“Unbelievable,” I mutter.
“Don’t act like I don’t know your reputation,” says my mom. Then, as an aside to Chloe, she adds, “He’s always in the papers for his womanizing these days.”
“I know,” says Chloe, looking right at me, her face still red.
“Well,” says my mom, wheeling herself a little bit closer to the pool, but not close enough that she’s in any danger of falling in. “Time to get on with it, don’t you all think?”
“I…” I start to say, and for the first time in a long, long time I find myself completely lost for words.
I just find myself staring at her, at Chloe, at her beautiful face.
Her figure is just as perfect, just as beautiful as before… but more so. I can’t describe it, but her beauty has really matured, really become something incredibly wonderful.
“Are you just going to keep staring at your old lover or are you going to leave me in peace so I can get on with my therapy? I have to get this hip working again, you know?”
“Of course…” I finally manage to say, but I can barely peel my eyes away from Chloe.
She gives me a smile and then turns to my mother to help her out of her chair.
I wonder for a moment how she’s going to get her out of the chair, but as I see her move I realize she’s a trained professional. She knows exactly what to do.
“I’ll just wait out in the…”
I was about to say car, but Chloe says there’s a waiting room.
“Must not have noticed it when I came in,” I say.
“That’s because it’s just two chairs in front of the secretary’s desk,” says Chloe, turning back to me once more.
“Enough of this infernal flirting,” says my mom, her tone harsh.
“Sorry,” I mouth at Chloe, and then turn and walk back through the door.
I can’t help but turning and taking one last look at Chloe’s body in her swimsuit. Her breasts swell and fill out the swimsuit. I can see her magnificent thighs. Her legs seem to continue forever.
But I finally tear myself away from her body.
Well, I think to myself, that went fairly well. My first time seeing Chloe in, what has it been, six years?
I can’t think of how many times I’ve thought about her. I can’t imagine how many times I’ve fantasied about her, about that night we spent together. I’ve thought about her so many times at bed at night, with my hand around my hard cock…
Surprisingly, I don’t feel any anger. I don’t feel any resentment. Sure, I felt like that in the past. I was angry. After all, she never called me back. She never made the slightest move to contact me. But there’s no rancor in me. There’s nothing but calm… yes, that’s how I feel seeing her again—calm.
And that smile she gave me…
I head back to the secretary with the mohawk and sit down in one of the folding chairs.
“This is a new place, huh?” I say.
The secretary nods at me.
“So how long has Chloe worked here?” I say.
“Chloe?” says the mohawked guy, finally looking up from his computer. “She’s the owner. So, not too long. It’s a new place.”
“She’s the owner, huh?” I say, looking around.
I suppose she must be doing fairly well for herself, if she’s the owner of this place. That takes a lot of courage to set out on a business venture like that yourself.
Then again, as I take a look around, noticing the bored looking secretary, the basic metal chairs, the lack of a real waiting room (I’m scrunched up against the wall, almost right next to the secretary), etc. etc.
The place is professional but not fancy, not luxurious. Also, there aren’t exactly a ton of clients here today.
“How many clients you guys get a day here?” I say, anxious to know more about Chloe, more about her life now.
“Sorry,” says the guy. “I don’t think Chloe would like me discussing that with clients.”
“Oh,” I say. “It’s just that, well, I’m an old friend, and I don’t think she’d mind…”
The guy takes another look at me, and suddenly his face lights up.
“Hey!” he says, his voice sounding excited. “Aren’t you Dan Cambridge?”
“Guilty as charged,” I say.
“What the hell are you doing here, man?” he says. “You guys have a game coming up, don’t you?”
“My mom hurt her hip,” I say.
He nods. “That’s nice of you.” But now he launches into a detailed play-by-play analysis of the last game I played. “You were great, man, but what about your footwork?”
I suddenly start to get angry. I can feel the anger bubbling up inside me. I’ve never liked it when people tell me what to do, and I’ve never liked it when people criticized me, whether it’s the coach doing the critiquing or some random guy on the street. I just fall out don’t like it. They’re not the ones playing, right?
“You’re some kind of football footwork expert?” I say.
What really annoys me most about this guy is that it’s exactly what Coach was telling me not too long ago.
The secretary guy can hear the anger in my voice.
“Hey, man, I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
I take a deep breath. I can see he means it. At any other time, I might fly off the handle and really tell him off. Hell, I’ve been known to knock out a guy or two in my time.
But I think of Chloe.
Chloe…
Don’t I want to have a chance with her? Don’t I want a second chance?
She’s the answer to all my problems. Well, she could be. She could be the answer I’ve been searching for. All the other women—they’re not doing anything for me now.
But Chloe—Chloe still has that power over me. I felt it back there at the pool.
I take a deep breath to calm down. If I’m going to have any shot with Chloe, I can’t be knocking out her secretary.
I take another deep breath.
Is Chloe already changing me?
“It’s OK,” I say. “No big deal.”
