by KL Donn
Back downstairs, the clock on the wall shows a few minutes after ten. I’m not sure if Ian’s coming over this late. Thinking about him coming back has my lower belly tied up in nervous knots. Why is he coming back? I should’ve asked.
As I pull out a glass from the cabinet, a knock sounds on the door behind me. Before I turn around, I pull out another glass and set them down on the counter together. My heart rapidly pounds in my rib cage. When I finally turn, he’s standing there freshly showered. His damp hair is finger-combed from his face; the natural curl he’s trying to tame is evident. His lips spread into a wide smile as I open the door for him. “Hi.”
He hands me a paper bag, and I raise my eyebrow at him. “Hi. I bought you some good vodka. Grey Goose. It’s already cold. It’s been sitting in my freezer since earlier today.”
“Thank you. I was just about to make us a drink.” I throw some ice cubes into the glasses and screw the cap off the bottle, pouring an ounce into each glass. I add in a dash of Rose’s lime juice, then another dash of orange juice, and top them both off with cranberry juice. I push his toward him and watch him take a sip.
“That’s really good,” he says, swallowing another sip. “I thought it would be tarter than it actually is.”
“The orange and lime juices sweeten it,” I add. I take a taste of my own drink and move around to the other side of the island. “Do you want to stay inside or go outside?”
“We can do whatever you want. I’m sorry I’m late. I had practice tonight then got sucked into a heated conversation with my brother. Only to get home and find the news crews are still outside, of course, so I did my usual weaving through the neighborhood.”
Right then, lightning shimmers through the windows, lighting up the night sky. We both watch it streak and fork across the darkness. “Looks like we’re staying inside. Let’s go into the den.”
He follows me with his drink in hand. I take a seat on the lounge part of the sectional sofa while he sits where he sat earlier today. He leans forward and looks into the bowl Dane and I left out earlier.
“Party mix I made for Dane. Help yourself,” I answer before he has a chance to ask. He holds the bowl on his lap and scoops out a handful. “Wait! There’s cheese and caramel popcorn, sunflower seeds, dried cranberries, golden raisins, and pretzels in there in case you have any allergies.”
He opens his mouth wide and dumps it all in. “That’s really good,” he says, talking while chewing his mouthful of the mix.
“Technically not homemade but mixed together at home. I don’t give Dane artificial colors. I try to feed him as naturally and organically as possible to help his disability.”
“Really? I never would’ve guessed he has a disability. What’s the issue?”
“Well, at first the doctors thought he had ADHD. So we went through the process of diagnosing that and attempting to follow all of those recommendations. The only things that I agree with are the no artificial colors or sweeteners and going organic,” I explain.
“So that wasn’t his problem?”
“No, not by a long shot. Dane has Asperger’s Syndrome, a developmental disorder. It’s officially inside the umbrella of the Autism spectrum. He’s higher functioning than most on the spectrum, but he lacks social skills and is mostly quiet. He fixates on things, like soccer, and does things repetitively, like the way he kept jumping on the floats in your pool over and over and in a specific order. He gets very frustrated with people and certain situations.”
“That’s good to know being his coach. I’ll keep an eye on him.” He scoops another handful of party mix into this hand, but picks at it, eating a few pieces at a time. He sits back on the sofa, facing me, placing the bowl back on the table.
“I have to watch him like a hawk. He doesn’t like to be teased and doesn’t understand it when you are ‘kidding around’. He can get very aggressive,” I inform him, rubbing the bandage on my arm. “Everything you tell him, he takes literally. Sometimes he knows you’re joking but that doesn’t mean he understands it. Just know that you’ll need to be very specific in your instructions with him. My goal this summer is to tease him intermittently and get him used to it by my facial queues. At least that’s what Maggie suggests. So far, it’s not working.” I rub my arm again.
“Did he hurt you?” He points to the bandage and moves closer to me.
“It’s not that bad. He bit me. I’ve had worse injuries.”
