by Alexis Anne
Then I nailed her to the wall. At one point I got a little off balance and she reached out to steady herself on the dresser beside us. That was cool because then the dresser shook under her grip and my empty whiskey glass rattled all over the thing, threatening to fall off more than once. I kinda wanted to see if I could make it fall before she came, but then suddenly she was yelling my name and digging her nails into the back of my neck as she squeezed the ever living shit out of my waist and my dick.
It was kind of unreal how satisfying it was to hear her scream my name and see that drunken relaxed look in her eyes when she was done.
I did that.
Me.
I made her happy. I wanted to be the person who kept making her happy.
After sex we realized the appetizers at the party weren’t enough so I went out and got some last minute takeout at the Italian place up the street and we ate it in bed, drunk on sex and whiskey.
“What’s your favorite color?” Marie was definitely on the tipsy side, not that I cared. She was smiling and totally carefree. She held up her fork with a piece of lobster ravioli on the end and pointed it at me as she quizzed me.
Stark naked and in the middle of her bed, I might add.
“Red. You?”
She squinted like she had to seriously think about it. “Normally I say blue because I really do like it, but it’s not really my favorite, favorite.”
“Okay? No wait, that doesn’t make any sense. What?”
She blew the hair out of her face and rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to expose Natalie to any stupid gender stereotype shit so I always say my favorite color is blue, but honestly, I love pink.” She sat up and grabbed her glass, taking a long, slow sip.
I took the time to enjoy looking at her body. She had the kind of skin that was smooth without any tan lines which, in Florida, was a pretty impossible task. Her hair was messy from the fucking I’d given her. It was long and danced over her breasts as she shifted around. She looked like a goddess.
“There’s nothing wrong with pink. And I think Natalie is old enough that you can probably stop worrying about that stuff.”
She shrugged. “I don’t think I know how to turn that part of me off anymore.”
I cleared my throat and swirled the whiskey in my glass. “And what about work? Do you know how to turn that off?”
She cocked her head to the side and her hair tumbled down. “Excuse me?”
“When we first met you said it was your weekend off—like you needed an escape.”
Her mouth formed a soft “O”. “That’s kind of complicated to answer. Being a mom is different. That’s my world. Work isn’t. Even here in Tampa I’m still under Edward’s thumb. It’s really hard for me to turn that off because I never really know where the boundaries are.”
“That sounds complicated.” And hella awful. She made it sound like her job owned her.
“It’s…” she squinted her eyes and tried to figure out how to say what she was thinking, but in the end she threw up her hands. “It’s hard to explain. Bancroft Sports handles two billion dollars in contracts and I am the face of that company.”
I sat up straighter. “I’m sorry did you say two billion? With a B?”
She nodded. “Our commission sits in the neighborhood of one hundred million. We represent athletes in every major sport and most minor sports. My father made it his life’s mission to make our agency the largest, most successful, and most respected agency in the country. And we are, when it comes exclusively to sports.”
“Sports?”
“There are a couple of companies that also encompass actors and artists. They are larger than us.”
Well fuck me.
The naked woman I was staring at was Super Woman.
And I’d just made her come. I made Super Woman come.
I seriously needed to wipe the stupid smile off my face before she noticed, so I forced myself to look serious.
She took a breath and I knew the kicker was coming next. “Edward wanted my face, my image, and the idea of being an industry leader as a woman, to help drive us into the next twenty years. I have a very high pressure, very high profile job. A job that puts a roof over my kid’s head and gives her the future I want her to have.”
“It’s incredibly impressive, Marie. You’re shouldering a lot and you’re only thirty. I’d say it was wonderful if you didn’t sound so damn sad about it.”
“It’s not perfect, but nothing ever is,” she said quietly.
No. Nothing was perfect, but it didn’t have to be miserable either. I had my reasons for being the way I was, but I didn’t see how Marie could ever deserve to look as sad as she did right then.
“All I meant was that you’re different when we’re alone. I feel like you almost wear a costume that is that super crazy successful corporate mom. And then when you’re with me, you take the costume off and just have fun. You smile and babble—”
“I do not babble.”
“You babble.” I put a finger over her lips. “You’re looser and uninhibited. I like that I get to see that side of you and I worry that no one else does.”
“You’re different with me, too.”
I already knew that. “Just don’t let work eat you alive.”
She placed our takeout boxes on the floor and curled up on my chest. I turned out the light and was struck by how incredibly normal it all felt.
Maybe it was because we were at her place instead of mine, or maybe it was simply because I’d decided to ignore everything except the moment we were in. Either way, I liked it.
“Good night, Marie.”
“Good night,” she whispered back. Her breathing evened out and I assumed she was asleep, which was stupid on my part, because it scared the hell out of me when she suddenly spoke. “What are you hiding from?”
“Ghosts,” I replied before I thought about what I was saying.
She stiffened and then curled around me even more than she already was. I ran my fingers through her hair, staring into the dark and wondering if she was going to ask any more questions.