“Oh, good,” he says, sounding relieved. Now he goes onto to continue to talk about football. Honestly, I don’t have much interest any more in talking about the game. I mean, I play it. I’m living it. These other guys are just spectators, just fans.
I just can’t get her out of my head. I don’t see how I can possibly concentrate on a concentration when I just saw my old flame looking sexier than she’s ever looked before, wearing nothing more than a swimsuit.
Chloe
The session with Dan’s mom goes about as well as could be expected. She’s certainly a sarcastic and quick witted old lady, but she knows her stuff, and she knows that she’s got to work hard on physical therapy if she wants to recuperate the lost movement of her hip.
It’s much, much better when clients know this and expect to do some work, rather than the clients who don’t want to move a muscle but want everything to be fixed for them automatically.
I’m finding, though, to my pleasant surprise, that the people who do sign up for physical therapy in the pool are generally more determined to do the work necessary to fix their problems.
“OK, you’re good to go, Mrs. Cambridge,” I say, helping her finally get out of the pool. We didn’t really leave the shallow end, but she’s still exhausted.
I help wheel her into the changing room, where she assures me she can take care of the rest of the business at hand. She does so quite smartly, making sure there’s no doubt about her quick wit and intelligence.
But during the session I can’t get it out of my head how crazy it is that this is Dan’s mom, not to mention how crazy it is that I just saw Dan here in person.
He looked hotter than ever, or at least hotter than I remembered him (which was already pretty damn hot), and hotter than he looks on the TV, and that’s a pretty tall order, honestly, with all those football pads and his tight pants, showing off his muscular ass, his muscular thighs. I can s
till almost remember what it was like when he was deep inside me that one night six years ago.
Six years ago…
So much has changed. For one thing, I’ve had Scout.
I’ve never forgotten that Dan’s Scout’s father, but his physical presence sends a jolt up my spine. I don’t know what the jolt means. Is it a jolt of panic, pleasure, anxiety? Something else entirely. All I know is that I feel a strong, strong physical urge to get close to Dan, to sidle up next to him, to stroke his hard body.
I need to find out about him… I’m drawn to him in many ways, but I also need to find things out about him. I need to find out if the rumors are true.
After all, I should tell him about Scout, shouldn’t I? I owe it to Dan, and I owe it to Scout. But I have my doubts… serious doubts.
There are so many rumors in the mainstream press about Dan’s womanizing ways. It really doesn’t sound at all like he’s fit to be a father.
But, then again, can that really detain me from telling him the truth? Don’t I owe it to him, no matter what type of person he’s turned into? Even if he’s the most irresponsible player ever to grace the pro leagues, he still should know, shouldn’t he?
But I just don’t want to get hurt, and most of all I don’t want Scout to get hurt. She’s the most precious person to me, the most important, and I feel this incredibly strong need to protect her.
My thoughts run wild as I spend about ten minutes putting away the floatation devices that I use for my physical therapy, walking around the pool in my swimsuit.
I can’t get Dan out of my head. His body is in my mind’s eye, and I find myself wondering what he looks like with his shirt off. I’d be lying if I said I’d never looked for picture of him online, and if I said I never fantasied about him. But despite being a hot topic for the gossip papers, considering all the famous women he has supposedly “dated,” and I use that term in the loosest sense possible
I head into another one of the changing rooms. Mrs. Cambridge has already left hers, because there’s no noise coming from there, and the door’s open.
I can’t get my mind off Dan’s body. I just can’t. My breathing is getting rapid.
I peel off my wet swimsuit and find that my nipples are hard. I dry myself off and I’m just standing here naked, incredibly turned on, with Dan’s body flashing across my mind’s eye over and over again, in various naked poses. The way I imagine him naked is similar to how I last saw him naked, with his huge cock, but this time his muscles are bigger. He’s more ripped, more chiseled, and simply more hardened. His face is more chiseled now. He’s a real man now. I wonder if he can act like one?
I need to go out there and talk to him. After all, apparently he’s only in town for a couple days, and then he’s heading back to training and playing in the pros. He’s got a game coming up. I know that for sure, because like I said, I do find myself tracking him on the internet once in a while, even though I don’t know anything about football.
I try thinking about something else. I try thinking about the most unsexy things I can think of, because I heard that’s a trick that guys use when they don’t want to finish too fast when they’re having sex, or when it’s really inconvenient that they get an erection and they need it to go down right away.
This sounds absurd, but I find myself in the same predicament right now. I can’t go out there breathless, out of breath, with my nipples showing through the shirt the way I know they will.
Since my thoughts keep coming back to Dan no matter what, I’ve got to take care of this right now. I’ve got to be a professional and simply do the most logical thing I can think of. I’ll probably laugh at my foolishness later, but with how turned on I am right now, this seems to be the best course of action…
I slide my hand down between my legs, with one hand cupping my breasts, and I close my eyes and imagine Dan’s naked cock. Despite all my best intentions on being a professional, here I am in the changing room of my own business, masturbating to my old and one time flame.
My head tilts back and my eyes close.
