The Baller (17 page)

The captain’s voice came overhead to tell us bad weather to the east had takeoffs backed up, and we were returning to the gate, although we wouldn’t be disembarking the plane. We should sit back and enjoy a complimentary beverage.
Sure. Easy for you to say.
These tin cans obviously didn’t have the same effect on him. Why did every flight I was on lately have to mention bad weather or some other potentially catastrophic scenario?

Once we parked and the seatbelt sign turned off, I made a quick trip to the ladies’ room, then dug in my bag for my cell to tell Brody I was running late. The screen illuminated, then immediately flashed a lightning bolt with a drained battery and proceeded to power down. “Damn it.”

“You need help with something?” My seatmate was probably in his late sixties. I thought about asking him to use his phone, but I had no idea what Brody’s number even was. I’d never actually dialed it before.

I held up my phone. “My phone died, and I don’t know the person’s number. I’m supposed to meet him at my apartment, and I’m guessing we’re going to be late since they just shut off the engine.”

“Ah. Cell phone withdrawal. The effects can be just as daunting as heroin, they say.”

“You don’t have one?”

“Nope.”

“Is someone picking you up at the airport when we land?”“

“Yes. My wife.”

“Does she have a phone?”

He shook his head, mildly amused.

“How will she know we’re delayed?”

“I supposed she’ll pick up the phone and call the airline, as she has for the last forty years. I take it whomever you are meeting won’t do that?”

“Definitely not.” I smiled and tucked my bag back under the seat. “So how do you pass the time without Candy Crush, then?”

“Candy what?”

For the next half hour, I explained the intricacies of a game that didn’t sound as riveting as it was while being played. My new friend returned the favor by explaining the art of cognac. When the flight attendant came to offer us a drink, he requested only two cups. Then he pulled out a bottle from his bag, and we proceeded to sample the liquor. It tasted like crap, but one small glass mixed with my flight medication, and I was out like a light.

When we finally landed, more than three hours late, it was exactly the time Brody would be picking me up at my place. Knowing traffic would be a nightmare, I stopped in the bathroom near the gate and plugged in my phone while I used the toilet and fixed myself up. The phone illuminated again after a few minutes, enough for me to shoot off a text to Brody.

Delilah: Just landed. Phone died before we took off. Are you already at my place?

Brody: Just pulled into the parking garage.

Delilah: Sorry. Will probably take me an hour to get home. Give it two minutes, then ring 3E. Patrick has a key to my place. I’ll text him now and tell him to give it to you.

Brody: Why does Patrick have a key to your place?

I wanted to get the hell out of the bathroom. We could discuss the logistics later.

Delilah: To unlock the door. Why does anyone have a key?

I smirked, knowing he wouldn’t love that answer, and then shot off a quick text to Patrick before I unplugged and headed home.

***

Traffic was surprisingly light, and I made it home in less than half the time it ordinarily took. It was odd that I was returning after a football trip, and Brody was at my house waiting for me. The roles were typically reversed.

“Hello?” The kitchen light was on, but everything else was dark. Looking down the hallway to the bedroom, I saw the bathroom was lit.

“I’m in here.”

The door was open. I stopped in my tracks as I entered. The visual was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen.

“What are you doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like I’m doing.”

“You’re . . . you’re taking a bubble bath?” Brody was sunk down into my tub, his head lolling back against the tile wall. The full length of his tall body didn’t quite fit—his legs were sticking out and over the rim. Bubbles overflowed from the tub and onto the floor. The entire room smelled like scented bath soap.

“No tub at my place. I like to soak. Feels good on my muscles.”

“And you usually soak in bubble bath?” I could barely contain my laughter.

“I don’t have any of this crap. The directions on the pink shit . . . ” He pointed to a large plastic bottle that had been full when I left but was now half empty. “ . . . said it was good for soothing muscles.”

“You only need to use a capful.”

“I was really sore.”

“You look . . . ridiculous in there.”

“What? You don’t find the bubbles sexy? If I saw you in a bathtub, I’d think it was fucking hot.”

“It’s just sort of . . . girly.”

He reached under the bubbles and took himself into his hand, the head of his semi-erect penis peeking out from the water. “Does this look girly to you?” He stroked himself leisurely.

I stopped seeing the bubbles. All I could see was his strong hand around his thick shaft, slowly rubbing up and down. The vision was positively erotic. I’d never watched a man masturbate up close before. My eyes were glued as he stroked.

“Do you pleasure yourself in here sometimes, Delilah?”

I swallowed and nodded.

“I want to watch you. See you slip your fingers inside that wet pussy and make yourself come—my cock is getting hard just thinking about it.” The speed of his pumps accelerated. I tore my eyes away and gazed up at his face; his jaw was set and tense. When our eyes caught, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down on his stubbled throat while his pale green eyes darkened with lust. All it took was his look—I didn’t need to be touched—and my body was humming with need. When he spoke again, his voice was low, but gruff and commanding. “Take your shirt off.”

I followed every instruction he gave me, my clothes disappearing slowly, one piece at a time, until I was standing before him wearing only my underwear and shoes.

He stared at my black lace thong. “Take it off. I want to see every inch of you.” His hand fisted around his cock as he stroked faster. “Are you wet for me already, Delilah?”

Hooking my fingers into the sides of the lace, I shimmied my panties down my legs. My answer was a whisper in the quiet room. “I am.” I stepped out of the pooled black lace and reached down to remove the last of my clothing—black high heels with a strap that wrapped around my ankle.

“Leave them on.” I stopped unfastening and looked up at him. “You need the height.”

