by Suzie Nelson
The name Lewis meant nothing to Rosie so she put down the grater and the carrot and came over to join her son. As soon as she saw what he was watching, however, she had to smother a disgusted sigh. It was a video clip of Lewis Maserati, a baseball star who was arguably even better known for his playboy antics and devil-may-care attitude than his, admittedly incredible, talent on the diamond. All the men she knew wanted to be him, and all the women she knew wanted to sleep with him, but, to be honest, Rosie couldn’t see the appeal of either prospect. As far as she was concerned, the man was an egotistical douche who thought his fame made him untouchable – not that she’d ever say that to Angelo, who had a poster of him above his bed.
As they watched, Rosie felt more and more justified in her appraisal of the sports star. The video had been shot on someone’s phone, and it showed Lewis drunkenly heckling a lesbian couple in an upscale Manhattan bar, offering to show the women a “real” good time while grabbing his crotch. Finally, one of the women, a petite brunette, stood up and told him to get lost. She came up to his shoulder – and that was in three-inch heels. In response, the sports star made a grab for her breast and she hauled off and smacked him. Rosie cheered silently.
But, before he’d even fully recovered from the slap, Lewis had decked the woman, sending her sprawling backward, crashing into her chair and table and taking them with her as she fell. The woman’s date screamed, and the waiters, who up until that point had been trying to ignore the situation, finally came forward and restrained Lewis as he shouted abuse at the women. The date cradled the tiny brunette in her lap, crying, while another diner came over to offer her services as a doctor. As Lewis furiously fought the waiters, he caught sight of whoever was filming.
“Release that video and my lawyers will destroy you!” he screamed at the camera as the waiters hauled him away. Suddenly, the video came to an abrupt end.
The newscaster came back on screen, explaining that the video showed events from last night and that Maserati was now facing charges for battery, sexual assault, and perpetrating a hate crime.
“Good,” Rosie muttered to herself.
Angelo turned his cherubic face to hers. “But, Mommy,” he asked, puzzled, “why would Lewis hit that woman? She was really pretty.”
Rosie sighed. “It doesn’t matter how pretty someone is, Angelo. You should never hit anyone. But, sometimes, people get so angry that they can’t keep it inside anymore. And then they do something bad.”
Angelo frowned. “So Lewis was angry at that lady?”
“Not exactly, sweetie,” Rosie shook her head. “You know when you’re hungry and then sometimes you get angry and do or say things that you don’t mean to?”
Angelo nodded. He was known for hunger-related temper tantrums. “So Lewis was hungry?” he asked.
“Something like that,” said his mother, ruffling his blonde curls. “What about you? Are you hungry, blossom?”
“Not like that,” said Angelo. “But a little bit.”
“I hope so because dinner’s just about ready. Will you help me set the table?”
Angelo beamed up at his mother. “Yeah!” he shouted and raced off towards the kitchen.
Rosie watched him go, her smile tinged with sadness. Reaching for the remote, she shut off the television and followed her son back to the kitchen.
Chapter 2
Someone was banging on his door.
“Fuck off!” Lewis groaned from bed.
The person might not have heard him or they might not have cared. Either way, the banging continued.
“Fuck OFF!” Lewis repeated, burying his head under the pillows.
“No, Lewis, I will not ‘fuck off’. Not this time, you complete fucking idiot.” His manager’s voice came thundering through the penthouse suite’s supposedly soundproof door.
Lewis groaned.
“Open the door, Lewis,” his manager commanded.
Sullenly, Lewis rolled out of bed and shuffled towards the door, stopping to grab a bottle of Gatorade from his fridge and admire himself in a mirror as he went. Goddamn, he was ripped, he thought to himself as he watched his reflection flex its powerful biceps. No wonder all the ladies are dying to get their hands on a piece of this ass. He winked at his reflection and took a swig of Gatorade.
His manager hadn’t stopped hammering on the door.
“What now, Ben?” he asked as he finally wrenched open his door.
“You fucked up, Lewis, that’s what now,” Ben Johnson replied, as he shoved his way past Lewis and into the apartment. “Or don’t you remember assaulting a 5’2” woman last night?”
“I did what?” Lewis repeated blankly.
“You punched a fucking pixie in the face, Lewis. And that was after you told her and her date that all they needed was to, and I quote, “take a ride on a real cock” as well as after you tried to grab her tit.”
“Uhhh,” Lewis blinked, his brow furrowed as he tried to remember the night before. “Wait, you mean I’m a homophobe when I’m drunk? I had no idea.”
“That is not the take away you should be getting from this, Lewis,” his manager replied sternly.
“Ah, come on, Ben,” Lewis rolled his eyes. “I was fucking hammered last night. Don’t remember a fucking thing. Besides, you know I don’t have a problem with the gays. I mean, you’re one for chrissake. And you know I love you, man.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “It might help your case if you didn’t refer to us as ‘the gays.’ Just a thought. And I will not ‘come on’. You’re in serious trouble, Lewis. Gay rights activists are out for your blood. Not to mention the woman you punched is Carla fucking Rossetti.”
