Long Shot

by Kennedy Ryan

  “Okay,” August whispers. “Don’t make me pull out all the stops.”

  “Is that a metaphor for your dick?” I laugh when he twists my nipples.

  Also, I may leak a little.

  “My dick doesn’t need a metaphor to know how awesome it is. It’s a literal dick, and I will literally pull it out whenever you want. It’s at your service.” He laughs at his own joke into my shoulder. “No, I meant the oral. That seems to always get you.”

  August has a talented tongue, and it’s in league with his teeth and lips to drive me crazy every time we make love.

  #Keeper.

  Some things, like brain-bursting orgasms, never get old.

  Despite the temptation, I ignore him and keep moving my little—and I do mean little—numbers around. I need to figure this out before the day begins.

  “Are you seriously passing up sex for this spreadsheet?” August groans into my hair. “You know I have to leave soon.”

  He never stays all night. That first night we made love—was it only two weeks ago? That night we agreed that for now, he would be gone before Sarai woke up. Seeing men walk in and out of my mother’s life made me feel insecure. I hated getting attached to some man I just knew I wanted to be my daddy and have him leave. Then, the next one would come, and the cycle started again.

  Not that I anticipate August going anywhere anytime soon, but that’s part of my hardwiring I’m just not ready to let go of.

  “Are you coming willingly?” he whispers, instigating a battle of butterflies in my belly. “Or do I need to throw you over my shoulder?”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” I look up from my laptop, momentarily distracted by the rungs of muscles in his abs and the sinewy slash at his hip where his sweatpants hang low over the shape of him already semi-erect.

  “See something you like?” He grins and flexes his pecs. “’Cause I do.”

  Before I can respond, he pulls the hem of my T-shirt over my head, plunging me into semi-darkness. I’m quietly screeching so I don’t wake Sarai, when I feel the first hard, wet pull on my nipple. Needless to say, my arms drop limply to my sides and I lean back. August spreads my thighs and, on his knees I presume since I can’t see, settles between them, his lips never leaving my right nipple. He employs his other hand on my left. My head falls back, my breath coming fast, hot and humid into the T-shirt covering my face. He finally relinquishes my nipple, and the air cools my damp breast. I’m tugging the shirt from over my head, ready to re-focus, when I feel him mouthing me through my panties.

  “Lord, please,” I beg, blindly thrusting my fingers into his messy curls.

  “Answering your prayers down here,” August mumbles into my thigh, his stubble a welcome abrasion. He tugs my panties aside to lick and suck and groan into my pussy. “I could do this all day.”

  It does not take all day.

  I stuff my fist into my mouth to muffle the sounds fighting their way out. Bliss spirals from my core and explodes over my limbs, my extremities, my nooks and crannies. My head goes galactic, a black sky awash with stars. For just a moment, I seem to float outside of time and space. I come back to my body in inches and seconds, surprised to find my heels digging into August’s back, my fingers buried in his hair and my thighs bracketing his handsome face.

  “Hi.” He grins up at me unabashedly, his mouth shiny and wet. “Welcome back.”

  I answer with a husky laugh and a shake of my head.

  “You distracted me,” I slur, sex-drunk. “Now it’ll take me forever to finish.”

  “I’d say you ‘finished’ in record time.” He ducks when I swing my hand lightly at his head. “Now about me finishing.”

  My eyes flick to the flashing cursor, awaiting my executive decision on the electric bill.

  “Babe, come on.” He licks the inside of my thigh. “When I go on the road next week, you’re gonna miss my loving.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that’s an old Lou Rawls song?” I ask, carefully lowering my legs from his shoulders and turning back to the laptop so I can move more money around.

  “What do you know about Lou Rawls?” he asks skeptically.

  “Dude, I grew up in the Ninth Ward,” I say with a touch of NOLA pride. “We took R&B classes.”

  For a moment, he looks uncertain. Like he wonders if it really was that hood. I mean . . . it was, but we didn’t actually take the classes. It was a much more informal education of the OGs blasting classics while we played outside in the streets.