She didn’t. But hell, it got my mind going.
I didn’t deserve any of this. Not the business or the money, not Jake and Eve, certainly not a woman like Marie. If there was one thing I knew with absolute certainty, it was that I deserved to be miserable and alone for the rest of my life.
But I didn’t know how much more I could stand. The memories had been hitting me harder and faster than usual. Almost as much as the years right after the accident. God, those years had sucked. It was like all I did was constantly relive those hours—like I was caught in a loop I couldn’t escape. If there was such a thing as purgatory on earth, it was called PTSD and regret.
The one thing I could not let happen was to ever hurt anyone ever again—like the woman who was sleeping in my arms. I couldn’t hurt her or Natalie. The moment I thought I might be bad for them I’d leave. But for now…for just a little while, I wanted to enjoy what I had.
Those were the thoughts running on a loop in my head as I walked back into my cold, empty condo on Sunday night. It was a lonely, dark pit compared to Marie’s warm house. It made it very obvious that what I had been doing was not living.
I’d been hiding out for too long.
I thought about Jake—how he’d been hiding out, but now he was happy, married to a great woman, and having the time of his life. I knew when I pushed him that he would be able to have all of that. He fought me and promised that I was wrong—but in the end he’d taken a chance and now his old life was nothing but a ghost.
A dark and disturbing ghost, but a ghost nonetheless.
Was I just like Jake or was I different? Could I have all that good shit if I gave it a chance? Or was my story a different one altogether?
God, how I wanted there to be hope for me. If that were the case, then a year from now I might be looking back on this moment like it were a ghost in my past.
And I really, really liked tha
t idea.
Chapter Eighteen
“You’re thinking,” Natalie stated flatly as she threw herself down on the couch beside me.
“I’m watching TV.”
“You’re watching the pilot for Battlestar Gallactica. You’re thinking.”
I scowled at her and then realized for the last hour I’d been staring at the television, but not really watching it. She was right—I was thinking. “Is this a thing I do that I don’t know about?”
She shrugged. “I guess. You always turn on the pilot episode when you want to sit and kind of think for a while.”
“Well, it’s a really good pilot.”
“Pretty much the best,” she agreed. We sat and watched as Laura Roslin realizes she is the highest ranking remaining member of the cabinet. It was interesting watching Apollo realize it, too, and the way he automatically respected her despite the fact that she was the “Education Secretary”.
“I can relate to the show,” I finally said.
“It takes place in a future ruled by Cylons bent on destroying humanity, Mother. How do you relate to this exactly?”
Every once in a while it felt good to know something Natalie didn’t. When it came to books she could wipe the floor with me and everyone else, but when it came to television and movies, we were in my domain. “Take away the Cylons and what do you have? A complicated series about relationships and personal journeys. The women in this series have depth to them. They kick ass—the president is a woman and Starbuck is a chick. I really relate to the president,” I said more wistfully than I intended. But I did. She was one of my favorite characters and it was almost comforting to feel like I was less alone in the world. If they wrote a character like her then that must mean there are women out there like me.
“Does that make Greg ‘The Old Man’, because that would be too perfect. I already call him that.”
“He can be my General Adama if he’s up for it,” I said quietly.
“You don’t think he’s up for it?”
“I honestly don’t know.” We’d been quietly dating for two months now. I’d given him a few pieces of my life but he’d held everything about his close to the chest. I still felt like I barely knew him.
Natalie stewed on that for a few moments. “Okay, truth time. Spill it. You’re pondering something over there.” I stared at her and she rolled her eyes. “I’m thirteen going on thirty, remember?”
“Fine. The biggest thing I’m over here debating is how to tell you to not get too attached to Greg.”
I hated the way her face fell. She was already pretty damn attached to having him be more than the guy who made fun of her books every afternoon. “Why do you say that?”
“Call it intuition.”
“You think he’s playing games with us?” Natalie already sounded hurt and Greg hadn’t done a thing. I should have gone slower…she was absolutely going on thirty, but she was definitely still thirteen. It was one thing to put my heart out there, but quite another to put hers on the line, too.
“No. I think he’s genuinely enjoying dating me and hanging out with you. I think he wants to be happy and right now, he’s happy.”
“But?”
“But life is more complicated than that. Wanting to be happy and actually being happy are two different things.”
Natalie looked down and started picking at her nails. “Or maybe you grownup types make life more complicated than it needs to be.”
“I’m sure we do, but we’re doing the best that we can. And I want you to understand that it might mean our best isn’t good enough.”
“Why?”
The “why” stage never really ends when you have an intellectual child. “I see a man who’s never had a relationship before—”
Natalie cleared her throat loudly. “Pot, meet kettle.”
“I know I’m not one to talk, but he’s different. I think he’s testing out this idea that he can be different. I’m happy for him, but I don’t like being a test case. I don’t like you being a test case. I’m afraid that when things get complicated he’s going to bolt.”
