by Leigh Lennon
She begins a sauce, grabbing ground pork, sausage links, and hamburger. “Do you dislike vegetables?” she asks, pulling out carrots, onions, peppers, and some huge ass bulb-like item. I thought it was celery, but I spy celery on the counter.
“Nope, I like almost everything, but what in the world is that?” I ask, pointing at the bulb.
This question brings a smile to her face. She’s very efficient, doing several things at one time. Adding skillets to the stove, she grabs the still unidentifiable bulb, putting it on a chopping board. “This is fennel. An absolute staple for anything I cook.”
She begins chopping it up, adding it to a small bowl. After dicing up the carrots, celery, onions, and peppers, she pours a little bit of cooking wine, olive oil, and butter in the pan. “Ah, I forgot the garlic and oregano. What sort of Italian am I?”
She rifles in her fridge as I sit at the island, watching everything this woman does. Something catches my attention, and I grin a large toothy smile. As she’s searching for what I assume is fresh oregano and garlic, I catch her attention.
“What’s up with your freaky smile?” she asks, and I point past her. She sees what I’m aiming at.
“I thought you threw the corsage I bought you a couple of weeks ago away?”
She shakes her head. “I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Fuck, Kier, you know I like you.” This makes me smile even bigger. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
With the garlic and oregano in front of her, she begins chopping again, not saying much more about the corsage. “You look like one of those chefs from the Food Network,” I state.
“I studied a summer abroad, and while I was there, I took cooking classes.” I sip at the can of pop she’s given me. As she reveals more layers of her, I realize each second she’s in my presence, she becomes more and more of something I can’t live without.
She starts the vegetables and herbs in the wine sauce. I try to memorize everything about her, and a thought occurs to me as she begins the meat in a different pan. “Just out of curiosity, how many people are you feeding tonight? It looks like there will be a couple of dozen people eating with us.”
She swirls her wine in front of her, peering over her glass. “Ah, don’t worry. You don’t have to share me with anyone. I can’t cook for two, and anyway, Zia and I will have leftovers for days. Tomorrow, I won’t want to have another night of carbs, so I’ll serve it with spaghetti squash.
“I normally would cook this sauce for a day to let all the flavors sink in, but sometimes, you just have to make do with what you have.”
We continue with the funny and light conversation, and I realize it’s so easy and natural with her. I mention seeing Connie Weston on the news, and she rolls her eyes. “She tries to steal my stories. Did it with the Strickland murders. And hell, does she try to worm her way into everything I do. When I was given this piece”—she points at me—“I didn’t want it, and believe your tight little ass, she tried to swoop in and take it. Sure, I would have given this to anyone but her.” She averts her eyes, popping a cooked carrot in her mouth. “But I’m sort of glad I didn’t give it up.”
I push to my feet from the island chair. “Is that right?” I stalk to her, cup her cheeks, and swoop in for a kiss. She’s red wine, a touch of garlic, and carrots. This combination with her soft lips on mine is mind-blowing. I could get lost in her forever.
We remain at her little eat-in kitchen well after we finish dinner, talking and laughing until we hear the front door open. “Leelee, you okay?” her sister calls through the living room.
“Yeah, I made my special sauce if you’d like some!” she yells back to her sister.
The French bulldog comes running into the kitchen, searching for Leela. “No thanks, I’m good. I’m going up to bed. Do you mind bringing my dog up when you come upstairs, please? She’s a traitor, thinking she’ll get some scraps.”
Leela laughs, lowering her voice a little. “Ah, Poppy knows where the good food is at.” She picks up the Frenchie and begins petting it. “Do you mind? In the front cabinet is a small Ziploc bag. Can you grab it for me?”
I push to my feet to retrieve it when the dog begins to yap a little.
“Ah, you’re a good girl, Poppy. You know I spoil you.”
