by Leigh Lennon
16 years ago
I’m sitting in the stands with his mama on one side and his dad on the other. Six seconds are left on the clock and my heart is beating a million miles a minute. My daddy never understood how I could get wrapped up in a game I wasn’t playing in. He wasn’t much for sports and I often wondered where I got my love for all things competitive. But now, with Iz being so close to the win of his life, I’m literally on the edge of my seat with anticipation. It’s fourth down and five but the distance doesn’t matter. This will be the last play and they have to cover a good twenty yards for the win. As the center hikes the ball, Iz goes left but there’s no one free. He fakes right and I know as well as any other person schooled in the rules of football, his only choice is to run it in himself. His offensive line senses this is the only way to victory when they plow a way for him. My heart is still racing. Ten yards, five yards, one yard! He made it! My baby made the game-winning touchdown with no time left! I catapult off the stands, as if I could do the high jump, laughing and hugging his folks. He takes the game-winning ball, and right when our eyes meet, he lifts it up to me, mouthing, “This is for you, Buttercup.”
19
Israel
My phone chirps and it’s not a sound I have assigned anyone. After changing the Game of Throne’s ring tone from when Nev placed it on my phone, everyone now has his or her own text alert, which meant I could prioritize it according to importance. The Star Wars theme song gets my attention every time. That’s Nev’s tone. The Jaws theme song is for Lang because when he’s all business he’s a shark, for all his clients. Vogue is the tone for Kendra. So, when a lonely little chirp wakes me from my sleep, I lunge for my cell, in the hopes it’s the only person who could get me to agree to anything at this point.
When I see, “Hey, it’s Liz. Let’s talk.” I don’t take the chance for her to shoot me down, not now, not ever. I run quickly to my en-suite and take the fastest shower known to mankind and bolt out of my condo in a record time of ten minutes.
Looking at my watch, it’s a quarter after eight and if I have to wait through a client, I will. This is Liz we’re talking about after all!
The sun is peeking through the clouds on this February morning. It’s just enough for me to put my shades on because I’m extra optimistic. I crank “Interstate Love Song” by Stone Temple Pilots, which is a perfect backdrop to mine and Liz’s story. I’m in my Porsche, a complete all-star move though my big ass body needs more space. I want to feel the leather beneath me. This overwhelming idea that Liz could be in my arms in the next ten minutes makes me hard, as I remember how it’s with her still. I adjust my erection in my pants and want release but my relief can only come from the bombshell of a lawyer who is so close to being mine again, I can taste it.
I pull up to the parking garage that has access straight into their offices and I don’t see Candy, as I normally do, at her desk. There aren’t many cars near the doors and I park close; this way, I can get to my girl quicker. My heart thumps. What if I misread the signals, what if this is goodbye? How can I convince her to gamble on me again?
Opening the double doors from the elevators, the office is eerily silent. “Candy, Liz texted me and in some way, I’m not leaving without seeing her.” I want to add “her calendar be damned” but I save this sort of theatrics for a rebuttal. I peek over her desk right when I hear a faint, “Iz, Iz.” It’s then I see Candy sprawled out on the floor, like she is coming to after passing out.
I rush to her and with my long strides it only takes me a split second to kneel near her. “Candy, honey, what happened?”
“Neal, he happened.” I watch her eyes and I know enough about head injuries to be aware that she very likely could have a concussion.
“Who the hell is Neal?” Why don’t I know this name?
She touches my hand softly. “Find Liz, you’ve got to help Liz.”
I’m holding her face, peering in her eyes, and her cries have become erratic. “Neal, he’s Liz’s ex. He hit me.”
I stand with righteous anger for Candy and fear for Liz. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know.” Her cries have reached frantic levels. Grabbing my phone, I call 911 and send an emergency get your ass over here text to Lang.