“What do you mean?” he asks abruptly.
I’ve said too much. “Just general injuries in life like sprained ankles, concussions, bruises from falling…stuff like that. Dane’s little mouth couldn’t do that much damage. I’ll be fine.” If only he knew Justin kicked me out of the car once, spraining my ankle, getting a concussion when my head hit the curb, and giving me multiple bruises and two cracked ribs just for saying I didn’t feel like cooking dinner.
A look of doubt flashes across his face, but he doesn’t say anything else. “Do you want to watch a movie?” I reach for the remote, but he responds before I can hit the power button.
“No. I’d rather get to know you better.” He scoots closer to me again.
I stare at him. Hard. His face is a blank slate, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I’m not sure if I want to know what he’s thinking. I’m thrilled by his words and scared to death all at the same time. He’s a celebrity for Pete’s sake. He makes commercials and stands tall on seventy-five-foot high billboards with a $20,000 watch on one arm and gorgeous women on the other. What is he doing with me? What am I doing with him? My reputation will ruin his career.
“Ian, what are you doing? What do you think this is going to become?”
He blows out a long breath and sits back, resting against the back of the sectional. “Neenah, I honestly don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is I can’t get you out of my mind.” He stands and begins to pace the length of the room. “It’s like there’s this sadness you wear around you like a blanket. I want to rip it off you and make you laugh. Really laugh. From deep down inside your belly. I want to see you smile. And then when you do smile, I want to kiss you. And taste you. Every inch of you. I know that’s bold, because we just met, but my body wants you. And my heart wants to see you happy. I’m just as confused as you are.”
“I think you’re horny,” I reply matter-of-factly and down the rest of my drink.
“But I’m not. That’s just it. I could go out with anyone and have sex, but I don’t want to. Contrary to what you think, I don’t date supermodels. I go to the ESPY’s alone every year. And all those other events? The company finds escorts for me. I usually have no idea who we’re picking up in the limousine, and I still have no idea who they are when I take them home.”
I need another drink. I pick up my empty glass and walk into the kitchen, pouring a stronger vodka cranberry cooler this time and drinking half of it as he stands, stretching in the threshold between my den and kitchen.
I shake my drink, letting the ice cubes mix the flavors more. He steps closer to me, boxing me in between the sink and the island. “You let me kiss you earlier. Did you like it?”
My fingers move to my lips, feeling them tingle at the mention of our kiss.
“You did, didn’t you?” he whispers.
I nod slowly. Ours eyes meet, and I’m held in their trance.
He reaches up and cradles my neck again. His fingers tangle in the curls of my hair. A firestorm thrums through my body when his thumb caresses the sensitive skin behind my ears. I let him pull me into him. My hands splay across his chest, feeling the corded muscles there.
“Neenah, I’m going to kiss you now.”
All of the air in the room is sucked out by an invisible vortex of heat and want. The pressure of his lips against mine leaves me breathless. His tongue runs along the seam of my mouth, and I open to him, my tongue dancing with his until we’re spent and gasping for air. He breaks away, only to trail more kisses down my cheek and across my collarbone. His hands move to h
old my hips steady while his thumbs caress the skin just underneath my shirt there, burning hot against my skin.
My fingers curl into the hair at his nape as he lifts me up onto the counter. My legs spread open, and he steps between them, pulling me into him even closer than before. His hot hands press against me, exploring my body while he kisses me deeply. The bulge of his penis thickens and presses against my thigh. He’s hard, and the weight of it feels heavy against my leg. I have an overwhelming desire to see and touch him.
I break the kiss and clamber down from the counter, clutching at his dick through his shorts, massaging it with my hands. I know this is wrong. I shouldn’t take it any further, but I want to see him. I want to taste him. It’s been too long since a man wanted me, and I need someone who won’t hurt me. I know he won’t. I need someone more real than my book boyfriends at the moment.
