Coach Love

by Liz Crowe

  Kieran pulled his mother out of the room with him. Once they were down the hall a ways, she yanked her arm out of his grip.

  “You are a stone cold fool,” she declared while glaring holes in him.

  “Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know?” He whirled away from her and kept moving out the door to his car, getting in behind the wheel before recalling he had to get her home, too.

  Lindsay took her time following him, likely chatting with every single hospital employee and patient, asking after their mamas and daddies and grandbabies. He gritted his teeth and sat behind the wheel, waiting her out. She finally climbed into the passenger’s seat of the vehicle he’d been allotted from the Love family collection, buckled her belt, and looked straight ahead. They traveled in silence for about ten minutes, her only comment about the weather.

  Grunting a rude, Lindsay-unacceptable reply he pulled into his family home driveway, got out, and walked around to assist her. Before she opened the front door, she turned and the accusatory expression on her face was so familiar from his life as a boy and teenager, he wanted to yell.

  “Kieran Francesco, that baby....” He tried to turn away from her, which earned him a whack to the back of his head. “Don’t you dare walk away while I’m speaking to you, young man.” Her voice dipped lower, indicating seriousness. He shook his head and suppressed his need to state the obvious, moot-point nature of that question.

  His father appeared in the doorway. Lindsay turned to him, irritation making her face flush red. “What are you doing home? Love Brewing not open for business today?”

  Kieran’s father opened his mouth to speak.

  “Oh be quiet,” she snapped at him. “You are both...so...so....” She sighed. “Move out of my way.” She smacked her husband’s arm. Kieran stepped back, eager to get the hell out of Dodge.

  “Son,” his father intoned, ignoring his wife’s outburst.

  “Sir?”

  “What’s going on with that girl?”

  “Nothing that concerns me. I happened to be there, getting Mama from her appointment when she....Anyway, her fiancé is with her now. I gotta go.”

  “Thanks for managing Dominic.”

  The temptation to tell his father the truth and force him to face the extent of Dominic’s issues gripped him hard. But Kieran decided to stay with what worked for the Love family—handle it, don’t talk about it more than necessary, move on to the next crisis, and hope the previous one disappears. “You’re welcome. Wish me luck. I have a job interview tomorrow.”

  “Oh? Where?”

  “Pussycat Lounge, over by the airport.”

  “Pussycat...uh...oh, right.”

  “They need bouncers.” Kieran took a small bit of satisfaction letting his father’s imagination run for a few seconds. He was certain Anton had been to that place before it had been bought out and facelifted by some corporation. But slap lipstick on a pig all you want. At the end of the day, the Pussycat Lounge remained a sleazy, down-market, small town strip joint. And he, Kieran Francesco Love with his B.A. in history, a one-time NBA star, was praying the place would hire him to deal with rowdy clients getting too friendly with the girls.

  “I see. Well, good luck. I’d best check on your mama.”

  “Yeah. Tell her thanks for me. She was a big help.”

  Kieran climbed into the car and fired up the rebuilt engine. The partial payment from the insurance company had floated him rent and a phone payment and he’d banked the rest, after tossing the credit card people a few bucks. Thankfully, the Love family had a small stable of cars collected through the years, so one had been assigned to him.

  A loud radio went a ways toward drowning out the sounds in his head. By the time he parked next to his building, exhaustion had overtaken him to the point he could easily stay in the car and nap as get out and go into his long-neglected apartment. The past few hours had been, on the Love scale of drama, a real ten point five. Cara pregnant had not been something he’d expected. But to find out, only to see her suffer as fate changed its fickle mind made his whole body seize with anguish. He groaned and put his forehead on the steering wheel. The heat finally forced him out, mind spinning and gut churning.

  He slouched his way across the hot pavement. The building’s front door had been propped open as usual. His shoulder sang out, reminding him of Cara’s cool touch. Cursing under his breath, he unlocked and kicked open his door. Instead of being assaulted by stale air, accentuated by old garbage, he smelled a strange sort of freshness. A candle burned on the fake fireplace mantel and music came from somewhere.

