by Shey Stahl
“Fuck, that’s hot,” I groan, leaning in so my chest presses against hers. “Beg again.”
This time she growls and acts like she’s going to kick me in the balls. Instinctively, I cover them. “If you don’t stop, you’re going to be rolling on the ground like Adler.”
“If you have sex with me, it’d actually help me focus so you should look at it as a helpful act of kindness.”
“Only you can take sex and turn it into an act of a Good Samaritan.”
Sensing her guard is down, I move closer until we find ourselves chest to chest. Underneath her tight tank top, I can see her nipples are pushing through her shirt. Fuck yeah, she’s turned on and it only makes me want to bury every inch of my cock deep inside her pussy.
She stops me from coming closer with her hand on my stomach. “I’ve already told you, we can’t. Landon, it’ll only complicate us, and I don’t want that. Do you?”
“Uh, yeah, I want you.” It’s more than want. I want to own her. I want to rip her clothes off, spread her thighs and taste that cunt of hers. It’s that bad. I know what you’re thinking, or at least I can assume. You’re thinking, Jesus, Landon, that’s graphic. And I’d say, you have no idea how graphic I can get. You’ve been warned.
“That’s not what I mean. Us. That would be more complicated.”
“I don’t see how having sex would complicate us,” I point out, because I’ve never understood her argument about complicating us. Friends can have sex. Friends can remain friends and still have sex, can’t they? Dipping my head forward, I catch her eyesight, my jaw muscles tightening as I pull her closer. The warmth of her body in my arms radiates through me. “We won’t know until we try.”
“You’re with Alessa….”
“No, I’m not.” My lips are inches from hers, begging to close the distance and finally kiss her. “I’m a free agent,” I whisper. You might be surprised to know that Ember and I, well, we’ve kissed before, but we were drunk at the time and honestly, I can’t tell you a damn thing about it other than she tasted like the strawberry margarita she’d been sucking down all night. I know it never went any further than the kiss because she passed out and I’m not an asshole. The next morning, she refused to talk about it with me and hasn’t since that day three years ago.
“Landon—”
She’s about to say something when Cat walks in. “Shit, sorry. Should I leave?”
Yes, get the fuck out!
Ember steps back, straightening her shirt out. “No. What’s up?”
“Just so I’m sure, because you know my brain is scrambled like an omelet, there are five kids, right?”
Reaching for a roll of tape beside her, Ember laughs, and I move away from her, back to my shoe collection, knowing she’s going to avoid me now.
“Yeah, there are five of them,” Ember tells her.
Cat glances over her shoulder at the door, and then back to Ember. “Well I’m only counting four.”
Packing a box with shoes, I grin and add, “That’s because Marley’s clicking her mouse in the bathroom.”
A collective, “Landon!” rings through the room. Probably shouldn’t have said that.
Ember smacks me on the back of the head. “I told you to shut up with that.” Then she turns to Cat to reassure her she didn’t lose one again. I say again because there was a small incident yesterday where she lost Adler for like an hour. She found him in the lobby with Gus talking about the Seahawks defensive line. Kid’s obsessed with football. For good reason. “Marley’s in the bathroom.”
Cat doesn’t say anything for a moment and then looks even more confused. “Yeah, okay, but that’s why I’m confused. There are only three in the living room. I’m no genius, but even I can do the math and we’re missing one.”
Ember sighs and walks out of the room. I follow her to watch her ass. Not only to watch her ass, but where’d the other kid go? Probably in the lobby again.
Braylee’s on the floor with her Gameboy. Adler’s lying on the couch with ice on his balls telling Braylee that he will get revenge and he’s pretty sure he could hide her body. Don’t listen to him. He’s talking nonsense. Believe me, I grew up with a sister who used to punch me to get what she wanted. Being punched in the sac causes you to hallucinate.
Haisley’s sitting on the chair next to the window, coloring in a notebook, but there’s no little one.
“Where’s the baby?” Ember asks, looking at me.
