Chapter Twenty-One Randall
Everything hurts.
All four limbs, each of my ligaments, and every muscle from my forehead to my toes scream at me as soon as I open my eyes.
Even my eyelids are complaining.
To add insult to literal injury, my erection is at ball busting proportions.
This starts and ends one way: Elise. It’s always Elise.
This morning, my mind drifts to the backstage of her college theater lab when she was bent over with forearms leaning against the wall, leggings bunched on her knees so she couldn’t widen her legs.
God, that made her even tighter, ass canted up and filling my greedy hands. I’m transported back to the aroma of flowers and the feel of silky hair and those sweet, sweet moans while she’s coming.
My right hand moves to the center of my body, straining every inch of that arm from shoulder to wrist. If this body can survive triple overtime of high intensity hockey, I swear it better not let me down now.
I rub my palm over the stiff column. My fingers tingle with the need to grip. I wrap around it and what the fuck. What new torture is this?
The welcome tightness around my shaft is in reverse proportion to the spasm-inducing ache of my sore hand.
Seriously, body?
You’re not gonna let me jack off as hard and fast as I want?
Fine. I can focus. Elise, it’s always Elise. I can focus on Elise.
Her back against a wall, that red dress hiked up. I shove a tiny, lacy red thong out of my way. I would get on my knees and inhale deeply before that delicious first lick of her arousal. She would be soaked and tight, like she always is.
This pussy misses me so much, doesn’t it, Elise?
She’s wiggling to ride my face. I grip her ass while grinding my mouth over her soaked folds. Just thinking about it brings back the rich warmth of her arousal. The memory of her taste makes me crave it.
God, yes, please Randall.
She sighs and moans. The way she says my name unleashes yearning so strong, it sends pounding blood to my cock, which is red, engorged, angry.
Please, what?
I feel the heat surge to my lower back, collecting at the edge of explosion. My control is a dam about to break. Her legs hike over my shoulders, soft thighs clamping my head in place.
Please, sir, will you eat me out till I come?
Thick ribbons shoot up in tall arcs, spilling over my stomach and hips, my chest and sheets. The kaleidoscope of Elise in ecstasy floods my brain, wringing me of pleasure.
Afterward, emptied but unsatisfied, I head to the shower and consider my options. Now what?
When the Mavericks lost last night, I thought I was going to get crushed under the weight of disappointment.
My brain cycled on repeat: I could have made one more save. This is my fault. The team, the whole damn city, was counting on me and I let them down. I could have made one more save. This is my fault.
The road to self-blame is a smooth sheet of ice. But my teammates kept me from slipping down that road.
One after another they hugged and praised me. We cried. That’s right, real men cry.
When lifelong dreams are this close but out of reach, there are tears.
We all know the opportunity to chase the Stanley Cup is never guaranteed. People get traded or hurt or retire.
That locker room became a home we built together. When we return at the end of summer, we have to build it all over again.
There’s plenty of regret and frustration and uncertainty in the face of defeat.
But we shared defeat like a bottle we passed around and from which we each took a sip, tasting its bitterness and swallowing down till it got absorbed to nothing. One drop at a time, we took our loss, till eventually there was only each other left.
I open my phone to check the group chat where everyone is posting their plans. Some are staying around with their families to finish their kids’ school year. Others are off to exotic vacations. Many will be flying home to all corners of the world.
Home. I’m not in a hurry to go there, although I am always expected to pay a visit in the summer.
The playoff series loss, even if I’m managing my disappointment, remains a raw wound that I don’t want my father to pick on.
I’ll deal with flying to Vancouver after I do the one thing I really want to do: drive to Cleveland.
***
“You’re full of shit, Gordon. I know you’ve got Lily’s number.”
“She didn’t tell me I could give it to you.”
“I don’t want her number. I want you to call her and get an address for me. Where would Elise be when I roll into Cleveland this afternoon?”
Thirty minutes after jumping northbound on Interstate 71, I realized I didn’t know where exactly I was heading. The only thing less clear than my destination is my intention.
“Ask Elise yourself!”
“What part of surprising her do you not understand?”
