by Ava Ashley
The ice in the tub is starting to melt. It’s about time to get out anyway. I look around to see if Hugh has managed to find his way back. I let my gaze scour the room. Sanchez is dolling up in Hilfiger. Wouldn’t be surprised if he has a hot lunch date lined up. He grabs a second set of clothes, this one a sharp Armani. Not quite as expensive as Dante’s Kiton cashmere, but a suit that meant business nonetheless.
Yeah. Make that two dates.
Suddenly, I catch the sound of Hugh’s grating voice. I swivel my gaze right and left, trying to locate the direction it’s coming from. Sounds like the training office. I start to pull myself out of the ice bath, frigid water running down my legs. It’s damned fucking cold and my teeth are chattering so hard I think I might chip a molar, but at least I don’t hurt. I grab one of the white bath sheets and wrap it around my torso. I start padding toward the office to let Hugh know the ice bath did the trick I think I’m going sit out this round of Toradol.
I’m halfway to the office when I catch a second, equally familiar voice. My brother’s.
What the hell is Logan doing here?
I press up against the wall just around the corner from the office and listen hard.
“I’m out,” I hear Hugh’s cigar-stressed voice rasp.
“You committed to this venture, Hugh. I’m counting on you to make it work,” Logan’s voice, so like my own but with a harder, cutting edge, presses Hugh. I dare a peek around the wall. The towel starts to slide southward. I snag it with a quick hand and return my attention to the heated discussion.
Hugh is pacing. That stride can’t be good for his ticker. No offense, but Hugh’s waistline makes Rob Ryan look like a Sports Illustrated cover model. He’s the color of a beet salad. Sweat is beading rapidly on his forehead. He gives it an aggressive swipe with a shirt sleeve.
“No. I’ve thought about it. Long and hard. I don’t want any part of it anymore.”
“Consider the consequences,” Logan stood from his position in one of the chairs, taking a halting step directly in Hugh frantic path. I lean in closer from my hidden vantage point. The towel shifts again.
“Ha,” Sanchez blurts out, startling the hell out of me. He gestures rudely to parts of me that have suddenly been exposed by the fallen towel now pooled in a terrycloth pile at my feet. “Ice bath, huh, dude? Better hope Sloane don’t see that cocktail wiener.”
I make a wild grab for the dropped linen, but it’s not like it really matters. Logan and Hugh have stepped a discreet five paces apart, alerted to my presence. I don’t know what in the hell they were talking about, but it’s not likely that I’ll know now. They’ve zipped up tighter than my gym bag.
Sanchez catches a glimpse of Logan in Hugh’s office and does a double take. Guess Sanchez isn’t a big on current events.
“What the fuck?” he mutters.
“Don’t think too hard, Sanchez. You’ll strain something.” I grab him by both shoulders, spin him in the opposite direction and practically shove him out the door.
“Seriously, Logan? Come on, man. I’ve already told you a million times. I’m not going to be your political puppet. Bad enough you’re riding on the coattails of my visibility as a UFL player.” I’d have to be naïve not to think that was probably part of Logan’s plan all along.
“What do you want me to say, Lennox? It was inevitable. Congressional candidate is identical twin of well-known UFL quarterback. Of course the press was going to run with it.” He chuckles sardonically. “And it’s driving Daley’s camp insane. Your picture running next to mine under fourteen-point headlines? Daley’s crap is buried on page fifteen. Next to the Beltone hearing aid ads.”
“Whatever, I’m still not going to be your talking head.”
“And I’m not expecting you to. But if your ugly mug can get people to sit up and take notice of who I am and what my political platforms are? You bet your sweet ass I’m going to take hard core advantage of that. I think it’s only fair. All things considered.”
“So, what the fuck you doing here Logan?”
Hugh, who’s been chewing on his nails in the corner during my little tête-à-tête with my brother, looks nervously between Logan and me. He pulls at his collar, stretching the fabric to near its breaking point. He seems more than a little anxious to hear Logan’s response. Logan, on the other hand, looks like he couldn’t care less.