He stood from the tub. His body was gorgeous, a mass of carved muscle and smoothly tanned skin. The full length of his thick erection pressed against his hard stomach. Unconsciously, I licked my lips.

“I want to bend you over the sink, take you from behind.”

God, yes.

“And I want you to watch yourself in the mirror. I’m going to fuck you hard until you come. Then I’m going to push deep inside of you and fill your pussy with every ounce of my cum.”

“Jesus, Brody.” My knees were half weak as he walked to me. Turning my body to face the mirror, he swept my hair to the side and pressed his lips to my neck from behind. His chest was wet, but warm and hard against my body. The full length of him pushed up against the top of my ass.

“Spread your legs for me.”

I did.

“Wider.”

Slowly, he rubbed his body up and down me from behind, his cock nudging at my ass as he reached around to rub my clit. “So fucking wet for me.”

It felt so good, my eyes drifted closed as I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his neck. When he slipped two fingers inside of me, a throaty moan fell from my lips.

His other hand turned my chin to the side, giving him access to my mouth. Crushing his lips to mine, his kiss was wild and shamelessly hungry. I loved that he wasn’t gentle, his actions expressing emotion and need. He cupped my breasts and squeezed, pinching my nipples so hard it bordered on pain. I threaded my fingers through his wet hair and pulled, wanting him even closer.

We were both panting, unable to get enough, when he released my mouth, his teeth tugging on my lip as we separated. “Bend.” With his hand on my back, he eased me forward, folding me at the waist. “Hold on to the sides.” My hands curled around the granite sides of the vanity, his hands curled around mine. “Look up.” My eyes rose to catch the reflection staring back at me from the mirror. Brody was right: the level was perfect with the extra four inches from my shoes. My skin was flushed, my hair was disheveled and wild, and my eyes were full of blatant desire.

“Fucking beautiful.”

He rubbed the length of himself along my wetness a few times before pushing inside. Once he made sure I was ready for him, he did exactly what he promised. Fucked me hard until I came just as hard. Then he seated himself deep inside of me and released with a carnal roar.

A few minutes later, Brody scooped me up and carried me to bed, slipping in behind me. I snuggled back against him, and his body molded around mine. “Mmm . . . I could get used to this kind of welcome home.”

“That’s good, baby. Because I threw out the vibrator in your end table drawer.”

I froze, unsure if he was kidding or not.

Brody chuckled and pulled me closer. “Relax, I’m joking. But good to know one is in there. I’d like to use it on you sometime. Better yet, I think I’d like to watch you use it on yourself.”

“You have a one-track mind.”

“I do. All Delilah’s pussy. All the time.”

I elbowed him, and we both laughed. It felt good to have Brody in my bed. We talked for more than an hour in the dark, catching up on the last few days. It felt so . . . normal. Domestic. Natural.
Right.

It was almost midnight when we settled, and I began to feel sleepy. “Brody?”

“Hmm?” He kissed my shoulder.

“You’re spooning me? Brody Easton spoons?”

“Only you, baby. But don’t be surprised if you get woken up by my fork later. There’s an ass I plan to take still. I’m far from done with you.”

I inhaled deeply and smiled, realizing I was far from done with him, too.

Over the next week, we spent every night together. Some nights I made him dinner while we argued over sports; other nights we ate out of take out containers sitting on the living room floor while we learned about each other—favorite music, favorite movies, foods we both disliked. Thanks to Brody’s interesting question choices, we also knew what costumes we wore for Halloween at age eight and what animal we’d choose if we could be turned into one (Brody would be a lion. I’d be a dolphin). But I ended every day wrapped in Brody’s arms.

Mr. CUM had been pissed that I hadn’t brought the locker room story to WMBC. There was no denying he was right when he reamed into me on how my personal relationship with Brody had influenced my judgment on reporting a story. Although two days later he calmed when he realized there was a way to exploit that personal relationship. Brody agreed to an exclusive interview if his team made playoffs. That got me off the hot seat with my boss—for now.

One morning, Brody left early for his first practice after his suspension. My red throw pillows were strewn all over the living room floor from when we’d gone at it on the couch the night before. I picked up the two monogrammed red pillows, then the brown rectangular one I’d had since high school. Tracing my fingers along the script that spelled out
LOVE
, I briefly thought about the boy who’d given it to me so many years ago. I felt guilty for starting to let Drew go, but it was a decision I knew needed to be made. Too many years of my life had passed in a blur since the accident. This was the first time I didn’t want to stand by and watch more pass. I wanted to live them.

After a long shower, I got myself ready for work. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, zipping up my knee-high leather boots, when the small framed picture of Drew that sat on my nightstand caught my eye. Brody had never said a word about it, even though it was impossible for him to have missed it. I looked down at the first boy I fell in love with and closed my eyes, thinking of all of the good memories. Up until now, I had always thought of Drew as just my love, not my
first
love. Realizing that he may have been my first but would likely not be my last was a monumental moment for me. I stood, holding the photo, then did something I never expected to do—I packed the photo into a box inside my closet. Drew would always have a piece of my heart, but there was finally room for someone else.

Brody

After practice, I swung by my place and grabbed the wooden checkers set I’d bought for Marlene’s birthday. It wasn’t the exact one she used to have—this one was nicer—but it looked similar. On my way, I stopped at the florist and picked her up a bunch of colorful flowers.

“Morning, ya old bastard.” I smiled at Grouper.

He scrunched up his forehead and looked at me funny. “What the hell are you so happy about, dipshit?”

“What’s not to be happy about? I’m damn good looking, got a weapon for an arm, and you work for me, not the other way around. Life is fucking stupendous.”