by Cathryn Fox
“Do I sense impatience?” Roxanne taunted as he reached up under her skirt and yanked her panty hose down her legs. To his surprise, he found no panties underneath, only wet desire between her warm thighs.
“I’m not impatient, I’m insane.” He pulled her skirt all the way up to her waist.
“Good. So am I.” Gone was the twinkle of mischief from her eyes, replaced by a glaze of desire and parted unsmiling lips.
He watched her face, “You’re a hell of a lot more than merely insane.” He ground out the words as the urgency of his throbbing drove him into her. The gasp and look on her face was more than he could handle. He abandoned his struggle for self-control. With his arms squeezing her close, he thrust hard and fast, not even bothering to breathe, his eyes shut tight. The explosion of pinpoints of light beneath his eyelids caused him to at last gulp for a breath of air at the same time he let out the yell of released pleasure. The climax vibrated through him in convulsions until he thought he felt it in his toes. His entire body felt depleted. He opened his eyes as he tried to prevent his limp body from crushing her when he realized her struggle to breathe was not caused by his weight. Her face was a study in the contorted beauty of orgasmic pleasure. The sudden rush of his pulse surprised him. He used the spurt of energy to hold her tight and thrust into her one last time. He was rewarded by the sound of her gasping his name as she clutched his shoulders tight, fingernails digging in. He didn’t care. He only watched her face with her eyes squeezed shut until finally, slowly he felt the pressure of her fingernails in his back relaxing. Her lids rose as if she were awakening from a deep sleep. She moved her hands to rub his shoulders over where she had so mercilessly left her marks.
He didn’t move off her. Only watched.
“I don’t know why I waited so long to seduce you again,” she said, shaking her head and smiling. He rolled off her.
“I don’t know if I could handle too much more.” He yanked the covers down off the pillow. They were still lying across the bed and he tugged her arm to move under the covers. She followed him and they nestled into the pillows, bodies touching. But he didn’t put his arm around her. She looked at him.
“I say we see exactly how much you can take. I say we make love every night and day till you drop.”
He looked at her trying to be serious, but the mischief shone though in her eyes. He laughed.
“Tempting idea.” He tried not to let the other thoughts crowd into his mind, thoughts of his teammates telling him he was beyond temptation, thoughts of the play he blew in the game that night. He thought of Lindy fleetingly. And then he thought of getting up for the early practice the next morning—the way he always did.
He looked over at his alarm clock. He let out a groan. “Jesus Christ. It’s fucking three in the morning.” He reached over, grabbed the clock and set the alarm.
“I guess this means you’ve had all you can take?”
His head snapped around to see the teasing glint in her eyes. But the challenge in her words was unmistakable.
“I may need some sleep right now, but I’m not dead yet, baby.” He rolled toward her, letting his lips stop short of a kiss. Her lips parted in anticipation. He half-smiled. “We’ll see how far I can go in the morning. I’ll bet I outlast you.”
Her eyes widened with indignance, but before she could voice a protest he covered her mouth with his in a penetrating, hard kiss. He brought his hand up the side of her body, over the curve of her hip and stopped at her breast, kneading it with the heel of his hand. He felt his arousal begin and considered going further when thoughts of that night’s game popped into his head. He’d almost let his team down. It had taken a mammoth effort of concentration for him to pull out the win. He called on those resources again now as he pulled away from her. Why was it so easy for him to lapse these days, to forget all about basketball, his career, his life?
She reached down and touched him, making it difficult for him to withdraw. But he did.
“You almost surprised me,” she said with her eyes hooded and her mouth parted, not quite in a smile. He sensed her disappointment.
“I almost surprised myself, but we both need sleep.” He kissed her forehead and turned over on his back. He didn’t know why the hell he’d done it. He never had before.
“I want you to know that the only reason I’m letting you go to sleep now is because you’re right, I’m tired too,” she admitted.
He closed his eyes then, but the picture of her teasing smile stayed in his mind.