“Candy, honey, the police are on their way and so is Lang. You stay here. Don’t move.” I peek into the office and it’s empty. “The key to your apartment?” She points to what looks like a key card from a hotel and I tiptoe as quiet as my large body will allow. Walking through the second set of double doors to the apartments, I get closer and hear Liz whimpering behind the barrier. I can hear her pleading. I don’t take much time as the obstacle of the six-inch door is no longer an issue. I take the card key and barge in, seeing Liz cowering in the corner. This in and of itself is fucking pissing me off. No one should ever make Liz recoil in fear. The second she sees me, her eyes speak to me and I know she instantly feels safe.
My body is upon this Neal man and where he’s tall, my six-foot-five frame towers over him by a good three inches and at least thirty pounds of muscle. “What the fuck you doin’ to my girl?”
His laugh is borderline sardonic. “Your girl? Are you for real? You’re about five shades too dark for my wife.”
Now, I have him by the collar of his three-thousand-dollar suit, and boy, it would be easy to snap his head off. “Oh, wait, I know you. You’re Israel Laita,” he almost whines when he turns his head to face Liz. “You never told me your black boy was an all-star American and Super Bowl MVP. But all I see when I look at this motherfucker is that he’s…” That one word escapes from his mouth and I want to throw him. With my strength and adrenaline ramped up, I almost do, but Liz runs to me, placing her hand on my shoulder—the only thing that can calm me—and I drop him to the floor where he falls on his ass.
“You just can’t keep your legs shut, can you, Elizabeth?” Liz has me by the arms and I allow her to ease me back. It’s only in her guidance that I don’t kick this man’s ass in front of me. But it’s not that, it’s the way he calls Liz Elizabeth that seeps in my soul and makes my insides churn.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut, I’m trying to save you. One more word and he may kill you.” I cup her face and she stares in my eyes and I don’t have to ask her, she answers my question before I can speak. “I’m all right, Iz.” She then looks down at the piece of shit in front of her and yells, “Get out and if I ever see your face again, I’ll have you arrested!” I stop to protest and again, she perceives all my thoughts. “Iz, he’s a shithead fuck-up but a great lawyer. He’ll be out in an hour, just let him go.” Her defeatist attitude has me scratching my head.
I envelop Liz into my side as his jackass swagger has me wanting to kick this fucker, just for principle at this point. Turning to Liz as he smooths the wrinkles in his suit, his voice lowers an octave when he replies, “You did the right thing, Elizabeth. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
He’s not even out of the room when I snap him up by the back of his collar. “I’ll tell you what, weasel dick, you come near my girl or her sister again, you’ll get all kinds of fucked up you never saw coming.”
“Iz,” Liz warns and the cocky son of a bitch turns his head slightly and only grins at my Buttercup.
“He doesn’t know. I didn’t think so.” These words unhinge me but I let go when the little weasel scampers off before I realize it. Saving those words in my mind to discuss later, I pull Liz closer to me when tears soak my side. Liz crying is strange, I’d only seen it once when we said goodbye and called it quits on our expired relationship.
“Oh, fuck, Candace!” she screams, bolting from my side. My reflexes are quick, stopping her.
Pushing her hair from her eyes, I hush her, kissing down her cheek. “You’re safe, Buttercup. Candace is okay. I called an ambulance. We’ll walk over to see her but first, let me look at you.” Squaring her body with mine, my hands remain on her face, moving them down her arms. “Did he hurt you?”
&nbs
p; Tears threaten to erupt from her eyes and I know she’s trying her hardest not to break when she says, “No, not at all. I mean, he’s always been a greedy motherfucker but this was a new low, even for him.” She steadies herself, still in those long stiletto heels of hers and starts running down the hallway. As much as I try to stop her, I rush after her, knowing nothing can keep her from her sister.
With much debate, Lang and I put our heads together and though we knew we’d get a lecture from both the ladies, we decide to take our prospective women with us for the day. After the EMTs cleared Candace, both women’s feathers became more furrowed than a peacock showing his true colors.
Strolling over to Liz, as Lang takes Candace to the side for a one-on-one, we have more of a chance to convince them. I’m only telling her what’s gonna happen. “Listen, Buttercup…” I begin but she stops me.
