by Vera Roberts
She wanted to feel its soul, energy, and spirit. Art was best created when it wasn’t contrived or forced. “Talk to me,” she whispered to the wall.
Quinn carefully watched Sydney as she nodded and softly replied to someone or something that wasn’t readily noticeable. He briefly looked around to see if she was speaking to a spirit he couldn’t see. “Uh, Sydney…”
“Shh…” she quieted him. Once again, she felt the energy of Quinn and the aura he’d built. She saw bright oranges, greens, and purples. She envisioned deep reds, soft browns, and the darkest and brightest of shades. She saw Legos, giraffes, and a baseball stadium. She could clearly see something that was truly Quinn and couldn’t be replicated with anyone else.
She saw his entire history within a few seconds.
She slowly opened her eyes and smiled at him. “I know what to do. When do we get started?”
“Is this week good?” He asked. “I would like it started ASAP.”
“Not a problem,” Sydney typed on her phone, “I’ll have Ian contact you about the business matters.”
“Oh, we’ve already spoken on the phone.” Quinn mentioned. “I thought he told you about the price.”
“Oh.” Sydney was surprised at the information. She didn’t realized how fast Ian worked. “I didn’t know this.”
“Yeah, Ian drives a hard bargain but he assured me it was going to be worth it so I believed him. And I’m a huge fan of your work so I know I won’t be disappointed.”
Curiosity got the best of Sydney and she couldn’t help herself. “I hope it’s worth every penny.”
“Oh, I already think it is.” Quinn agreed. “And I got such a deal out of it as well!”
Sydney’s eyes crinkled. Ian told her leave the business matters to him but she wondered if he was going to make Sydney revert to the good old days of Hot Pockets and Cup O Noodles. “Is that so?”
“Of course it is!” Quinn’s eyes danced. “A personal mural from Sydney Walker for four hundred thousand? It doesn’t get any better than that!”
~~~~~
“Syd, I love you so much. You’re my heart and soul,” Dean picked out his bowling ball and held it as he stared down at his girlfriend, “but I’m about to whip your ass from here to Kentucky in bowling.”
Sydney fell back against the chair at The Bowling Spot alley. She raised an arched eyebrow and her lips curved into a sensual stare. “I like to see your ass try. You may look like Thor but you bowl like shit.”
“Watch me work,” Dean took the ball and rolled it down the lane, knocking eight of the ten pins. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. You see that? You see that?”
“Luck,” Sydney scoffed.
Dean waited for his ball to return to get rid of the final two pins and did so. He jumped ahead of Sydney in score. “Oh yeah,” he did the Cabbage Patch, “I’m good, I’m good.”
“Oh my God!” Sydney laughed. “Anyway, rookie. It’s my turn.” She got up, reached for her ball, and held her concentration down the lane. It was time for her to become one with the alley. She took a deep breath and rolled her ball down the lane, commencing into a strike.
Sydney simply turned around and smiled. “In…yo…FACE!” She bellowed.
Dean shook his head. “I can’t get beaten by a girl.”
“You afraid it might make you less masculine if you do?” She replied.
“No, I just can’t even tell anyone about this.” He picked up his ball and walked over to the lane. “I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Pussy,” she scoffed.
Dean eyed her up and down and licked his lips. “My favorite dish of yours I love to eat.” He turned around and rolled his ball down the lane. He also striked. He turned around, calmly walked back to Sydney and sat next to her. “Keep talking shit to me. It’s helping me with my game.”
“Whatever,” she shook her head as their food arrived, “this looks so amazing! I’m so hungry!” She dived into the nachos and French fries.
“So, how’s the mural coming along?” Dean asked as he ate a nacho. “Is Quinn cool?”
“Quinn is amazing! He’s totally not like what he seems on the outside. He’s a bit goofy, a bit country, but he’s incredibly smart. I see why he psyches out so many in his game.” Sydney nodded.
“That’s good, I’m glad you like him. I heard Quinn was a really cool dude,” Dean nodded.
