by Allen, Sara
“Hello!” I say, a little more forcefully than intended into the phone.
“Mel?” a male voice asks. I know this voice. And I know I never gave the owner of this voice my new number when I moved. How the hell does he have my number? I wonder silently, forgetting I’ve yet to respond.
“Mel, I know it’s you. I know what your voice sounds like,” his arrogant voice reaches my ears and finally my mouth starts working.
“Evan, how did you get my phone number?” My patience is already boiling over. I don’t have time for this right now. I need to finish getting dressed and throw a few last minute things in my luggage to be ready for my car when it arrives. I’ve decided to splurge a little on myself to have a car service deliver me to the airport. It’s been a long, rough school year. I deserve it.
“It’s like that? After all the time we were together and I can’t even have your phone number?” he asks, mounting irritation in his voice.
Good, at least I’m not the only one irritated. “I thought the last time we spoke I made it very clear to you that I wanted nothing more to do with you. You want to talk to someone? Go talk to your wife,” I angrily retort to his asinine questions.
“Damn, Mel, I’ve already told you, it’s not—”
“I know. I know. It’s not like that. She’s good for your image. You don’t love her. Blah, blah, blah… Look, Evan, I have a plane to catch in…” I pause, checking the time on my wall mounted clock, “…ninety minutes. I don’t have time, nor do I care to make time to talk to you. Goodbye,” I declare preparing to hang up the phone. This man has wasted enough of my time over the years. The last few months without him have been eye opening.
“A plane? Where the hell are you going? Are you going with someone?” He demands answers as if it’s his right to know my comings and goings. But he lost that privilege a while ago.
“Goodbye, Evan,” I finally say on a sigh.
“Mel. Mel don’t hang—” is all I hear as I slam the phone down to the receiver. Shaking that call off, I make my way into my bedroom to finish getting dressed. I slip into my flat, strappy sandals, and slide my fingers down the size sixteen electric blue sundress I’ve chosen to don for the three hour flight. I open my laptop and double check to make sure my flight is on schedule, and sure enough, American Airlines Flight 2803 from Philadelphia to San Juan is on time.
Glancing into my full-length mirror one last time, I turn to the side, checking to make sure my dress is okay, and patting my box braids, which have thankfully loosened a bit in the three days since I’ve gotten them done. I’m planning to do a lot of lying out in the sun, swimming in the ocean and pool over the next two weeks. I do not have time to worry too much about my hair. Just as I roll my luggage out of the bedroom, my apartment phone rings again. This time it is my car service alerting me of their arrival. I smile as the driver takes my luggage from my hands and loads them into the trunk.
Let the adventure begin.
****
Landon
“I told you to hold all my calls for the next two weeks. Don’t these people know I’m on vacation?” I damn near shout into the phone, to my personal assistant, Walter. He knows I’m not to be disturbed with anything business, or even football-related, for the next two weeks. I just got off the damn plane two hours ago, and here I am forced to remind him again.
“I know. I know, Lan. It’s just these guys are persistent. They say their PR firm could do wonders for your career,” Walter rushes, trying to defend the reason he called, no doubt.
“Wonders for my career? I’m already a three-time Super Bowl champion. I’ve got the damn rings to prove it and the MVP trophies from each of those Super Bowls too. I’ve got endorsement deals coming out of my ass and more money than I could spend in a lifetime. What more could they do for me?” I know I sound arrogant as fuck, but it’s the damn truth. I’ve excelled in my career as the best damn quarterback in the league. If I was forced to quit football today, I’d be satisfied with everything I’ve accomplished. What was another big-name PR firm going to do for me?
“Well, I mean, they’re saying you might want to beef up your image when it comes to charity work. It will help your overall image and may bolster the image of your current sponsors,” Walter retorts.
