Full Court Press

by Sierra Hill

  It always seemed weird to have a fireplace in Arizona, but for people who live here their entire lives, the winters can get cold. Not for me, because I run hot, but my mom is always chilly and wrapped in a sweater indoors.

  My eyes scan the dining room table first, taking in the burning taper candles and two place settings, the plates littered with half-eaten dinner. Two open bottles of wine are in the middle of the table, one completely empty and the other half full. Weird. She must’ve been entertaining tonight.

  As I move further into the room, I see a pair of my mom’s high-heeled pumps lying carelessly in the middle of the hallway. And right next to them, a pair of size thirteen men’s loafers. What the hell? Is my dad here? I can’t imagine he’d ever leave his shoes there. He’s a total neat-freak.

  I make my way down the hallway, now a little curious and anxious, passing the guest bathroom and my dad’s former office. My parents’ bedroom – scratch that – my mom’s bedroom is on the main floor.

  As I get closer, I hear moaning. Female moaning.

  Oh shit. Is my mom sick?

  My instincts kick in as I run the rest of the way down the hall and right through her bedroom door, which is ajar. What I find there concludes the reason for the moans. And they are certainly not brought on by an ill woman.

  There, in my mother’s California king bed is my mother - naked except for a bra - straddling an equally naked Mr. Roberts, our next door neighbor.

  Holy fuck.

  After a few seconds of shock, it finally dawns on me that I’m standing in my mother’s bedroom watching her get it on with a man. She shrieks in panicked surprised as I blindly back out toward the door, shell shocked and utterly confused by what I’ve just witnessed.

  When I do finally realize that I’ve just seen my own mother fucking Mr. Roberts, I nearly double over and vomit. That is not a scene any son ever wants to see his mother in.

  I run back out to the kitchen, grab the half-full wine bottle and finish it in nearly two seconds flat, just as my mother comes running out, in the midst of tying up her bathrobe.

  “Cade, what are you doing here?” Her voice is panicked hysteria.

  I’m stunned and almost speechless. Almost.

  Then an irrational anger sweeps over me and I feel the urge to hit something. Preferably Mr. Roberts.

  “What am I doing here?” I practically spit out the accusatory question. “What the fuck is Mr. Roberts doing here, mom? Are you seriously fucking our neighbor? You might as well be fucking the pool boy, that’s how cliché this is. Jesus Christ.”

  I open the wine fridge and pull out another bottle, uncorking it swiftly and taking a huge gulp. The warm acidity of the Pinot goes down smoothly and I start to feel a bit more in control of my emotions. But I’m still fucking pissed.

  It’s not like I expect my parents are ever getting back together. They’ve been divorced now for over a year. And I wouldn’t want my dad to get that chance again. My mom is too good for him.

  She’s a very pretty woman. Tall, slender, with a sleek tawny-colored bob that lands at her shoulders. We have the same eyes, even though hers look much larger on her small face. She’s what people call a classic beauty. And much to my frustration in high school, a MILF.

  So I don’t doubt that she gets the attention of the male persuasion. But it’s not something I ever wanted to think about – much less see – when it came to my mom getting back on the old proverbial horse.

  Ugh. Now I’m picturing her straddling Mr. Roberts again. Ew. My stomach churns the wine I just downed.

  “Cade, let me explain,” she pleads quietly, her hand placed gently on my bicep, which I shrug off.

  “I don’t want to hear it. It’s none of my business.”

  “Honey. I don’t know what you think it is, but John and I…well, we’ve been dating. For a while now. And he loves me.”

  My brain can’t quite comprehend the words. Dating. A while. Loves me.

  I’m an adult and understand the nature of human relationships, even though I’ve never been in one myself. But learning that your own mother is dating a new man, who is not your father, and fucking him in the same house your parents raised you, is just a difficult pill to swallow.

  My mind goes back to all the past barbeques and block parties we’ve had in our neighborhood over the years. Did Mr. Roberts – John – have a thing for my mom even then? He’s close to ten years older than my mom. Graying hair. Glasses. A little pooch of a belly. But overall, somewhat handsome for an older dude.

  I recall that his wife died a few years back from lung cancer, even though she never smoked. I remember going to their house after the memorial service. John has two older daughters, both married and with kids. He seemed genuinely upset and saddened by his loss. I shrug off the thoughts that they had a married fling.

  In a way, I wish she was fucking the pool boy. Then it wouldn’t be so real, because from the sounds of it, this thing between them could be serious.

  My throat is coated with the remnants of the wine, so I have to clear my throat before I speak. And I’m surprised by my own question.

  “Do you love him, too?”

  A small wisp of a smile adorns her face as she sits down on one of the bar stools.

  “John’s a lovely man. He’s generous with his time, kind, a good father…”

  I read between the lines. Your father was never around. Your father was a hard ass. Your father was an asshole.

  “You didn’t answer the question. Are you in love with him?”

  She nods her head.

  “He’s asked me to marry him, Cade. I do love him. But, it will be an adjustment. I was going to wait until Christmas, when the twins are home to announce it then.” She hangs her head in contemplation. I can see she feels guilty she’s upset me. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. That was never my intention.”

