by Leslie Pike
“Bristol!”
Mallory’s voice rises above the room’s conversations. I’m greeted by family and notice the few guests invited to experience the suite.
“Come sit here,” January says moving her purse off the seat next to her.
“Want something to drink?” my father calls from the bar.
“Not yet, Dad.”
I snake through the small groups of people and take my seat in front of the wide window. My sister in laws on either side.
“Just In time. You look cute,” Charlotte says munching on the plateful of goodies on her lap.
I give her a lift of an eyebrow.
“What? Are you two a thing?”
“Tell us everything!” January says sitting uncomfortably in her pregnancy.
“First of all you’re jumping the gun. We are not a “thing”. What we are is friends. We actually really like each other.”
I get two stares accompanied by blank expressions. They’re waiting for more.
“And…”
“And we’re going out tonight.”
The words are simple, my delivery straightforward. But they read what’s behind my eyes and what’s not hidden in my smile.
January starts laughing.
“Stop it! Just friends! You’re going to make me pee!”
Charlotte takes my hand in hers. “Where are you going?”
“It’s a surprise. We decided to let each other plan a night out that we consider our idea of fun.”
“I know Atticus’ idea of fun. We would have ended up in bed.”
“If you’re like your brothers, Sawyer will be a happy man,” January says.
“You’re both way ahead of me. It’s a first date. There’ll be nobody in anybody’s bed tonight.”
“Here honey, I made a plate for you. And January this one’s for you.”
My mother comes up behind us and hands me a plate of things she knows I’ll eat. Raw veggies, slices of tomatoes and green salad with oil and vinegar dressing. January’s plate bears no relation to mine. There’s potato salad, a slider and a chocolate chip cookie.
“Sit with us, Lucinda,” Charlotte says.
As my mom takes her seat, the players take the field.
“There’s my guy,” Charlotte says eyeing Atticus take his spot behind home plate.
“There’s Sawyer,” I say watching his every move.
His practice pitches to Atticus are a thing of beauty.
I’m aware of someone calling from the entry to the room.
“Excuse me. I have a delivery for Miss Bristol Swift.”
Turning, I find a hotdog vendor looking for direction. I raise my hand.
“Right here! I’m Bristol.”
He walks over and begins to pass the delivery my way. My plate gets stored on the window ledge, and I hold out my hands.
The room’s attention is on me.
“Here you go, miss. One Memphis dog with all the fixings, I’ve got a kosher pickle and a large Coke.”
I’m trying to balance it all.
“That boy clearly doesn’t know what a picky eater you are. I like it,” says Brick.
“Here’s some curly fries and a bag of peanuts. Oh yeah, and two white macadamia nut cookies for dessert.”
I’m chuckling because this is the exact opposite of what I’d eat. When he’s finished with the food, the vendor reaches in his pocket and brings out a baseball.
“Mr. Tom signed this for you. Said to tell you he wants you to have the whole game experience. And he asked that I give you this.”
He passes a folded piece of paper to me. When I read his words, I’m smiling
Let me teach you to love the second greatest sport. And the first.
Ohhhh. That’s cute, Sawyer. And sexy. I stick the note in my pants pocket. Maybe I’ll read it again when I get home. Once or four hundred times.
Wish I could wipe this grin off my face but it’s impossible. And everyone here sees the effect. Charlotte and January are dancing in their seats. Well, January is mostly raising a waving arm.
What game?
I haven’t been nervous for a date’s arrival since the turn of the century. Quickly I do the math. Shit. Sawyer was ten years old.
Taking a final look in the hall mirror I smooth my favorite dress and tuck a stray strand behind my ear. I hardly recognize this woman looking back. She’s out of her brain and into her body. Interesting. I’m feeling turned on, and nobody’s touching me.
The doorbell makes me jump. He’s here. My mouth instantly goes dry. Oh God.
My feet feel like they are walking in sand as I move toward the door of my condo. It’s a long hallway. Longer than I ever knew. I take a deep breath then blow it out slowly as my hand grasps the doorknob. Here we go.
The door swings open and the vision appears. This is sexy on another level. He’ll be harder to resist than anticipated. A pale blue top drapes gently over his tight body. Biceps and pecs can’t be ignored. Think that’s a washboard stomach I see through the fabric.
And the dark jeans fit as if they were made just for this body. Oh hell, I’m in trouble.
“Evening,” he says with that slow drawl.
I get the stomach flip. Inside my head I’m fucking him where we stand. In a flash an image of me straddling him appears. In it I’m really good at the art of making love. And I have absolutely no trouble reaching orgasm. The way he’s looking at me does nothing to stop the fantasy.
“You look lovely. Let me see,” he says taking my hands.
He looks at my entire head-to-toe ensemble.
“You have a beautiful body, Bristol. This is the first I’ve seen of your legs. You shouldn’t ever wear pants.”
I have no comeback. What’s happening?
“Let me see your place. Can I come in?”
“Oh god. Sorry. Of course. Yes.”
I lead the way into the living room and adjacent open kitchen. I’m looking at my own space with new eyes. Looks a bit cold. Sparse.
“Very nice.”