“Don’t look at me—I didn’t turn it off this time,” Roxanne said. She laughed at the sight of him sitting up in bed staring at the alarm clock in his hand.
“God damn.” He lifted himself out of bed, throwing the clock to the floor. He stumbled after the first step. “Jesus. My legs feel more like I played ten basketball games instead of one.” He turned around to look at her.
She tried to look sympathetic, but couldn’t repress a smile. If she wasn’t really careful, she might break out into a giggle. “Must be what happens when you get one year older.” She was sure that was the wrong thing to say when he scowled. She felt too good to do anything but smile back.
“Get out of bed. I have to be out of here in five minutes.” He turned and she watched him attempt to walk to the bathroom, but after two steps he stopped and bent to stretch his legs and rub his lower back. Her conscience twinged with guilt.
“Would you like a massage?” she offered.
He shot his head around and looked at her for a moment before moving back to the bed.
“Don’t tell me you used to work in a massage parlor?”
“No, but I’ve heard tell. Do you want the works?” She raised an eyebrow and patted the bed next to her. The devil must have taken over her body, but she didn’t care. Not right now anyway.
He sat down. “That’s right. This is my test. Give it all you’ve got baby—and then I’ll teach you a thing or two.”
“You really are too easy.” Those words ended the conversation as she put her hands on his hot skin, breathed in the smell of him. She loved the mix of sweat, sex, and smoke. Leaning into her task, she wasted no time in giving him everything she had, which was considerable. And then he wasted no time in teaching her a thing or two, which was considerably more.
Chapter Ten
IT WAS 11:30 a.m. by the time Barry arrived at practice—which began at ten. He had driven Roxanne into Boston to the hospital where she said she was going to look in on Lindy. That thought still had him wondering about the woman as he walked into the empty locker room at Hellenic College. The rest of the team was out in the gym running the floor in a scrimmage. He hurried out of his clothes and into his practice sweats. At least he felt more limber now. He carried his sneakers and socks out of the locker room area to find the trainer to tape him. The only place there were cobwebs left were in his head. He thought again about the previous night’s game and his sporadic play and shook his head. He popped open the gym door and whistled to get the trainer’s attention from across the room.
He got everyone’s attention, including the media who attended the practice session.
“Hey Barry, what’s the problem? You injure yourself last night? Where’ve you been?” Kevin Moroni fired the questions at him.
Barry shook his head. The trainer trotted over, brow furrowed. Barry figured the same questions were on his mind as he headed back into the trainer’s room. He hoisted himself onto the training table. The door burst open and team trainer Mike Lavola rushed to the table, grabbing Barry’s ankles and talking at the same time.
“Where the hell have you been? What’s wrong? Show me.” Mike looked up and Barry pointed toward his own head.
“Nothing you can do for me.” He flashed his grin as he watched the man’s mouth open and no words come out.
“Listen, do me a favor and don’t say anything. Make something up to satisfy the media—a flu or something. But there really is nothing wrong with me—at least not physically
,” Barry said.
“You want to see a shrink or something?” Mike’s tone reinforced the disbelief in his words. “I don’t believe this. You’re the most together, tough-minded player I ever came across…Is it your little girl? Is she all right?” Mike’s brows furrowed deeper. Barry forced a casual tone.
“I’m sure I’ll handle it. I promise. No shrink. But in the meantime, you need to help me keep the coach and the other guys, not to mention the media, off my back. I can’t listen to another speech about how perfect I’m supposed to be.” Barry tried to keep the disgust from his voice.
Mike stood in front of him, tape frozen in mid-wrap. Barry watched the comprehension dawn on his face as he let out a sigh of relief.
When he finished getting wrapped, Barry trotted out to the gym to hoots and hollers and some intermittent applause and backslapping as if he’d been gone for a month instead of being an hour and a half late. The teasing was so good-natured that he couldn’t help mentally lambasting himself for his lapse. The last thing he wanted to do was let them down.
