by S. J. Bishop
A favorite topic of conversation were neighbors, both Hamptons neighbors and their neighbors out in White Plains.
The few times that Dash attempted to enter into the conversation, he was cut off, or dismissed, or mocked. He took it in stride, but I was beginning to see how someone like Dash might end up so self-centered. It wasn’t that the world revolved around him. It was that, during his childhood, it probably hadn’t. I could see that you’d have to fight for every ounce of attention you got in this family. And there was still a sibling missing.
After dinner, Dorothy’s three children joined us for a walk on the beach, and they were even more exhausting than I’d remembered. Dash’s parents seemed to expect me to do as I did last time and play with them, but before I could rally my flagging energy, Dash had taken off, chasing his nieces and nephew down the beach and hurling handfuls of sand at them until they squealed and dodged away.
Ray retired early to get some sleep before his family joined him the next day. Dorothy’s kids begged Dash to stay up and roast marshmallows with them, but Dash took one look at me and said, “Maybe tomorrow night. Annie’s had a long day.” He let Dorothy, Tim, their children, and his parents continue down the beach, and he, Ray, and I walked back.
The walk back was awkward and quiet. All of the things that had gone unsaid between Dash and I seemed to bubble up to the surface. Ray seemed to sense them too because he picked up his pace and left us alone.
Standing on the beach in the dark, while the waves crashed, Dash turned to me and took a deep breath. “Two weeks ago on the phone, I told you I wanted to apologize to you in person.”
I bit my tongue and nodded. “I want to apologize…”
“No, please, Annie, let me,” said Dash. I pressed my lips together.
“Your father told me I didn’t deserve you. He said I was a spoiled Golden-Boy who hadn’t had to work for anything in my life. And he was right. I just didn’t want to acknowledge it.”
Dash rubbed a hand over his hair, his telltale sign that he was flustered. “I don’t know why I thought you might be as easy as the other girls.”
“Maybe because I was easy,” I said wryly. He’d only had to look at me and my panties had dropped.
He thought that was funny and smiled. “No,” he said. “You’re not. You’re complicated, and I didn’t understand that I needed to put in the effort to understand it. I was an idiot. And I’m sorry.”
He reached out, cupping my face, warmth flowing from his hand into my cheek. “You are worth the effort, Annie. Other girls are quartz: shine them up enough, and they look like diamonds. But they don’t fool me. You’re the real deal.”
I closed my eyes as his lips descended and feathered along mine. He pulled back before the kiss could carry us away. I licked my lips.
“I’m sorry, too,” I said. “I think you’re terrific, Dash, and I kept you on this pedestal. I forgot that you’re a man, not a character. And that’s not fair.”
“Hold the phone,” said Dash. “You mean to tell me that I was one of your old movie characters, and I fucked it up?”
“Sorry,” I said.
He slapped himself on the forehead. “To think I had an opportunity and blew it.” But when he put his hand down, he was smiling. Even in the dark, I could see it.
“So, who would I be?” he asked. “Cary Grant in Notorious?”
“Jay Gatsby?” I said, staring at the Compound behind us.
“Not Gatsby,” Dash said, rolling his eyes.
“Can we put our feet in the water before we head back in?” I asked. Dash gestured for me to lead the way, and I did.
36
Dash
We stood with our feet in the surf for five minutes before my family headed back up the beach. They passed by without seeing us and, as the noise from their conversation died, I took another deep breath.
“I know you deserve better, Annie. And I’m going to do my best to give you better.”
“Dash…”
“That night, I ran into your sister at the club, and she told me that she didn’t want to have a child with me. That I’d be a terrible father… that’s stuck with me. I don’t want to be a terrible father, Annie. But I’m not worried.”
“No?” Annie asked, sliding her cool hand into mine.
I shook my head. “No. I’m not. Because you’re here. And I know you won’t let me.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “You’ll keep me in line.”
Annie squeezed my hand. “You seem different out here, with your family,” she said. “More relaxed.”
I snorted. “As you’ve already observed, my family isn’t all that impressed by me. I don’t have to try that hard here. It takes a lot of the pressure off.”
She nodded.
“That’s not the only reason,” I said.
“No?”
“No. It’s you, too. Being with you… it calms me. I’ve noticed it from the first moment you walked into the Four Seasons. I was stressed, upset, and trying like hell to mask it. But when you came in, I could relax. It’s why I wanted you at the shoot, why I came back to your house the next night. I feel so at ease around you. You might be complicated, Annie, and how I feel about you is tangled. But how you make me feel – that’s easy. You give me peace… when you’re not upset with me.”
Annie choked on a laugh, and I pulled her close, reveling in the feel of her breasts swelling against my chest. I couldn’t help but kiss her again, and this time, I didn’t hold back.
When we were done, we stood there, panting in each other’s arms. “You make me happy, Annie, but it’s not just about me. I understand that. So, I want you to tell me what I can do. What can I do to make sure you are happy?”
37
Anne
Nobody had ever asked me that before. Ever. Not my mother, not my father, not my sister. Nobody had ever asked me that. I stood there, staring at Dash, worshipping his height, the perfect curve of his lip, and the way his hand held my waist.