“Where’s Nalani?” I ask the other kids, my voice elevated to get their attention. It’s no surprise that no one answers me. They don’t even look up.
Ember walks over to Haisley and sits next to her. “Haisley, honey, where’s your little sister?”
Haisley smiles. “I saw her climbing on the boxes.” And then she goes back to her coloring.
Ember, Cat, and I look at the door where the boxes are and there’s certainly evidence Nalani had been climbing on them at one point by the half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Ember points to the door. “It’s open.”
Panic floods through me. All three of us run into the hallway but she’s not there. I check downstairs and Ember calls security to see if they’ve seen her. About six months after I moved in, there had been some issues with women following me up to my condo, so we had to install a camera and a security code to get to the penthouse level. Security searches through the last hour of recorded video only to find nothing. The last person to leave or enter my condo was Cat.
“She has to be in here somewhere,” Ember tells me when I hang up my phone, looking around the boxes and inside some of them that hadn’t been taped up yet.
Marley comes walking out of the bathroom, fully dressed now and a towel wrapped around her head with a large billow of steam following her out. She takes in our expressions. “What’s going on?”
Still in panic mode, I level her a glare. “Is Nalani in there with you?”
“No.”
I can’t believe I haven’t had the kids a week and I’ve already lost one. Thoughts of Oma flying to Seattle to punch me in the nut sac flood my brain. I start to walk away and search the rest of the condo when I remember her taking an hour-long shower. “Why are you taking so many showers?”
Marley’s face immediately flushes. “Why do you care? It’s not like you pay for the water bill. Ember does everything for you.”
That’s an uncalled-for response, yet accurate. She storms past me and slams the door to my bedroom on me.
Ember elbows me in the stomach. “I thought I told you to leave her alone.”
“I think I’m allowed to know what’s going on in my own bathroom,” I grumble, glancing around the living room. Cat’s sitting on the chair next to Haisley coloring and it seems everyone has forgotten the baby is still missing somewhere in this condo.
That’s when we hear giggling from the kitchen. Ember and I walk over and try to listen carefully in an attempt to pinpoint where it’s coming from. We open drawers one by one and then start with the upper cabinets and she’s not there either.
I glance at the cabinet above the refrigerator and look over at Ember.
“There’s no way she climbed all the way up there.”
“The kid is like the Evel Knievel of toddlers. I wouldn’t put it past her.” Carefully, I reach up to open the cabinet door. I don’t think anyone would be surprised to see her jump out and yell, “Peeka oooh!”
I catch her, midjump before she hits the kitchen island, laughing. “Hey, now. I’m usually the one throwing not catching!” I hug her close and kiss the top of her head. She smells like peanut butter. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Nalani squirms in my arms when she notices Cat and begs to get down. “Down? Kitty? Down?”
Kitty? I’m guessing that means Cat, but I can’t be sure. Placing her on her feet, sure enough, she runs toward Cat. “Kitty!”
I don’t know how parents do this shit every single day for eighteen years. How do you not die of a heart
attack at everything they do?
Pocket – The area where the quarterback stands during a play while looking to throw the ball downfield and where his linemen are protecting him. If the offensive lineman doesn’t properly block, then the pocket will collapse.
During the last few weeks of August every year, a few things happen in Seattle. The weather stays nice, smoke moves in from distant wildfires, the Seahawks start their preseason games and, more importantly, what I’m the most excited about, Starbucks brings back the Pumpkin Spice latte and all is right in the world again.
Landon, the one beside me with his knee bouncing and trying to stomach the scrambled eggs Haisley made him this morning, he might think otherwise. For one, he likes his coffee black, can’t stand the smell of pumpkin, and it’s game day, so naturally he’s on edge.
Dipping my head forward, I catch his eyesight for a moment. With his Beats headphones on, he’s barely listening to anything around him, attempting to get in the zone of game day. Usually I wouldn’t be bothering him with this stuff, but today, I have to. “What time are you leaving for the field?”
