Al Trunk Mahoney, Defensive Line

by Jean C. Joachim

  He lowered his face into his hands. “I don’t know what to do, doc. Tell me. Tell me. If I stay with her, she’ll shoot me down. If I leave, I’ll be miserable. Either way, I lose.”

  “That’s not true. You don’t lose if you stay with her, regardless of what happens. The time you have together might be worth it. Seems like being with her is helping you.”

  “I’m feeling better.”

  “I’d stay, if I were you. But, of course, it’s your decision.”

  “That’s exactly my feeling, doc. If I’m gonna end up stomped on anyway, I might as well have a good time now, while I can. Why make the pain happen sooner?”

  “Exactly. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  He nodded. “I am. Getting done with the lawyer. Winning the game. Only one left and we go to the Super Bowl. I’m gonna sell the house. Buy something that doesn’t have memories. I’m feeling pretty free.”

  “What about the strip clubs?”

  “I’m done with those. I’ve got a girl. Besides, I feel sorry for those women. They don’t look happy.”

  “They’re not. Well, time’s up for today. Next week then?”

  “Okay. Thanks, doc.”

  Trunk stood up, shook her hand, and headed for his car. He had business to attend to.

  Chapter Ten

  Carla swiped the bar with a wet cloth for the fiftieth time that night. It was Wednesday, a traditionally slow night. She was closing up early because the place was empty. Doodles went home. It was eleven, and she was alone. Betty didn’t play until the weekend.

  She threw some change in the jukebox and picked a favorite—“Lay, Lady Lay” by Bob Dylan. She sang as she put away the new glassware along with the old, straightened bottles, and pulled out new ones to replace the ones that only had an inch or so left.

  She made herself a Carla Special, sat at a table, and put her feet up. Trunk was having dinner at Bull’s house. She wondered if he’d gone to a local strip club after. There was one about fifteen miles away. She’d heard him talk about it in the past, especially when he’d been drinking.

  Halfway through her drink, she stopped staring at the door. Guess he’s spending the night in another bed. Football hero. He can probably pick any bed he wants to. Why would he end up in this broken down, old place?

  She sighed and pushed to her feet. They were weary. She needed to lie down. Maybe a quick soak in the tub would help. She climbed the stairs slowly then ran water. She poured in lilac bubble bath and eased her tired body down.

  The heat soothed her, but couldn’t make her smile. Tears threatened. Where is he? I know I have no right to ask, but damn, I love him. I want him here, with me. She picked up the washcloth and scrubbed her arms and legs. Sinking down until only her chin and up was above water, she let her limbs float, arms hang loose.

  She hummed a tune, rested her head on the back of the old-fashioned, claw foot tub, and closed her eyes. A sharp rap on the door startled her. She jumped, splashing water on the floor. “Shit! Don’t come in! Who is it?”

  “It’s me. Al.”

  She blew out a breath. “Get your ass in here!”

  He opened the door.

  “Come in quickly. You’re letting in cold air.”

  “It’s hotter than hell in here.”

  “So, take off your clothes and jump in.”

  He laughed, taking a seat on the bentwood chair near the tub. She watched his gaze travel over her, stopping at places hidden by bubbles.

  “Have fun with Bull and Sam?”

  “Great dinner. Sam’s a good cook. Then, we went bowling.”

  “Bowling? You expect me to believe that? You went bowling? You didn’t go to the strip club in Carterville?”

  “That dive? Of course not.”

  “You can tell me the truth. I’m not going to throw you out or anything.”

  “That is the truth. And I out-bowled them both. I got six strikes.”

  She grinned. “Like a little boy, proud of his achievements.”

  “I am proud. Bull got five. I won.”

  “Are we still on?”

  Trunk moved closer. He took her hand. “Of course we are, baby. You’re the best, Carla. No one else can hold a candle to you. It’s hot in here. Come on. Let’s fool around.”

  He pushed to his feet, grabbed a bath sheet, and held it for her. She rose like a mermaid from the steamy, bubbly water, vapor drifting from her body as cooler air caressed it. He wrapped the towel over her shoulders. She melted against him. No one hugs like Al.