I drop to my knees on the kitchen rug and wrap my fingers around the waistband of his shorts. I tug at them, grabbing his boxer briefs as well. I lower them until his length springs free. It points upward, pressing against his abdomen toward the dark, sexy hairline that runs down from his belly button. I tighten my fingers around it, stroking it until I hear him exhale.
My tongue juts out and licks the head, teasing him. He gathers my hair up in one hand and cradles my head with the other, guiding himself into the heat of my mouth. I take him in as far as I can, licking and sucking his length as he withdraws. When his crown passes over my lips, I quickly suck him back in, taking him in tip to root.
“You’re a naughty woman,” he murmurs.
Suddenly, from the top of the stairs Dane hollers, “Mommy, I need water.”
Well, that kills the mood.
Ian releases my head and pulls himself from my mouth, tucking himself back into his clothes quickly.
“Coming, Dane,” I yell up to him His feet thud across the floor back to his room.
Ian holds out his hand and helps me stand.
“Thank you,” I say.
He hands me a cup from the cabinet, and I fill it with water from the sink. “Be right back,” I advise, rolling my eyes before heading upstairs.
Forty-some minutes later, I’m back downstairs. Dane is sleeping soundly again while Ian is cuddled up asleep on the couch. His drink is empty, and the news plays on the television. I pull a blanket from the basket and throw it over him. When I pick up the remote to turn it off, Ian’s face is on the screen, and the newscaster is talking about him. I turn it up just a little to listen.
“Local Chicago Fire soccer phenom, Ian Legend, has frustrated some local parents with his soccer camp through The Boys and Girls Club of America. The soccer star is holding a camp to fulfill his court-appointed obligations after almost brutally beating a man to death in Orlando, Florida earlier this year. Local parents feel that a man with violent tendencies shouldn’t be allowed to interact with kids and will be protesting the camp at the entrance to the Chicago Fire Soccer Complex on Thursday. Not too long ago, Mr. Legend was given community service with time served, and must undergo anger management therapy by the court. In other local news…”
I turn it off and dim the lights, taking one last look at him sleeping peacefully. I know angry men—Ian Legend is not one of them. I pick up his glass and carry it to the kitchen. After locking the doors, I head upstairs to bed, leaving him to sleep peacefully.
13
Ian
My hand throbs in pain after I smack it against an unfamiliar table. The lights are dim, but I already know the blanket curled in my hand is not the one from my couch. I remember waiting for Neenah and having another drink. I think I turned on the television and that’s it. I don’t remember anything else. I must have closed my eyes for a second and fell asleep.
Shit. I need to get out of here before Dane wakes up. Before any of them wake up.
Standing and folding the blanket, I place it back on top of the basket near the hearth. My wallet, phone, and keys are still in my pockets, thank God. I walk lightly across the floor to the back door and unlock it, twisting the knob and opening it slowly, praying it doesn’t squeak or squeal. It doesn’t. Whew! I twist the lock again before shutting the door. I glance at my phone. It’s a quarter past six. The neighborhood is quiet. I skip down the flagstone steps to the back alley walkway and enter my backyard.
Today is game day. We’re flying to Cincinnati this morning for an evening match, then I’ll return later tonight on the company jet with the coaches and owners since I have camp tomorrow. Coach assured me I was playing today with FC Cincinnati being new to the MLS. We don’t want them showing us up.
Before heading downstairs to change into my swim trunks, I step into my weight room and peek across into her bedroom. I can only see her empty reading nook in the turret and the bottom edge of her bed, but I know she’s still sleeping. The lights are out, and her robe is lying across the chaise lounge with her book on top of it. Her honeyed kisses burn a hole in my memory. I want more of her.
Would she have given herself to me if Dane hadn’t called for her? If I’d have stayed awake?
When she dropped to her knees, I was hard as steel for her and ready to blow my load. Then when she held me and worked my manhood with her tongue, I had to think of a thousand other things to keep from releasing early. I’m hard just thinking about her now. I haven’t had a blow job in ages, but it’s the best one I’ve ever had.