  “Seriously. Come back to bed.” He picks me up, ignoring my yelp, and sits down with me on his lap. “I don’t even need to get off. We’ll just cuddle before I have to leave.”

  “Every time you say we’ll just cuddle, we actually end up screwing anyway.”

  “And that’s a problem?” he asks, lifting my hair and sucking along the curve from my neck to my shoulder. I shiver but refuse to get up, refocusing on the bills, some of which are already past due. If I don’t get this figured out, Sarai and I may come home to the water turned off.

  “Okay. Be like that.” He blows out a long-suffering breath, sitting forward and pressing his chest against my back, patting out a rhythm on my bare legs. “What are you doing anyway?”

  “Robbing Peter to pay Paul.” I tilt my head to calculate if I’m breaking even yet.

  “Is that another joke?” His hands go still mid-tap against a thigh.

  “If you’re asking if my utility company is actually named Peter, then no.”

  “But you’re joking, right?” He shifts forward so he can see my profile. “You don’t need money, do you?”

  “No.” I shrug, wanting him to drop it. “Things are just a little tight this month.”

  “Money should never be tight for you.” With my eyes trained on the screen, I don’t see his frown, but I feel it.

  “I’m a single mom living paycheck to paycheck in one of America’s most expensive cites. Just living the dream. Of course things get tight sometimes.”

  “Iris, if you need money, you can tell me.”

  My fingers pause over the keys and dread slicks the lining of my stomach like an oil spill. I really don’t want to go there with him. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I accidentally bump my little mound of bills and bend to retrieve them from the floor. When I sit back up, August is leaning forward, squinting at the screen.

  “Seriously?” He turns aggravated eyes on me. “That’s how much you make each month? Like everything?”

  My hackles rise at his tone and the implication that what I make isn’t enough. “It’s good money, August.”

  “No, it’s crap money, Iris.” He shakes his head, his expression resolute. “I’ll talk to Jared about bumping it up.”

  “You will do no such thing, August West.” I jump to my feet, outrage humming through me. “I don’t want more than any other entry-level employee.”

  “You’re my girl, Iris.”

  “Yeah, I am, so all the more reason for you to respect my wishes.” I fold my top lip against my bottom one. “Things are just a little tight because I want to take this online sports marketing certification Jared recommended.”

  “Well if Jared recommends it, Jared needs to pay for it.”

  “For everyone?” I roll my eyes. “Stop being—”

  “What? Concerned?” he cuts in. “I’m your boyfriend. Of course, I’m concerned.”

  The word “boyfriend” floats in the air like a feather, and I chart its course. We’ve been so happy the last few weeks. Things have been amazing, but we’re on the verge of our first fight, and we both know it.

  “Boyfriend, yes.” I prop on the edge of the dining room table. “Sugar Daddy, no. I need to stand on my own feet, August. Please don’t make this a big deal.”

  “I think it is a big deal if you need something and don’t feel like you can ask me for help.” He scoots to the edge of the seat so I’m within reach and rests his hands at my hips. “Baby, not sure if you heard, but I make a lot of money.” />
  “Good for you,” I say. “You make yours. I’ll make mine.”

  “Are we not in a relationship?” His eyes, the color of a pending storm, search my face. “Did I misunderstand what we’re doing here?”

  “Of course we’re in a relationship, August.” I run a hand over the tension in my neck and brush a dark swathe of bed-hair back from his face.

  “And aren’t you there for me? When I lose a game? When you cook for me? When I need your help?”

  “Picking up your mail when you’re on a road trip is nothing.”

  “Yeah. Nothing. Like this little list of bills is nothing to me.” He gestures to my laptop. “Iris, do you have any idea how much money I make? Not the contract. That’s a drop in the bucket. The shoes. The video games. The endorsements. Baby, I can take care of your bills.”

  Some wound I thought healed, scabbed over, smarts. Everything in me resists taking money from him.