  “What in the.... Who’s here?” He dropped the six pack of Love Brewing Heartbreak IPA on the miniscule kitchen counter, unable to imagine who would not only have a key but would be inclined to clean his crappy space for him. “I’m not in the mood for this,” he muttered. “I need a shower and...oh... hello.”

  When he walked into the single bedroom off the living room, he got an eye-popping view of female perfection in the form of Melinda, his former fiancée, dressed in nothing but a bra, garter belt, silk stockings, and shiny black high heels. She stood in front of his newly made bed. Another candle flickered on the bedside table. Music oozed from somewhere. The knee-jerk impulse to leap at her, to resume his life as almost-married to the successful, bitchy lady lawyer very nearly overwhelmed him.

  “What the hell do you want?” he asked instead, bracing himself on the doorframe, as if it would stop him.

  She moved to him quickly, putting her arms around his neck. As she pressed her mouth to his, soft, gentle, testing his resolve, he clamped down on the urge to meet her halfway. Her tongue breached his lips and his body responded in kind, hardening instantly and painfully, his heart thudding in his chest. With a low, growling sound, he grabbed her ass, mashing her nearly naked body against his.

  “Oh, baby, I missed you,” she said after breaking away and smiling at him in a way that cooled his ardor ever so slightly.

  Blinded by lust, by the need to feel connected to somebody, he shoved the misgiving out of his head. “No talking.” He grabbed her and tossed her down on the bed, making her giggle. Starting at one ankle, he nibbled and licked his way up, stopping when he reached the tempting center and doing it all over with the other leg, absorbing her every groan, every shiver, every spasm of pleasure. His cock hurt. His head pounded. His shoulder screamed in agony by the time he fumbled his zipper open, ripped her silky excuse for panties off, located a condom in his bedside table then shoved into her, sighing with relief. She angled her hips, locked her legs around his waist, and gripped his neck.

  “Come on, baby. Fuck me like you know you want to.”

  “Just don’t talk, for one minute, will you please,” he gasped and buried his face in her breasts, his hips moving of their own accord, thrusting, pounding, her exquisite tight grip pulling him toward an inevitable, quick end. “God, God, God,” he said, in time with his thrusts, unable to stop, unwilling to try.

  He let the orgasm take him, not even bothering with guilt over not drawing multiples from her before taking his own release. It exploded from the base of his spine, blinded and deafened him to everything but the pure, physical sensation of her body gripping his dick in an exquisite vise. “Yes,” he hissed and shivered in the aftermath, sweat dripping onto Melinda’s breasts.

  She kept her legs and arms around him, running fingers through his hair, murmuring apologies and other nonsense words into his addled brain. The after connection, something she normally discouraged, preferring to disengage, kick him out of the bed so she could clean up or whatever, lulled him into a light doze.

  When he woke, he faced an empty pillow. Music drifted through the air as well as the smell of something delicious. Body sated, his mind went on high alert, questioning and second-guessing what he’d just done. He stumbled into the shower, cranking the thing to the hottest possible setting, wanting to wash her expensive perfume and lustiness off his skin.

  He scrubbed and eme
rged, skin shining pink and stinging. After finding some shorts and an old T-shirt, he wiped off the foggy bathroom mirror and studied his face a few seconds before heading into the other room. Melinda had set the small table for two with china, crystal, and more candles.

  He collapsed into his chair and poured a healthy portion of the no-doubt expensive wine into his glass, while she pulled something out of the oven. The booze entered his system with a rush. His neural pathways accepted it, dancing with happiness. His taste buds rejoiced. His brain finally calmed for the first time in weeks. He observed her in silence as she moved around his miniscule kitchen, putting salads on plates, serving portions of the lasagna on another.

  “Where did you get that?” He pointed to the food. “I know you didn’t cook it.” His new capacity for asshole commentary shocked him.

  “As a matter of fact, I did. It’s your mother’s recipe. She gave it to me yesterday.”