Bobbing his head to the music playing, he doesn’t look up from his eggs he’s pushing around his plate like a child avoiding vegetables. Sliding the headphones off his right ear, he frowns, annoyed I’m talking to him. “What?”
“What time are you leaving for the field?”
“Around noon, I think.”
“Good.” I push my iPad in front of him to show him schools. “We need to get the kids registered for school. I’m thinking The Bush School is going to be the best bet because we can keep them all at the same school. Tuition isn’t cheap, but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. It’s better to have them in a good school.” I point to the screen. “They’re rated number one in the state for private school and third for college prep.” Let’s pause for a moment, shall we? Out of everything I said, I’m more concerned with the tone of my voice. Immediately, I want to take back the possession of my words when I refer to them as “the kids” and “we” because my reference is possessive and for some reason, the way Landon raises an eyebrow at me, I’m beginning to think he caught onto it as well.
“I’m fine with that. Set it up for me.”
Lifting my coffee to my lips, I nod, feeling a bit of relief we’ve gotten the house and school thing handled. Now we just need to get Adler enrolled in football—because the kid is freaking out over not playing—and Haisley in gymnastics. The other kids don’t seem too interested in sports yet, or any desire to get settled. Braylee refuses to unpack her room and Marley, she rarely looks up from her phone and the sketch pad in her hand. Then there’s Nalani. She spends her days going up and down the stairs. Over. And. Over. Again. All. Day. Long.
I can’t help but think she’s going to have great legs as she gets older.
For a week now I’ve been staying at Landon’s house. Not in the house, but the guest house. Cat and I finally moved and while I admit, it’s so much better than the condo, it’s still weird for me that I’m living on Landon’s property. I guess it wasn’t as weird when I was living in the condo he paid for because I was working for him and he paid the rent. So why is it different now?
I haven’t figured that part out yet and it’s driving me fucking crazy trying to pinpoint the difference. I will say that the guest house is amazing. Fourteen hundred square feet, three bedrooms (already set up my art studio in one), two bathrooms (including a large Jacuzzi tub). It beats sleeping on the couch. And having a place to set up my art, as opposed to a closet, is exactly what I need to finish my showcase for the fall expo, something I’ve been putting off for years. This year I’m doing it, though. And now that I have the space to do it, no more excuses. #goals #dedicatedAF
Beside me, Landon removes his headphones and pushes his plate aside, a good portion of the eggs remaining on the plate. “I can’t eat that anymore. It tastes like she dumped the entire bottle of salt on them.”
Reaching for the fork, I take a bite. “It can’t be that bad.” And I immediately regret those words. They are that bad. And crunchy.
With a satisfied grin, Landon smiles. “You were saying?”
Reaching for my pumpkin spice, I gulp back two drinks. “Holy shit. I feel like I just swallowed a shot of salt mixed with eggshells.”
Leaning his elbows on the table, Landon winks. “I have something you can swallow.”
I fight the urge to punch him in the face in front of children. “You’re awful.”
Without looking, he reaches for his coffee, but grabs mine instead. I don’t stop him. Paybacks are a bitch, fucker. “I’m horny. There’s a difference,” he says with a cocky edge. And then he takes a drink and spits it back out all over the table. “That’s awful.” The back of his hand sweeps over his mouth. “How can you drink that bullshit? It’s like Thanksgiving dessert vomited in a cup.”
“We get to go to the game?” Adler asks, barely able to sit still as we head to the stadium. Landon had to be at the field earlier this afternoon but me, Cat, and the kids decided to leave later.
I flip my blinker on, turning left onto 6th Ave toward the stadium. “Yep.”
“Where are our seats?” he asks. Our stares meet in the rearview mirror, excitement in his eyes and sun freckles dusting his nose. Out of all the kids, Adler looks like Landon the most. Same eyes and smile, the same intoxicating presence they hold, and when they smile, you can’t help but do the same.
“We actually have a suite for this game.” Waving to the parking attendant and flashing our pass, I enter the private parking garage. “We’re gonna head down to the field for the warmups and you can see Landon. We’ll head up to the suite after that.”