“You okay now?” was all the coach said after a short consultation with Mike. Lord only knows what he told the coach, but Barry felt a swell of appreciation for the man’s confidence.
“Let’s play. You bastards are celebrating a little early in the season here.” Barry pushed his way through the huddle of men to a mixture of laughter and epithets.
“Us celebrating? I think it’s you who went out and got yourself a woman last night,” Jason Alley said amid more laughter and hoots. Barry couldn’t help his head from snapping around to look at his teammate. He hoped the frozen grin on his face looked more genuine than it felt. He didn’t say anything as the team took the floor.
But Barry caught Dave McCall’s eye before the ball was thrown up and Barry was not smiling then. The practice scrimmage was noisy. The coach had them play three twelve-minute sessions because they had a two-day layoff before the next game. The pace was fast, the mood light, and the play hard. It was just the way Barry liked it. He generally controlled the intensity with his own example, and today was no exception.
Right from the tap-off he threw himself into the scrimmage with zest like old times, casting off all other thoughts or problems. He immersed himself in the world of basketball with its simple rules, attainable goals and easy thrills. There was nothing to beat the black and white of competitive sports; someone wins, someone else loses. And Barry was very good at being on the winning side.
In the opening minutes he set the tone with a diving lunge to interrupt a pass to an opposing player. Getting quick control of the ball, he bolted down the floor way ahead of the field and dunked it to the appreciative whistles of his teammates.
“Now who wants to accuse me of a late night celebration?” He yelled as the others caught up with him and took the ball for the inbounds pass. There was unanimous denial as he flashed his grin. He felt much better.
The practice got more intense from then until the final buzzer. Everyone headed immediately to the locker room, sweating and breathing hard. Everyone except Barry. He stayed to do his usual practice shooting and not even the coach gave him a second glance. No one lingered except Dave McCall and the media.
The media inundated Dave with questions as the coach slipped past. Barry was glad his friend was taking the press today instead of him. He filled a rack with balls and brought it out to the three-point arc and began his ritual. He squared up, sighted the basket, found the seams of the ball, then lifted his arms and flicked his wrist for a flawless release.
He made five out of his first six shots and headed to retrieve the balls. He stopped to wait for Mike to finish up and come out to rebound for him when Dave came over.
“Hey, want a rebounder? I could use some practice.”
“You’re not shitting. Grab those balls and we’ll see if we can improve your passing.” Barry smiled, pleased with this rare treat. Dave didn’t often stay anymore the way he used to before he was married. Barry darted out to the three-point line, pivoted, caught the crisp pass and shot the ball in one smooth motion for a swish through the hoop. He ran from corner to corner and they repeated the process, covering the entire arc. He started on his third time around when Dave called time.
Only a few reporters were left watching and Barry nodded as he and Dave headed to the bleachers for a break. Kevin Moroni was still there and he handed Barry a large cup of ice water. Barry took a long gulp.
“Hey, where’s mine?” Dave asked with a grin. Kevin laughed.
“You can have what’s left when he’s done,” Kevin said.
Barry laughed into the cup, spilling some water. Dave grabbed the cup from him.
“Give me that before you spill the whole damned thing. That’s all I ever get is your leftovers.”
Kevin and Barry both laughed as Dave drained the last drops from the cup.
“Leftover everything from water to women,” Dave said. He crushed the cup with his massive hand and threw it on the floor.
“That’s right. Barry introduced you to your wife,” Kevin said. “How’s that going anyway? You haven’t been married long.”
“It’s going fine. What kind of article you writing here? A piece on the love life of a basketball player? Ask him the questions.” Dave nodded in Barry’s direction and slapped his back.
“Not me. Why do you think I introduced you to Linda? I knew she was trouble. I stay away from that,” Barry said.
“I thought you had a live-in girl—Susan was her name?” Kevin asked Barry.
“Ancient history,” Dave said.
Barry didn’t like the glint of mischief in his friend’s eyes.