“He’s also paying me a ridiculous amount of money,” Sydney took a sip of her lemonade, “Ian negotiated four hundred thousand from him.”
Dean choked on his nachos and get up to get some fresh air. “Babe, are you okay?” Sydney asked.
Dean quickly sat back down and stared at his girlfriend. “Four…hundred…thousand?”
“Yeah,” Sydney nodded, “crazy, isn’t it?”
“That’s incredible, babe!” He hugged her. “You’re worth every penny!”
“I owe it all to you, babe,” Sydney replied. “If it wasn’t for you, I would still be toiling away at Macy’s.”
“You give me too much credit. I may have encouraged you to pursue your dreams, but it was your hard work and determination that did it, baby girl.” He looked into Sydney’s brown eyes and saw how they’d softened to a deep chocolate color. He cupped her faces within his palms and sensually kissed her, sucking on her bottom lip. “This is all you.”
“Did you really just put your bowling ball hands on my MAC makeup?” Sydney smiled.
“Hey,” Dean didn’t let go of his stance, “these are the hands of God right here. These hands of God are whipping your tail like you stole my bike.”
“All righty, you done did it,” Sydney pulled away and walked over to her bowling ball, “in the words of King Bey, you’re about to kiss my fat ass, boy!”
Seven
“It’s too hard!” Nine-year-old Dean complained to his father as he held onto the ice rink wall.
“You’re overthinking it,” Gavin casually skated over to his son and gripped his hand on the younger Winchester’s one. “You’re more scared of the fall than of the experience.”
Gavin Winchester skated around the McCormick-Tribute rink. A slender man with a slightly muscular build, Gavin personified grace and class. A construction foreman by day, Gavin worked hard to ensure his family had a roof over their head and clothes on their backs. He didn’t make a lot of money, and there were some lean times in the Winchester household, but he always made sure there were groceries and the lights were on.
For a special treat, Gavin took his youngest son out to learn how to ice skate. His older son and Dean’s brother, Chris, was an expert on the ice. Now it was Dean’s turn.
“What if I die on the ice?” Dean complained.
Gavin softly chuckled. “Do you honestly think you’re going to die on the ice?”
“What if I do?” Dean’s eyes were wide as the moon.
“What if I tell you if you keep thinking something, it’ll eventually happen?” Gavin replied. “You manifest your thoughts into reality.”
“So if I think I’m going to die on the ice, I will?”
“Yes. If you think you’re going to live forever, you will.” Gavin reassured.
“I’m going to be a millionaire!” Dean exclaimed. “A millionaire, billionaire, trillionaire!”
Gavin laughed. “If you think you will, you will.”
“And I’ll buy all the candy and give it to all of the kids everywhere!”
“That’s a lot of candy,” Gavin thought aloud.
“And I’ll share with you and Chris and Mom!” Dean smiled.
“That’s what I want to hear,” Gavin continued skating. “Always take care of your family. We’re all we have.”
“We’re all we have,” Dean repeated.
Dean suddenly let go of his father’s hand and struggled to skate on his own. His legs were wobbly and his balance was off. But his body was filled with determination, strength, and that made a huge difference. Gavin stopped along the side and watched his son skate, fall, and s
kate again. Dean would repeat that a few more times before he finally mastered it.
“See that, Dad?” Dean pointed. “You see? You see?”
“I see!” Gavin clapped and smiled. “I saw that, yes.”
Dean skated over to his father. “I thought you weren’t looking!”
Gavin kissed his son’s head and hugged him tight. “I’ll always watch over you, even when you think I’m not looking.”
“Even when you’re not around?”
“Even when I’m not around.”
Dean let out a small sigh as his attorney finalized the terms of his new deal with the Nike executives. He’d only wished his father was round to see what he’d become.
300 million.
300 million reasons to lead the Kings to several more championships.
300 million reasons to be on his best behavior.
300 million reasons Dean would never have to worry about family finances for the rest of his life.