He looks around taking in my modern décor, sans personal touches. There’s the couch and two club chairs. The glass coffee table and a lamp. The kitchen looks like no one has ever used it. That’s not far from the truth.
“Did you just move in?”
“No. I’ve been here five years.”
We both find my statement funny. I start laughing and he follows.
“If you could see my place you’d know why I find what you said funny,” he says.
“Don’t like the minimalist look?”
“So this was on purpose?”
I punch him right in the arm. “Ass.”
He closes his grip around my wrist and brings me close.
“Don’t worry, I’m going slow. But just a kiss. We can do that, can’t we?”
“I suppose so. If you must.”
I’m not sure he’s buying my indifference. Because as he leans in, I melt into his embrace. This kiss is different from the last. It carries me from my living room to a place I want to see more of. The taste of him is addictive. The smell of his skin is soap, shaving lotion and his unique pheromones. Manly.
When we part his eyes don’t leave mine.
“I don’t want to shoot myself in the foot, but if we keep doing that I won’t want to stop. Our pact to go slow or not.”
“Well, I can’t be the lion tamer. Control yourself, because I want to keep doing it.”
So I take his face in my hands and lay one on him. It’s the mother of all kisses. Sweet Memphis magic. I pull away just as I feel the bulge in his pants rear it’s probably beautiful head.
“Let’s go. Where are you taking me?”
Only a frustrated moan sounds as I grab my purse and he follows me to the door.
“Before we go to dinner why don’t you show me your place? Just so we’re on equal footing.”
He doesn’t hate the idea. I can already see the way his mind’s working.
“Just a five-minute sto
p. No funny business,” I say.
“It’s not really a good idea. Pretty sure I left some briefs on the floor. And there’s other things I’d rather clear away before you come.”
“Come on. I want to see the real you.”
He opens the door and we walk toward the elevator.
“You had time to get your place all perfect looking. I want the same advantage.”
Now I really want to see it. What the heck does he have there? A red room?
“What if I make it worth your while?”
His eyes light up and the corners of his mouth lift.
“What do you have in mind?”
We get inside the elevator and I press the button.
“If you take me to your place, and I get to see every room, I’ll let you get to first base.”
His grin fades.
“I’m already on first base. You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“No you’re not. Kissing is just walking up to the plate.”
“Do tell. I must be using Texas rules.”
“First base is on top of the bra. Second is under the bra. Third is…well, you know the rest.”
In a flash he’s in front of me, and I’m caged between his arms.
“Deal.”
All the way here I had this barely containable urge to touch his crotch. Maybe I’ve caught some sort of bacterial infection, because my genitalia is on fire. If only. I could take antibiotics for that. Whatever’s happening here has nothing to do with nasty bacteria. Although it does have its base in science.
Hormones, his and mine, are mixing in a horny brew.
But beyond the scientific laws of attraction lies the heart of things. I’m wildly attracted to the man. When I’m with him everything looks and feels sharper. The world is turning technicolor. I hadn’t realized it wasn’t like that already.
“This is a new building, right?”
“I think so. My realtor thought it was the best out of the ones we looked at. I don’t really know anything about buying property.”
Interesting.
“I hope you didn’t tell him that.”
“Her.”
He slides his keycard into the double front door and holds it open for me to enter.
“Oh, wow!”
That’s about all I can say when I see his space. There’s not a touch of his personal style or anything referencing adulthood. It looks like a twelve-year-old boy ordered everything he lusted after at the mall.
Except for the gym equipment which takes up the bulk of the huge living room.
“I know. I can see it on your face. This was a bad idea.”
His voice trails off. Poor guy. I can’t take his embarrassment.
“No! Don’t even think about it. It’s a great space. Really. I think you could really make something wonderful out of it with a little help.”
He looks at me with those piercing eyes and tilts his head, questioning the truth of my statement. I can’t hold back my laughter any longer.
“Oh my god, Sawyer! This is crazy!”
We start laughing and can’t stop. There is no hiding my actual opinion. I’ve never seen a grown man’s apartment or condo or house that looks like this does.
“I’m going to make you pay for that,” he says locking on mine.
He comes toward me with his hand out.
“Come here bad girl.” He leaves no room for discussion.
I back up. “What? No!!”
Looking around for a pathway through the toys, I see none. Tripping over the corner of the treadmill, I recover and get further away.
“Stop!” My hand raises and fingers spread as if that alone will deter him.
“No. You insulted my décor. Now I’m owed second-base privileges.” He comes closer with the devil in his eyes.
“You’re out of your mind! Get back you animal!” I scream. Then I decide to quit fighting the inevitable. He’d catch me in a moment anyway.
“I haven’t seen your other rooms, so you can’t do this,” I say in a weak argument.
He gets this deliciously evil look on his face.
“Want to see my bedroom?”
Oh crap.
“No, I don’t. I’ve reconsidered.”
He takes me in his embrace but doesn’t go for my buttons.
“A kiss. I’ll settle for one of those. I can wait until you want to show me the rest.”