  “It’s bad enough you’re driving that piece-of-shit car,” he continues.

  “My car is not a piece of shit,” I counter, my voice turning brittle. “It runs perfectly fine and gets me where I need to go.”

  “But I could get you something really nice, dependable, and never even miss the money.”

  “Yeah, Caleb bought me a beautiful Mercedes,” I say bitterly, taking a few steps away. “But I found out fast that all of his gifts had strings attached.”

  “What the actual fuck, Iris?” His voice rumbles in the space I’ve put between us. “Are you comparing me to him? What we have to what you had with him?”

  “No, I—”

  “Are we only going to talk about him when it’s convenient for you to bring up and use against me in an argument?” he demands, his voice cooling off. “That’s kind of unfair since I have no context for what he did, how he behaved, or what happened. Since you won’t tell me shit, ever.”

  “We’ve talked about this.” I draw a calming breath, wanting to keep this from venturing into dangerous territory. “I signed an NDA.”

  “Whatever. Or maybe you just don’t want me to know what happened.”

  He’s partially right on that score. Why would I want him to know how Caleb ground me to dust? That I allowed that? No matter the reasons or the circumstances, he caged me like an animal, and now that I’m out, I don’t want to revisit my captivity.

  “I just need to do this for myself,” I say more softly. “I don’t want to owe anyone.”

  “Owe?” He runs his hands over his face and pushes out a frustrated breath. “If I ever give you a car . . . correction when I give you a car, because when that thing you’re driving dies, I will give you a car . . .” He closes the space between us and gathers both my hands in his against his chest. “When I give you something, it’s yours. You’ll own it, and no one can take it away from you. Not even me.” He bends to whisper in my ear, “The same way you own my heart, Iris. Outright.”

  It’s the closest we’ve come to saying the words, but something holds me back. I’ll never forget the night when I first tried to leave Caleb—the humiliation at the hotel. The credit cards denied. Seeing those flashing blue lights, being pulled over by the cops and accused of stealing the car, of kidnapping my own daughter. I’d thought Caleb and I had built something together, but it turned out he was working alone and setting a trap. I trusted someone else with my welfare, and they used it against me in the most unimaginable ways. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to trust my and Sarai’s security to someone else again, even someone I love and who loves me.

  The silence stretching out after August’s subtle declaration grows cool and awkward. I don’t know what to say. If I press past my fears and tell him what I feel for him, what I really feel, will he use it against me? Deep down I know August isn’t Caleb, but some pain goes deeper than what we know. It fundamentally changes who we are and how we live, and it’s beyond the reach of reason.

  “Mommy.”

  August and I both turn to see Sarai, her dark hair ruffled and little fists twisting in her eyes. I walk over and pick her up.

  “Morning, baby.” I breathe in her little girl freshness.

  “Gus,” she says firmly, stretching her little arms toward him. He glances up at me, silently asking if it’s okay. I don’t like her waking up with a man in my house. I don’t want to confuse her, but I know there’s a bond forming between them. I don’t want to take that away. I offer a terse nod.

  “Hey, princess,” he says softly, scooping her up and pressing his forehead to hers. “What are you doing up?”

  She doesn’t answer but burrows her head into his neck, already blinking drowsily and halfway back to sleep. Watching his tall frame travel back up the hall with her head resting on his shoulder twists my heart. I want to believe it, but it all feels too good to be true. August feels too good to be true, like Caleb did once. That boy who brought me coffee every day for weeks, wooing me, listening to me, and treating me kindly, he seemed too good to be true. But Caleb’s good wasn’t true. He was a cruel fraud—a mistake I made that may chase me for the rest of my life.

  I finish with the bills, noting the calls I need to make for extensions until my next paycheck. Closing the laptop, I check the time to see if I can grab a few winks before I have to be up for work. If August is still down to cuddle, I’m here for that.

  But when he re-enters the living room, he’s dressed in his San Diego Waves sweatshirt, a baseball cap, and his tennis shoes. Keys jingle in his hands.

