too,” she says with a sly grin, and it seems like she’s goading me.

  “No worries there, sunshine,” I say, only I don’t correct her on the fact that I’m not fucking anyone at all right now.

  Her lips turn down. I worry that my lack of clarification has saddened her. She pulls away from me and stands. Her arms wrap in front of her. It’s not lost on me that she’s still in those damn fuck-me high heels.

  “Thanks for coming. I really appreciate you dropping everything to help me out.” Her tone is resigned and insincere, and I know I’m hurting her and sex isn’t even involved. How do I do this? How do I get everything I want? I scream in my head, only I don’t have an answer.

  I stand up from the couch and lean forward to press a soft kiss against her temple. Her eyes close when my lips make contact with her skin. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay and just hold her all night.

  “Baby, don’t be sad.” I run my thumb along her lower lip.

  She stares at me, contemplating. Like she wants to say something that will maybe hurt us both. “I don’t know if we should be friends anymore, Oli. This isn’t good for us.” She waves between us. “We are stuck.” She falls silent. “No, I’m stuck. You still seem to be getting around, and I need to have a chance to find my own happily-ever-after,” she says, her voice shaky and filled with so much emotion it completely guts me.

  I take a step back, feeling like I’m in free fall. I’m losing her.

  “Sloane.” I swipe a hand over the stubble on my chin. “Don’t do this. I promise you there hasn’t been anyone else. At least there hasn’t been since before the playoffs began. Since the day I came to see you at your Krav Maga class,” I admit. It isn’t lost on me that she is going to piece the facts together. She will realize that there were women in my bed after I slept with her. It makes me feel like shit.

  She winces. “Do you think it makes me feel better knowing that? It doesn’t. I gave you a special part of me.” She turns away from me and hides her face. “I know you didn’t make any promises. I know you’re dealing with things, but I can’t do this anymore, Oli. I just can’t.”

  I step toward her and turn her to face me. Tears glisten in her eyes, threatening to fall, and I hate that I put them there. “Sloane, please. Look! I’m fucked up.” I hold my hands on each of her shoulders, feeling scared and off-balance. “It’s no secret that I flipped the hell out after sleeping with you and made some bad choices I regret . . .” I fall silent, because my next words get choked up in my throat. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m in therapy. I’m trying to work on my issues. Trying to get my head on straight so . . .” I blow out a breath and look at the ceiling as realization hits me in the gut and the words fall from my mouth. Words that I haven’t been willing to admit.

  “I’m in therapy so I can be the man you deserve to have,” I finally spi
t out, and her eyes turn round.

  Twenty-Nine

  Sloane

  My eyes turn round and warm as I realize he’s just revealed such intimate details about himself that I know weren’t easy, showing me his vulnerability. I can’t chastise him, even if his admission about sleeping with other women just gutted me.

  “Oli,” I say, almost breathless. “I don’t know what to say. It feels like me and you are on different paths.”

  He clenches his jaw. “I know it seems that way. I just need more time. Please give me time?” he pleads. “I’m trying to work shit out. I promise you that there won’t be any other women. It’s just that my therapist thinks it’s best we don’t sleep together again because she feels like it will complicate things between us before I have a chance to work out my shit.” He shakes his head. “Trust me, Sloane, you have no idea how fucked up those words feel leaving my mouth. I want to bed you right now. You have no idea the effect you have on me,” he hisses. “It’s just . . . for the first time in my life, I want to get things right. I want to make this thing between us work.”

  My knees turn to jelly as I take in his words, and I know right then that I will do anything he asks. I would wait an eternity if it meant we could be together in the end.

  “So, I’m still in the friend zone,” I sigh, my lips tilting at the corners in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “The very special friend zone,” he confirms, lifting a finger to my face. He’s got a silly grin that just about melts my heart.