My fingers are moving fast, very fast, as I picture Dan, shirtless, naked, his muscles bulging, his cock throbbing. I imagine what it would feel like to have him deep, deep inside me again, his cock buried all the way up to the hilt, the girth of his cock stretching me like it did once before, when it felt so, so good, so intense.
The orgasm is building and building. It only takes me a couple minutes before it explodes through me.
The pleasure streams through my body like a flood. I bite my lip to keep from making any sounds.
Half a minute later, the pleasure is gone, the orgasm over, and my breathing is starting to return to normal.
I feel my nipples and… well, mission accomplished. Hell, this isn’t how it normally works for me, though. It’s not like women’s bodies are analogues in so many ways to men’s bodies. But, this time, this was what I needed, just a quick release.
I head out and Sam gives me a strange look.
“Is Dan still here?” I say. “I mean… Mrs. Cambridge?”
“Did you know he’s a pro football player?” says Sam, his eyes wide with respect and admiration.
“Yeah,” I say, hastily. “Are they still here?” I don’t know exactly how long my little dalliance in the changing room took, but it couldn’t have been that long.
“They’re in the parking lot, I think,” he says, pointing out the door. “They just left…”
But I run out of the building before Sam can finish talking.
Mrs. Cambridge has already been loaded into the van, her wheel chair and everything.
Dan’s in the driver’s seat, with the window partially rolled down despite the cool weather. I can see his face with his slight stubble beard… looking so hot, a look of determination running across his face.
I run up to the window, and he gives me a smile as he sees me, his face breaking from grim (yet hot) seriousness, into an expression of joy. That’s a good sign, right? But, wait, what do I want from him? Do I really want him back? I suddenly have my doubts.
“Hey,” I say, as his face appears suddenly next to mine without the window acting as a barrier between us.
“Hey,” says Dan, grinning at me. “Looks like you were quite helpful.”
“Oh,” I say. “Glad it worked well for you, Mrs. Cambridge,” I call towards the back seat.
“Just ask her out already, Dan,” she says, her voice somewhat shrill and impatient.
I blush what must be a deep rose color.
“You look cute when you blush,” says Dan.
“I’m not blushing,” I say, clearly feeling my face blush.
“So…” says Dan. “I hate to say it, but I’m going to take my mom’s advice for once in my life.”
“About time,” says his mom, scoffing from the back seat.
“…and ask you out,” says Dan.
“I’d love to,” I say, quickly, way too quickly.
“I haven’t even said where or when yet,” says Dan.
“Oh,” I say, feeling dumb and too eager, far too eager.
“How about dinner tonight?” says Dan.
“OK!” I say, without a moment’s hesitation.
Dan gives me a wink, and says he better be getting on home.
I wave goodbye as he slowly drives the van out of the parking lot. I bet the paparazzi would kill for a picture like this, the famous womanizing football player, the hottest man in the league, driving his wheelchair bound mother back from physical therapy.
I stand here in the cold without a jacket on, my face still flushed. My whole body feels flushed, and I tingle with excitement.
This could become so many things…
Suddenly, a worry pops into my head. What if he’s still mad that I never contacted him, never responded to his messages, to his phone calls? But, then again, maybe he has come to understand with time that I was going through that horrifically difficult patch with my father dying and being on dialysis an
d all that.
Another worry (why can’t my mind be still?), but this one’s more important. I agree in excitement to go to dinner tonight, but that means that I have to get a sitter for Scout. I’ve always been home for Scout after school, since my life has just been being a mom and working when Scout’s in school.
I have no idea where I can get a sitter on such short notice. I’ve only hired a neighborhood girl a few times when I had to run out to some errands at the last minute, and she turned out not to be too reliable, bringing her boyfriend over and drinking all my wine and then lying about it, even when she had obviously spilled plenty of it on the carpet.
The only person I could contact is my Aunt Donna, who’s in her late 80s now, but still sharp and as spry as a spring chicken, as they say, if there’s any truth to the expression at all.
I run back into past Sam, who looks at me, startled.
“What’s…” he start to say, but I brush past him, heading to where my jacket and purse are.
I grab my phone and hit Aunt Donna’s number.
“I thought I’d hear from you sooner,” she says, having taken what felt like ages to pick up the phone. She doesn’t have a cell phone and doesn’t like them or understand them. She just has one regular old landline in her house, and I can just picture her getting more and more annoyed as it rings until she’s finally compelled to head over and pick it up.
“Sorry, Aunt Donna,” I say. “But you know how busy I’ve been with setting up this new business.”
“All you young people and your ideas…” she says. “Back in my day, we just…”
“I’m going to have to cut you off right there, Donna,” I say. “You’re starting to sound like a cliché of an old person.”
“Oh, dear,” says Donna. “Thanks for letting me know.”
I laugh at this.
“Like I said before, always let me know when that happens,” says Donna, her voice sounding faint as she starts to inadvertently hold the phone too far away from her face.
“You’re doing that thing again with the phone,” I say. “Anyway, Donna, do you still have your driver’s license?”
Running Back's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance Page 8