“All of it!” His yell fills my car and I turn the Bluetooth volume way down. “Why are you playing around, Randi? You like each other. Show up and tell her. Don’t creep into town like a fucking weirdo.”
He’s right. I’m being weird about visiting her. What is stopping me from announcing my arrival, after all? Nothing. Or everything.
“I’m turning around,” I mutter.
What am I doing? If I can’t even call Elise about a spontaneous visit, why am I heading her way at all?
“I’m taking the next exit and going back home.”
“No!” I hear a woman’s voice. A familiar voice.
“Shit,” Gordon says.
“Gordon, who is that?” I ask suspiciously. It was a very distinct voice.
“No one. I mean someone. Not at all someone you know. No one you know.”
“She sounds familiar.”
“No, she doesn’t!” Gordon exclaims. Again with the yelling.
“For God’s sake, Gordon, you are the worst liar,” the woman says. I can almost see her saying the words.
“Lily?” I ask incredulously.
“Hi, Randall.”
“What the hell? Why wouldn’t you tell Gordon what I’m asking for?”
Because she doesn’t immediately answer, I have to assume that Lily doesn’t want me to see Elise.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake? Does she not want to see me?”
“Seeing her is a good idea. Making it a surprise, not so much.”
“Why didn’t you say so when I asked. You’re right there!”
“That’s what I said,” Gordon pipes.
“Shut up, Gordon,” Lily and I bark at the same time.
“It’s not your business where I am, Randall,” Lily says. “But if you must know, this just happened, and I wasn’t ready to—”
“To tell everyone how irresistible I am,” Gordon interrupts again.
“For fuck’s sake,” I say because the sound of giggles and ruffling fabric grates my nerves. What do I need to do to get an address?
“Guys! Focus!”
“Fine. I guess there’s no harm telling you where she works since the theater for Imagination Ohio is public knowledge. She’s at the Plaza Theater. It’s in the middle of the Playhouse Square district.”
“Thank you. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” I say with relief.
“Speak for yourself,” Gordon yaps before I cut off the call.
I’m surrounded by fields and farmhouses and the occasional highway travel center. If I slow down, I’ll be there by two in the afternoon. That’s enough time to come up with what I want to say, isn’t it?
Unfortunately, the answer to that question is glaringly clear a few hours later: nope.
I’ve never felt so clueless, parked across the street from the Plaza Theater.
My body is stiff as a board but standing up to stretch seems impossible right now. I’m paralyzed by lactic acid and indecision.
Maybe I should call Elise to ask if she wants me here at all. Or make up an excuse for rolling into town. Fuck, she’d see right through the lie.
If I’m sticking to the surprise approach, I should have brought a gift or something. I’m not even wearing anything decent, having grabbed the first comfortable clothes my sore body could slip into after that rushed shower.
So here I am, strolling into town empty-handed, wearing sweatpants like a lazy jackass.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of color emerge from a side alley. I’d recognize that orange t-shirt anywhere.
Elise is walking briskly, brown grocery bag against her chest and cell pressed to her ear. Despite the car’s distance, it’s obvious that she’s smiling.
Her face is so stunning, so exactly what I needed to see, it takes my breath away.
If I turn around and head home right now, the three-hour drive would have still been worth it. Seeing her happiness with my own eyes is all I want. All I’ll ever want.
After weeks of constantly thinking about this woman, that reckless realization is what switches the light bulb in my brain.
I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather be with, talk to, laugh with, and make love to than Elise Chen.
Maybe I should take Gordon’s advice and keep it simple: tell her I like being with her as a friend and as…more.
She can define “more” any way she wants, as long as I’m the one she takes home. That is, if Elise ever decides to take anyone home to her poster-filled, flower-scented, drama-themed bedroom.
Or she could finally let me take her home. I’m not picky.
No strings or all the strings, I don’t even care.
I just want Elise Chen.
I need to tell her. I need to tell her today. Now.
I jump out of my car. The erratic movement grabs her attention. Our eyes snag and her shock turns to recognition. Her smile, as bright as the sun, warms me all over.
The hand holding her phone reaches up in the air like she’s about to wave at me.
But she doesn’t get a chance to wave.
Elise shrieks and crumples to the ground.