by Lulu Pratt
“Well, what if I am his love child, and you aren’t?”
“Then what?”
“Then there is no half-sister factor going on.” There was a silence for a moment. “I’m sorry. That is crazy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it does show me something interesting.”
“Look, Harrison. Do me a favor. Find out what you can, but let’s make this a secondary issue. Right now, we need to be careful, and we need to get you back to Detroit.”
“Agreed. I’ll see you at yoga.”
“Okay. Thanks, sweetie.”
“Careful, Scarlet. I love it, but we need to be careful.”
“Sure.”
***
At yoga class, Clay had reappeared, and he looked more than usually smug.
“Morning, Harrison. How was your night? Steamy?”
“Hi Clay. What? What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just makin’ conversation.”
“Okay. Good game last night, huh?”
“Yeah, great. I just love sitting in the dugout all game.”
I laughed.
“Hey, I’ve been there too. That’s the way the cookie bounces,” Clay said.
“Crumbles.”
“What?”
“The expression is ‘that’s the way the cookie crumbles,’” I said.
“You haven’t had the cookies I was brought up on. My ma makes the best cookies.”
That idiot makes a competition out of everything. It was so annoying. And what did he mean by steamy? Did he know what I was doing with Scarlet? Was Dennis friends with Clay? Shit! Now I was getting paranoid.
Scarlet was careful not to pay too much attention to me that day, and the result of her reticence was that she paid more attention to Clay, which he, of course, misinterpreted as some kind of sexual come-on. He had this look on his face like the cat that swallowed the canary.
All through practice, I was watching Clay. He had this shit-eating grin on even though I was creaming him and he couldn’t compete at all with me. Something was up and I knew it.
At five, I went to Scarlet’s office. To be honest, I had been looking forward to seeing her at the end of the day, but tried my best to keep in under my hat.
“How are you?” I said, as I sat in front of her in the chair.
“It’s been a weird day,” she said. “By the way, I have some news. I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”
My heart sank. Shit. “Okay…”
“I spoke to my mother.”
“And?”
“Well, she was pretty loath to say anything, but I got the distinct impression that Roger Brett is actually my father.”
“She told you?”
“No, she alluded to things that made me think it, though.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, he continued to pay for her — and by extension, me — right through college. He only stopped when I graduated. I never knew where our money came from, but apparently, it came from him.”
“Oh boy. That is brutal.”
“Yeah. I just want you to know everything. I don’t ever want secrets between us. Agreed?”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean I believe in honesty.”
“So do I.” I looked at her in some confusion. “I’m lost.”
“Never mind. We have a job to do. I am going to do those exercises again. We may need to work a little on resistance training. Are you up for that?”
“Of course.”
Chapter 34
SCARLET
IF I WAS being honest, the session didn’t go all that well. Although it was resistance training, I felt like Harrison was resisting me, and not so much his muscles. It hurt a little. I wasn’t expecting him to react negatively to this news, if it was news. When it was over, there was no talk of saunas or anything sexual. He just got up and started walking to the door. And left me feeling terrible, vulnerable, scared, and a little let down. I had hoped Harrison would be a better man.
“Is that it?” I said, a little hurt.
“What do you mean? Don’t you have another appointment?”
“No. I deliberately gave you the last one. I was hoping maybe we could do something.”
“Do something?”
“Yeah, like, I don’t know, dinner? A movie?”
“Oh. um. Let me see,” he said. “I have a game tomorrow. I usually like to get to sleep early before a game.”
“Okay, I understand.”
“Sorry, I need to concentrate on this singular goal. For both of us.”
“For both of us?” I suddenly heard a voice behind me. It was Clay Carter.
“What are you doing here?” said Harrison.
“Just meetin’ with my physical therapist. She ain’t your personal property you know, Major League.”
“Fine. I’ll see you later, Scarlet,” he said, and left in a hurry.
“What was that all about?” asked Clay.
“What was what all about?”
“That jazz about for both of us? Is there a little spark somewhere?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Carter.”
“Fine! Anyway, I was just wondering if you had a couple minutes to talk about something.”
“About what? I’m almost done for the day.”
“You know there’s a non-fraternizing policy, don’t you?”
“What are you suggesting?” I said with some urgency.
“Just that you don’t need to worry about me comin’ on to you.”
“Oh. Right. Well, thanks for clearing that up.”
“I just wanted to go over some of the yoga moves.”
“This isn’t the best time. Can we do it another day?”
“I really need to go over them. It’s real important for my game, and I ain’t getting much time on the mound thanks to guess who.”
“Oh, okay.” I sat in the chair behind my desk, as Clay got on the floor and started twisting himself into a pretzel. It was borderline gross, and I had a hard time keeping my thoughts out of it. But I wanted to get out so bad, I almost couldn’t stand it. At one point, as he was showing me the downward dog and his skinny ass was directly pointing at me, the phone on my desk vibrated. I had a feeling it was Harrison, and wanted so badly to check it, but Clay was so adamant and asked so many questions that I couldn’t do it without arousing suspicion. I indulged him as long as I thought necessary, and then, at about six, I had to stop. “Well, we’re out of time, Clay. I’m going to have to call it a day.”