I dive into the pool and swim laps until my arms and legs burn with exhaustion. When I’m done and my legs are wobbly, I step out to dry off. The faint sound of water running in her yard gets louder until it pounds against the fence that separates our yards. She’s awake.
I glance at my phone and see that it’s already after 8:00 AM. I need to get to the complex to meet the team. Shit. I wish I had her number.
In traffic, I’ll be lucky to make it if I walk over to her house. Instead, I pull one of the lounge chairs over to the fence and step up on it. With all of my weight on it, I fall through and land on my back in the mulch—a tangled mess of bent aluminum, broken mesh, and bent limbs. I pull my legs out of the twisted frame of the chair and toss it over into the side yard. Fuck it.
I can’t be late.
I limp inside and jump into the shower, rinsing the chlorine off my skin. Dressing quickly, I grab my gym bag, stuff my pockets with the essentials, and quickly trace my path back to my car, meandering through my neighbors’ side yards, not needing to go through hers sadly. When is the press going to find a better story for their front page? This is getting ridiculous.
When I pull into the parking garage, the bus is loading my teammates. I haul ass to park and jump into the back of the line with a few minutes to spare. Coach sarcastically checks his watch then gives me his usual pissy look. “Glad you decided to join us today, Legend.”
“Wouldn’t miss this game, Coach. Let’s hurry up and kick the newbies’ asses.” The bus roars with my teammates echoing my sentiments.
“All right. Save that energy for the field.” He swats his papers at me, and we finish loading for the short ride to the airport.
I take my seat and decide on a whim to text Maggie for Neenah’s number. Maybe she’ll show pity on her neighbor and give it to me. Considering she lives in Spain now, God only knows what time she’ll respond to me.
Me: Hi Maggie. It’s Ian. Ian Legend in case you don’t have my number saved in your phone. ☹ I need to talk to Neenah. Would you happen to have her number?
I darken my phone and set it on the seat next to me. I slide in my ear buds and listen to some music while we weave through the morning traffic to DuPage Airport.
We arrive and board without incident, making it to the hangar on time. I slide into the seat next to Mikael.
“Hey, I was getting worried about you. Glad to see you made it.,” he says, stuffing his backpack under his seat.
“I fell asleep on the damn couch again without my alarm.”
“The couch? C’mon, man. You’ve got to come up with better stori
es than that. I’m starting to think your bachelor-about-town stories are all made up. You sound like my dad falling asleep in his recliner,” he scoffs, busting my balls.
“You’re just jealous.”
“Hell, yes. Winnie kept me up late, reading stories to her. I love that little girl with all my heart, but how many Fancy Nancy books can I read in one hour?”
“As many as you need to, brother. You should try reading The Hobbit to her. She’ll be out like a light.” I snap my finger for emphasis.
“The Hobbit? You are getting old on me.” He rolls his eyes and turns away from me.
Right then my phone rings with an actual call. It’s Maggie. “Hey, neighbor. How’s Spain?”
“Spain is currently hot. I’m supposed to be ‘en siesta’ as they say, but this heat wave is brutal. How’s Chicago?”
“Kind of balmy. I’m on my way to Cincinnati though. I’m not sure what the weather is like there.”
“Sooo, you need my tenant and best friend’s phone number, huh? Might I inquire as to the nature of this need?”
“Her little boy, Dane, is on my soccer team. I wanted to give her the security code to my back gate so they could go swimming,” I explain. She doesn’t need to know the real reason why I want it. Mikael elbows me. He’s got a knowing smile plastered on his face from ear to ear.
“Oh good. She put him on a team. He needs the structure. All right, you ready for it?”
I grab a pen out of the side of my bag, but I don’t have any paper. “Yep, lay it on me.” I jot it down on the palm of my hand. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Ian, take care of them for me. Life hasn’t been fair to them,” she pleads. The sadness of her voice hits me hard.