  “My...mother’s....” Rendered speechless and woozy from sex and wine, he forced thoughts of Cara out of his head and faced Melinda, curious, and willing to let her keep making the moves. “Well, that’s an interesting plot twist. Your porn-star boyfriend dump you or what?”

  She treated him to a little pout of displeasure then softened her expression, continuing her concerted, out-of-character effort to impress him. It pissed him off, but turned him on at the same time. Maybe he should play this out, see where it took them.

  After finishing off his first glass without tasting it, he poured another portion. She set the food on the table and smiled. He sensed something in his chest flex, a muscle he’d not used often when it came to women.

  Something else gripped him then, forcing him to act. He took her hand and pulled her close so she straddled him, her lips near his, not speaking but no words seemed necessary. His body reacted immediately, giving him a pleasant shock. Not bad for a thirty-something guy.

  She grinned and rubbed against his growing erection. Her eager, urgent mouth lit a fire in his gut. Her cleavage seemed to be a great place to focus, so he did for a few minutes, fondling, licking, and sucking to his heart’s content. But when he glanced up to gauge her reaction, her expression was cold and flat, in direct contradiction to the noises she kept making.

  Fury lit the edges of his vision. He threaded his fingers into her silky black hair and closed them into a fist, pulling until she hissed, and he sensed her chemistry shift from bored and accommodating to nervous and—dare he think it—actually aroused.

  “I think I know what you like now,” he muttered into her skin, his fingers digging into her ass.

  She nodded, still gasping. He pulled her hair harder and shoved his shorts aside with his other hand, angling his hips so he could get inside her again. The lack of condom didn’t even faze him he was so unbelievably horny at that split second. She held onto his biceps, moaning when he shoved into her and latched onto her breast with his teeth. The chair moved all the way across the cheap linoleum floor, slamming against the wall as she ground down on him and came so hard he gasped at the strength of her body as it tugged him over the edge into the abyss once more.

  They sat in silence, their bodies cooled against each other’s. “You are some kind of nasty,” he said with a sigh, searching her face for signs of boredom or impending bitchiness. But satisfaction the likes of which he hadn’t seen since she’d first let him into the promised Melinda-land gave her skin a sexy, flushed tint.

  “I knew you had it in you.” She sucked on his bottom lip hard, nipping it then letting go. A slice of fear-tinged dread touched his brain.

  What the hell have I signed on for now? A non-stop, Melinda kinkfest? Do I even want that?

  Grunting in angry frustration, he shoved her up and off him then tucked his overworked dick into his shorts, still breathless and going a little numb as she primly re-tied her slinky bathrobe and winked at him.

  “Hungry, lover boy?” She sashayed her way across the room, leaving him feeling crappy again. But hungry as a bear to be sure, so he dragged the chair to the table and downed the rest of his wine. He sloshed more into his glass, expecting her to nag at him about drinking too much of her good stuff and noted that she had another bottle and was uncorking it in such a way it seemed like the sexiest action on the planet. He licked his lips as she extracted the cork with a pop and a wiggle, sniffed it then gave it to him.

  He pulled her close, sticking the cork between her legs, feeling the warmth there, smelling their combined scents and hating his own guts for being such a weak SOB. When he put the cork to her lips, she took it, sucked on it then shoved her tongue between his lips again. He groaned and let her before pushing her away.

  “I gotta eat or I won’t be able to fuck much more,” he insisted, wincing at his language and expecting a lecture.

  She smiled and sat, tucking into her food like a convict, shocking him. He’d never seen her eat like she actually enjoyed it. The hits just kept on coming. He flinched when her bare toes landed on his thigh under the table.

  Later, he lay awake in bed with Melinda curled into his side sound asleep. As he trailed his fingers down her hair and across her bare shoulders, he pondered his dilemma. Never in his life had he felt both sexually satisfied and utterly confused. Melinda had used very few words the entire night, letting her actions do the talking. The dinner had ended with a dessert of strawberries she’d encouraged him to dip into the cream she had spread all over her slim torso. After he licked it all off, ending at her nipples, making her squeal and moan, she’d flipped over onto all fours, wiggling her perfect ass at him so he’d taken her again, from behind this time, rutting like an animal on his threadbare living room carpet. He couldn’t refuse such bounty even though it came at the cost of his current insomniac anxiety.