“Wait a second, Kevin. You here for a basketball interview or what? Cause my love life is about as interesting as a blank page.” Barry stood up to get ready to hit the showers and gave Dave a warning glance.
“Yah, yah, yah. I get the picture. But I recall your ex-babe Susan was quite a stunner. Why don’t you throw your leftovers my way?” Kevin looked at Barry.
Barry shook his head with his grin in place and determined to put an end to the problem.
“What is your problem today? Coming to Celtics practice to find a woman? You gotta be fucking desperate.” Barry ripped the pen and notebook from Kevin’s hands and wrote Susan’s cell phone number in it.
“I am as a matter of fact. I just broke up with a girl myself.” Kevin looked at the notebook.
“Too bad, Kev. We’ll have to take you out hunting like old times.” Dave grinned and punched the reporter’s arm.
“You are going nowhere. You’re married.” Barry took pleasure in pointing at Dave’s ring finger, shaking his head.
“Fuck you. My wife trusts me since I stopped hanging out with you.”
“Shows how much she knows.”
“I don’t need you guys to help me, not much anyway.” Kevin chuckled and looked at Barry. “But if you can spare one more number, I’ll take the number of that gorgeous brunette you left the CMH golf tourney party with, Roxanne Monet. What a…”
“What makes you think I have her number?” Barry interrupted.
“What are you playing coy for, Barry? Give him the number.” Dave challenged him.
Barry stared him down.
“I know you have her number—or maybe she has your number. You seeing her?” Kevin looked at Barry for an answer.
“Yes. Now I’m hitting the showers. You missed your chance for an exclusive interview.” Barry started toward the door. Kevin and Dave got up to follow him.
“That’s okay. I only had one question to ask,” Kevin said. Barry stopped at the gym door and turned, leaning against it.
“Shit.”
“Why were you late today?”
“I don’t know. Ask the trainer.” Barry pushed himself off the door and turning, pushed it open and walked through toward the locker room.
“Don’t give me that official bullshit. What’s the matter with you? Is your daughter okay? Is having her in the hospit
al disrupting your concentration? It’s understandable…”
“Yeah. She’ll be all right. She’s getting the best medical treatment.” He felt guilty that Lindy’s condition wasn’t the reason for his recent lapse. He had to see Lindy again soon.
“If you’d come to the game in Washington last night you’d know what’s wrong with him,” Dave said and followed Barry into the locker room. Barry let out a long breath.
“It’s a fucking good thing Kevin’s a friend or I’d whip your fucking ass right now,” Barry said to Dave, who only laughed in return.
“I didn’t say anything he didn’t already know. You got something to hide all of a sudden?” Dave stopped smiling and looked at Barry as they both stripped down and headed for the showers.
“No. Not particularly, but I don’t market my private life for public consumption.” Barry turned on the water and welcomed the warm spray on his straining muscles.
“Don’t worry. Kevin knows where to draw the line. Besides, I think you’re full of crap,” Dave shouted over the noise of the spray.
“What? What are you talking about?” Barry yelled back.
“Roxanne Monet is the reason you were late today and you’re too fucking embarrassed to admit it.” Dave stopped shouting as they stepped out of the showers, grabbing their towels.
“Embarrassed? What the hell—I’ll admit it. She stayed the night and I couldn’t handle early practice. I’m not embarrassed. I’m fucking disgusted. I’ve never done it before. I’ve always known when and where to draw the line and now I’m losing it.” Barry rigorously toweled himself off, taking care to dry every last drop on his chest, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He worried that if he stopped mopping up with the towel he’d discover that he was shaking, he was so scared.
“Must be some woman.”
“No. It’s not her. She’s only a symptom of the problem. With Lindy in the hospital and her mother gone, I don’t know. It makes it hard to keep pushing. I’ve been restless for a while anyway, ever since we won the championship last June. How many championships and MVPs am I going to go after?” He stopped and looked at his friend, letting everything sink. The words had tumbled out of his mouth of their own volition. Dave frowned.