“Got a hot date?”
“No. I am just wrapping up.”
“Okay. Well, thanks, teach,” he said.
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You sure will.”
As he got up off the floor to leave, I saw him glance at my phone as I was checking it. It was a message from Harrison.
“See you later,” he said.
“Huh? Oh sure. Yeah. See you, Harrison.”
I was thinking about Harrison and I accidentally called Clay Harrison. He stopped dead in his tracks. “I’m Clay. You know that, right? I’m the better pitcher, the better lookin’, the younger version of that old coyote. Just wanted to make sure you knew.”
“I’m sorry. Of course. Good night.”
That was bad. He knew I had received a text from Harrison. I looked at it.
Want to come over and see a movie? I got Netflix. We could chill. And I made spaghetti.
I was a sucker for spaghetti, especially when it was made by a man. Not sure why, but they put the right amount of meat in it, and the right lack of veggies. Of course I wanted to go, and was planning on it, but I had to wait until the coast was clear. I watched Clay walk down the hall, and as I did, I noticed him stopping to talk to someone. I crept a little closer to the door and saw a pail on the floor, but couldn’t see who it was, because he or she was behind a wall.
Be there in twenty! I wrote, and hightailed it out of there.
> At Harrison’s place, the lights were off and candles were all around his strangely sparse apartment. It was square and boring, without pictures on the walls or any adornment that made you think he actually wanted to be there. So, unlike my place. But he had a massive TV screen opposite a black leather sofa. That was all the furniture in the living room, other than a huge wagon wheel with a glass top that served as an oversized coffee table. He had two plates on the table and cutlery, a wine glass and a bottle of wine, and two water glasses. There was also a large bowl of premixed spaghetti and meatballs, with a bowl of grated cheese. My favorite.
“Not drinking?” I asked.
“Game tomorrow. No can do.”
“I never heard that. I heard you can’t have sex.”
“I never heard of that.” He smiled. “Never, ever heard of that rule.”
I just smiled back. I sat beside him, and he began serving. It was beautiful in this candlelight, despite the total lack of adornment.
“I’m guessing you weren’t expecting to last long in Toledo?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you have absolutely nothing in your apartment.”
“You haven’t seen the whole apartment yet, have you?”
“No. But this living room is about as man-cavey as a place can get.”
He laughed. “Trust me, there are parts you will like.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“I bet you are. Here, have some spaghetti.” He handed me a plate with a massive mound of spaghetti. I put a pile of cheese on top and watched as it melted.
Harrison poured me a glass of red wine. “What is it?”
“It’s wine,” he said.
“I know that! I meant like, where is it from?”
“That store where I first ran into you.”
“I meant what country?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m guessing you’re not a big wine connoisseur.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Fair enough. Well, it’s very nice.” He looked at me a little askance, since I hadn’t even tried it yet. And when I did try it, it was… what is the word a wine connoisseur would give? Brutal. It was borderline disgusting. I looked at the label. It was sacramental wine, about fifty percent sugar. Like some kind of juice box for a kid with alcohol thrown in as a gag. I decided not to make a big deal of it, but it was difficult to get it down. Like drinking maple syrup.
As I sipped on the treacle, I looked at Harrison, noting how handsome he was. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and I had never seen a man who dressed so casually manage to look so perfect in it. His arms alone were perfectly created, with rippling muscles on a nearly hairless forearm, and the way the muscles bulged was very attractive. He had a perfect six-pack, and it was accentuated by the tightness of his shirt. His legs, draped across the wagon wheel coffee table, were so beautifully shaped that I had an almost uncontrollable desire to touch him. I tried my best not to get physical, though, and was proud of myself for holding back. He was eating his spaghetti, and I watched him as I ate my share.
“This is really good!” I said, as he smiled at me.
“I’m not a great chef, but I got inspired.”
“Well, it’s fantastic,” I replied.
He looked very pleased. “What movie would you like to see?” he said, snapping on the TV, and tuning in to Netflix.
I shrugged.
“There’s one I want to see,” he said timidly. “Are you interested in seeing Long Time Coming?”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s about a team of twelve-year-olds in the fifties. Little League. It was an all-Black team in Pensacola, the best, but all-Black, and the other teams didn’t want to play them, but they had to. Anyway, I think it is supposed to reveal what it is about baseball that makes it the great American game.”
“Sounds good,” I said, even though, in truth, it was not of much interest to me. However, I was intrigued by how much he wanted to see it, and I felt it told a lot about him as a person, as a baseball player, and as a human being. One thing I admired about Harrison was his total lack of racial discrimination. He was equally friendly with Hispanic, Black, or white players. This team was made up of all three groups, and he had no feelings one way or the other about which was which.