  He parted her damp hair and nuzzled her neck. She faced him and snaked her arms around his middle. He smelled good. A little sweat mixed with Al and his aftershave. He had a bit of dark stubble, enough to be attractive. Desire awoke in her as she let him hold her close, his lips lingering above hers.

  “Bed time,” he whispered.

  She tilted her head back to make eye contact. His blazed with passion, making her tingle.

  “Yep,” she muttered.

  Al took her hand and led her into her bedroom. She unwrapped the towel as he undressed. Carla liked to watch him disrobe. He’d make a good stripper. Each time he revealed part of his body, her gaze zeroed in, drinking in his masculinity—the taut muscles in his forearms, the ones across his back, working as he reached for something, his calves, well-defined from running. He was a fine specimen of a man, an athlete who took care of himself.

  “What did ya drink tonight?” she asked, overly casual.

  “Coke.”

  “With rum?”

  “Plain. I’m following your lead. It’s not easy, but I’m feeling better without the booze.”

  “No hangovers.”

  “Right.”

  “You won’t be sorry. Doesn’t mean you can’t ever have a drink again. Just not so much. If you break it now, stop drinking, your body’ll adjust. Then, a little’ll go a long way.”

  “Enough talking. I’ve been away from you too long. Come over here.”

  Carla lay back and rolled on her side. She raised her fingers to stroke his cheek. He kissed her palm and slid his hand down her arm to her chest.

  “These are beautiful,” he muttered, zeroing in.

  Carla cleared her mind. It didn’t matter if she barely had enough money in the bank to pay the meat man the next day. What mattered was Al “Trunk” Mahoney—his eyes, his lips and his body. He took his time making love, reacquainting himself with every inch of her. Carla stuffed her impatience down deep, enjoying his attention.

  Al ran his fingertips across her ribcage and up over her breast to capture the peak. He lowered his mouth to suck and lick the hardening nub. Need grew in Carla.

  He raised his head, a lusty grin on his face. “Like that?”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “Me, too.”

  He returned to his task, switching to the other side. Carla dug her fingers into his shoulder muscles, gripping, massaging, feeling the friction of skin on skin. He moaned as she worked him over.

  “Magic fingers,” he said, sitting up. His gaze caressed her, gliding down from her eyes to the juncture of her thighs. He leaned over to kiss her. Carla pulled him toward her, until their chests met and their hips were flush.

  Trunk eased his hand under her leg and around to squeeze her rear end. He slipped his long fingers down and dipped in, along her slippery flesh, ending up inside her. She jumped slightly then moaned his name as he moved in her.

  “Give it to me. The real thing,” she breathed.

  He didn’t reply, but instead rolled her over on her stomach and pulled up her hips. On his knees, he rubbed himself along her soft, wet flesh then entered. Her head, mashed into the pillow, turned sideways. Guttural noises of pleasure escaped her as he buried himself deep, filling her.

  Al pulled out then thrust back in slowly, ramping up the pace little by little.

  “You’re torturing me,” she managed to squeak out, though the pillow smooshed half her face. She heard his quiet laugh
and grinned. “Sadist,” she said.

  “You love it,” he replied.

  “I’d love it even more if you’d speed it up.”

  “This way is better. Trust me.”

  She sighed, closing her eyes as the sexual tension grew inside her. Trunk had her hips in a vise-like grip.

  “Lie back and enjoy, baby,” he whispered as he kept increasing the strength and frequency of his movements.

  It was good to have him inside her. The fit was perfect. The man knew his way around a woman’s body. Love swelled her heart while his shaft took care of the rest.

  Up, up, and up spiraled the tension, tightening around her like a screw. Carla couldn’t move. Trunk had her where he wanted her, his fingers curled around her hips, holding her steady as he pumped in and out. Pleasure washed through her veins as release drew closer. He slipped a finger down her belly, and with one stroke, brought her to climax.

  Her muscles clenched around him then let go, sending sheer heavenly waves through her. She sighed loudly, clutching the sheet. She opened her eyes in time to see Al bending down, kissing a line up her back. Then, he tightened his grip, plastering her rear to him as he came.