  “I’m gonna go.” His eyes rove around the room like he’s checking for anything he may have left, but his glance skids over me. “I need to meet my trainer soon.”

  I know his schedule. He has plenty of time.

  “August, I—”

  “Just . . . it’s okay, Iris.” He walks toward the door, stopping only to drop a kiss on the top of my head. “Let’s talk later when we’re both . . .” He shakes his head, pulling his cap lower over his hair. “Let’s just talk later.”

  The door closes behind him.

  45

  Iris

  The client Jared asked me to follow up with decided not to sign. I received an email reminding me that the money for the online sports certification is due today, and I don’t have it. The daycare called me out of a meeting because Sarai bit some kid. I had to review a fifty-page contract Jared needed “like yesterday” . . . in five minutes.

  It’s a day from hell, and it’s not even noon yet.

  My email alert dings, distracting me from the branding strategy Jared asked me to tweak for a soccer player who recently signed. I open the email from human resources, and my blood pressure soars. I’m up and charging down the hall, knocking on Jared’s office door before I give myself time to cool off.

  “Iris, hey,” he says, glancing up from his laptop. “Come on in.”

  “Can I ask you . . .” My words falter. “Did August . . .” Shit. I know he did this, but it sounds ridiculous saying it aloud, and if I’m wrong, it will make things awkward between my boss and me.

  “The email from human resources,” I start again. “It said all entry-level employees are receiving a raise, effective immediately. That our next check will reflect the increase.”

  “Yes.” Jared sits back from his desk and links his hands on top of his head. “What about it?”

  “Did August do that?” I rush the question before I change my mind. “For me, I mean?”

  “I’m not in the habit of discussing high-level financial and human resources decisions with our entry-level employees.”

  “Of course.” Embarrassment heats my cheeks and twists my insides. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  I back out of the door, but his voice stops me.

  “Iris,” he says. “Wait a second.”

  I force myself to meet his eyes.

  “I’ve never seen my brother like this about anyone.” He rests his elbows on the desk. “Not just since you’ve come here, but even before, when you were still with Caleb.”
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br />   “Oh, well, I—”

  “Don’t hurt him.”

  I search the stern expression on his face. “Me?” I touch my chest. “Hurt him?”

  “When he asked me about increasing the entry-level pay at five o’clock this morning,” he says, pausing to give me a pointed look, “thanks to you both for that, by the way. Because who needs more than five hours of sleep?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “When he called,” Jared continues, blasting past my apology, “he seemed to think it was going to piss you off but said it was the only way to help you, and he won’t stand by watching you struggle.”

  Tears spring to my eyes. How much did that cost him? Or this company? I said I didn’t want anything all the other entry-level employees didn’t have, and he gave them all raises so I’d feel better about accepting his help? Would a man who secretly meant me harm do that?

  No. And it’s no secret August loves me.

  There are many things that may always have to remain a secret between us, but how I feel about him shouldn’t be one of them.

  46

  August

  “Good run,” Kenan says, slamming his locker closed. “You’re getting better, Rook.”

  “I’m pretty sure a player in his third season,” I say, closing my locker, too, “is no longer considered a rookie.”

  “It’s got such a ring to it, though.” Kenan’s deep chuckle rumbling in that massive chest of his coaxes a grin to my lips.

  “Why were you in a shitty mood today, West?” Valdez, the back-up point guard, asks. I suspect he resents me at least a little. He’s been in the league for a decade and probably doesn’t appreciate playing behind me.

  Oh, well. It’s like that sometimes.

  “It’s a chick, huh?” Valdez asks with a taunting grin. “That tennis player? Pippa Lee?”

  “I doubt Iris would appreciate that.” Kenan laughs and hefts his duffle bag on his shoulder.

  “Iris?” Valdez’s eyebrows rise dramatically. “I heard Caleb Bradley’s baby’s mama, Iris DuPree, lives here now. You don’t mean that Iris?”