Must Love Pogs

by Xavier Neal

  My threat receives a low grumble. “I’m at work .”

  “Are you in your office?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you alone?”

  His second delay is accompanied with a heavy sigh, “Yes.”

  “Then the ultimatum still stands.”

  The sound of his small chuckle wraps around me the way I wish his arms would. “I don’t just miss seeing you naked. I miss seeing you smile too, Sunshine.”

  I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from squealing.

  What is it about him that does this to me? How is it I always expect to be the one to make him blush, yet he never fails to return the sentiment?

  “When are you heading back to town?” Oliver continues, any hint of nervousness now nonexistent.

  “Next weekend.”

  His attempt at hiding his huff fails. “Busy schedule?”

  “Tomorrow I’m in Colorado through the weekend. Monday through Wednesday I’m checking out this really wicked wheel chair competition in Seattle. I fly in Thursday, but have a doctor’s appointment for my birth control shot and have already promised my parents I would go to dinner with them.”

  “Is it a dinner for family only ?”

  The hint to be invited isn’t missed. Nor taken. “We’re going with James Hopkins and his family.”

  Apparently, James swears me and his son Casey are a match made in heaven.

  We aren’t.

  And not just because we’ve made out with the same guy more than once.

  “Is James Hopkins…a name I should know?”

  The innocence in his question makes me sweetly reply, “Played on the same team as my father. Almost like an honorary uncle.”

  Which is the primary reason I don’t let myself expose the fact that his son is same sex orientated. It’s not my family to dictate, nor do I want to deal with the bigoted bullshit he would begin to spew. Not my kind of vibe.

  There’s a pause followed by a worrisome exhale. “Am I gonna have to learn a lot about sports to keep seeing you?”

  Unable to resist teasing, I ask, “If I said yes would you be willing to try?”

  “You say yes and I’ll start getting tutoring sessions from… all of my brothers, really. Between the four of them I’m pretty sure they’ve got all the ‘normal’ shit covered.”

  We exchange a small laugh before I state, “You must really like me to endure that level of torture.”

  “I do,” Oliver replies without hesitation. “And not just because of how amazing you look naked.”

  The unusual declaration has me adjusting in my seat again.

  I don’t get it. We have very little in common, but that only seems to make this whole situation more appealing. It’s almost as if just the idea of our mixed melody lives, trying to find a cosmic composition, is enough reason to keep trying to sync up. It’s a challenge. It’s intriguing. It’s exciting! And I love things that are exciting….Hence the job choice.

  “Friday night?” He proceeds with eagerness in his tone. “Think I can have you then, Sunshine?”

  “That can be arranged.” I flirt back. “Think you can make it that long without seeing the goods?”

  Oliver chuckles and my eyes momentarily fall closed at the gorgeous sound. “I might need something to help tide me over….”

  “Ditto.”

  There’s a very distinct groan of desperation from the other end of the line. “Text me tonight when you get off?”

  “Hopefully you’ll be an active part of that process.”

  Another heated groan floods my ears, which causes me to triumphantly snicker. Oliver swiftly clears his throat and says, “Have a good rest of the day, Sunshine.”

  “You too, Hot Stuff.”

  We both linger on the call in blissful silence for a moment more before ending it.

  As soon as I move to put my phone away my best friend snaps, “Who the hell was that?!”

  I try to keep my reply casual despite the fact that my entire body is humming. “Just um…a guy I hooked up with this weekend.”

  “What?” She bites. “What guy? You didn’t mention any guy! First the Meegan thing, now this?” Her camera drops into her lap. “What am I gonna find out next? You’re leaving me to be CEO of your own extreme sports network?!”

  My eyebrows lift high. “Is this really about me not telling you a couple things or is this actually about the small human growing inside of you that I hope gets your coordination and not Destin’s?”

  Her flaring anger seems to subside. “He really isn’t coordinated.”

  I shake my head quickly.

  Her husband may know a shit ton about computers and cars, but he’s lucky he doesn’t fall flat on his face anytime he glances at a skateboard.

  A small smile slides onto my face as my hand lands on her lap. “Relax, dude. I swear I am not keeping a whirlwind of secrets. You’re my best friend. I tell you everything.”

  Almost everything anyway. From the moment we met almost four years ago we have been inseparable. Sometimes I think it’s because we’re kindred spirits with the whole wanting a sister to love you, yet are plagued with one or in my case two who are disgusted with your presence. Other times it’s because I know I can trust her to be the logical one when my adrenaline meter spikes a little too high. She may love watching, photographing, recording, and editing videos, but she cringes at doing anything that requires her feet to leave the ground for too long. Basically, she helps keep me balanced and from attempting to do ridiculous things, like sky diving without a parachute, while I keep her from being bored when she’s away from her husband.

