Page 14

Steve

I’ve picked up the last of the takeout containers in the living room and moved the beer bottles to recycling. I have a shepherd’s pie my mom made in the oven. I think I’m ready. Which is good because Eliza should be here any minute.

Last night at the Italian restaurant, we agreed that since this is supposed to be a whirlwind romance, we should see each other nearly every night. So, Eliza is going to come to my place this evening. She’ll bring an overnight bag and sleep in my guest bedroom.

I haven’t had a roommate since I was in school. This is going to be weird. And I never wanted to sleep with one of my roommates, but then again, they were always men. But what’s really tripping me up is giving Eliza a key to my house. It makes sense with what we’re doing, but the only people who’ve ever had keys are my parents, my sister, and Jack, in case of an emergency .

What have I agreed to do? I always enjoy hanging out with Eliza, but therein lies the problem. I enjoy it way too much. That’s not normal for me, and of course it happens just in time for me to get myself into an impossible situation. But there’s no time to ponder that now. Through the open living room windows, I hear a car door shut out front and I know she’s arrived.

I take a deep breath. We’re likely always putting on a show for someone, so we have to look the part. She knocks on the door, and when I open it, we kiss softly.

Her lips are so pliant. I would love to spend hours enjoying them, but instead, I step back and let her in.

“How did practice go?” she asks as she places her overnight bag inside the door.

I walk to the kitchen to check on dinner. “It wasn’t too bad. We still have two players who want to tell everyone else what they’re doing wrong but won’t put a mirror up and admit they’re not doing great either.”

I pour a glass of white wine and hand it to Eliza.

“Thank you.” She takes a sip, and her shoulders relax. “I don’t know what to do about this. Why would Roy, or anyone else, think those two guys are worth what they’re doing to the team?”

“Seems to me like the coaching staff has the team split up more than they have in the past,” I tell her. “They’re in two camps, offense and defense, which is common but not always best. It breaks up the team, almost into cliques.”

Eliza nods, lost in her thoughts.

“I hate to add to it, but I also received notice that three players didn’t pass their drug tests this week,” I tell her after a moment.

“Who?”

I list off the players—two new recruits and the quarterback, Marty Holloway. “I’m having them retested at an independent facility. We believe it’s a bad batch of tests.”

Eliza sighs and takes a deep pull on her wine. “What a mess. We’re one and five so far this season. Any decent players will be flying the coop at the end of the season, and I really believe we’re almost a good team.”

The buzzer in the oven tells me our dinner is ready. I excuse myself to pull out our food.

“I love a man who cooks,” Eliza teases as she comes to the table.

“This is all my mother. Does it bother you? Do I seem ridiculous? I can tell her to stop.”

She smiles. “No way. Your mom’s cooking is outstanding. I grew up eating lots of salads and takeout. I hate salad. I like all the things you put on it—particularly bleu cheese dressing that coats carrots, sunflower seeds, and other raw veggies, but I don’t like lettuce. It’s just bad filler made for rabbits, and I’m not a rabbit.”

“Turn around,” I demand, just as she’s about to sit.

She gives me a confused look. I motion with my finger for her to turn around. She does, and when her back is to me, I stop her. “Wiggle your butt.”

She turns and looks back at me, still confused.

“Wiggle your butt around.”

She gives a little jiggle, and every ounce of blood drains to my lower half. “You’re definitely not a rabbit,” I confirm.

She playfully smacks my bicep. “Ouch. You’re so strong,” she mocks.

“Mom always leaves a bag of salad she’s made. But you don’t want salad.”

“Well, I bet it’s not iceberg lettuce.”

“If there’s iceberg, it’s mixed in with other things, and she makes a decent balsamic vinaigrette.”

“Sounds perfect. I just don’t like salad as a meal.”

We sit down, and I hand her the serving spoon and a dinner plate. “Help yourself. The game’s getting ready to start.”

After we have our plates, we toast to our meal, and she tries a bit of the beef-and-potato concoction. “This is amazing. What can’t your mom do? ”

“She doesn’t give me blue balls like you do.”