I grunt. “All right. I’ll think about that. I’ve been meaning to look more into charity work anyway, but this will wait until I get back to Philadelphia. I’m done talking business for the next two weeks. Don’t call me unless you’re on fire. On second thought, don’t call me if you’re on fire. Call the damn fire department. Send me an email from the hospital,” I finish right before I disconnect the call. Walter knows I was just fucking with him, for the most part. I’m just wound too damn tight. Ever since losing the Super Bowl this season, I’ve been on the run, traveling for different endorsement deals, hosting events. You name it. But now I need a break from it all. This is my two weeks before I get back home and into the grind. Then it's only a few weeks after that until training camp starts back up.
I stand up from the black sectional sofa and inhale deeply. The scent of saltwater hits my nose and instantly the tension from the call starts to release its grip on me. I walk toward the balcony, and am hit with the most stunning view of palm trees, sand, and turquoise water. Closer than the beach, nearly right beneath me, some eighteen stories down, is a luxury swimming pool. As I gaze out at the pool, from of the corner of my eye, I see a speck of red. Shifting my eyes I realize it’s a woman, dressed in a red bikini. She looks short from up here, but I can see she’s definitely not a skinny Minnie. I hike my eyebrows. Even with all those curves, she doesn’t lack the confidence to wear a bikini, a red one at that. Just as I make my observations, she dives head first into the deep end of the pool. Maybe it’s time for a swim.
Less than five minutes later, I’m in a pair of black swimming trunks, a grey towel over my shoulder, spray-on sunscreen applied, flip flops and I’m making my way down to the pool. Once outside, I claim one of the beach chairs and place my belongings on it. Dipping my toe in the pool to gauge the temperature, I look around for the woman in red. I see she’s at the other end of the pool. She looks like she’s swimming laps because as soon as she taps the one end, she turns and is already headed back in my direction. For a second I wonder if I should wait until she reaches this end to be able to get a full visual of what she looks like up close, but I brush off that idea. Don’t want to seem like a creeper.
Fuck it, I think and dive in the pool, figuring I’ll do a few laps as well. I slice through the water with ease. My muscles have been developed and toned for nearly two decades as a football player. A few laps in a pool is barely a warm up, but it sure feels good as hell. Around my fourth or fifth lap, I’m at about the six-foot length, when my fingers graze against something smooth. Startled, I break position and upright myself looking for what I just touched.
“Oh, excuse me. I’m sorry,” the vision in red pants. “I sometimes lose my form and tend to drift off into other lanes. Sorry about that.” For long seconds, I don’t say anything, I just take in her face, up close. A face covered in smooth caramel skin, high cheekbones, full, suckable lips, and hooded brown eyes that hold a hint of mischief. When she sucked in her lower lip from nervousness, my cock twitched. My lips turn down into a frown. How the hell am I having a physical reaction to someone this damn soon? I don’t even realize I’m giving her my notorious stare down, trying to figure out what’s happening to me.
“Uh, s-sorry again. I’ll watch where I’m going from now on,” she says, as she swims around me. I turn and allow my gaze to follow her. Through the water all I can see is red fabric and what looks to be more smooth caramel skin. I wonder if I’ve scared her off. I can’t even believe I was too dumbfounded by a woman to do anything but stare at her. Shaking my head, I continue to the edge of the pool, press my fingers onto the side and pull myself up and out. I walk toward my beach chair, dry off, and sit down to take in the sun rays for a little while. I sit bac
k, picking up my phone to search for any sports news. While football is my greatest love, I enjoy all sports and check in regularly with my favorite sports teams. Although my intention is to look up sports news, I find my eyes drifting over the top of my phone toward the pool. Without thinking too hard about it, I know I am searching for that vision in red again. I still want to get an up-close look at this woman outside of the pool. Just as I return my attention back to my phone, having not spotted her, I feel a shadow fall over me. Turning my head to my left, I see the woman I was looking for, toweling off by the chair next to me.
Up close, I can see that, yes, her skin is a smooth caramel color all over, she’s got thick thighs, a slightly rounded belly, and a rack any man would be happy to get lost in. I want to ask her to turn around so I can get the back view, but I don’t want to press my luck—yet.