“No, Iz, I’m not going to let that motherfucker dictate my business. I need this. This is my livelihood, and Candace’s.” Over my shoulder in my peripheral, Lang passes me a sheet of paper. It’s the daily schedule. My eyes roam the times of her clients.
“So here’s the story, Buttercup. Candy’s goin’ with Lang for the day and I’ll stay with you and field the calls during your meetings.” Liz spreads her arms wide, cocking her head to one side while her smile shifts to one of bewilderment, twisting her lips up. If the purple of her eyes could laugh, they’d be chuckling at me.
“You’re going to be my secretary for the day. That’s what you’re telling me?” She leans back in Candy’s chair, pulling her hands behind her head and crossing her legs, still amused. As she stands up, she points to the chair. “Here, big guy, here’s your seat for the day then.”
I sit as ordered and now Lang is playing along. “You have appointments until one p.m., Liz, and after that, you’ll be in my protection for the rest of the day.”
Now, the stubbornness clouds her face and the violet fades a bit. She’s ready for a fight and I stand. I’ll give into Liz at every turn but not until that motherfucker is picked up on abuse charges. I know I shouldn’t have let him go and after talking to Candy, she’s not one for forgiveness. She plans to press charges.
“I’m thirty-five years old, Iz. I’ll not be ordered around.” I won’t back down, not ever in this situation.
“C’mon, work with me here! Your motherfucker of an ex hurt your sister and I won’t stick around to let him touch one hair on your head. I’ll stay with you or you’ll stay with me. It’s your pick, sweetheart.” I only use this term with Liz to prove a point and my point is made. She sure as fuck will be in my care. If I play my hand right, she’ll be in my life, too.
Every person walking into Parker Sports and Entertainment Law today have had the same exact reaction. Some were accompanied by the f-bomb or shit but every one said in some sort of way, “Holy hell, you’re Israel Laita.”
After the fifth time and her last fucking appointment, I stand at her door. “Time to pack it up, Buttercup.”
Lifting her eyes over the reading glasses that make her look like a sexy librarian, I stifle a groan and think thoughts of something that will deflate my raging hard on. “Iz, I have work to do.”
Leaning up against the doorjamb, I chuckle. I’m not staying at Candy’s restricting desk for the next four hours. “Your stubbornness has bloomed like the rest of you has, girl.” Yes, my comment isn’t sly or smooth but suggestive. She looks over her glasses again and I’m trying to envision Wayne Newton in a speedo to ward against the growing erection that’s aware Liz is too close.
“Um, not sure that’s a compliment, Iz.”
Strolling closer to her, I begin, “It’s a statement. I’ve noticed that your body is more pronounced, curvier, and fucking sexier, if that’s even possible.”
Taking her glasses off, she tosses them gingerly on her table and leans back. “Nice save. But what does that have to do with my stubbornness, too?”
“You’re sexier now, which I can’t believe, and you’re certainly more fuckin’ stubborn. Again, it’s a fact that’s hard to wrap my head around,” I respond, standing in front of her desk and if I could figure out a way to convince her, I’d take her on it now. I must engage some type of diplomacy and figure out how I can get her out of her office and apartment building for the day. “Seriously, Liz, pack up your shit. You can work anywhere. I want to get you the hell out of here. And I’ll stay here, but my place is very compatible, too.”
She hitches her eyebrow when she says, “Compatible? That’s an odd word. I know your place, if it’s anything like the one in San Francisco, it’s more than compatible, it’s amazing.”
“Maybe you can see more of what I have to offer this time,” I add. As she’s stacking file folders in her briefcase, she stops dead in her tracks. Laughing, I concede, “I meant my place, my apartment, Liz. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
Walking past me, she smacks me lightly in the stomach, as she would when I amused her with my cockiness. “I know exactly where your mind is, Israel Laita.” And just like that, I fall in line behind her, ready to do what she needs just in order to breathe the same air as her.