Harrison put it on, and as the movie got under way, he put his hand in mine, and held it like a teenager at a movie with his first girlfriend. It was a very comforting feeling, and the farther we got into the movie, the more he moved closer to me. Although we finished the film, by the end, we were closer than was safe, considering the no-fraternizing rule.
He excused himself for a moment, but as I didn’t hear any water running, I didn’t know what he was doing.
“Want to see the rest of the place?” he said as he reappeared.
“I guess,” I said, thinking he was making a play to get me in the bedroom. The truth was, I was desiring him more than I could say. Something about his casual air, the way he was dressed, made me want to jump him.
“This is the office,” he said, indicating a room that was almost completely bare except for a desk, piled high with papers. There was one of those very weird looking chairs that looked like a spider but was, supposedly very comfortable. In the corner, there was a bunch of weights, dumbbells, and a stationary bike.
“Very nice,” I said.
“And now, the pièce de résistance,” he said. “Look here!” He was standing by a door, just off a tiny hallway, and when he opened it, as it was in the living room, there was tea lights everywhere and a beautiful soft light exposing a huge and gorgeous hot tub. The soft sound of the bubbles and jets was low and enticing. “What do you say?”
“To a hot tub? I don’t think there’s a person in the western hemisphere who would say no to that!” I said. I looked at him, and he raised his eyebrows. Without a word, he moved to it, holding my hand, and with his other hand, he slipped his shorts off and stepped into the hot tub. Standing there, naked, he pulled me to him. He lifted my top and tossed it on the ground. He then pulled down my shorts, and carried me into the tub. He held me like a firefighter holds a victim, and I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. Honestly, it was impossible not to kiss him at that moment. He just looked so beautiful and so strong, and I really and truly felt as though he was my savior!
He gently lowered me into the hot tub and gazed at me with his beautiful blue eyes. “My God but you are beautiful,” he said. This was the right thing to say to me at that moment, where I was actually questioning my right to be in the same hot tub with such an Adonis. I reminded myself that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. There were mirrors all around and I could see myself, and did not see what he seemed to see, but I saw an absolute ideal of perfection in his amazingly beautiful shoulders, his powerful arms, his strong legs, and that erect and enticing cock between his legs.
The light was soft, and the mood was perfect. The low hum of the jets, I started to realize, was accompanied by some soft string music. Mozart, or something like that. It was soothing, and I closed my eyes as I felt his hands touch me gently. He lifted me up as though I were a rag doll and turned me, lowering me on to his lap. While I could feel his hard cock, he made no further moves. Instead, we cuddled and embraced one another in the tenderest way I could imagine. He kissed me with his sexy lips, and I put my hands on his jawline, which was the part of him I yearned for most of all. It was one of many amazing qualities he had, but he had the ability to make me very, very horny while at the same time making me feel safe in his arms.
So, I figured it was up to me to make the next move. I reached down into the water and touched his chest. It was so incredibly well defined that I felt the need to sketch the outline of his body over and over again. He began to relax, lying back against the rim of the hot tub. I rose a little to get a better perspective, and he began to rise out of the water, no longer weighed down by me sitting on him. His cock stood
out of the water, and I was pretty sure he was unaware of this, or he would have stopped it. But it was still hard, and I lowered my head, holding my hair out of the water, and wrapped my lips around the head. Harrison gasped with pleasure. I then felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing gently. I took more of him into my mouth. I moved up and down on his shaft, and could hear his breathing get more and more rapid, and so I knew what I was doing was right. I cupped his balls in my hand and pulled the whole of his length into my mouth, feeling his balls constrict and move like they had a mind of their own.
After only a short time, he began to buck, and I knew I had him where I wanted him. Instead of letting him come, I slowed down and let the feeling pass. His hand was now between my legs, and it was touching my most intimate part, where the thought of climbing on top of his hard cock lived.
Before matters advanced further, I grabbed a condom from my dress pocket and quickly passed it to him. He rolled it on and I climbed back into position.
“I want you,” I murmured into his ear.
“Oh my God, Scarlet, I want you too. Please…” But he had nothing to add. I knew exactly what he wanted, and I knew exactly how to get it, too. I climbed back on top of him, facing him, and began to kiss his face all over. He responded with enthusiasm, and I could feel his cock between my legs. I managed a move that I thought I would never be able to do again in a million years. Without a hand or any other guide, I managed to put the head of his penis right at my center, and with deft moves slightly one direction or the other, I eased him inside me. He lifted me up and down, making love to me tenderly. I wanted him so badly inside me, and this feeling, which I had experienced before, but never really taken the time to relish, to cherish, was the place I always wanted to live. This position was one that seemed to be perfect for him and for me, and I moved gingerly to bring out some of the more amazing feelings that were shooting through my body.
Harrison moaned and said, “I can’t take much more.”
Testing him, I turn my head and coughed, and he could not control himself.
At that exact moment I felt him orgasm. It wasn’t like it took more than a second between his words and his ejaculation, as though he had been, through some force of will, holding back. It sort of blew my mind, to be honest.