“Complicated how?”
I smiled and pulled her hands into mine. At the rate she was going her nails were going to be gone before the end of the conversation. “We all have burdens and things from our past. Some of us can’t let those things go, for some reason. It’s like…” I searched for the best way to describe the indescribable. “It’s like that guy from mythology, the one who’s always pushing a boulder up a hill.”
“Sisyphus.”
I knew she’d know. “Okay, it’s like Sisyphus. There’s a reason those myths stuck, they are perfect metaphors for real life. Some of us end up pushing a boulder uphill for years—or even the rest of our lives. Sometimes it’s a punishment like it was for Sisyphus, and sometimes it’s because we can’t see past the damn boulder for long enough to realize there is no point in pushing the damn thing up the dumb hill.”
Natalie scrunched up her face as she tried to understand what I was saying. “Am I your boulder?”
“Oh God, no. Don’t ever think that. If anything, you’re pushing the boulder with me.”
She grinned at that. “I got your back, even if you are pushing it for no reason. I hope you listen to me when I tell you what you can’t see.”
Yeah, I was pretty sure I was the one pushing the boulder simply because I couldn’t see around it. I was very glad I had Natalie and Grace to help me see around it. Hopefully one day I’d let the boulder go.
Unfortunately, I had a very strong suspicion that it wasn’t the same for Greg. I had a feeling deep in my gut that his boulder was a punishment.
One that he would never find a way around.
*****
“To Emily!” I raised a bubbling glass of champagne along with five of my top agents and of course, Emily.
She blushed, but she also had that smug smile of triumph and a twinkle in her eye. Landing Pedro Sanchez as her latest client pretty much secured her place in the big leagues of sports agents. It also put Bancroft Sports in all the headlines.
“The cigars worked. Pedro called me as soon as he got them and told me to send over the contracts.” She shook her head. “How did you know?”
It was my turn to blush. I didn’t usually reveal my secrets—I found it tended to make me more mysterious and powerful to everyone else. They made up their own stories. Some of them were true and some of them weren’t, but they never knew which ones were which. “I know Pedro. The cigars were a private message.”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “I’m officially his agent now. Shouldn’t I know these secrets in order to keep him happy?”
“He’s your client now,” I agreed. “Learn what he likes. Hopefully you’ll never need to call me in to pinch hit again.”
Emily shook her head at me, but let it go. Thankfully she knew better than to push me—all that would do is piss me off and she still wouldn’t know that the cigars remind Pedro of the night he met his wife, and that his wife means everything to him. It was also a reminder that his wife and I are friends and he’d be taken care of in my agency. Subtle hints are often the most effective.
“Miss Bancroft? You have a call.” Joan gently touched my arm. I groaned inwardly knowing that she would only approach me so carefully about a call if it were my father.
“Thank you Joan. I’ll be right there.” He was probably calling about Pedro and that meant this wasn’t going to be a short phone call. I took a moment and said goodbye to Emily and everyone else, gulped down a second glass of champagne, and gave Joan a tired smile as I closed my office door.
“Hello Edward. How are you?”
“Very, very good. I see you pulled it off. Good work.” He was clipped and cold, as usual.
“Emily did most of the work.”
“Never defer credit, Marie. I taught you better than that.”
Since he couldn’t see me, I rolled my eyes and gave him the finger. “Is there a reason for this call?”
I really wished the earth would open up and swallow me whole. “That’s wonderful news. I’ll have Joan get your office in order.”
“Thank you. And I’d like to see a game or two…”
Of course he did. “I’ll have Joan make the arrangements.” Poor Joan.
“Dinner as well. Will you and Natalie be free?”
What was with the third degree? Normally my father announced his arrival, forced us through one cold dinner, drank his way through a game, and left almost as fast as he arrived. It was awkward, but quick. “It’s a school week, so yes.”
“What about your gentleman friend? Greg is it?”
And there it was. Greg and I had been in the papers last week. He’d accompanied me to a big party with several of our baseball clients and before I knew what was happening, a photographer had not only taken our picture, but managed to get it placed fairly prominently in several publications. Not the kind of magazines the public cared about—the kind executives cared about.
Edward wanted to assess Greg’s viability and worth. Lovely.
“I will ask, but I’m sure if you want to meet him then he’ll make the time.” My voice sounded as fake and forced as I felt. I did not want my father here and I most certainly did not want to introduce him to Greg. The poor guy didn’t need the torture of sitting through a meal with one of the coldest men in existence.
“Good. That’s what I like to hear. I’ll forward Joan my flight and hotel details. See you Monday.”
“See you Monday.” My skin was already prickling in protest. My armor was going up and so was the incessant need to become something else. I was never quite sure what I was supposed to be, I just knew I wasn’t it. I had to fake it for everyone, but for my father more than anyone else. I hated feeling this way and I always ended up miserable and nauseous.