  “You didn’t tell me about the Meegan thing.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay. Fine. I made out with her a couple years ago, but to be fair when I get a little too drunk you know it’s more about proximity than being prudent.”

  Azura tries not to smirk. “And this guy?”

  Just the thought of Oliver returns my smile in full force.

  “God, you’re glowing,” she pokes fun. “Are you sure I’m the pregnant one?”

  “My birth control shots work just fine, thank you very much.”

  An image of me with a small bump unexpectedly pops into my mind. Before I even have time to bat it away, Oliver’s face appears over my shoulder, hands caressing the area with pure joy.

  The bolt of bliss is undeniable.

  Quickly, I shake away the idea.

  No. Absolutely not. Not only would I be the worst possible candidate for a mother, I just met the guy! There’s no reason I should be picturing love, marriage, and a screaming, tiny thing in a baby carriage.

  Am I out of tune with my energy flow again? Did I forget to put on a dash off Eirene’s oil today?

  “Remember I went with my friend, Randy, to his high school reunion?”

  “Yeah….”

  “Well, one thing led to another and I ended up hooking up with one of his old classmates.”

  Her mouth cracks open.

  “One of his very very hot, 6’5, blue eyed, southern dreamboat classmates.” This time when her eyes bulge I add, “I didn’t see Randy again until we met at the airport.”

  Azura swats at me a second time. “What the hell, London!? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, we’ve been busy?”

  The sight of her frown returning rushes me to defend myself.

  “Come on Az, I landed and we went straight to McCoy central which was filled with food and married people flirting. Then yesterday, we spent all day working on the spotlight piece for Ezra Collins, and today it honestly didn’t seem worth mentioning. It was…no big deal. Just a long, sticky weekend with a cowboy.”

  Very long…. Very sticky…. Very loving.

  Hm.

  I must be off balance to keep contemplating if our passion is rising to a level I’ve never been at before. Then again, everything about him, about us , is something I’ve never felt before.

  “It’s obv
iously a huge deal considering the fact that when he called your face lit up like Christmas decided to come twice this year instead of just once.”

  “It did not.”

  “It did! And you never make plans with men.”

  “Excuse me. I make plans with men all the time . Like two weeks ago I went hiking with Victor.”

  “I meant more like romantic plans. Like dates .”

  Another shrug leaves me. “Don’t usually have a reason to. Most men are interested in one thing from me and sadly it’s not my lady bits.”

  Azura giggles at the term. “But this guy…?”

  Sensing her need for a name, I input, “Oliver.”

  “But Oliver ,” she waggles her eyebrows at me, “wants them?”

  “And more apparently.”

  Her big brown eyes almost pop from expanding so wide. “This is huge .”

  “He’s huge .”

  The sexual reference successfully causes her to gag and alleviates the pressure settling heavily on my chest.

  As much as I love the high Oliver gives even from a phone call, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle the crash when the time comes. When the scent of sex wears off. When he realizes it was fun, but now it’s time for Sarah Plain and Normal. You know the woman who doesn’t wear hippie crystals around her neck or purposely go searching for people who go extreme fly fishing in any conditions. Maybe one more weekend with him won’t break me like I fear it will. Perhaps, I’ll listen to the calling of the universe while taking a page out of Azura’s safety guide by putting a helmet, elbow pads, and a parachute on my heart. That way, if all this plummets, it’s less likely to get broken, maybe just bruised. Bruises I can handle. Broken…I cannot.

  I lock the door to my office, relieved the day is over.

  Being the head of the IT department is a pleasant change for the most part. I manage several employees who do the hands on work. Who have to run around the building listening to people whine or gripe about their computer screen suddenly being frozen or not running fast enough. They handle the viruses and replacing broken parts, which is the little bit of my old job I actually miss. With them dealing one on one with the constant flow of complaints it allows me to focus on other issues, such as hiring and firing, merit raises, reviewing security protocol for the network, and documenting the internet history that violates policy. The amount of employees who can’t make it through the work day without using Facebook from their computer is alarming.

  “Oliver,” Matty, a fellow employee and friend who works in the accounting department, calls to me.

  Turning around, I’m met by him, Natasha Dover, a personal assistant to Marlene Walker, one of our biggest Interior Decorators, and Brando Summerland, one of the men in our public relations department. While I don’t particularly have many friends, these three are the ones I socialize with most frequently outside of work. We share similar fondness for haute cuisine and perfected cappuccinos. We also all love British television shows, which considering the notion no one else in my life does, it’s nice there are people to talk about it with.

  “It’s never good when you’re all congregating around me.”

