by Xavier Neal
“She….” I ponder over the appropriate way to word the answer. “Had to work. Again. She always has to work….”
“Couldn’t request off?”
“Her job isn’t exactly easy when it comes to negotiating that kind of shit.”
“Why? What is she? Like a doctor or lawyer or CEO?”
“She’s a sports blogger.”
Blake’s jaw hits the floor.
“ Extreme sports to be more exact, but she dabbles in the ‘traditional’ ones too. Like today . She had to do a guest speech at a banquet here in town hosted by her father proceeded with attending the cocktail hour afterwards.”
My brother’s jaw bobs around for a few minutes more as if still blanking on what to say. Finally, he asks, “What’s um….What’s her name?”
“London Hall.”
Excitement crashes into more shock. “As in Little L ? As in Lamar “Big L” Hall’s daughter ?”
I reluctantly nod, fidgeting with the sunstone bracelet around my wrist. “Figured you’d heard of her.”
“Heard of her?!” He can barely contain his shouts. “I used to have such a huge fucking crush on her!”
A rumble threatens to escape my throat.
“She’s a sports celebrity and her father’s a goddamn basketball legend!” Disbelief continues to run rampant. “Out of all the women for you to fall for in the entire world you manage to pick her ?”
“Didn’t exactly pick her. She…kinda picked me.”
The smile on his face is one of genuine happiness. “Then why do you doubt she loves you? I mean, she liked you enough to pick you , a man who knows more about blends of coffee than he does any sports topic. Liked you enough to stick around for months instead of just screw you for a couple of weeks. What makes you think that hasn’t turned into love?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just want the reassurance. She spends days and weeks traipsing around the globe with much more compatible men, and I guess I just wanna hear her say the words so I know for sure that she does. For sure that we’re in something more committed than just screwing when it’s convenient. I guess I wanna hear the words so I know we’re building towards some sort of future.”
“Have you talked to her about this shit?”
His obvious response doesn’t make it past the logical part of my brain.
I know that’s what we need. I know that we should’ve done it long before now. It’s the fear of losing the piece of London I have in pursuit of needing a few normal elements in our relationship.
“Trust me. If I’ve learned anything since having a girlfriend-”
“You mean since having your first girlfriend. Like an adult .”
Blake glares at the joke and it’s my turn to laugh.
“As I was saying .…Talk to her. Why don’t you try givin’ her a call? Maybe makin’ time to meet up with her today and do it face to face?”
“It can wait,” I attempt to brush off. “It’s your birthday. I need-”
“To put yourself first sometimes.” Blake gives me a hard pat on the shoulder. “Call her. If you need to go then go. With my blessin’.”
His kind action kicks the corner of my lip up. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.” He stands and begins to exit. All of sudden he spins around and states, “But if you manage to work an autographed anything for me into the conversation, you will take the top rank for favorite brother.”
“What am I now, last?”
“No. Eddie’s last. Did you see that coffee mug he got me? That shit is first on my list to be traded when Mama goes garage sale huntin’.”
I laugh and shake my head once more. “Get out.”
“I’m goin’…I’m goin’….” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets as he prepares to stroll away.
“Hey Blake.”
My younger brother glances at me over his shoulder.
“Thanks for the talk. I may not be your favorite brother, but you were definitely the best one to talk to about this. You’ve always been much better with women than I have.”
He shrugs. “We all have our strengths. Just learn to embrace yours .”
Once I’m completely alone, I stand, shut the door, and take a few deep breaths. The moment I feel calm enough, I take out my cell phone and hit London’s speed dial number.
Surprisingly enough, it only rings once before her sweet voice says, “Hey Hot Stuff!”
“Hey Sunshine,” I happily sigh. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed your voice.”
“My voice or my screams?”
“Both.”
Her snicker sparks a full-fledged smile.
After a long beat, I clear my throat and confess, “I wasn’t expecting you to answer. I was jus’ gonna leave a voicemail.”
“Well you got me. And as you know the real thing is always better.”
The sexual implication tempts me to turn the pending discussion the wrong way.
“Were you calling just to talk? I mean, I’ve got a few minutes. I had to slip away from the overbearing amount of testosterone circling the loaded sweet potato rounds. It was threatening to break me out in hives.”
I battle the instinct to smile at the joke and the one to growl at the amount of men most likely surrounding her. “I was calling because…I needed to talk. We need to talk.”
“About?”
“Us.”
“What about us?”
Concern for this being better discussed face to face or at the very least when she has more time, I suggest, “Why don’t you come by when everything is finished and we’ll talk about it?”