As Dean carefully read the terms of his new Nike contract, he felt overwhelmed and blessed. The hefty price tag was the highest for a hockey athlete ever and Dean certainly felt the pressure. It went beyond shoes, but athletic and training gear, and a training app where Dean would upload weekly training sessions.
It was unprecedented for a hockey player. Many still considered hockey to be brutal and barbaric. Dean gave it a face – albeit a pretty one – and showed despite his movie star good looks, he could rough it out with the best of them.
Now, he had 300 million reasons why.
Guaranteed over the next ten years of life, the contract didn’t count the other numerous endorsements Dean had in place – reported around twenty million – nor did it count his annual fourteen million salary from the Kings. Not only was Dean a phenom on the ice, he was officially the highest-paid hockey player of all time.
He took it all in stride. He didn’t grow up poor but he could remember times when his parents often did without simply because they couldn’t afford it. He could vividly recall the times his mother often picked out clothes for him to put on layaway, only to not receive said clothes because she couldn’t afford to take them out.
Now Dean could afford to buy his mother whatever she wanted and more.
“Was there anything else?” One of the Nike executives asked.
Dean shook his head. “No, that’s it.”
“We look forward in having a long-term contract, Dean.” Another executive stood up and Dean followed suit, shaking hands with him as well as the other executives. “We have a lot of ideas in mind.”
“Yeah, my girl wasn’t too pleased with the new commercial idea,” Dean chuckled, “but I think once she sees my new look, she’ll like it.”
“You will look amazing!” A female executive clamored. “I hope she likes it! I most certainly do!”
“Well, we’ll see. She’s the boss.” Dean glanced down at his phone. He left Sydney back in L.A. and traveled up to the Nike headquarters with just his lawyer in tow. “Anyway, let me know if you guys need anything else from me. We’ll be in touch!”
Dean and his lawyer left the Nike headquarters and headed back to the airport. Once they checked in and settled on the plane, Dean finally had a moment to relax. He was physically exhausted.
Mentally, he was recharged. A new connection was built between he and Sydney and Dean was anxious to get back to her. He knew she was busy with Quinn and would spend most of her time with him but he just wanted to see her. He felt like a love-struck highschooler who just discovered his #WomanCrushWednesday liked him back.
“I need to talk to you about the prenup terms,” Dean’s lawyer, Samuel, began. He was an older gentleman with a thin frame and white hair. His face, tone, and body spoke he didn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit and that’s why Dean liked him. The older man always gave it to him straight. “Have you presented the contract to her?”
“We just got back together and we’re not even engaged,” Dean replied, “there’s no point for it.”
“Very well,” Samuel’s voice was low and silvery, “the moment you two become betrothed again, you need to bring up the prenuptial agreement and make sure she’s signs it.”
Dean thought about Jameson and his wealth. He loved Sarah so much, he was willing to risk everything to have her as his bride. He admired Jameson’s attitude but felt more reserved about his fortune.
He also knew if it weren’t Sydney, it wouldn’t be a question if the woman was going to sign a prenup; Dean would demand it. He wondered if his demand for a prenup would finally push Sydney away. “I will.”
~~~~~
It was a glorious day in Rebecca MacDonald’s world.
Her yoga and Pilates training paid off as she fit into the teeny-weeny bikini that currently graced her toned body. She’d just signed a new contract with Bravo TV, ensuring not only would she appear on several more seasons of Real Housewives but she’ll also get her own spinoff as well.
Life was great. It would be even better with Dean by her side.
She’d finally recovered from the insane amount of sex they had over the past week. Sex? No. It was lovemaking. They’d made love. Dean fucked her with angry and powerful strokes, as if he’d missed her just as much as she’d missed him.
Things were different, she could tell. Dean used to be eager to orally please her but he didn’t at all. It was almost as if he refused to do it. Rebecca refused to take it so personally. Maybe he was distracted with other things and that wasn’t on his menu. It was fine. She made sure she gave him head he wouldn’t forget.