“Campaigning, brother. Only one month left till the debates start. And no election was ever won with an empty war chest.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “I guess it’s not like Pop left us with big bank roll, huh?”
Logan’s eyes narrow. His neck starts to flush an angry, fire-engine red. I catch Hugh taking a quarter-step back out of the corner of my eye.
What the hell?
Before I can put my finger on exactly what’s going on, Logan takes a deep breath through his nostrils, closes his eyes slowly and reopens them. The flush of red over his pulsing carotid artery starts to fade to a less alarming shade of pink then his familiar, perfect tan.
“You’re right, Lennox. Our father wasn’t fortunate enough to have anything of substance to leave us. Wasn’t his fault. Luck of the draw, I guess.”
Logan leans casually against the front of Hugh’s desk. He crosses his arms.
There was so much my brother just didn’t get about dear old dad. But, I certainly didn’t feel like getting into a sparring match with him about it now. I just wanted to get home. To Sloane.
“Again, though. Why are you here?”
“Well, instead of relying on non-existent, as you so kindly pointed out, family money, to help see me through this election, I have to rely on the donations of generous supporters like Mr. Laughlin here to keep the campaign fires burning. Hugh, here, had promised a liberal contribution. I had also planned on coming by to discuss a personal matter with you, anyway, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
Logan pauses, the silence in Hugh’s office heavy layered with inquiry. I break the silence first.
“Didn’t sound like Hugh was too keen on opening his wallet.”
Hugh opens his mouth to say something, but a sharp look from Logan causes a quick clamp on anything he may have had to say. Logan returns his attention back to me almost as quickly.
“That sometimes happens. Sometimes candidates and would-be constituents don’t see eye-to-eye on certain...things. Which is truly a shame. If certain agendas aren’t addressed, there are bound to be negative effects.”
Another look at Hugh.
“For individuals. For the community. For the country,” Logan continues. “It’s one of the biggest reasons I’m even running for office. It’s time for a regime change.”
“Except we live in a democracy,” I counter.
“To-may-to, to-mah-to. Just a figure of speech. Walk with me, Lennox, or did you need to see Hugh about something first?”
“I, um, just came to tell Hugh I think I’m going to skip the Toradol shot today.”
A taunting smile spreads across Logan’s face. “Aw, come on. Wouldn’t want to disappoint you fans now, would you?”
That thin crease wedges its way between my eyebrows again. Since that night, at the hospital, and that stupid argument, Logan hasn’t shown a whole lot of interest in my football career. Except maybe when he took our little high school “gag” to the next level. Using my face in order to get laid. After what I had said to Pop that night, I guess he felt I owed him. Which stirs the rage beast that’s been nesting in my gut lately. That’s exactly why Sloane’s in the fix she’s in right now. Because he pretended to be me. Just to get a piece of ass.
“Logan, state your business or get the hell out. I’m tired, worn out and I just want to go home.”
“Funny,” he replies. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. But, not here.”
His eyes give a quick sweep of the locker room. It’s starting to thin out as the guys head for wives, girlfriends, or both. But, Logan shakes his head. “G
et dressed. Walk me to my car. We need to talk. You done here?”
Hugh’s shoulders make a decided slump. “Lennox? An ice bath isn’t gonna make a dent in the kinda hurt those boys put on you today. You want to be benched for Sunday’s big game because your achy ass can’t function?”
Much as I wanted to be the tough guy, I didn’t take the chance that Coach would sideline me ‘cause he thought I wasn’t on my A-game.
“Come on,” Hugh urged. “One little stick and you’ll be right as rain.”
Thing about rain? It usually came with thunder.
Chapter 11
Sloane
God is bowling. At least, that’s what it sounds like as I press my freckled nose up against the glass of the loft window and watch frantic pedestrians dance across L Street, searching for a dry spot in one of the odd shops that dot the street. The number seven from Lennox’s old jersey reflects back at me in the glass. It was the only thing in the loft that didn’t feel constricting. Hopefully, my roomie wouldn’t mind the borrow.
It wasn’t God bowling, of course. I mentally flip through the Rolodex of information in my head, trying to remember the old story.