“Seriously? I tried to grope Carla Rossetti? Dude, she’s hot. I would totally nail her.”
“Yes, a fact that you made abundantly clear last night. She also happens to be a world-famous film star who’s armed to the hilt with heavy-weight lawyers that are going to rip you to shreds in court. For chrissake, Lewis, you’re being charged with battery, sexual assault, and perpetrating a hate crime!”
Lewis shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. When has an assault charge ever stuck, Ben? And everyone knows I’m not actually homophobic. Plus it’s not like I was going to rape her or something.”
Ben glowered at his hungover star player. “I’d suggest you not make jokes like that in public. And there’s video footage this time, Lewis. Someone filmed the whole thing on their phone. It makes things pretty black and white.”
“Okay, so we’ll buy the phone and I’ll autograph something for the owner and they’ll faint with excitement and no one’ll ever be the wiser.”
“Great plan,” his manager replied dryly. “If only the footage hadn’t been playing on repeat all over the national news for the past, oh, twelve hours or so.”
Lewis blinked. “Christ, what time is it?” he asked.
“Focus, Lewis!” Ben shouted. “This is serious!”
“Aw, calm down, man. It’ll be fine.”
Ben pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Maybe the fact that Nike called and threatened to pull their sponsorship will finally make you realize how serious this is.”
“Nike’s gonna pull the money? They can’t do that!” Lewis whined.
“Yes, they can, you dumbass. You signed a good behavior clause.”
“Oh right,” Lewis thought back. “But they’re never actually enforced that before. My bad boy attitude is part of my charm, Ben. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” Lewis gave Ben a dazzling smile.
Ben was unmoved. “Yeah, and they’ll take those big bucks right back if you don’t agree to see a therapist, donate $50,000 to an LGBT youth charity of Rossetti’s choice, and offer her a public apology.”
“Whaaaaaat?” Lewis rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not seeing some dumb therapist.”
“Lewis,” Ben took another deep breath, “if you don’t do as they say, not only will you probably go to jail,
but you will most definitely lose your career.”
Lewis scoffed. “Don’t exaggerate, Ben.”
“I’m not! Did I forget to mention that the League also called? I did, didn’t I? Well, they did. And they said that, if you don’t comply, you will be banned from playing professionally ever again. That’s it. Buh-bye. No more baseball.”
“Are you serious?” Lewis gaped.
“God, finally,” Ben groaned. “Yes, Lewis. I am completely serious.”
“But that’s not fair!” Lewis whined.
“Yes, frankly, it is. You’re a grown-ass man. It’s time you started behaving like one. You assaulted a completely innocent woman in a five-star Manhattan restaurant. You can’t go around doing shit like that and expect to get away with it forever. You’re not a goddamn African dictator, Lewis.”
Lewis threw his open bottle of Gatorade across the room, splattering the hardwood floor with neon blue puddles. “Fuck that!” he spat.
“They’re waiting for your answer, Lewis.” Ben watched the Gatorade seep into the cracks between the floorboards and shook his head.
“Ugh, fine! Whatever! Therapy then,” Lewis crossed his arms angrily.
“And an apology and a donation.”
“I said whatever!”
“Excellent. I’ll bring the cheque and the apology speech by tonight. Right now it’s 4:13pm, by the way.”
“Christ,” Lewis swore.
“And I’ll book you an appointment for first thing tomorrow, so absolutely no fucking drinking tonight. Is that clear, Lewis?”
“Whatever,” Lewis sulked. “Fine.”
“Good,” Ben nodded, satisfied with their meeting. “Glad we had this little talk. Always a pleasure.”
Lewis grunted.
“Same to you,” Ben replied. “I’ll see you tonight, Lewis.”
Lewis didn’t reply, just flopped down onto the leather sofa and turned on Netflix.
With a sigh, Ben left him to it.
As soon as he heard the door shut behind Ben, Lewis turned off the TV and went in search of his phone. He found it stuffed into an Armani loafer Ben had made him buy for some charity gala last year. What the phone was doing in the loafer was beyond Lewis. Just as mysterious was how the loafer had ended up on Lewis’ kitchen counter. But then again, he’d punched Carla Rossetti in the face last night, so clearly anything was possible.
“I mean, how did I even manage to hit her?” he asked himself as he scrolled through his contacts. “She’s fucking tiny. Did I, like, get down on my knees to punch her or something? Like, fucking midget tiny, man.”
Finally, he found the person he was looking for. She was listed as “Nipple-rings(Abbie?)” in his phonebook. He pressed ‘call’ and listened to the phone ring on the other end.
“Lewis?” Maybe Abbie asked incredulously.
“Hey, girl,” Lewis replied, turning on all his charm. “Whatcha up to?”
“Have you, like, not seen the news today, Lewis?”
He chuckled. “That’s exactly why I’m calling, baby. I’m looking for something to brighten up my day and you seemed like the perfect fit, if you know what I mean,” he joked, mentally high-fiving himself for the dirty pun.