Poppy takes the treat and cuddles in Leela’s lap. Our conversation comes to a lull, and I use this time to take her hand, kissing it. But I don’t stop at her hand. I pepper kisses all up her arm. She pulls away just enough to place Poppy on the floor. “Go find Mama, Poppy.” The dog trots off, and we hear her running up the stairs. Her eyes find mine, placing her arm back where it had been. “Now, where were we?” The sensual tone she delivers her words in makes me realize she wants more. But how much more is the question.
She stands as I continue to kiss her arm. I push to my feet, and what I think will be sweet, like our kiss from earlier, becomes rushed and almost frenzied.
Her mouth finds my neck, and she begins to suck and nip at me. Finding my belt, she unbuckles it, and to my surprise, unbuttons and unzips my pants. She moves her reach around to my ass, pushing her hands into the fabric between my jeans and boxers.
I can’t help but let out a guttural moan, and this spurs her on as her mouth finds mine. She makes no apologies as she forces her way in, not that she really has to work that hard, and our tongues duel. I’m about to move my hands to her shirt when common sense rains down on me, and I pull away, out of breath and very turned on. I step away from her before I put her over my shoulder and carry her up to her room.
“Leela, sweetheart, I told you it’s not about sex with us. We’ll get there.”
She lowers her gaze, and I step a little bit closer to her. “That was fucking hot, you taking the lead, your hands roaming my ass, your mouth devouring mine. I just can’t have you regretting us in the morning. You’re too special to me to let this happen,” I explain when I lift her chin to mine.
“And what if I said I wanted you? What if I said I was willing to try?”
I extend my hand to take hers, walking out to her living room, attempting to hold my unbuttoned pants up. As I sit down, I tug her onto my lap. “Before I answer your question from in the kitchen, I have to know, have you forgiven me? Can you truly say you’re past what I did to you? Or what you’ve heard I’ve done for the past several years.”
When her eyes avert from mine, I have my answer. “But,” she says anyway, “I’m willing to try.”
“And having sex won’t change your lack of trust in me. It will confuse you, and I’m here to earn your trust. To show you I’ve truly changed.”
“I’m so—”
I tip her head to mine again. “Don’t you dare say you’re embarrassed. That was the fucking hottest thing ever, and once I’ve earned your trust, I promise, I want you to repeat that with me.”
An idea occurs to me, so I use the first analogy that pops in my head. “As you know, my primary role as a running back is to receive handoffs from the quarterback for a rushing play, to catch passes from out of the backfield, and to block. And in this position, the one thing I battled with for years was false starts. Fuck, I tell you what, one year, I led my division in both touchdowns, which was great, but also in those fucking false starts.” And I know my girl knows football. She lets out a little giggle at my frustration.
“So, I kept on drawing the defensive line out, a big no-no in the game. I was doing something I shouldn’t have done. And I equate this to how I treated you before, like the penalty I kept on receiving. I had been guilty of leading you on, and for that, I’m terribly sorry. And again, we can only move past all my fucking penalties, my false starts with you, when you can truly forgive me.”
Leaning in, she gives me a little peck on the cheek. She nuzzles herself into the crook of my neck, and I hold her, simply hold her for the next hour. And nothing has ever felt more perfect.
Chapter 12
Leela
The week has gone off without a hitch. Each day, I work
with the editors on all the interviews with Kier. Wednesday, I finished the segment with five members of the team and the coach. It has been almost too easy. And tonight, being a Friday and two days before Seattle’s home game opener, we’re airing the entire segment. To say I’m nervous is an understatement.
Each night, Kier and I have taken turns at each other’s houses, cooking dinner and enjoying each other’s company. Every time with him, I want to push it a little bit more. Hell, I want him so much, and each night, he asks me if I have fully forgiven him. It’s not an easy question because my heart is one organ that says yes while my brain says no.
We’re supposed to eat dinner and spend the evening watching the segment together. It’s airing in primetime. Somehow, the team had been able to buy a timeslot since the fall season of television shows have not started back yet.