  Natasha giggles in the girlish way she assumes men find cute.

  Despite my casual clues over the past couple of months about not being interested, she continuously ignores the memo.

  “You’re so funny,” Natasha coos, gripping her tablet harder to her chest.

  Matty rolls his eyes. “We’re all going to try this new Oyster bar tonight. You in?”

  I adjust the strap of my computer bag. “Can’t. Meeting my little brother for dinner.”

  Something we used to do a bit more frequently before he fell in love. Actual love this time.

  Natasha noticeably pouts, but Brando suggests, “Blow him off.”

  Quickly, I shake my head. “I honor my commitments.”

  “I bet you do.…” She swoons louder than intended.

  Or at least I’m hoping that’s louder than she intended.

  “I make plans. I stick to them. Rain or snow. Good mood or foul. Especially to my family,” I continue, eyes staying away from hers. “Sorry.”

  “What about Friday night?” Brando questions. “Rumor has it this world famous chef might pop in at Braylore’s Bistro to cook for the night. Regardless if he does or doesn’t, they have an amazing happy hour and this onion blossom I would easily give my future first born child to have every day for the rest of my life.”

  The comment steals a small smirk.

  Can’t say I’d give anything up in exchange for my future children. Hell, I’ll consider myself the luckiest man alive if I ever get to experience half the amount of joy I get from being around my nephews. As much as I want my own kids there’s the not so small factor of meeting, marrying, and raising them with the right woman.

  London’s bright smile flashes in my face.

  She’d look adorable pregnant and pouty.

  Taken off guard by my own thought, I clear my throat, and ask, “Mind if I bring someone along?”

  “Like a date?” Natasha tries not to sneer.

  “Yeah.”

  “Not at all,” Brando quickly replies. “I’ll have Lainey book us a table for five.”

  Matty intrudes, “Do we know her?”

  “It’s not Aileen from downstairs, is it?” Natasha snips. “Because she’s married . She doesn’t wear her ring, but she is. He’s a pilot.”

  “No,” I try not to shudder at the idea of the fake titty blonde many of my colleagues seem to enjoy staring at. “She doesn’t work here.”

  “Interesting….” Matty mumbles as if holding something back.

  Rather than investigate the skeptical expression on his face, I rush, “Look, I really gotta go. Traffic’s a nightmare, and I really hate to be late.”

  My friends part themselves to allow me to slip by with staggered goodbyes.

  The drive from downtown Highland out to the small town I grew up in isn’t unpleasant, just longer than I care for courtesy of rush hour traffic, reminding yet again the importance of leaving early rather than on time when meeting someone else. While country music fills the air of my black Audi Roadster, my mind tries to enjoy the distraction instead of longing to spend this time chatting with London.

  To say we have fallen into a routine would be a flat out lie. The woman doesn’t do routine anything. I keep making the attempt at establishing one by calling her on my way home from the office, but there’s no guarantee she’ll pick up or even call right back. London lives on London time. Her response to my good morning texts varies from immediately to four hours later. She has no qualms about sending me a dirty picture just minutes after I’ve gotten off my lunch break and am trying to settle back at my desk. Her phone calls to me also lack a steady pattern. Yesterday she called me at midnight to listen to some new song she discovered on Spotify. Didn’t seem to matter to her I was dead asleep and had to be up in six hours for work. What’s worse is it didn’t actually bother me. I was flattered I was the first person she wanted to share the experience with. The song was…out there, too much tambourine and banjo, but it made her happy and the thought of her smiling was enough to subdue any complaints about the missed sleep.

  I try to push away the disappointment of not hearing her voice as I pull into Pete’s parking lot. The local bar is the traditional spot my youngest brother, Runt, or Ford to the rest of the world outside our family, and I meet for the occasional dinner. Despite being the odd one out of my family spending time with them is one of the most important things to me. For instance, I hate horses yet every other week I try to take my oldest brothers’ children horseback riding. I mean I don’t get on with them, I just pay for the lessons and time while proudly watching the way they follow in their father’s animal loving footsteps. Afterwards when I return them we usually share a beer before my presence becomes a burden because I don’t like running around with a dirty dog chasing mud covered tennis balls, or eating Frito pie with my han
ds. I love my family, all four of my brothers, and do my best to at least try to let them know in my own way. But it never feels like enough. It never feels like I fit into The Shaw family name.

  Once I’m inside, settled at the bar, Scrappy, the oldest bartender they have, places a bottle of Runt’s Beer in front of me. “Been awhile since I’ve seen you. Fancy new job keepin’ ya busy?”

  “More like fancy new girlfriend keepin’ Runt busy.”

  The counter causes him to chuckle. “That Ollie seems like a handful.”