Cat glances up from her phone. “I’ve been to a game before, right?”
I smile. “Yes, babe, you have.”
Her eyes drop to her hands, fidgeting with her lanyard around her neck. “I thought so.”
Wanting to reassure her, I reach for her hand. “You’re fine. Don’t worry about it.”
The shitty part is, she will worry about it. She always does. It’s why she broke up with her boyfriend after the accident and hasn’t had one since then. She thinks she’s a burden, but she’s not.
I grab her hand. “Short-term memory is overrated, hon.”
She gives me that cute Kitty Cat look I love the most. The one where her eyes light up with a smile. “Yeah. You’re right.”
I’m not sure she believes me.
After parking the Escalade, which is crazy in a parking garage—the bitch fills up the entire parking spot—Cat and I gather up the clan to head into the stadium. All five of them stare at the building with wide eyes, taking in the sights and sounds of a Thursday night game.
“This place is huge!” Braylee notes, pulling her Seahawks’ hoodie on and adjusting the sleeves by rolling them up.
“How big is it?” Adler asks, flipping his hat around backward to look up at it. “How many people can fit in here?”
“Seventy-two thousand,” Braylee tells him, only to have him roll his eyes. Braylee loves to read and she’s like a real-life encyclopedia or one of those Magic 8-Balls you shake for an answer.
My first football game was here at CenturyLink field four years ago, two days after I met Landon. It was a crisp fall Sunday afternoon with the smells of popcorn, Beecher’s cheese and Rain Shadow meats, the go-tos at the stadium. Remembering it like it was yesterday, I sat next to Cat and Landon’s sister who I had no idea would be gone a few weeks later. But that day, that Sunday, I watched a man who was very quickly becoming my best friend, play a 21-12 win over the Minnesota Vikings. Landon threw for 233 yards and two touchdowns and to this day, I still get that same buzzing sensation in my veins when I see him step onto the field in an innately artful display of athleticism. The venue, CenturyLink Field tucked away south of downtown, has everything to do with the atmosphere of a game day.
Whether it be a preseason game or a regular season game in week eight, the
energy is the same. Coming off a win last week in Kansas City against the Chiefs, the crowd has a certain feel to it. I can’t explain it either; it’s just amped. Every franchise in the league goes through low points and for years the Seahawks hadn’t done much of anything during the season, until Landon and Quinn Harvey were drafted. I honestly believe they’re the two holding the team together. Of course, they are notable players, but those two, when they find one another on the field, can drive an entire game.
With a tight hold on Nalani, who I can tell is dying to run away and climb something, we make our way inside the stadium. Landon’s on the field now warming up, the sidelines swarming with media, celebrities, players, coaches. You name it and they’re down there. The nice thing about it is families are permitted on the field during the pregame activities.
Cat holds Haisley, and I keep my hands on Nalani, but it’s not Landon I notice first. It’s Alessa. That’s not unheard of because up until now, you probably didn’t know she’s the head coach’s daughter, did you? Surprise! In part, I like to think that’s the only reason Landon’s been dating her on and off for the last four years, but then again, it might have something to do with her body. While I look like my ass swallowed watermelons, Alessa is tall, stick thin and has perky tits. Just imagine a Victoria’s Secret model with bleach-blonde hair and freakishly long legs. I’m not even joking. Check ’em out. She’s the one to the left of Landon, checking herself out in her fucking cell phone. They’re long, aren’t they? All I picture is them wrapped around Landon’s waist and it makes me angry. When you’re five foot two—I like to lie and say I’m five foot three—everyone with long legs is on my automatic hate radar.
“She’s pretty!” Haisley gleams, pointing her finger at Alessa.
“She looks like a hooker,” Braylee says.
“Who?” Adler practically knocks Haisley over while trying to get a look at who they are talking about. “I wanna see! Oh look, cheerleaders!”
He’s definitely Landon’s nephew.