“I’m happy now,” I said. And it was true. I was bursting with emotions too acute to name. But out here, on the beach with Dash, having received his family’s blessing, I was content.
“I don’t… I’ve never needed anything from you, Dash. I’ve always just been happy being close to you.”
Dash pulled me even closer against him.
“I suppose,” I said, “I’d like my parents blessing, and my sister’s. But I suppose that will take time.”
“In the meantime,” said Dash, “you have me.”
I stared up at him. “Promise?”
He nodded. “I like you, Annie. A lot. I want more time with you.”
“I want that, too,” I said.
We stood there in silence a moment, just holding each other, letting the emotions settle and turn into a slow burn.
I traced my finger around the ridges of his abdomen. “What about you, Dash?” I said, my voice dark with desire. “What can I do to insure your happiness?”
Dash stared down at me, and I could see a dozen ideas flashing across his eyes. Finally, he smiled, slowly and seductively. Bending down, he whispered in my ear, “Care for a swim?”
He stripped my clothes from me as if I were porcelain, and he bent so that I could tug his shirt over his head. We didn’t head directly into the water. We kissed on the shore, Dash dropping to his knees and holding my legs wide as he feasted on me. Then he took me into his arms and lowered me inch by slow inch onto his hot, eager shaft. Deep inside me, he walked us into the water, kissing me the whole way, his tongue thrusting in a rhythm that only worked to stoke my desire.
The water lapped at our hips as he waded in, heightening the sensation and turning my skin sensitive. I was weightless, and the sensations – of Dash hot inside me, of the water holding me up, teasing my nipples, and lapping at my clit – undid me. I had to stifle my cries lest the whole beach hear. Dash kissed me, his mouth catching my cries of ecstasy, his body relentless as it surg
ed within me. He joined me moments later, reaching his own climax and pulsing inside me with all the force of the tide.
Epilogue
Dash
The spiral was beautiful. It sliced straight past defenders and into the open, waiting hands of Ted Schneider.
“Go!” I hollered, leaping out of the way as an opposing lineman struggled to check his momentum.
Ted didn’t hear me, but he didn’t need to. He shot off faster than a rocket, spinning past the opposing team’s safety and hurling himself into the air, colliding with Pittsburg’s cornerback, his arms flung out.
I didn’t see it. I saw only the pile of Steelers atop him. But I didn’t need to see it. I heard it. I heard it from the crowd. A deep roaring and a surge of blue as thousands of Patriots fans got to their feet.
And then the explosions went off. I turned to see Burke charging off of the bench, throwing his hands in the air and hollering. Confetti was everywhere.
Over. It was over.
Hands grabbed at me; teammates shoved their faces into my helmet. I could feel hands slamming against my pads. Caz reached up at one point, grabbed my facemask, and started shouting something incomprehensible.
But I only had eyes for Coach, who was on the side-lines, his eyes wide, waving at me. He was tearing through the crowd now as people tried to congratulate him. Feet from me, someone grabbed a container of Gatorade and dumped it on him, the liquid steaming as it hit the frozen, January air.
“Dash!” Coach called, ignoring the fact that he was now dripping with orange Gatorade. “Dash. Get out of here! You need to go!”
Shit. Shit!
“Dash Barnes! The Patriots have just won the AFC championships and are headed to the Super Bowl! After a season of ups and downs, you’ve got to be feeling good!”
I could hear the voice echoing across the stadium. I knew that not only was the whole of Foxborough waiting for my response, but everyone watching at home could hear, too.
“He’s excited; we’re all excited. Now let him through! He’s got to get out of here!” It was Ted, pushing through the crowd, and behind him were four members of the offensive line. They reached me in seconds.
“Ready, Captain?” one of them asked. And before I could respond, they were blocking, pushing me past fans, past reporters, and toward the locker rooms.
Epilogue
Anne
“Ahhhhhh!” I screamed.
“Did they do it!?” Patricia called from the hallway. The nurse rushed into the room, her eyes glued to the TV screen mounted in the upper right corner of the small hospital room.
“Ahhhhhh,” I cried, clutching my stomach as another contraption ripped through me.
“Mary Sue! They won!” called Patricia into the hall. Mary Sue, a short woman in her fifties, rushed into the room, her eyes glued to the screen. I panted through my teeth as the contraction faded, sweat beading at my temples. I tried to focus on the screen and saw that confetti was obscuring the image. The nurses were right! The Patriots had won.
“Fuck the Patriots!”
“No no, honey, look,” said Mary Sue, rushing to my bedside and squeezing my hand. She pointed to the TV, where Dash was suddenly blocked by throngs of teammates.
“Dash Barnes!” the announcer’s voice boomed out of the small television. “The Patriots have just won the AFC championships and are headed to the Super Bowl! After a season of ups and downs, you’ve got to be feeling good!”
“He’s excited; we’re all excited. Now let him through! He’s got to get out of here!”
I watched as Ted Schneider’s face broke onto the screen, his hands on Dash’s shoulders as he propelled him off camera.
