The Gamble: A Novel

by Xavier Neal

  “Why don't you come out tonight with me and Grant? We're gonna get a drink with some of his old college friends. Maybe you'll hit it off with one?” When I give her a skeptical expression she quickly adds, “Or not. No pressure. Just come hang out. I've got total kicking my roommate out at the end of summer guilt and need you to make it better.”

  I giggle, shake my head, and hop out of bed to give her a hug.

  Our friendship started because of a hiccup. I went to the wrong address for a roommate interview and couldn't be more thankful I did. Her ex-boyfriend was moving in with the chick he was cheating with and the last thing she wanted was any female who resembled her in any way. I.E. Blonde, skinny, dumb, and perky. Being black, curvy, intelligent and heavily sarcastic, pretty much covered all the bases. Plus I helped smash some of his shit during the interview. Pretty much bonded us together.

  With a tight squeeze I state, “It's gonna be fine, Marie. Change isn't always a bad thing. Trust me.”

  She pulls away on a sniffle. “You smell like cinnamon.”

  “One of the kids got me a bottle of lotion instead of a box of chocolates for Valentine's day. What do you think?”

  “It makes me want Red Hots.”

  After offering her another warm smile I say, “Guess you'll have to settle for a drink that tastes like one. Now get out so I can find something to wear. Spritzers or beers?”

  “Beers. Some corner pub they used to go to all the time. Come to think about it, I need you there for me. I can sense there are going to be a lot of obnoxious stories from their past and I'll need someone to actually talk to...”

  Marie leaves on a defeated sigh and I cock a crooked smile.

  Three years is a long time to live in one place and then have to abruptly leave. Then again, it's a long time to be at one job and then decide to go. All the changes will be a good thing in the bigger picture even if they're a little scarier than I will admit out loud. At least I've got two constants in my life that'll never change. One more good thing about my friendship with Luca and Warren. It'll always stay the same.

  Luca

  I kill the engine of my Audi. “I can take you Ma. It's not a big deal if I go in a little late.”

  “No,” she sternly snips. “You don't need to be late.”

  “You don't need to go to the doc alone.”

  “I never said I was going alone.” The clarification causes me to frown. “A very good friend is going with me.”

  “It shouldn't be your friend going with you especially when your son is the one worried about you.”

  “You don't need to worry so much, mijo.”

  Can you fucking blame me? If your mother, the head coach of your life, got fucking cancer wouldn't you be fucking worried? Yeah, it was lung cancer, and yeah the cells didn't spread, but it's fucking cancer. It never fully fucking retires even when it should.

  “Ma'-”

  “No.” Her tone puts an end to my arguing. “I'll send you a message letting you know everything is fine.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promento?”

  My head hits the headrest. “Fine. I'll see you for dinner on Sunday.”

  “Si,” she sighs. There's a brief pause before she slips in, “Have you spoken to your father?”

  I shut my eyes in irritation.

  I've come to think about communicating with my father like a bookie I don't really fucking like. He pays out when he's supposed to. Calls only when he needs to. Isn't that the ideal father and son relationship? Maybe it would be better had he actually been around instead of a sideline parent at best. He only has one fucking son he had to be around for, how fucking hard can that be?

  “Mijo.”

  “I don't need any money.”

  “You can speak to him for more than dinero. I raised you better than that.”

  “But he didn't.” Hearing the displeased growl from the end of the phone, I quickly try to end the conversation before I get myself in actual trouble. “Look Ma', I gotta get ready for work since I'm not taking you to the doc, I don't have a good excuse to be tardy.”

  “Go. Go. But at least consider speaking to your father for an extended period of time.”

  No.

  Instead of lying to her I simply hum, “Mmm. I'll talk to you later. Te Amo.”

  “Te Amo.”

  The call ends and so does the topic of my family.

  Look at me funny all you want, but my family is my business. No one else’s. I got enough questions growing up about why my father wasn't around for games, why my family photos usually consisted of just me and my mom, and not to mention having to explain why family reunions were impossible. Ma is an only child who's relatives are somewhere in Mexico as are any stories about them. Her parents cut ties before she was born for good reason she declares, but that's all she says. My father on the other hand, well, he comes from a long line of single children. I'm sure he would've broken the pattern if he was ever around for longer than the time it takes to change a fucking tie. The man does love a good power tie. He was the first to marry a non-white woman, so at least he gets credit for breaking the cycle there.

  **

  In the small office space designated for employees to use for curriculum planning, Alexxa shakes her head from the seat beside me. “Keep scrolling. I don't wanna go to that farm again.”

  “Why not? It was fun.”