Between sessions, he didn’t speak very much or hardly at all. His eyes were lost on the TV screen in front of him as he zoned out on TV and movies. One time he took her was they watched Frozen and once they were done, they went back to watching the cartoon movie as if nothing occurred between them.
Rebecca knew why Dean was being King Asshole – Sydney. Just thinking about the younger and rather naïve woman made Rebecca’s straightened hair frizz up. How dare she hurt her Dean like that?
Dean had his issues but he didn’t deserve to be discarded the way Sydney did to him. Especially after everything Dean did for Sydney. He’d practically rescued her from the ghetto slums and a bad neighborhood.
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t entirely true but still, Rebecca reasoned to herself, Dean did a lot for Sydney and she needed to treat him with respect or leave him alone.
The doorbell rang and Rebecca snapped back to the present. Her bare feet scurried along the cold surface of her hardwood floor so she wouldn’t be rude to her guest. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
A large, stocky male entered Rebecca’s condo and he took off his baseball cap. He had a bushy mustache that matched his fire engine red hair. His name was David Petersen and he was a photographer for one of the popular photography agencies Rebecca kept on speed dial.
“Welcome, David.” Rebecca closed the door behind him. “Did you want any coffee or tea?”
“No, I can’t stay for very long,” he spoke in a wispy voice, a sharp contrast from his build, “I just came by to drop off the pictures you wanted.”
“Oh yes,” Rebecca held out her hand and David frowned upon seeing how empty it was. She picked up his mannerism and quickly retracted her hand. “Oh, my bad. You want the payment first. I understand.” She quickly walked over to her Louis Vuitton purse, pulled out several stacks of Benjamin Franklins, and slapped it in David’s hand. “Now you have something I want.”
David quickly counted the large sum of money – twenty-five thousand – and handed the photographs over to Rebecca. She took the envelope, pulled out the glossy and hi-definition pictures, and was in awe by what she saw. “Beautiful,” she held up one picture of Dean screwing her against the counter top. She flipped through the other pictures and saw them in various sexual positions.
She squealed when she saw one picture of Dean shooting off in her face as he was overcome with ecstasy. She was going to hang that photo up on her wall.
“I’m done here,” David recounted the money to make sure it was the correct amount. It was the second half of the fifty thousand fee he’d charged. “Please let me know if you need anything else, Ms. MacDonald.”
“Sure!” Rebecca waved him off. “Thank you!”
Rebecca turned on some music, poured wine, and began dancing around as she glanced the photos. Oh, she loved them! On second thought, she was going to hang a few more of them on the wall. Her personal closet. No one would be able to see them but her and that was fine. She wanted a lasting memory of her time with Dean.
She took another gulp of wine and studied a picture of her riding Dean. She was bent over and they were embraced in a passionate kiss. She immediately became aroused and bit her lip in anticipation. Now, she was going to call him to see if he was available for round two. Or five. Or all twelve.
~~~~~
Dean glanced down at his cell phone and recognized Rebecca’s phone number. He shook his head and put her straight to voicemail. Rebecca was a nice friend and somewhere underneath her hardened exterior, she was a good person. She was in his past, however, and Sydney was his future.
He just hoped she understood.
Eight
David hurried to his car, took out his cell phone, and dialed the last number on his recent history list. “Hey, it’s me. I just delivered the photos to her. She’s very pleased.”
“I bet she is,” Ian Ferguson huffed, “did she say anything about selling them?”
“Not yet but she didn’t indicate if she would. She paid fifty thousand for them so if she does sell them, she’ll easily get a million.”
“Fuck!” Ian groaned. “All right. Thank you, David. Your work is appreciated.”
“Anytime, Mr. Ferguson. You’ve done a lot for me and my family and I’m happy to return the favor. Let me know if you need anything else.” He hung up.
Ian sat back in his leather chair and tried to figure out another game plan. Once Rebecca heard of Dean’s reconciliation with Sydney, she was going to go forward in selling the photos to the highest bidder. It didn’t matter if Dean sued every website that posted them; once it was on the internet, it was there forever.