“Are those the lineman?” asked Patricia. “Oh my god, Mary Sue, look! They’re using the linemen to get him off the field.”
Mary Sue squeezed my hand again. “He’s on his way, honey. He’s coming.”
I’d been getting ready to head to the game when my water had broken. Not wanting to distract Dash from the most important game of his season, I had driven myself to the hospital. It was only four hours later, when the contractions had become bad enough that they had to get me a room, that I’d contacted him. I’d texted Dash then, knowing that his coach was keeping his phone.
The baby had come a week early. It had taken a few months for my mother to come down, but once I’d sent her an invitation to my baby shower, she’d shown up in full force and full of apologies. My father still wasn’t keen on Dash, and I was still hoping he’d come around. Both of them had planned on being in Boston during the week of the due date, but since the baby had come early, neither were close enough to get here in time. My mother was in upstate New York but wasn’t going to drive at night. She’d fly in tomorrow morning. My father was going to take the red-eye from San Francisco. My sister hadn’t responded to my call.
I don’t know how Dash managed to make it to the Brigham and Women’s from Gillette stadium in under an hour, but at midnight, he burst into the waiting room, still wearing his pads and his eye black.
I could see the nurses gaping as he grabbed a chair and all but pushed Mary Sue out of the way, taking his place at my side.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I made it.” Leaning down, he kissed my temple and whispered, “I love you. You can do this.”
There were way more medical professionals in the room than there needed to be. But I think every Patriots fan in the hospital wanted to be nearby when Dash Barnes’ baby was born.
At four in the morning, after more pain than I can accurately describe, Emily Jane Barnes graced us with her presence.
The doctors cleaned her up and handed her back to us.
Abe must have gotten word to some of the faculty and my teammates, because cards and flowers had already started arriving with messages of congratulations and hopes I’d be back to DC soon. Dash read a few of cards to me, and I saw his face set in resignation. We’d been discussing whether or not I’d move to Boston, or he’d move to DC. I’d asked him to consider DC, since my life was there. He’d rented a townhome for us in Georgetown, but hadn’t committed to purchase it yet. That was a conversation for a different day.
Along with the flowers, one of Dash’s teammates had showed up with a change of clothes for him, and after making sure that we were both all right, Dash went off to change.
As he passed the door, I saw him pause, but I was too busy gazing into the red, smushy face of my beautiful daughter to see what had made him stop.
“Can I see her?”
I looked up and saw Becca slip into the room and walk softly to my bedside. My sister’s eyes were trained on her niece, and I wasn’t imagining the slight moisture there.
I nodded, and as I handed my daughter over to my sister, I realized I was crying too. Becca held Emily for just a moment before giving her back.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I told her. How long had she been waiting?
“I wanted to see you,” said Becca. “You’re my sister. I wanted to make sure everyone was healthy. She’s…pretty,” Becca lied.
I snorted. “She will be.”
Becca nodded. “I’ll see you,” said my sister. “I just…I brought flowers. I wanted you to know I was here.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling tears slip down my face.
At the door, Dash was coming back, having changed, finally, out of his uniform. I don’t know what Becca said to him. Her hand rested for a moment on his shoulder, and she gave him a brief, hard hug. Dash returned it, kissing her temple lightly. They parted, and Dash came back to the bed, his arms out to hold his daughter.
“Look at this,” he said, drawing Emily into his chest. He looked at me, beaming.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Did we make a future president of the United States?”
“Please,” said Dash, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m holding the future Quarterback of the New England Patriots.”
Drop Kicked (Blitz Prequel)
1
Emma
The San Francisco Tomcats sure knew how to throw a party. I searched the room for my father and saw a cluster of players checking me out. I shot them a practiced smile, dazzling enough to acknowledge that I was the hottest woman in the room, but austere enough to emphasize that they had better keep their distance.
Growing up in my father's shadow, I had been surrounded by male athletes since I could walk. It wasn't until I was eighteen, when my boobs grew three sizes and my hair went from a greasy rat's nest to the silky yellow it was now, that any of them had started paying attention to me. And I had to admit–I liked it.
Now, at twenty-one, I'd grown so used to the attention that I would have been disappointed not to get it. One of the guys who'd been checking me out sauntered over, choosing not to heed my warning. Clearly, he didn't understand the terms of my smile. I recognized him as one of the new rookies, Carter Stone. He was gorgeous, with perfect golden hair and chiseled abs, just like all the other guys in this room. Nice, but nothing special.
"Hey there," he said. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Thanks," I replied, keeping my cool, "but it's hard to get my panties wet with my father in the room. Keith Grace. Know him?"
Carter shot a nervous look toward the bar. Keith Grace's six-foot-four stature and heavy frame could intimidate anyone. If not for a bad knee, he would have played ball himself. He looked up just then and scowled when he saw Carter talking to me.
"Oh, you’re Keith's daughter? Uh, nice to meet you," Carter said, then turned tail and ran.
My father would have preferred that I'd been born a boy. I think that working as a talent scout for the NFL, he wished he had an all-star athlete son that he could sign to one of the big leagues. Unfortunately for him, he had a daughter born with a body to kill for and an eye for talent but no talent of her own.