  That’s my mother for you. Always concerned about her kids, even now, she’s trying to protect me from hurt. I can see it in her eyes how much she is holding back. She really does love him, yet she is worried about my ability to handle the truth.

  I place a wine glass on the counter in front of her and fill it half-way, topping off my own next. Lifting it up, indicating she should do the same, I give her glass a clink.

  “Well, here’s to poorly kept secrets and new loves,” I say, truly meaning it. My anger has dissipated now that I see the truth behind what’s going on. “You deserve it, mom. And if he’s good to you, then that’s all that matters.”

  “Oh honey.” She sniffles and wipes a tear that’s running down her cheek.

  A shuffling sound from behind me has me turning my head to find John slowly entering the kitchen, a weary expression on his face. He’s quiet and reserved, obviously apprehensive as to what he might find going on in here. I could be a total dick about this and give him hell, but I man-up, and turn toward him and give him my hand instead.

  “Mr. Roberts. Nice to see you.”

  “John, please,” he says, giving me a solid handshake, his eyes lighting up in appreciation. I watch him move around the counter and stand behind my mother, his hands landing on top her shoulders with an affectionate squeeze.

  Reflecting back, I don’t think I ever saw my dad do that to my mom. Give her any sort of public displays of affection, not even in our own home. I’m not even sure they ever kissed in front of us, unless it was just a peck on the cheek. Weird. Funny how as a kid you never pay attention to your parents in that way.

  “Cade, I’m very sorry you…uh, found out about your mother and I in this manner.”

  I give him a wave of my hand.

  “Please, don’t worry about it. I apologize that I stopped over unannounced and interrupted your…uh, date.” We all laugh at my attempt to downplay the situation. It’s not every day a son walks in on his mom doing the nasty with a guy.

  My mom stands up and wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly.

  “Honey, you are welcome home any time,
no matter what. This is still your home. And I love it when you come to visit me.”

  She then looks around as if in search of something.

  “What?” I ask, following the direction of her eyes.

  Shrugging, she sits back down.

  “Well, usually you come accompanied by a load of dirty clothes. So I’m just surprised you don’t have anything with you.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and give her my most appalled glare. “What? Can’t a guy just come home to visit his mom once in a while because he loves her?”

  My mom’s no dummy. She knows it’s something else, so I capitulate and come clean.

  “Fine…I was hungry and was looking for some home cooked food.”

  Laughter fills the kitchen, leading into the next thirty minutes of discussion over the best damn lasagna and tiramisu I’ve ever had.

  As I get ready to leave to go pick up Ainsley, my mom walks me to the front door.

  “Thank you, Cade, for being so understanding of things. You’ve grown into such a fine young man.”

  “Mom…”

  She places her hand on my cheek, her head back so she can look up at me. “No, really. I’m so proud of you. I realize that the last year, even though you have your own life at school, things have changed a lot. I’m sorry if you were hurt by your father’s and my divorce.”

  Honestly, I was hurt at first. But I was more pissed and angry at my dad for his betrayal of my mom. I vowed that I would never, ever do that to the woman I loved. I don’t want to become like him.

  “I’m glad you found someone to love you. And screw dad for losing the best thing he ever had.”

  I lean down and place a kiss on her cheek and a brief hug.

  When she steps back, her voice is quiet, but authoritative. “It wasn’t just his fault, Cade. I made mistakes, too. But that’s between the two of us. I just don’t want you to hate your dad anymore. He’s trying to be the best dad he knows how.”

  I grunt in opposition. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Was there another reason you stopped by today? Aside from food?”

  Telling her about Ainsley would be so easy to do. She’d listen. And give me advice. But I know she has other things on her mind right now.

  “Mom, are you sure you should wait ‘til the holidays to tell Ky and Kady about Mr…er, John? You know especially how close Ky is to dad. Maybe waiting isn’t such a good idea.”

  She gives it a moment to consider my position and nods her head.

  “You’re right. I’ll consider telling them sooner, if the time is right.”

  “Okay.” I grab the handle of the door as I’m about to leave. “I love you, mom. And thanks for the dinner.”

  She grins. “You’re welcome, baby. I’m here whenever you want to stop by!”

  I laugh and wave my hand in the air behind me as I walk out to my car. “Thanks, mom. But next time, I’ll make sure to call ahead!”

  13

  Ainsley

  “Are you hungry? Do you want to grab something to eat?”

  I’ve just buckled myself in to Cade’s sporty little car as he makes his way around to the driver’s side. It’s fairly late on a Thursday night, but I don’t have to work tomorrow morning and my first class isn’t until eleven a.m., so I have some leeway tonight to just go out and have fun with Cade.

  In fact, not counting his birthday party, this is kind of our first date.

  Cade slides in and starts the engine, which sends a sensual thrill down my spine at how masculine the roar of his engine sounds.

  “You changed.” He says offhandedly, switching topics on me.

  I take a quick peek down at what I’m now wearing. Although I hadn’t planned on going out tonight, I did bring an extra change of clothes with me. I don’t like wearing my scrubs home because they’re usually filthy.

  I confirm that yes, indeed, I changed my clothes and then throw out the question on my mind.