Our ride back to my complex is quiet and Liz has changed into jeans, a look I haven’t seen on her for fifteen years. She traded in the denim and Converses for business suits and heels in the time we’ve missed together. Though she’s sexy as fuck in her business clothes, this is how I fell in love with Liz, the simple girl that grabbed my heart and never let go. She still has her Converses, though I assume they may be a new pair. Unable to break my peripheral on her, she’s how I remember her with her blonde locks in a ponytail.
“You realize, Iz, this car is too tiny for you and you look ridiculous stuffed in here like a fucking sardine, right?” she questions, turning my radio station from “Santeria” to fucking country music.
“But a fucking sexy sardine, Buttercup.” Winking at her, I nod my head at the compliment. “By the way, glad to see your ability to use the f-bomb hasn’t been hindered,” I counter when a sexy little giggle escapes her mouth and I have thoughts of all the ways I want to put that part of her body to use. Not able to keep my mouth shut one more second, I finally ask, “What is this song we’re listening to about fried chicken? Hell, Liz, only in country music.”
Her look is both seductive and incredulous, raising her brows as she responds in disbelief as if I should know this music. “Well, Israel Laita, the name of the song is actually called ‘Chicken Fried’ and it’s by my favorite group of all time—Zac Brown Band.” Her tone is very authoritative, like I’m being scolded for not knowing this little piece of country music history. My deep chuckle is now drowned out by the music as she turns it up.
I park on the deck parallel to my penthouse and we mosey on into double doors that lead to my home, the only apartment on this floor. With my handprint, I swipe the keypad and it opens, as my apartment talks to me, “Hello, Mr. Laita and Eliza Parker.”
This has been wishful thinking, Liz coming back to my house, but I play it cool. “Iz, why in God’s green earth is your house talking to you as though it knows you?” She stops and then it hits her. “And for that matter, me, too?”
“Ah, Liz, meet SOFIE. It’s my security system and one of the many measures I take to keep myself, but more so those around me, safe. I don’t let many people up here at all. This way I know who is coming and goin’. My San Fran house has it; too, I just had my concierge turn it off, as to not freak you out. Since I bring very few new people here, if I know there’s a chance, I program that person in. And if the security system doesn’t recognize someone by his or her facial scan, I have either a minute to input you quietly, or my security company is alerted. It’s just easier this way and plus, I’d been sort of hopeful.” I shrug her way after my long explanation.
I smile at her but wonder what’s swirling around her pretty head. I normally have a great guess but I can’t read her, not this minute.
She never replies to my comment and walks the perim
eter of the penthouse. “I see the observatory from here, too, just a different view. It’s beautiful.” We’re up much higher in this building and the views are one reason I bought this entire complex, but I don’t tell her this.
Like her office and my condo in San Fran, these windows, too, are floor-to-ceiling and she stands in front of them taking in the one-eighty view it offers. Turning from her, I grab her bags and take them to the guest room, hopeful that she may find her way to my bed, eventually.
When I return to my living space, she’s sprawled on my couch, her long body taking up my entire sofa. From behind her, I stare her way and hope we can talk, but who can blame her if she wants to rest after the morning she’s had. I sit on the same type of couch across from her. She stretches her arms in a light V-neck top that gives me just enough access to her beautiful breasts and again I have to tame my beast. Sitting up, she laughs. “This place is fucking awesome, Iz. I’m sure your condo in San Fran is, too, but I have seen more of this place and I love it.”
I laugh because we both only had one thing on our minds back in San Francisco. I’m leaning forward with my elbows on my knees and before I can say anything, Liz starts, “Oh, that’s the ‘serious Israel Laita, we need to talk’ look. I’ve seen this a time or two.” Her voice lowers like she’s mocking me a bit. She’s not wrong. This is my serious pose.
“Shit, woman, you know me so well.” I smile and in it, I can feel the carefree attitude of my girl shine through. Her shoulders relax and she leans her head back, bringing her long legs on my couch to sit as Nevaeh would call crisscross applesauce. I want to take her in my arms, or at the very least, sit next to her, feeling the heat from her, our own electrical current.