Henry Hudson! That’s it! Henry Hudson and the Catskill gnomes. Supposedly, explorer Henry Hudson and his men had stumbled upon the gnomes high in the Catskill Mountains. The gnomes plied the men with drink and ninepins, the echoing sound of their games echoing down from the peaks and across the valleys. Rumor had it that every time the thunder rumbles in the sky, it’s good old Henry and the gnomes, at it again, bowling and drinking.
Ugh! What I wouldn’t give for an ice-cold beer right about now.
And pizza. Oh, god, yes. A hot, piping slice of Zelda’s gourmet pie would be perfection right about now.
Lightning arcs across the sky, lighting up the dark grey sky like it was noon on a sunny day in June. Then came the crack of thunder and the sky opens up, dumping buckets of rain on the poor waiter at The Buckhorn Grill across the street as he rushes to collapse the patio umbrella before the gusting wind picks them up and carries them off for parts unknown. His purple spiked hair quickly succumbs to the insistent rain, transitioning from spike to splat as it plasters against his pale forehead with the moisture. A gust washes a wall of water into the glass, causing me to jump back. The first, fat wet drops had splatted ineffectually against the panes of the loft window a few hours ago. Now, you could hardly see out of the glass.
The front door suddenly bangs open. I let loose a yelp of surprise.
“Lennox!” He stands on the threshold, a welling pool of rainwater collecting at his feet. I rush forward to help. “Omigosh! Let me grab you a towel!”
I have to admit I’d been thinking about him all day, and not just because I’d spent the better part of the day trying to write an in-depth biographical article on him. According to Emma, women in the second trimester often experienced a surge in desire and extra blood flow that made for insane sensitivity in areas that hungered for Lennox’s expert touch. I know we had an agreement to keep things...untangled...but, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold myself in check.
I take the box and the bag from his hand in exchange for the towel. It’s only when I set the large white box on the counter that I notice the name on the box. Zelda’s.
“You...you stopped in this weather? To pick up Zelda’s?”
Lennox rubs at his wet hair agitatedly. “Yeah.”
“You really didn’t have to do that,” I offer, a little incredulous that he could have been that perceptive. He starts banging and clunking through the refrigerator. I look in the plastic grocery bag he brought in. “And non-alcoholic beer?”
“Can’t have you drinking the high-octane stuff, can we? Shit!” he utters as he strong-arms the fridge door closed. “Looks like we’re both on unleaded tonight. I thought I had a few Yuenglings in there, but damned if I can find them.” He grabs a plate and lifts the soggy cardboard box lid open, levering a slice of spinoccoli pizza, my personal favorite, onto a plate and hands it to me.
“Oh, they were in there, but I did some cleaning today.” We’d been sharing space for nearly a month now, and I’d respected his domain. But, I guess the “nesting instinct” had started to kick in. “I went through the whole refrigerator. Pulled everything out, wiped it all down, and checked the dates on everything to make sure it wasn’t expired. Did you know you had yogurt in there that could shave if you gave it a razor? Anyway, the beers were past their ‘drink by’ dates. So, I chucked them.”
As Lennox lifts a slice of pizza onto his own plate, I’m almost certain I hear a low growl, but I dismiss it as nothing more than my own little passenger urging me to put some speed into it before he starts to gnaw on me from the inside out.
It’s funny. I don’t actually know if it’s a him or a her, but somehow, thinking of the baby as a boy just feels...well, right. Lennox takes a bite of the pizza. I take a second to just watch the muscle in his jaw work and try to imagine...is this what my baby’s going to look like? Lennox isn’t the father, of course, but he is a carbon copy of his brother so it’s not that far of a stretch.
I lift the slice towards my mouth. Lennox whirls on a squeaky wet heel and heads for the spice rack. As my teeth sink into the ooey, gooeyness of the melted cheese, I hear the glass bottles clinking and clanking behind me.
“I have oregano. I know I have oregano. Where the hell is the oregano?” Lennox blusters.
“Between the Hungarian paprika and the Jamaican ginger.”