She sits up straight. “I don’t do any such thing.”

I scowl. “Look at what you’re wearing. That shirt is nearly see-through.”

“I’m wearing a bra and a camisole. You can’t see any of the good parts, and I figure if I showed up in jeans and a T-shirt, they wouldn’t believe we were getting busy.”

“I can’t believe we’re not getting busy.” I carry her plate and mine into my living room so we can watch the game while we eat.

She sighs as she flops down on the couch.

“Who do you think will win?” she asks after a moment.

“Nice change of subject. I see you for what you are. As for the game tonight, I don’t know. They seem pretty evenly matched. I’m sure you have an opinion.”

“Honestly?”

“When are you not honest with me?”

“I don’t like the owner of the Edmonton team very much. He tried to explain the game to me as if I was some arm candy for my dad, which is a disgusting thought.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “I can see him thinking that, but he must have looked like an ass as soon as you spoke. You know your stuff.”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t say too much at the meetings. I mostly took it all in and watched the politics.”

“What do you think?”

“They’re a bunch of old white men. And even in the height of youth, most of them couldn’t throw a halfway-decent spiral across your living room.”

“Can you throw a ball?”

“Across your living room? Absolutely. Twenty-five yards? No way. I could probably do ten yards.

“I haven’t tried in years.”

We sit back and put our feet up—at least until the first of her outbursts.

“What?” she demands, pointing at the screen. “That was clipping? Come on, ref. I’m going to send him some new glasses if he’s going to miss these obvious calls.”

I love this.

“Oh great,” she laments a while later. “The ref ran into the player. That’s not a good call! The ref didn’t even fall down.”

My balls are going to go from blue to purple before these six months are up.

At the end of the evening, we close down the house, and I walk her upstairs to the guest room. We agreed that she’d use my bathroom and do her routine in my room to avoid turning on any lights in the guest room, on the off chance someone is paying attention.

When she walks out of the bathroom in her sleep shorts and tank, with her hair piled on her head, I’m a goner. I roll over, bury my face in the pillows, and groan.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t find where I packed my contact solution and face cleaner. I’ll try to be faster in the future.”

“It’s okay,” I say into the pillow, trying to think about my mom and sister and willing my cock to go to sleep.

“Goodnight,” she calls as she moves down the hallway.

If it wasn’t too obvious, I would take a shower and get a release. But she would know. I sigh. How am I going to do this for six months?

“There he is,” Jack says as I slide into the chair next to him at Joe Fortes the following evening.

I signal Nancy behind the bar, and she nods and brings me three fingers of Johnnie Walker Blue over a small block of ice.

“Where are Michael and Nadine?” I ask.

“They should be here anytime,” Davis says as he stretches out his long legs. He’s drinking soda water.

“Surgery in the morning?” I ask.

He nods. Davis is a pediatric heart surgeon. “We’re repairing a heart valve in a seven-year-old.”

I shake my head. I rarely see kids in my practice, and I like it that way. It breaks my heart to see sick kids. “They’re lucky to have you as their surgeon.”

Paisley, his wife, is sitting next to him, and she kisses his cheek. “That’s what I tell him.” She turns to me. “Where is Eliza?”

“She should be here any time.”

“Looking for me?” I hear over my shoulder as Eliza approaches with a martini glass full of pale pink liquid.

I stand. “There you are.” I kiss her on the cheek. “What is that?”

“It’s a cosmo. I know they’re terribly out of style, but I still like them.”

“I think that sounds perfect. That’s what I’ll have.” Paisley heads for the bar.

“How did today go?” I ask Eliza in a low voice. This is the first chance we’ve had to catch up. I was downstairs at the stadium and didn’t have two minutes to meet until nearly the end of the day, and she was on a conference call all afternoon.

“There was an offer on one of the franchises, and all the owners had to approve.”

“Which team sold?”

“The Maritime Mariners.” She leans in close. “It sold for almost twice what Donnie offered my dad.”

I shake my head. “Why would your dad consider a low bid?”