Chapter 7
Sawyer
My balls are still aching an hour later. But I can’t blame it entirely on the kiss, or ten. Right now it’s the shapely legs keeping me in the zone. That and the black sexy high heel that dangles from her toes. She’s wiggling it as she sits cross legged at our table. Even the arch of her foot is sexy looking. There will come a day when I nibble on those painted toes.
It’s hard to look away from how sweet the girl looks. I guess that’s called a summer dress. Pale yellow, full short skirt that shows a few inches of something lacy and black underneath. It’s a tease. Toned arms and satiny shoulders are exposed. Fabric wraps around her neck like some swimsuits do. There’s no sign of a bra. I looked surreptitiously for hardened nipples. No luck.
This place is just what I hoped for. The Rush retro bar and restaurant is well named. Sitting smack dab on the edge of midtown, it’s a diamond in the rough. Think Bristol was a little taken aback when we first arrived. Looked like I was taking her to a dive instead of the hottest club in Memphis. It was my good luck she hadn’t been here before.
Atticus and Brick gave me the heads up. The place is a hangout for musicians and artists and ball players. Sunday night’s karaoke. Boozy singalongs rule. That’s why we’re here. I know there’s an uninhibited woman buried deep inside Bristol. Hopefully this place will inspire her to come out.
We had to thread up a staircase to the entry. It has an underground vibe. Ironic because it’s upstairs. The romantic low lighting is a surprise. But I like it. Her face in soft shadows is beautiful.
“Have you decided? They’re known for the oysters. Want to start with that?”
I pretend not to know what I’m proposing. Innocent. That’s the expression I’m trying to sell. Naughty. That’s the word for hers.
“Are you trying to slip me aphrodisiac, Mr. Tom?”
She’s aware of my weak game. I like that about her. She’s smart. There is no bullshit games or feigning innocence. She gets to it, so I will too.
“I doubt you need any help in that department,” I say offering a Texas boy grin.
The blush on her cheeks is highlighted by the table light. Awesome.
“Oysters it is. And maybe another of these,” she says holding up her almost-empty glass.
“Great idea. Me too.”
I motion for the passing server to give us another round.
“Tell me again what’s in here. It’s delicious,” she says.
“Rye whiskey and absinthe. It says here on the menu it’s the nation’s oldest cocktail. 1793.”
“I see why it has longevity. And it’s smooth. I hardly feel its effect.”
The way she says it tells me she actually believes it. I won’t tell her that her eyes say something completely different. Also the fact when she said the word smooth there was a little slur. It was pretty adorable.
“Really? I’m kind of a lightweight with alcohol. I’m definitely feeling something. But I like it.”
“This is fun. I’m having a good time,” she says smiling.
I reach across the small table and thread my fingers through hers.
“Me too. So tell me, what are you going to sing?”
A horrified look passes in front of her eyes. Her head starts shaking and her index finger wiggles in my face.
“No! Oh no, that’s not going to happen. You sing.”
“I’m going to. Got my song picked out already.”
The fact I don’t resist amuses her. Biting on her bottom lip and raising a perfectly arched eyebrow she holds back the smile that wants to escap
e.
The room’s host steps on stage and his arms open wide. He paces from one side of the stage to the other, talking to the crowd.
“Welcome to Karaoke Night!”
Applause and whistles fill the crowded space.
“We’ve got some of your favorites who’ll be performing an array of songs and genres. There’s something for everyone tonight. And there’s a few singers making their debut. I think you’re all going to be highly entertained. Shall we begin?”
Our second cocktail is set in front of us just as the first performer is introduced.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome one of Push’s favorite sons. Ron DiCarlo!”
The man’s in his sixties I’d guess. He looks like he’s closely acquainted with the mafia. I’m expecting to hear a Sinatra ballad. Instead, he kicks off the show with the theme from “Shaft.” It energizes the already half-drunk crowd. The first few notes out of Ron’s mouth earn him a roomful of fans.
Bristol is enjoying the performance as she sips from a straw I’m jealous of. If only those lips were sucking me instead. She and I exchange silent reviews of Ron’s talent. She points to him like ‘Who knew?’ I nod in agreement.
For the next hour it’s a cavalcade of various levels of showmanship and vocals. By one in the morning the room’s at a fevered pitch, revved up by alcohol and the power of music to carry you higher. The ear-piercing singers were just as entertaining as the accomplished ones.
We especially liked the three women who not only sang but attempted to dance to “Brick House.” Two of them kissed on stage. The crowd went wild. The young guy who stood almost frozen on stage was the biggest surprise. He was so frightened it was painful to watch. That was before he started singing. A voice so pure and perfect it quieted the crowd. Everyone knew they were in the company of genuine undiscovered talent.
Our cocktails have taken effect. I’m feeling no pain. Not exactly drunk, but on another plane. Bristol has let the walls down. In our conversation she mentioned she seldom drinks and doesn’t really see the draw. Pretty sure her opinion has changed.
She’s applauding for each act as if we’re watching the actual recording artists. It’s cracking me up. And the girl can whistle. Her brothers taught her how to put her thumb and little finger in her mouth and let it go. Every singer has been greeted and dismissed with the piercing sound. God she’s cute.