  His lips parted, releasing a loud groan that sounded like her name. Sweat dripped off his forehead onto her. He shifted, one hand fanned out under her belly, while the other caressed her spine, up and down, stretching long fingers across her narrowness. “I can almost touch both sides of you with one hand,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Sorry. Just amazing how small you are. I mean, compared to me.”

  “We are kinda opposite that way.” She noticed his abs contract as he changed position. His biceps rippled a bit when he lifted her, withdrew, and eased her down. She could watch his body move all day.

  He bent to kiss her butt cheek then squeezed. “It’s little, but perfect.”

  When he released her, Carla rolled onto her back, looking up at him, looming so large above her. Wish I could tell you I love you.

  He combed his fingers through her tangled hair, brushed her lips with his. “You’re beautiful.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.” She ran her hands down his chest slowly, pressing in slightly with her fingertips. His skin was damp. She kissed his pecs, snaking her arms around his middle. Could I escape here for a while?

  “Sleep,” he said, lying back, pulling her to him and settling the covers over them. A sweet goodnight kiss, and she eased into his embrace, her back to his front. He spooned her, holding her tight against him. The room was chilly, but Carla had never been so warm and cozy before. Sleep came quickly.

  * * * *

  Thursday morning, Trunk planned a victory party at Carla’s. After all, they had beaten the Nebraska Huskers and only had to defeat the Florida Gators to get to the Super Bowl.

  Carla entered the bathroom to retrieve lotion from the medicine cabinet. Trunk’s face was lathered up. “Shaving? Just for me? How nice.”

  “Hey, I want to have a party tonight. A victory party. Do you have enough food if I get a bunch over here?” He picked up his razor.

  “It’s food delivery day. We should be all stocked up.” She hopped up on the counter next to the sink, her robe barely covering her body. “Can I watch you shave?”

  He laughed. “Go ahead. I don’t see anything glamourous about shaving. So, you’ll be good. Right?

  “Yep. I love the idea.”

  “Great. I’ll make calls as soon as I get dressed.”

  “Maybe we could get some balloons?”

  “Don’t go crazy. We’re not at the Super Bowl yet.”

  “I know, but you will be.”

  “I’m not as confident as you are.”

  “The Gators aren’t tough, right? Didn’t you beat them already?” She swung her legs and leaned over. The lapels of her robe flapped open, revealing her breasts to his hungry eyes.

  “We did, but by one point. It’s not a sure thing.”

  “It never is. I know you’ll win.” Her chocolate eyes sparkled, and her smile radiated warmth.

  He took his gaze off the mirror for a second to glance at her face and nicked himself. He swore, trying to keep it under his breath.

  Carla jumped off the counter and reached into the medicine cabinet for a styptic pencil.

  “What are you doing with this?”

  “Never mind.” She blushed.

  “Some guy before me?”

  “Okay. Yeah. There have been some guys before you.”

  “I figured. No problem. I don’t care.”

  She let out a breath and made eye contact. “Good. ’Cause there’s nothing I can do about my past. And if that bothers you, then we’re done.”

  He grabbed her forearm. “You’re awfully quick to give me the brush. I said ‘no problem.’ You have to be a total asshole to hold someone’s past against them. I have a past too. So what? Big fuckin’ deal.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t care about your past. And my past doesn’t matter. What matters is my future.”

  “Our future.”

  “‘Our’?” The hopeful tone of her voice made him grin.

  “Yeah, ‘our.’ I want to be exclusive with you, Carla. I don’t want to date anyone else.”

  “Does that include strippers?”

  “I never dated strippers.”

  “Just fucked them.”

  Her raw curse word shocked him. “Nice talk!”

  “Hell, you use it, why can’t I?”

  “No strippers. Just you and me. What do you say?”

  She nodded. “I say, ‘okay’.”

  He wiped the remnants of shaving cream off his face with a towel. Then, he slapped on aftershave and shuddered.