  “Are we on an actual date, Cade Griffin?” I add a sarcastic inflection in my voice so he knows I’m just playing with him.

  He’s easy to goof around with. It’s funny to think back at what I thought of him when we first met. I thought he was such a jerk. Like total ego-maniac, full of himself, jerk. Now that I know him and have spent time with him, I’ve come to find that he’s a really decent guy.

  Cade shifts toward me in his seat and raises an eyebrow at me, along with a smirk.

  “Why yes, Ainsley Locker, it is an actual date. So where would you like to go?”

  I try to remember the last time I ate out. Aside from Bristol’s Café, where I nibble on pastries during my breaks, I haven’t eaten out for well over a year. A few times, I’ve picked up fast food for Anika on my way home from work, but an actual sit-down restaurant hasn’t been on the radar. Or part of my budget.

  “Can we go to the Mellow Mushroom? I haven’t had pizza for such a long time.”

  Cade laughs and then gapes at me like I’m an alien that just plopped in his car.

  “Are you for reals? If you don’t eat pizza at least twice a day, then I don’t believe you’re actually a college student. You’re an imposter!” He jokes.

  I give him a shy smile and shrug my shoulders, acknowledging I know it’s hard to believe.

  “I guess I’m not your typical student.”

  Just as I finish my sentence, Cade’s hand wraps around the back of my neck and pulls me toward him. And then his lips devour me.

  The kiss takes my breath away.

  I melt.

  I soar.

  I fall.

  I wonder when I’m going to touch back down to Earth. Because this connection with Cade can’t possibly last. It feels too good to be true.

  “Ainsley,” he murmurs into my lips. “I love that you’re not typical.”

  We make the fifteen-minute drive and end up parking a block down the street from Mill Avenue. When we get to the restaurant, we find it’s packed, brimming over with students. Since I don’t get out – like ever - I’m surprised to see things so busy this late on a weeknight.

  Cade has my hand clutched in his as we walk up to the hostess podium and I swear a hush goes over the crowd in the waiting area. They all know who he is and their whispers quickly make their way through the restaurant. A swarm of busy bees with craning necks and gawker stares.

  There’s no less than ten groups of people waiting for tables, so I’m more than a little shocked when the hostess, Amy, says she can get us seated right away. Cade just nods his head and drags me behind him, as I glance around with guilty eyes at the sea of faces we’ve just cut in front of in the waiting area.

  Amy directs us to a small table on the upper deck in the corner. As we pass all the tables along the way, Cade is constantly greeted by people calling his name and giving him high-fives. It’s just like the time in the cafeteria. It’s so strange to be the center of attention like this. I make a mental note to ask him how he does it.

  “Is this okay?” Cade asks me as we get seated at the table. I just nod in agreement, as I avert my eyes from everyone’s stares.

  The hostess hands us the menus and tells us our waiter will be right with us to get our drink orders.

  I peruse the list of pizza variations for a few minutes and when I finally look up, I find Cade staring at me. Grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

  “What? Why are you smiling at me?”

  “This doesn’t faze you, does it?” His hand makes a wide sweep of the room, toward all the people who are probably at this moment Tweeting or SnapChatting that Cade Griffin, star ASU basketball player, is ‘in da houz’.

  I shake my head. “Well, it is a little different. I can’t say I’ve ever been a fan of attention. I have to keep checking that I’m wearing clothes, because it feels like I’m naked and everyone is staring at me like I’m some sort of freak.”

  Cade waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing that. And freak is not the word that comes to mind w
hen I picture you naked.”

  “Perv.” I give him an eye roll, but secretly I like it when he gets all flirty. It’s his special gift.

  “Seriously, though. Does it bother you that everywhere you go, people talk and stare?”

  His expression tells me it’s not even an issue.

  “Nah. I guess I’m used to it. You’ve probably figured out by now that I’m kind of an attention whore,” he grins and I laugh, because yeah, it’s a pretty accurate description. He continues.

  “I remember the first time I got asked for my autograph. It was after we won the Pac-12 division championship my sophomore year. This group of kids, probably no more than nine or ten years old, came rushing up to me after the game, all of them talking at once about how I made that three-pointer, or the turn-around fade away move I made in the game that sent us into overtime. They all looked up to me like I was some kind of hero. And since then, well…you just become accustomed to it. The press after the games. The fans outside the locker rooms…”

  “The groupies.” I cock my head to the side and raise my eyebrows.

  He coughs into his hand, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Okay. Them, too. What can I say? Most girls just want to get with me because I’m recognizable. I’m not gonna lie, I’ve always gotten a hard-on for that. I like the celebrity of it. And I know it won’t last forever, so I’ve enjoyed it while I can. But with you, Ainsley...”

  He stops himself and reaches across the table to grab my hand in his. His eyes flash to mine, telling me without words that this is special. That I’m special to him.

  “You don’t care about who I am on the court or seek out the notoriety and fame” – he uses air quotes – “or my position, or my car. If I’m not mistaken, you might actually like me because of me. And I happen to like all of you.”

  Well damn. I can’t argue that point.

  I give him a half-shrug, lifting my chin to him. “Meh. You’re okay.”