Page 91 of Read With Your Heart

Her smile grows. We’ve already had sex twice and showered together. I don’t know if I can go for another round after setting up that kitchen all day, but this isn’t about sex. I watch as she stands, goes to the dresser and puts on a skin-colored item with lace down the middle. It’s the nightie she considered delicate laundry before we were together.

“Now, put on those red-rimmed glasses of yours.”

“How do you…?” Her voice drifts.

“The window, remember?” Her lips curl into a smile. She knows what I’m talking about. We used to watch one another.

“I have different lenses now.” Sometimes she wears glasses when she grades papers.

“I want the red ones,” I tell her, and she digs them out of a basket under her nightstand. At the same time, I reach for a book near my side of the bed. She sits on the covers, but I pull them back and tell her to bend her knees and tuck only her feet under the blanket.

Looking up at her, I perch up on my elbow and watch as she does what I ask.

“I’d look over here and see you sitting like this. Toes tucked, glasses on, a book in hand, and I’d wonder what you were reading. How it made you laugh or gasp, or did it make you hot? I wanted whatever it was that gave you those expressions. I wanted it for me. So, pretty lady, you are my gift this holiday. Just sitting like this with those red lenses and that nightie, you can read me some of this, and I’ll be the happiest man ever.”

She bites her lower lip, fighting a smile, and takes the book from me. “Shakespeare, of course.”

I point at the page I want her to read, and she begins Juliet’s lines about being bought and sold but not yet bedded. As she reads, my fingers trace along the underside of her raised, bent knee, and I skim under the back of her thigh to the curve of her ass on the mattress. Her breath hitches, but I tell her to keep reading. I slip my finger inside her panties because that view from the window used to make me hot, but the real thing, being in our bed, is even hotter. In minutes, Shakespeare is forgotten, but her nightie and red glasses remain on as I make love to her in our bed, grateful for the gift of her.

Epilogue

The greatest lesson we learn is to love.

Two months later

[Tricia]

Somehow, I’d convinced Leon to help me coach my middle school girls’ basketball team. It might be all the sexual favors I offered him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. The girls are not the best, but they have heart, and they are only eleven. It’s February, and we’ve just finished our season finals. Leon asks me to stay after the game and shoot around a little while. My back aches a bit. I haven’t been feeling well most of this month, finding my energy has been zapped this winter, but our team lingers on the sidelines.

“How about a little one-on-one between Coach Carter and me?” Leon taunts the team, and I glare at him. We can’t play ball in front of them. He’ll get all handsy and inappropriate. And they. Are. Eleven. Unfortunately for me, the girls cheer and scream, and I give in easily to peer pressure.

“Shirts and skins,” I grumble. Leon will not agree to us playing in that manner before a crowded gym.

“Skin on skin later, baby,” Leon teases, giving me a crooked smile. Then his voice gets louder as he explains his rules. “How about this? We’ll play a little spelling game. Each time I make a shot, the girls will flip over a card.”

I look up to find the team holding up blank sheets of paper, high and proud above their heads. Lys stands at the end of the line, and I’m wondering what she’s up to as she smiles at her brother.

“If Coach Carter makes the shot following mine, the letter stays. If Coach Carter misses, it goes away. Follow me?”

It’s a basic around-the-key basketball drill with this additional element.

“What the heck, Ramirez?” I grouse, but he steps to the left of the basket, makes a simple layup, and I follow. Allison flips the first paper and a giant M appears.

Leon steps to the right of the hoop, shoots again, and the next girl turns over an A. My heart races, and my suspicion skyrockets. I shoot and miss, and the A goes away.

Panic settles in. “Let me try again,” I cry out, but the girls sigh and groan, refusing to allow me a second chance.

Leon shoots again. The A returns. I shoot, and the A stays.

He moves to the top of the key. With two shots in a row and two following shots by me, a set of Rs appear.

“Leon,” I whisper, as he passes me on his way to the free throw line. His shot sails through the hoop. Mine wobbles the rim before dropping through the net. I almost have a heart attack. Once it drops, Hannah proudly turns her paper to Y, and the girls start to hop up and down.

I turn on Leon.

“Oh my God,” I whisper as his silver eyes dance.

“Three more cards, baby.”