I’m nervous. I want to make sure Kier gets the attention and the second chance he deserves. If I can give him one, which I am attempting to, then the rest of the Pacific Northwest can, too.
I’m on my way out of the station when live news catches my attention. It’s fucking Connie Weston, but instead of covering the unknown man from afar, who is speaking out on bullying today at a local school, she’s interviewing him.
“I know you want to keep your disguise a mystery, is it because you’re a famous man?”
The man, who is known for his outlandish outfits and what must be several types of wigs, stands before her dressed as a clown.
He begins to speak, and I stand still. I want to know what his message is. His voice is very low as though he’s disguising it. I can’t imagine anyone’s voice can be this low. “I’m not going to talk about me. I’m here because bullying has affected my life, and it needs to stop.”
“Okay, I can respect that,” Connie begins, concerning his identity. And I scoff. No, she doesn’t respect it. She’ll continue to attempt to uncover this man’s identity if it’s the last thing she does. “So, you say that bullying affected you. You’ve made it sound like you were the bully.”
“That’s right, it affected me because I was the bully. And I’m not saying woe is me because of that, but I pushed a lot of good people away from me. Now I’m dealing with the consequences, and you know what I say to that?” the clown asks.
“I’m not sure. What is it that you can say about this?”
The clown clears his throat, but it’s not in his deep timbre, it’s his normal tone, and something grabs my attention. “I say good. I should be dealing with worse. I was cruel, and I was mean. There are several reasons I did all of it, but no reason was good enough. And I’m ashamed of my actions. If I have to dress as a clown, a man-sized ballerina, don a big bird costume, or dress as Barney or any other identity to get my message across to children of all ages, then so be it. I messed up, but these kids, they don’t have to.”
Connie begins to ask another question, but the clown man stops her. “That’s all for now, Ms. Weston.” His tone is low again. “But I just want to say, one day, I’ll prove to all of those I’ve hurt that I’m worth trusting again.”
These words ring true, and it instantly hits me—the words and the familiar tone when he cleared his throat. I race from the room, but not before I hear Connie say, “Well, that’s it for me. Be sure to stay tuned tonight for our very own Leela Cesarea’s interview with Kier O’Hennessey.”
Fuck! What Connie doesn’t know is she’s just interviewed him.
I race to his apartment. The doorman knows me after several times at Kier’s and allows me upstairs. I knock on the door, but he’s not home. I slump down against the wall and wait for him. I have no idea how he’s pulled this off. I’m sure Connie has a tail on him. He must have employed many people to make it happen. Even the security he has around him while walking around with wooden signs on both his front and back has to be expensive. People may think he’s rolling in the dough, and he very well may have if he’d been smart with his money while in New York. But where he earned seven and a half million a year, he signed up with Seattle for four hundred thousand. It still sounds like a great amount, much more than most make, but when one goes from making less than ten percent of his annual salary, I can’t imagine it’s been easy to adjust.
However, I’ve seen him, and he has. His Tahoe is nice but not overly loud. His apartment, while charming, isn’t extravagant. But in all of this, whatever he’s spending, it’s important enough to him and his cause.
When I pick up my phone to check if he’s called me, the elevator doors open, and he appears in the hallway, his head in his phone. He doesn’t see me at all, not until he’s almost walked past me.
“Hey there. I sort of like coming home to you waiting for me, but if this is going to be the norm, I’ll need to give you a key.” He reaches out his arms to help me up. He leans in for a kiss, and I stop him, my hand coming between his face and mine.
“Ask me again?”
“Ask you what, sweetheart?” His lopsided smile fades, and confusion clouds his face.
“Ask me again if I forgive you.”
He cocks his head to the side, his arms encircling my waist. “Do you forgive me?” His voice has a realm of insecurity attached to it.
“I undeniably, unquestionably, and undoubtedly forgive you.”
He pushes the ebony strands of hair from my face. “Well, those are a lot of UNs if you ask me.” His arrogant smirk is adorable. “And I may kick my own ass for this, but what has changed?”