“No,” she immediately refuses. “Talk now.”
“London-”
“It was important enough to warrant a call instead of text, so be upfront with me. What about us?”
Swallowing the swelling knot, I ask, “Is there actually an us ?”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
My head hits the back of the closed door. “I’m just.…I need to know are we exclusive when you’re in and out of town? Is it okay to call us an official couple? Are you in love with me? Can you say you’re in love with me? Can I say I love you without having to worry that you’re going to start rambling some bullshit about energy flows and synced star cycles instead of jus’ sayin’ it back?”
The long stretch of silence threatens to collapse me to the ground. “Let me ask you something, Oliver. Do you want those things checked off your romantic catalog or do you need them because that’s how everyone else around you makes you feel?”
My confession is guilt ridden. “Both.”
I brace myself for a harsh lashing.
“Alright, Hot Stuff. You wanna call me your girlfriend, an out of date term people use as a way to ward off others? As a way to trap them into doing and behaving in predictable natures and roles society dubbed upon us without consent? You wanna hear how much I love you since the sentiments I bring you back from every trip I take aren’t enough? You wanna see that the only man I give a shit about is the one challenging my actions because he needs the words? Well. You know my stance about going after something you want…. Come and get me.”
I toss my cell phone onto the top of a laundry pile beside me on my guesthouse couch.
Sometimes Oliver makes enjoying life beyond difficult. I don’t appreciate being accused of being unfaithful to him because I won’t treat our relationship like some video game with levels for us to complete. Level 1: First Date. Level 2: Meet The Friends. Level 10: Exchange I love yous. Fuck that. When I say the words I want them to be spontaneous because we’re so overwhelmed with joy or consumed by bliss nothing else will do. I want them said with devotion for each other not for completing a relationship task. Besides I’m not like him. I’ve never put much stock into what people say so much as how they behave . People can say they adore you and they think you’re wonderful, but if they only say those things to use you for something else, doesn’t that send a much more powerful message than the r
ehearsal speech? Isn’t it just as important to listen to our instincts and intuitions?
Tabby walks through the front door of the guest house. “Loser, our father is looking for you.”
“I’m hiding.”
“Why? Embarrassed you look like a drunken Easter Peep?”
The reference to my strapless, light yellow cocktail dress with the zebra print ribbon high around my waist and the electric blue accessory around my neck and on my feet causes me to sneer. “Rather look like this than the woman having an affair with the super intendent of a high school academy.”
Her brown eyes bulge at the information slip.
“People talk, Tabby.”
“Particularly about how pathetic you are,” she bites back. “At least that’s what me and Brit talk about. How it’s probably best you’re our father’s favorite since no one else could ever love an abomination like you.” Tabby tosses her extensions over her shoulder. “He’s by the bar talking to Darrell Nolan. I suggest you don’t displease him any longer by ‘hiding’ since he’s the reason everyone in the world puts up with you.”
My sister struts back out the door, slamming it loudly behind her.
And Oliver wonders why I’m not quick to play the game everyone else is playing. It’s shallow. If I had to fit into social norms, everything my sisters say about me would be fact instead of opinions rooted from jealousy.
I let out a heavy pout, stand, and fluff my auburn curls in an attempt to look presentable rather than exhausted from the hellish week I’ve been enduring. Apparently three consecutive ass kissing days of lunches and brunches with sponsors wasn’t terrible enough. I then had to return home to practice my speech, endure a Hellcat press conference, and be wrapped in seaweed alongside my mother in preparation for this annual team powwow. Fucked up thing is...all I really wanted was Oliver with me today. Smiling proudly from the table. His arm wrapped around me while I chatted with old players. His loving nature to keep me grounded when I’m tired of answering questions. He was invited. I let him know that if anything changed with his brother or for some reason their dinner became a breakfast instead he was welcomed. Security has his name to let him inside. However, after the conversation we just exchanged I have a feeling the next time I see him will be when I’m knocking on his door to retrieve my shit. Ugh. Maybe I’ll just buy new stuff. Serenity crystals and healing oils can be recollected.
Near the bar I find my father talking to exactly who my sister said he was. I join the conversation with a forced smile and my fingers pushing the tranquility beads against my wrist. To no surprise I’ve stumbled into the cycle of complaints many of the players feel this time is for. Which it isn’t. My father throws the annual banquet to boost morale and build comradery for both teams during the off season. He allows their families, friends, dates, and anyone else they feel supports their career to join in the social festivities, all on his own dollar might I add. There’s music, occasionally celebrity performers, dancing, the pools and hot tubs available, and enough booze to rival many bars. But there’s also always bitching…. I usually encourage my mother to light a few candles for peace and clarity around the house the night before in preparation for the negative attitudes that never fail to arrive. Why can’t people just be happy and enjoy what they’re given?