  He kissed her hair and she muttered something then shifted, throwing her leg over his and molding against his naked body. They’d needed a bath after all that sticky food play and so he’d washed her, lovingly, gently, until she’d threaded her fingers in his hair and yanked him close. “I don’t need coddling. I thought you’d figured that out by now?” She had shoved him down and given him a lap dance in the tub, the candle flickering, the music still playing. He had no concept of how his body had been capable, but it rose to the occasion while she loomed over him and demanded that he masturbate while she watched.

  “Tell me when,” she’d said, her voice throaty with lust as he sat, jerking off in the tub. “I want to taste it.”

  But he’d not done it. Something about that gave him the creeps. He’d let go of his dick and flopped into the tepid water. “No more, please. Uncle already.” She’d grinned and toweled him off then guided him to the bed where they fell in together and into sleep nearly immediately.

  Now he lay awake, body sore in more places than he cared to admit, cradling the woman that he didn’t want. Kieran was nothing if not fully self-aware. He knew his own weaknesses. One of them being a near-burning desire to be with someone, all the time. Alone did not suit him at all. The thought of explaining to his parents and siblings why the horrible, cheating Melinda had been allowed once more into his life made him a little ill.

  He got out from under her and stretched before heading into the kitchen for water and stood there, facing his future, pondering how he might cut the woman loose again and knowing that he wouldn’t. His phone buzzed on the counter and a text from Cara lit the screen.

  Hey. I wanted to thank you. So, thank you.

  He smiled and leaned against the counter, thinking about his answer. Finally he kept it simple. I hope you’re okay. Home now?

  Yes.

  I’m sorry about...he tapped out then deleted it, unable to finish the sentence. Anxiety tickled the base of his skull. She sent another message before he could compose something coherent.

  I’m fine. Gotta rest a few days, not work. Get waited on. It’s probably for the best.

  Well, I’m sure you’re in good hands there. His scalp prickled with jealousy as the deeper meaning of
what, exactly, had been for the best filled his consciousness.

  Yes. I am. Her words effectively dispelled his momentary fantasy of swooping in to rescue her from Kent the jerk, or Kent the abuser. He’s a good man.

  Well, good for you both. ‘Night.

  The ten-thousand-pound gorilla in the virtual room, the question of could the baby have been mine? went unasked. Staring at his phone, willing her to say more, to flirt, or to tell him the items on her to-do list, anything, he sucked in a breath at her next message.

  No need to feel guilty. There’s no more baby to worry about so no need to fret that you might have knocked me up.

  He composed half a dozen messages, deemed all of them too personal, or too long, or too strident and dialed her number twice without letting the call go through. Glaring down at the device, heart in his throat, he jumped when someone touched his shoulders. Irritated, and wishing Melinda would get the hell out and go home, leave him to mope in peace, he deleted the entire message string and held onto the woman in front of him, needing something to drown out his misery at his own failures.

  His fingers twisted in her thin T-shirt, desperation filling the void Cara had left in his soul. But he took a deep breath, let go of Melinda, and took put some needed distance between them. “I don’t love you. I don’t want to marry you. You need to leave.”

  The expression on her face made his inner nice guy flinch. But he wrestled that bastard down, sat on his neck, and waited while Melinda flounced to the bedroom. She remerged, dressed, pulling her long black hair into a ponytail. He waited, knowing a woman like her would never leave without the last word.

  She put her hand on the doorknob and studied him with those cold, flat gray eyes. “Best of luck to you,” she said.

  He exhaled slowly and faced the window to make sure she actually left. It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to chase after her and beg her to come back. But he used it, and waited until the taillights of her car flashed red as she drove off down the road.