  “It was not fun,” she argues. “It was a long ass bus ride there, a boring tour, and I couldn't get the smell of horse shit off of me for hours. Pass.”

  “It wasn't that bad.”

  “The only reason you think it wasn't that bad is because you got the farmer's daughter's number.”

  Leaning back in the computer chair, I start to smirk at the memory of her cowgirl boots behind her head.

  Where the fuck else do cowgirl boots belong?

  Alexxa moves the laptop over to her possession and huffs, “Stop picturing it.”

  “You wouldn't blame me for reminiscing if you heard her holler.”

  Her gorgeous toffee colored face scrunches in question. “Do you have me confused with Warren right now?”

  “Nah. You appreciate my conquests more than he ever does.”

  “That makes me feel great about myself,” she mumbles and continues to search through the list of suggested field trip locations for summer camp.

  While some people initially make fun of the fact I'm the after school counselor at a child care facility, it's the easiest line to part a pair of perfect thighs. What woman doesn't love a guy who's good with children? Natural fucking aphrodisiac.

  “Bowling?” Alexxa hums in question.

  “I like bowling. I mean you suck at it, but the kids will love it.”

  “I don't suck at bowling.”

  “You can't handle your ball.”

  “Not all of us spend that much time playing with them.” Her sassy comeback makes us both chuckle.

  Alexxa is like having all the best parts of a dude friend, but with a beautiful set of tits and an ass that should be sitting on my face for hours. When she first started working as my co-teacher, I pegged her for an easy lay, yet here we are three years later, territory still un-fucked. I also assumed she'd quit quickly, after all, many others had. But she didn't. She proved she wasn't a rookie fresh out of the minors with a false idiotic notion of how to talk to the youth. She came straight in the game strong and easily climbed her way onto the very short list of people who don't get on my fucking nerves.

  I lean over and point. “Ice skating? Really? Do you just wanna listen to children bitch all day how much their knees hurt from falling?”

  “Better than listening to bitches whine about being on them for hours from dick sucking.”

  See what I mean. Bad mouth, beautiful face.

  Fighting the urge to tell her her own knees will hurt soon enough, I smirk.

  “The kids will get to do a meet and greet with a couple of minor league hockey players and shoot pucks with them. This goes
in the win category.”

  “You just wanna meet hockey players.”

  “That's just an added bonus.” She winks before typing it onto the list. “Besides, you love sports, so this is perfect.”

  Sports. Women. Beer. Walking cliché with a cock of gold.

  “Now, we only need a couple more trips and then we can work on the planned projects for camp days here.”

  I grunt, “No macaroni bullshit crafts. Every year I have to pretend to be impressed by glued pasta on paper. It's annoying.”

  She rolls her brown eyes. “You're annoying, yet I haven't gotten rid of you.”

  With a grab of my jean covered crotch, I retort, “I've got twelve reasons why.”

  Disgusted she snaps her head at me, preparing to say something back, when a voice interrupts, “Heard the news, Alexxa. Bummer.” The two of us turn around to see Pam leaning against the door. “We're gonna miss you around here.”

  Doubtful. Pam hates Alexxa. Hell, most women in this building hate each other without the guts to admit it. Except Alexxa. She's mastered the art of being professional and an upfront bitch all at once. She's not big into the petty gossip shit either, which is a relief. Last thing I need is one more person in this building saying I did someone, I didn't actually do.

  “You're not. But I appreciate the false sentiment.”

  Her words make me chuckle as Pam looks at me with a hopeful expression.

  Fuck. I forgot how that makes her look like Bambi when his mother died.

  “Who knows, Luca. Maybe I'll get to switch classrooms and hang out with you every day.”

  “Not likely.”

  My comment causes her to uncomfortably giggle.

  Don't look at me like I'm the one who shot the deer.

  “Headed to lunch?”

  “Yup. Want me to bring you something back?”

  Could use a mid-day hummer in the parking lot, but I should probably finish work instead. Damn me for being a good employee.

  I lean back in the chair. “I'm good.”

  “Well, text me if you change your mind.” She bites her bottom lip. “Text me any time.”

  Pam's eyes wander across me before strolling back out of the room.

  The moment she's gone, Alexxa bites, “How long have you been fucking her?”

  “I'm not currently fucking her.”

  “Because you're sitting in the chair?”

  “Ha-ha.” When her facial reaction doesn't change, I roll my eyes. “No. I haven't slept with Pam in months.”

  “Isn't she engaged?”

  “She is now.”

  “Come on, Luca,” Alexxa whispers in disapproval.

  Put your scowl back in your purse.

  “They weren't then. She told me they were having problems. Then took off her top.”