There was a pause on the end of the line. “You assaulted Carla Rossetti last night, Lewis. You know I’m bi, right? That kind of homophobic shit doesn’t fly with me. Find yourself another booty call, asshole.” Without another word, Maybe Abbie (though possibly Anastasia, now that he thought about it) hung up.
“Bitch,” Lewis muttered, deleting her from his contact list.
It took him three more tries before he found someone (a woman he couldn’t remember but who was listed as “Crazytight(Ruby??)” in his phone) who would sleep with him, which was four more tries than it usually took him to get laid.
“Fucking women and their fucking solidarity,” he complained as he headed for the shower.
Half an hour later, Lewis emerged from the steam-filled bathroom feeling much more like himself. Wrapping a towel around his slim hips – low enough that his V-lines were displayed in all their glory – he headed back to the couch to wait for Maybe Ruby. Flicking through the channels, he accidently came across the video of last night. His curiosity got the better of him and he put down the remote.
“Fuuuuuck,” he said when the clip ended. “Man, that was an awesome punch. Took down the table and everything. I can’t believe I wasted it on Carla fucking Rossetti. Goddamn shame, that is.”
His complaining was interrupted by a knock on the door. His booty call had arrived.
“Finally,” he huffed.
The redhead in the hall was vaguely familiar. “Hey, Lewis,” she smiled lasciviously, trailing her fingernails down his six-pack.
Lewis grinned. That was how he liked women: to the point. “Hey, babe,” he replied, drawing her into a kiss. He smiled in appreciation as her tongue piercing grazed the roof of his mouth.
They stumbled backward into his apartment and his towel fell to the floor, freeing his erection. Maybe Ruby broke the kiss and reached down to fondle his engorged cock. Lewis moaned as she played with him, those fire-engine red nails delicately stroking his sensitive skin. Kneeling down, the woman pressed a kiss to the tip of his penis, swirling her tongue around the head. Lewis groaned and buried his fingers in her hair. “Keep going,” he told her.
Smiling around his cock, Maybe Ruby ran the ball of her tongue piercing down his shaft, her warm, wet mouth following in its wake. Slowly but steadily she drew him into her mouth until she could go no further. Lewis was disappointed to see there were still a few inches of exposed dick, but kept his mouth shut. Women got so huffy when you complained about their blowjobs. But, seriously, he thought to himself, a little gagging never hurt anyone, did it?
When she’d gone as far as she could, Maybe Ruby began to suck, drawing her mouth up and down his length, her hand following behind, swirling and turning, pulling his foreskin back and forth across the ridge of his cock and sending waves of sensation coursing through him. Lewis began to thrust into her mouth, his hips rocking quickly back and forth as he gripped her by the hair. “That’s more like it,” he groaned as the pressure mounted. His eyes were closed so he didn’t notice Maybe Ruby glaring up at him as he drilled into her. She pressed her hands against his thighs to keep him from going too deep.
“Oooh, I’m gonna come,” Lewis panted as his thrusting picked up speed. But, before he could, the woman pinched his balls – hard.
“Ow! Fuck! What the hell was that for?” He stopped thrusting to glare down at the woman. “I was about to come!”
“You were about to choke me, asshole,” she replied wriggling out of his grasp and standing up. “If you just wanna drill something, get yourself a blow-up doll. I’m here to have fun, Lewis. Which means you’ve gotta make it good for me too. And having you fuck my throat is not fun for me. You were a lot better last time.”
“Jesus, way to kick a guy when he’s down,” Lewis replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m so sorry I’m not living up to your expectations. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m having a shitty time at the moment.”
“Yeah, I heard,” Maybe Ruby replied. “Not my problem, though. You wanna whine about your anger management issues? Then go see a therapist. I’m here for a good time. So, are we going to have a good time or are you going to be a selfish prick about this?”
Lewis pouted. “Women these days. You guys are, like, so self-righteous every fucking minute of the day.”
“What can I say?” the redhead replied. “Even us women can get sick of being treated like shit, can you believe it? Now, are you going to fuck me properly or what? ‘Cause I have other things to be doing.”
The baseball star looked at the semi-stranger for a minute. She was undeniably hot: thick, bright red hair, with a body that seemed to be mostly made of tits and ass. His cock twitched and he sighed. “Yeah, yeah, let’s do this.”
/> Maybe Ruby nodded as she unzipped her form-fitting jeans. “Then do it right,” she told him, bending over as she pulled off her jeans and giving him a great view of her clean-shaven pussy. Lewis licked his lips. Maybe being told what to do wasn’t all that bad – sometimes.
Chapter 3
Rosie sipped her latte, leaning back in her easy chair and watching kids play in the park across the street from her office. Her first appointment for the day was a new patient, John Snow, and he was five minutes late – not the best first impression. But, seeing as her clients were all people dealing with serious anger management issues, being a few minutes behind schedule was the least of her worries.