“I would think once he hears about this price, he’ll make Donnie up his offer.”

I nod. “All three of the failed drug tests did fine at the new lab.”

“Oh, thank God. Why do you think they failed the first one?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ll see how next week’s tests go.”

Suddenly, everyone is buzzing because Nadine and Michael have arrived.

“This is great. Everyone is here,” Paisley says as we scoot over to make room for them.

The three women huddle up while the guys kick back. We talk for a while about the challenges we’re having with the hospital.

Davis looks over at the women. “So, you’re really doing this?”

I shrug one shoulder. “It’s going to be hard.”

“You’re not interested in anything more?”

If only he knew the mess I’m in. “I think I’m interested, but she’s made it clear that’s not on the table.”

Davis nods, looking at me carefully. “And you’re going to do that?”

“It’s the only way. I have to ride this out for a while.”

“Wow. I don’t think I have that much restraint,” Michael says.

I look at the melting ice in my glass. “Trust me, it’ll probably be the hardest thing I ever do. ”

“What do you have to do?” Jack asks, looking confused.

I’m not about to rehash the whole thing here in public, with Eliza at the same table. “I don’t think I’ll have a job with the Tigers next year,” I tell them shifting the subject.

“Because you’re going to break it off with Eliza? If you are, can I ask her out?” Jack asks.

I glance at Davis, and he’s grinning.

“Oh, this should be good,” Michael says.

“What are you talking about?” Nadine asks.

“We’re teasing Steve,” Michael counters.

She looks a little suspicious but turns back to the women.

I lean close to Jack. “You can never date her. Do you understand? Ever.”

That gets whistles and noise from my friends.

“You’re not going to make it six months.” Davis shakes his head.

At the end of the evening, I go back with Eliza to her mom’s townhouse. She takes her hair out of its ponytail and runs her fingers over her scalp as she toes off her heels.

“Why did approving the new Mariners owner take so long today?” I ask.

“We had to meet with the new owners, go through the business plan and their banking statements. They have to be able to make payroll and get everything accomplished, showing they can work with the other owners. It’s a lot of glad-handing. They don’t pay much attention to me because I’m just there as my dad’s representative.”

“Will you have to do the same thing when your dad gives you the team?”

She stretches, and I try not to watch. “No, thank goodness. We’ll just meet with lawyers. I think a few of the owners who are tight with Dad know I want the team. Maybe they’re the reason he doesn’t want me to have it.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think you should try to guess. You know he wants what he thinks is best for you. It’s a little outdated, but from my view, you’re doing great. You’re going to get the job done.”

“Thank you.”

When she beckons, I follow her upstairs, and she points me to the guestroom. “I’ll get changed and then feel free to come in and watch sports highlights with me.”

“Sounds good.”

I change into a pair of shorts and a Tigers T-shirt and join her in her bedroom. She’s wearing sleep shorts and a tank top again. She covers herself with a blanket and sits next to me on the loveseat. It’s either that or the bed, and if we sit there, I’ll have zero control. I’d love to remind her of what we did the last time we were together in a bed.

We watch sports highlights, but it gets boring fast.

“How about a movie?” she offers.

“What are you thinking?”

“There’s a Lethal Weapon marathon on.”

“Let’s do it.”

We laugh about Mel Gibson’s long hair and how dated the movie is, but we have fun. She fits so well snuggled up in my arms, and eventually, she falls asleep.

I turn off the television and help her get into bed.

“‘Night. I wish I could kiss you,” she murmurs, half asleep.

Hmmmm… “Why can’t you kiss me?”

“Because you wake up all my lady bits, and they’ll want way more than a kiss.”

She snuggles into her pillow, and she’s out.

I’m left with a raging hard-on and the knowledge that, deep down, she might be interested in me after all.

I pad down the hall to take a shower, and my mind slips back to the night we spent together. I can still recall the look she had when she climaxed and her tight pussy choked my cock. Then I paint the drain with my orgasm and try not to cry that this is my lot in life until sometime after New Year’s Day.