  “I don't...I don't need an actual picture painted.”

  As her fingers start typing on the keys I argue, “It only happened a couple times and they were technically on a break during that time.”

  Remember when it happened in Friends? A lot like that except Pam only went back to him when she realized I wasn't looking for a girlfriend. I don't do the girlfriend thing. Ever.

  “God, the list of women you've boned at the school is getting out of control.”

  Turning back around to face the computer with her, I poorly defend myself, “It's not that bad...”

  “Seriously?” My eyes cut over to hers. “You've slept with five of the women who work here, including our boss-”

  “I didn't technically have sex with her-”

  “-and seven women who no longer work here including the owner's daughter.”

  I cock a playful smile. “Wanna be lucky number 13?”

  “I'd rather suffocate in space.” She tosses her head at the screen. “Speaking of, we could do these during space week.”

  Giving the paper plate planets a quick glance, I say, “Yeah, let's do those.”

  After my approval, she turns her attention back to working while I outline her amazing curves with my eyes, flagging each and every spot I plan to leave my mark on the moment she's underneath me.

  Prefer them that way. Gives me the power to control just how hard and how rough it gets.

  The idea causes me to adjust in my seat. “You coming over tonight?”

  “Kick boxing class first.”

  Which means she'll be wearing those tight ass black yoga pants with no underwear and a tank top with her tits pushed up. The outfit might as well be fucking exercise porn attire. Pretty sure I've seen that X Video. If I was her instructor, I would've tried to tap it the first time she walked into my class and every day until she let us hit the mat.

  I adjust my growing hard on. “It'll just be the two of us. Warren's gotta work late.”

  “Damn.”

  My eyebrows furrow. “Damn?”

  “I love hanging out with Warren.”

  Her answer causes me to brace my arms across my chest. “You don't love hanging out with me?”

  “Meh.”

  The reply causes me to kick her chair so she spins around to face me. “Meh?”

  “Jealous?”

  “Only if you're sucking his cock instead of mine.”

  She shakes her head slowly. “I'm not. But I'd be more likely to suck his before yours.”

  A hint of anger surges through my system. “Are you fucking kidding? Why?”

  “You mean aside from the next generation version of the clap you're packing?”

  The hint of mirth in her tone calms me back down.

  For the record, I don't have any STD’s. But if I did, they wouldn't be some mutated version. Just regular old cure it with a shot of penicillin diseases.

  “You're not my type, Luca.”

  “Bullshit. I'm everyone's type.”

  “Exactly.” She gives me a lift of the eyebrows. “Now put those amazing abs into gear and go grab the company credit card, so I can start ordering supplies and booking our trips.”

  I give her another crooked smile and do as requested.

  She's right. I am everyone's type. It's a good thing. Makes it easy to keep my cock buried in pussy and want for nothing. I don't like the idea of wanting anything. Needing anyone. On the field, on the court, it's one thing. You have to rely on others. You have to work together. It's the combination of skills and execution of unity that makes a team a fucking team worth mentioning. But in the real world? I don't fucking need that. Wanting for too long makes you weak. Needing leaves room for someone or something to break you. My father made it clear from an early age to make use of what you're given, strive for what you want, and do not waste time getting it. And believe me, I won't.

  Alexxa

  Flopping down on the dark suede couch beside Luca, I prop my legs on the matching coffee table, and tilt the beer to my lips.

  This place is basically my second home. Sometimes I spend more time here than I do at my own apartment. It's got the basic bachelor brothers set up. Small open kitchen to the right as soon as you walk in, with a bar top for eating since the kitchen nook area on the opposite side is where opposing storage shelves are kept beside a Foosball table. Each of them have their own bedrooms again on opposite sides of the apartment. Luca has a bathroom connected to his master suite style and Warren has to stroll out to get to his, which is also the one any guests not over to fuck Luca are supposed to use. Except me. I can use either. Benefit of being friends with both.

  The cold liquid cools my throat. “Did you order pizza?”

  Luca drops down, stretches his arms out around the back of the couch. “Yup.”

  “What are we watching?” As he reaches for the remote I add, “And if you say that damn documentary about Le Bron James again, I swear, I fucking swear, I will go home and ground myself from coming for at least a week.”

  “Why do you hate sports so much?”

  “I don't. I just don't pop a boner every time someone shoots a three pointer.”

  “At least you fina
lly know what that is,” he chuckles and starts Netflix.

  All of sudden the door opens and Warren's warm voice says, “Well what do we have here? Another LeBbron fest?”

  “God no,” I groan and watch him stroll into the living room. “Hoping something with spies. Maybe a thriller.”