Thankfully, my mother comes to his side and I slip away to make my required rounds. I stop to chat with a few players and their newest girlfriends. For the most part the topics are not sports related because their girlfriends wanna chat about the latest celebrities they’ve met before asking me about the others I know since the ones they list I’ve known for years. Once more as soon as the opportunity to bail presents itself I take it.
When I reach the bar on the opposite side of property closer to the secondary guest house, which is open for people to relax in or use for the restrooms, I don’t waste time ordering a drink. “Martini, with a twist.”
The light skinned male next to me, Milo Davis, a new recruit for the Cliffsworth Hellcats, offers me a concerned expression. “Not having a good time?”
I plaster on the professional, polite smile. “What makes you think that?”
“The fact that you let out a huff so big I’m pretty sure you could’ve blown your father’s mansion down.”
His lame joke receives an actual grin.
He extends his hand. “Milo.”
“Little L.”
“I know who you are,” he reassures promptly as he takes his champagne glass from the bartender. “ Everyone knows who you are. It’s one of the many, many Hellcat rules. Know who Little L is, always listen to her advice about dealing with the owners, and you are to never date her.”
I drop my hand on my hip. “You’re making the last one up.”
“It’s in my contract.”
Shaking my head with a smirk, I thank the bartender for the drink he hands me.
“It is! It says never to date you, which is too bad because…well everything about you is beautiful.”
The compliment is followed by an unexpected, “I absolutely agree.”
Darting my eyes up, my mouth tumbles to the ground at the sight of Oliver in a navy suit with a very loud yellow and white polka dot tie.
He glides his pinky with mine and tucks me closer to him. “And even if it didn’t say not to date her, you couldn’t . She’s my girlfriend and no one in this world can love her like I do.”
Milo surrenders a hand. “Message loud and clear, man.”
“Good,” Oliver damn near growls.
I turn my face to Milo. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word in private with my boyfriend.”
The growl Oliver lets loose this time is delicious.
He nods, and I take Oliver by the hand to lead him back across the property. As soon as we’re inside past the security guards protecting the guesthouse I occupy from unwanted trespassers, I carelessly toss the glass to the side, and pounce his lips.
There’s no vacillation on whether or not to embrace my tongue with his. Oliver grabs me roughly with both hands and reiterates the words he just proclaimed. Our mouths haphazardly crash, teeth gnashing, and moans being absorbed by one another’s.
It takes more will power than I believe I possess, but I push him away before I’m unable to stop us from ending up horizontal on top of the laundry littered on the sofa.
His heaving chest struggles to settle. “Missed you too, Sunshine.”
On a small giggle, I flop down onto the arm of the couch. “Is that why you were so moody earlier? Because you missed me?”
He takes his place in front of me. “That’s probably part of it.”
“What’s the rest?”
Oliver seems to be overly cautious about continuing.
I lock his pinky with mine. “Talk.”
Our blues linger together and his answer flows freely. “It’s been a shitty week. I let my friends get in my head and instead of enjoying our relationship like I had been, I let myself get bullied into demanding things that were unnecessary. You’re right, Sunshine. I was challenging you, and I had no reason to. You’ve never once directly given me a reason not to believe I’m the only man in your life. I was out of line. For that I’m sorry.” He gives my finger a tight squeeze. “But I’m not like you, London. Occasionally, I need – no - I want the ‘normal things’. I want to call you my girlfriend when I introduce you, not because I’m trying to redefine who you are or let that label overshadow everything else about you, but because I’m proud a woman like you fell in love with a man like me.”
His words shift something unexpected inside of me. “I’m honored a man like you could ever love a woman like me .”
He tips my chin up. “I’ll love you for however long and any way you let me, London.”
Determination to not only prove that, but showcase my own devotion has my hand traveling to the seam of his pants. “Any… way?”
A dark hunger overpowers his gaze and his cock throbs against my touch. “Sunshine, I don’
t think it’s a good idea for me to meet your father for the first time smelling like sex and Moonrise oils.”
“You remember….”
“How could I forget? I accidentally put it on for work one day instead of my aftershave because you can’t keep your shit on your side of the sink.”
I quietly laugh and return to the task of undoing his pants.
“London….”
“No sex.” My sultry stare lifts. “Just something to tide us over until we get back to your place.”
