“Would you, hon? We have three hours to get to Long Beach or we’ll miss embarkation.”
Macy wasn’t even back home yet. She had been out shopping with Sage and Chloe. Apparently she wanted to buy sexy lingerie for the next night—to commemorate my official clearance to have sex—even though I told her she’d look just as sexy in one of my T-shirts.
“Leave the key in the usual spot. Have fun on the cruise, Mom. See you all when you get back.”
After ending the call with my mother, I texted Macy to let her know, figuring five days at my parents’ six thousand square-foot home could be fun. Heated pool. Jacuzzi. It was one thing to enjoy those accommodations with Macy as a teen, even then her body, presence, hard to ignore. But being in a jacuzzi with Macy now?
Call me ruined.
Me: Hey, guess what happened?
I stared at the phone, in anticipation of her reply, relieved when I saw the text bubbles bounce on the screen.
Macy: Um, does it have to do with our parents’ trip and Lola and Jack?
Me: Yes, how did you know?
Macy: My mom called me, completely unhinged, asking if we’d be up to watching Lola and Jack. Something about the dog-sitter bowing out?
Me: You okay with taking our party over there? I mean, we have plans…
Macy: As long as Jack doesn’t try to hump me.
I laughed because, for whatever reason, Jack always humped Macy’s leg as soon as she walked in the house.
Me: I’ll be the only one humping you.
Between getting packedand ensuring our own house would be okay for five days, Macy and I didn’t make it over to Mom and Dad’s until after midnight. Lola and Jack went crazy, jumping all over us—Jack trying to hump Macy’s leg—like they’d been alone for days instead of several hours.
While excited, eager, for what was to come,literally, we’d agreed, no matter what, to stick with our plans we made before jumping each other’s bones—a romantic dinner at Befanos, a popular Italian restaurant, then back home, well, my parents’ house, for fucking, lovemaking, and cuddles.
In that order.
I began to settle into the idea of spending the week together, playing house in luxury—a tiny glimpse into our possible future, me banking on money I’d earn in the NFL. I had plans to buy a large house and shower my woman, my family, with everything their hearts desired.
We set up camp in the guest bedroom since it was equipped with a king-size bed and sliding-door access to the pool and jacuzzi. My childhood bedroom wouldn’t have worked since it pretty much looked the same as it was when I lived there with a full-sized bed thatIbarely fit into, let alone two people who probably needed as much space as possible when rolling around in the sheets.
I wanted Macy. Don’t think it wasn’t hard to fight every urge to skip the romantic evening planned and pound her, especially that morning when she pranced around the house in boy shorts and a tit-hugging tank top, her nipples screaming,get over here and taste me.
“Um, it’s kind of hard to resist you when you’re walking around here looking likethat,” I told her, slapping her ass as she sauntered past me.
She spun around, surveying me as she slurped coffee, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Likewise,” she replied, “you, sexy, piece of man-candy tease.”
I laughed; that sassy mouth never ceased to amaze me.
Dinner reservations were at 8 p.m. and with traffic being a bitch anywhere in Los Angeles, Macy and I planned to head out at seven.
Showered and fully dressed in jeans, a silk tee, and socks until we were ready to leave, I fed Lucy and Jack, then let them run around in the part of the backyard cordoned off especially for them. The yard was a decent size, complete with an outdoor kitchen, a bar close to the pool, and a fireplace meant for snuggling. I used to catch my parents, snug, holding hands, exchanging kisses while sitting there, their golden relationship and beyond comfortable lifestyle, something to strive for. They’d met in college—Dad a football king, Mom a nerdy psychology major who tutored him on weekends. They were married before they graduated college, and soon after, Dad got drafted to play for the San Diego Chargers. Ten years later, I was born, my dad retired, and they moved to Beverly Hills, bought this house, and my mom set up her dream private psychology practice.
I’d always wanted their life. Love. Family. And, like my father, a successful NFL career with the monied lifestyle that so often accompanied it. But, despite what I told Macy because I wanted to protect her from further worry, the concussion did scare me. I mean, the game of football isn’t hopping and skipping around in a meadow filled with birds and flowers. It’s rough, brutal, and getting banged up on the field was par for the course. I could handle a busted kneecap, maybe even a broken leg. But CTE? Thanks, I’ll pass. Thoughts of getting slammed into in a way that would lead to more concussions were unsettling.
Lucy and Jack yapped, yanking me out of my daze as I admired the view, soaking in the California sky as it changed from dusk to nightfall.
Glancing at my watch, I realized the time. I rounded up the barking brats, then decided to check in on Macy. I’d left her to get ready in the guest room with privacy to do whatever shit ladies did to prepare for dates. Already minutes before 7 p.m., I didn’t want to risk us being late.
Ear to the door, I could hear music. Macy’s voice singing along to the R&B track brought a smile to my face. Among other things, we had a love of music in common, both flexing in and out of genres with ease. Nothing fascinated me more than catching an unsuspecting glimpse of Macy while she danced around our house looking tantalizing as fuck, earbuds in place as she sang her favorite songs.
Knuckles to the door, I knocked.