She uses her yellow towel to pat her body dry, then moves to the braids that are loosely tied at the back of her neck. Reaching up forces her breasts out even more, and again, my little man twitches. Damn has it been that long? I wonder trying to remember the last time I fucked. It’s only been a few weeks, but maybe my senses are heightened because I’m on vacation. I had come here with every intention of diving into some pussy, so maybe my cock is trying to get the game started earlier than I’d planned. Easy boy, I mentally admonish him. While I’m trying to talk my jimmy down, the woman in red notices me staring and gives me an uneasy smile.
“Hi.” Her voice is light and tentative.
Again, I can tell she’s nervous. I imagine anyone would be nervous with a six-foot-two stranger constantly staring at them. I can see from the look in her eyes, she doesn’t recognize me, which I like. One of the reasons I came here was because I am rarely recognized while out and about here. “Hey,” I responded, giving a half smile to ease her nervousness.
“I’m sorry for bumping into you in the—”
I interrupt her with a wave of my hand. “Don’t worry about it. Shit happens.” I shrug. That’s the third time she’s apologized for bumping me. She stares as if she wants to say more.
“Mel!” Someone yells from across the pool, drawing our attention.
“Hey, Lina,” she says and waves. The smile she gives this other woman does something funny to my stomach.
“Hey, Mel.” The other woman rushes toward her, giving her a brief hug, “I just got off the phone with Maritza, and she and her friends are going out to Nuyorican Café tonight in Old San Juan. Wanna go?”
I pretend as if my attention is back in my phone, but I hear every detail of their conversation.
“Yeah, sure. That sounds like fun,” Red-or should I say, Mel, responds. My ears perk up.
“Good. ‘Cause I already told them we’d meet them there.” The second woman giggles, causing Mel to chuckle. I begin to wonder what Mel is short for. Is it Melanie, Melody, or something else? Either way, I’m looking forward to finding out tonight. Guess I will be making my way to Old San Juan tonight.
Chapter Two
Landon
Now, you need to understand. I’m not a stalker or some crazed psycho who needs to do underhanded things to get a woman to come back to my place. I’m not like that at all, but I am committed. And when I see something I want, there is nothing or no one that can stop me. I listen closely to my instincts. They have never steered me wrong. Listening to my instincts is how I became the best damn quarterback in the NFL. So when my instincts tell me I need to acquaint myself with this Mel woman from the pool, I listen. That’s how I found myself sitting at the bar in Nuyorican Café, ordering my second Corona of the evening. I sip my brew, peering over the brim of the bottle, my eyes darting from one side to another, seeking out Mel.
After another ten minutes, I finally spot her. Although her back is to me, I know it’s her. Call it intuition. Whatever it is, it’s telling me this is the woman. She’s dressed in a white and black patterned, sleeveless shorts romper and a pair of black ankle boots that give her about a four-inch height difference from when she was at the pool. Her braids now hang loose, and are whipping in different directions as she sways those wide hips and thick thighs around the dance floor. When she turns, I can see her face, and her smile actually causes me to lose my damn breath for a second. The absolute look of joy on her beautiful face makes me want to take it between my hands and possess it…possess her.
The only problem is she’s not dancing by herself. Some dude, appearing to be around five-eight or five-nine is her dance partner. Too bad buddy, I think as I rise from my stool to make my way over to the dance floor. His night with this woman is about to end, while mine is just about to begin.
“Oh, excuse me.” I hear her sultry voice over the music. That’s the fourth time she’s apologized to me today. I don’t like it, but I can use it to my advantage.
“That’s the second time you’ve bumped into me today,” I bend down to say low in her ear, more to be close to her, than the loud music. As I bend down, I catch a whiff of her perfume. It smells like coffee mixed with vanilla and some sort of flower. I identify the scent as Black Opium by Yves Saint Laurent. I’ve smelled it before on other women, but on this woman the scent does something to me. If I hadn’t already been drawn to this woman, the scent would have surely done me in.