“You. You’ve changed. You told me you’d prove to me you were a changed man. I think dressing up as a clown sort of proves this.”
He steps back from me, breaking our contact together. “What?”
“I’m an investigative reporter. I’m trained in this stuff, and you said the same thing on the air that you had in the note, the day you gave me my corsage at the station.”
His eyes dart away from my gaze. “You did that for me?” I ask, interlacing my fingers with his.
“I did it for me, and I did it for all the boys who don’t know how to talk to girls. I did it for my parents to prove to them, even if they never know it’s me, that they raised a good man. I did it for the fans of Seattle. Again, if they don’t ever know, it’s fine, but I will have proven to them and myself that I deserve their trust. I did it for a lot of reasons. And I certainly did it for you, too.”
I don’t wait. In the hallway in front of his door, I attack his mouth as I did earlier in the week. My hands find the buttons of his pants. My tongue duels with his. I want to recreate everything. He pulls away from me, and when I think he’s going to say we should wait, he gives me his signature megawatt smile I’ve come to love. “I think maybe we should take this inside.” And when he grapples with his keys and finally slams the door open, it’s exactly what we do.
My heart rate ramps up when we make it into the hallway inside his apartment, and like he’d told me earlier in the week, he wants me to take charge. I push his body against the wall, and I know he allows this because he’s three times my size.
“Are you sure, sweetheart?” His breathy question comes between me claiming his mouth.
“One hundred percent.” Grabbing the hem of his shirt, I spy a little bit of white makeup near his ear. I pull his top over his head and wipe it off him. “You’ve won my heart. It’s completely yours.”
With his beautiful chest on display, I have to touch his bare body. “Hell, you’re something.” My eyes wander down to his V that disappears into his jeans. “I can’t wait to see you naked.” I’m frantic, undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. My hands find his ass as they had done earlier in the week. And what a firm ass it is.
“Why do you still have clothes on?” he asks, his hands grasping my waist.
“All in due time, Mr. Football Man.” I interlace his hands with mine, pulling him into his room as I make myself comfortable in his space. I stop in front of his bed and push his pants down. After he steps out of them, his erection pushes against his boxers. He falls
back on the foot of his bed.
“If you don’t get naked, I swear to the heavens above that I’ll strip you,” he warns, lust swirling through his deep ocean eyes.
I kick my heels off and begin with my blazer, pulling it off slowly. “Hell, sweetheart, I swear…” I stand in front of him and push my index finger to his mouth. “Fuck, it’s a turn-on to see you take charge.”
I move my fingers to the hem of my turquoise tank top, and I pull it over my head in slow motion as my fingers trace down my stomach and over my bra. I leisurely unbutton my pants, unzipping them enough that he can see the lace of my panties.
I push them down, and the only thing on my body is my underwear. “Fuckity fuck, girl. You in your navy blue panty and bra set. Let me take you in for just a second.” He rises to his feet and twirls me around to see every angle of my body. “You’re stunning.” His hand reaches behind my bra, unlatching it as they spill out for his viewing pleasure. “I can’t wait to suck on these.” His fingers creep between my skin and my panties, inching toward my core. He swipes inside the lips of my pussy at my clit, and both of us emit long hisses. He brings his finger to his lips, licking every part of me, setting his sights on my nipples as he sucks, bites, and nips at me.
My hands run down his perfectly chiseled abs, and it’s my turn to reach between his boxers, but I push them all the way down, and they fall to the floor. My hand connects with his beast, and my thumb touches the tip of his cock. “Sweetheart…” He begins to nibble on my nipples, then breaks my connection to his erection when he falls to his knees and pulls my panties off. “Yeah, you can’t do that much longer. I need to be inside you and soon.”
I’m about to agree with him. I need him inside me, too, but I’m rendered speechless when his tongue touches my clit. I steady myself with my hands raking through his blond hair.