I turn to face him, mumbling through a mouthful of spinach pizza. “I alphabetized the spices today, too. Not as easy as you might think, I’ll have you know. Cumin comes after cardamom. Alum is before anise. And then, of course, you have the great debate. Do you file Dalmatian sage under ‘D’ for Dalmatian, or ‘S’ for sage? And don’t get me started on the stupid cinnamon, which had to go in between cardamom and curry. So, then I didn’t have room for the friggin’ caraway seed!”
He continues fumbling through the spice bottles, his focus scattered. “All I want is the friggin’ oregano! Is that too much to ask?”
“You know, sometimes if we slow down a little, what we need is usually right in front of us.” I try a little of Mom’s sage advice on him.
Some of the stormy grey muddling the sea-glass green of his eyes starts to clear. But, I can see something is still churning within him. All the baby books say that pregnant women get heightened senses. I don’t know if it’s that or just that I am starting to dial in on what makes my roomie tick, but I know something is wrong. I lay a gentle hand on his arm.
“What’s going, Lennox? What’s really got you so upset?”
“You just keep messing...with stuff.” He gestures wildly. “The refrigerator. The oregano. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
A sudden, cold, heavy feeling sinks to the pit of my stomach. I let go of his arm and take a step back. “What do you mean?”
“This. Our whole little arrangement. Playing house. The election’s in a little less than a month. What happens then? Logan will have his constituents. You’ll be out the door and well on your way to having this kid. And then what about me? How am I supposed to find the damn oregano then?”
I reach past him, grab the bottle of oregano and gently place it in his hands.
“Just remember to look right in front of you,” I half-whisper.
The kiss that follows is cautious. A hesitant brush across my lower lip. Like he half expects me to vanish at any moment. Then he pulls me in, holding me tightly against him, likely for the same reason. This time the kiss is harder. Desperate even. He finally lets me come up for air.
“I can see what you’re saying,” I mumble, the salty tang of pizza lingering on my lips. “Life would be a pretty bland without oregano.”
He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand, nodding. “It’s an important spice. Especially if you like pizza.”
Another kiss. I close my eyes and allow myself to enjoy it.
“I do like pizza.”
“But,” he asks throatily as he drifts soft, gentle kisses down my neck. “Would you consider eating pizza every night? Wouldn’t you get tired of it?”
“That’s the thing about pizza,” I respond, barely keeping my voice steady in spite of the shivers starting to roll through the center of my being.
“Just when you think you know every single, possible topping on a pizza, you discover something new.” I gasp as Lennox’s hand slides into the back of my sweats and his rough palm cups the cheek of my ass and squeezes. “And it’s absolutely delicious.”
“So,” Lennox asks as he takes the slice of pizza that’s still been lingering in my hand and sets it in the open box on the counter. “How hungry are you?”
He stares into my eyes. “I’m practically starving”
Lennox wraps his strong arms around me and hikes me up. I instinctively wrap my legs around him, as he stations me on his slim hips. His mouth comes down on mine and his warm, probing tongue teases the edges of my full lips before plunging in search of something more satisfying.
He’s starving, too.
He walks us to the living room, his heaving breath hinting that the bedroom is too far away. He carefully lowers us to the plush carpet in front of the fireplace. The eager crack-pop of the flames echo the eagerness of my fingers as I fumble with Lennox’s belt then dig my thumbs into his waistline to strip him of his jeans. Lennox returns the favor in kind, and soon we both lie naked in the warm, golden light of the dancing flames. The patter of rain on the glass from the building storm, sets a rhythm.
“How do you like your pizza?” Lennox grins slyly.
I smile back. “Spicy.”
Lennox begins a lazy stroll of kisses starting at my lips, then down my neck. He pauses at my breasts, two big hands reaching up and cupping their fullness. He brings each nipple, in turn, to his hot mouth, expert tongue exciting each one to eager stimulation, hard and erect, then continues his journey to the main course.
He moves his hands to my knees, almost pinning me in place, as he runs his tongue down. Down toward the place where the inside of my thighs touch, then he lets go my legs, letting them fall slightly apart. His hands slide up in between my legs then under, lifting them at the knees, then gently widening a space so I am fully open to him. Wet. Pulsing.