  Carla sidled up to him, giving him sexy eyes, and cupped his cheek. “Smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

  “As my baby’s bottom,” he said, patting her rear.

  She kissed him. Then, the bell rang. Carla padded over to the window. “It’s Tom, the delivery guy. Gotta go.”

  As she passed him, Trunk slapped her rear again gently with his palm. “See you later.”

  He returned to his room to dress. Though it was a pain in the ass to keep his clothes in the back room, he knew if he moved them into her bedroom, she’d stop charging him rent. She needed the money, and he’d never miss it. He dressed quickly in the cold space

  There’s frugal and there’s freezing. Damn, it’s cold in here. Carla, turn up the heat!

  A mug with coffee prepared just the way he liked it was waiting for him on the bar. He picked it up and took a seat, out of the way of the work going on. Tom kept bringing in packages, and Carla either approved them or sent them back. Amid a clatter of discussion, Trunk whipped out his phone. He dialed Bull.

  “Party time. Tonight. At The Beast. I’m buying the first round. You coming?”

  “What’s it for?”

  “Victory over the Huskers.”

  “I’m there. After I clear it with Sam.”

  “Call Dev. Invite him too. I want a crowd.”

  “You got it.”

  By six o’clock, the place was packed. Kings’ players and their wives and girlfriends took over the bar and restaurant. The jukebox was playing, and a few people were dancing. Carla was scurrying around as fast as she could. She’d called on M.J. Howe, a friend she used to waitress with, to help her tend bar. M.J. was pretty, tall, with long, straight, dark hair. She didn’t take any crap from customers and got the job done.

  Trunk had a Carla Special in his hand as he passed through the crowd. “She new?” he asked his girlfriend, indicating the woman behind the bar.

  “She’s an old friend. Great bartender. And she won’t take shit from the players either.”

  “That’s good. They throw plenty too. What some of these guys’ll say to get a woman into bed. It’s shameful.”

  Carla poked an accusing finger in his chest. “And you never did that, Trunk Mahoney, womanizer extraordinaire?”

  “Who, me
?” The disbelief in his voice mixed with the innocent look he tried to adopt made even him laugh.

  Carla cracked up. “You were a bad boy, weren’t you?”

  ‘Maybe a little bit.”

  “Do I have to ask Bull to get an honest answer?”

  Panic seized Trunk. “Don’t do that!” He put his hand up. “I confess. I was a bad guy. The worst. Yes, a womanizer. Yes, I slept with a ton of women, most of whom I never called again. I was bad. I admit it.”

  “You didn’t have to go that far.”

  “Uh oh.” Sweat broke out on his forehead.

  She hugged him. “Don’t worry. I don’t care. It’s what you are now that counts.”

  “When I got married, I changed. Mostly. And now, I don’t want anyone but you. We’re committed. Right? You agreed.” He held her close.

  She shot him a smile that warmed him to his toes. “We agreed.”

  “Carla!” a female voice called out, vaulting above the noise. It was M.J.

  “Gotta go, honey,” Carla said, giving him a smooch.

  He backed away to make room for her to pass. He took a slug of his drink and didn’t mind that it lacked alcohol. Carla had made him high with her smile. The jukebox stopped, and Trunk took it as a sign that it was time for a cheer.

  “Death to Gators!” he yelled, holding up a fist.

  He got the men started. Beer bottles were raised, along with voices. They sang “We Will Rock You,” chanted anti-gator phrases, and cheered themselves on, clinking bottles and glasses as they went. In the past, Trunk would have been leading the guys in slugging it down. Tonight, he was one of the most sober men there.

  Buddy Carruthers entered with his pregnant wife, Emerald, aka Emmy. He and Trunk hugged for a second before the wide receiver went to find a table. Next, Tuffer Demson came in and hesitated by the door.

  Trunk joined him, patting him on the back and ushering him in. “First one’s on me, Demson. Come on in. Bring a girl?”

  The young defenseman shook his head.

  “No girlfriend?”

  “Not yet.”

  Before they could continue their conversation, the door burst open. Harley Brennan entered with three girls on his arm. Trunk recognized the cheerleaders. The players shook hands.