“So—”
“And that was almost the fifth apology you’ve given me today,” I say cutting her off, “You want to make it up to me? Dance with me.” I hold out my hand, ignoring the man behind her, who she’d been dancing with. I wait a heartbeat, and she glances over her shoulder at her former dance partner. I make the decision for them both. “You don’t mind, do you, buddy?” I turn my face into a glower so he can get the hint. His time is up. Wisely, he shakes his head, holding up his hands in retreat. Wise decision.
“Dance with me,” I say again, not giving her time to think about it, as I take her hand in mine and spin her around. The laughter she emits when I spin her around again sends a shiver down my spine. I like it. I want more of it.
I spin her again and we begin an upbeat salsa dance in rhythm to the music played by the live band. The club is filled on this Friday night, but the only person I see right now is her. Even in those four-inch heels, her moves are swift and as sharp as a knife. The hypnotizing sway of her hips actually has me stumbling a few times, looking like the typical white boy who can’t dance. I was grateful when the band slowed it down, playing a song akin to a ballad. Refusing to release her, I pulled her into me by the hips, then reached down, pulling her arms up around my neck, silently communicating she wasn’t going anywhere. Thankfully, she put up no resistance.
“You smell good,” I say, letting my head fall to her neck and inhaling her scent.
“Thank you,” she smiles.
I can tell she is just as affected by me as I am by her. Good. We remain locked closely for the remainder of the song. When the band takes a break, I ask if she wants a drink.
“I-uh,” she hesitates.
“The bar is just right over here. Just one drink, and if you don’t enjoy my company you don’t even have to pay me back,” I joke, feeling like a damn teenager trying to convince his first crush to go on their first date. She smiles and nods. I place my hand at the small of her back, and shake my leg, trying to release the hard on that’s grown in my jeans since we began dancing.
I order another beer and an amaretto sour for her. “You’ve got some moves out there,” I say motioning my head toward the dance floor.
Another smile from her and that funny feeling in my stomach happens again. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”
“What’s your name?” I ask, hoping she gives me her whole name and not just her nickname.
“It’s Melody,” she replies. “But mostly everyone calls me Mel.”
I nod as if I hadn’t already gathered that information. “I’m Landon,” I say peering down into her brown eyes, looking for recognition. I’ve had women feign as if they had no idea who I was, just to make it seem as if our e
ncounter was by chance. Now, it doesn’t escape me that, that is in fact what I am doing with this woman. I knew she’d be here and I came looking for her, but I want to make sure she is not trying to play with me. Hypocrite. I know. Sue me.
“It’s nice to meet you, Landon.”
I watched as she brings her drink up to her full, gloss-covered lips. As they wrap around the edge of the glass, my one wish in life is to feel her wrap those same lips around the part of me that is once again stiffening in my jeans.
“Do you live here? You look sort of familiar, but I can’t place you.”
“Well, I did see you this afternoon at the pool.”
She shakes her head and a few of her braids fall into her face. Before I realize it, my hand is up by the side of her face, pushing the braids back. I don’t want any obstruction in the way of her face.
“Th-thank you,” she says, again letting me know she is not impervious to my touch…my closeness. “No. I remember you from the pool, but there you looked familiar too.”
I wonder if I should tell her who I am, but decide against it. “No, I’m not from here.” I shrug, without giving any more information.
“Tell me where you learned to dance like that?” I ask wanting to know more about this woman.
“I take salsa lessons one day a week at a club in Philadelphia where I live,” she says easily, before clamping her hand over her mouth, “Oh, I probably shouldn’t tell a perfect stranger on vacation what city I live in.”
I laugh at that for two reasons. One, I’ve just discovered we live in the same city, and two, it’s cute seeing her being a little self-deprecating. “No worries. I promise I won’t jump out of your closet one night while you’re at home by yourself.” I chuckle, taking another swig of my beer.
“Thank you for that.” She laughs too.
I really said it to try to gain some insight into whether or not she had someone at home waiting for her. I don’t even know why that mattered. This was just vacation pussy, right?