CHAPTER 7 #2
Not to mention, Marilyn Dawson was a certified, old-school hussy, as Jackie’s grandmother would say.
Back in the day, Marilyn Dawson was the ‘it girl,’ on the arm of many a professional athlete across many sports.
In current lingo, she’d be the equivalent of a reality star or Instagram model.
She knew how to hustle the best of them.
She was a party girl who got used to a certain standard of living, thanks to the wealthy men she surrounded herself with.
That is, until her hard-partying ways caught up with her.
When her access to every eligible athlete dried up, she focused all her attention on her basketball prodigy of a son, setting him up to maintain the lifestyle she was accustomed to.
Although she’d played up the angle in the press, Marilyn was no struggling single mother.
PJ had a pretty privileged life as a kid.
Private schools. Individual coaching. Travel ball.
The newest clothes. The freshest kicks. He and Marilyn had lived in a posh neighborhood in a suburb of Charlotte.
To her knowledge, Marilyn didn’t work. Jackie often wondered how PJ’s father factored into any of this.
Was he giving up a ton of child support and then some?
Anytime Jackie inquired about his father, Marilyn would reply, “He’s a nobody. So why worry about him?”
Dealing with Marilyn in relation to PJ was sometimes triggering for Jackie. But she put personal feelings aside, for the sake of her job and her client. PJ was her top priority.
After Marilyn finished her transaction at whatever high-end boutique she was at, she turned her attention back to Jackie. “Anyway, I was just checking on that. We’re still on track for this rookie thing, right?”
Jackie rolled her eyes at the casual use of we, as if Marilyn was in the gym with that boy. “Well, we shall see.”
“Ain’t no ‘we shall see,’ Jacqueline.” Marilyn shot back in a mocking tone. “My baby needs to win. I didn’t raise no loser!”
Loser? Jackie wanted to curse this woman into next week. Even if PJ didn’t win Rookie of the Year, he was still a winner. He had value beyond ball and dollar signs. “Well, Marilyn, we can only hope that PJ continues on the path he’s on, and that the committee votes in his favor.”
“I see. Well, I’ve gotta run. I have an appointment at Spa Sydell with Urla for my Swedish. Tootles, love.” Marilyn hung up before Jackie could even say goodbye.
“A piece of damned work,” Jackie mumbled.
Not unlike the piece of work who’d raised her.
Jackie’s thumb hovered over the Instagram icon, curiosity almost getting the best of her.
She hadn’t talked to her mother in years.
There was no telling where she was or who she was with.
Last time she spoke to her, the woman was galivanting in Europe, somewhere between husbands three and four.
Jackie shook her head. She didn’t need to be angrier than she already was.
She looked at the time on her phone before tossing it on the nightstand.
Just a few more minutes before her food would get there. She needed to relax.
Jackie remembered Tanika calling her sexually repressed earlier.
Jackie wasn’t sexually repressed, was she?
She had sex often enough. It wasn’t the stuff of legends all the time, but it was serviceable.
Jackie tapped her nails against her thigh.
How long had it been? Two months? Four? Damn, could she not remember? Maybe she did need a release.
She scrolled the dating apps for a minute, but no one caught her eye.
She texted a few of her New York friends with benefits, but no one was available.
After striking out, Jackie went to her suitcase and rifled through it until she found her mini vibrator.
It was discreet enough to not get her stopped at the airport and powerful enough to get the job done. She never traveled without it.
Quickly, she stripped out of the rest of her clothes and lay on the bed, vibrator in hand.
She didn’t feel like pulling up porn on the hotel television or pulling out her tablet.
This time, she’d just use her mind to take her where she wanted to go.
Maybe she’d think about Megan thee Stallion, her current go-to celebrity fantasy.
Jackie closed her eyes and let her mind drift as she slowly started the vibrator.
Though images of Megan floated to her consciousness, nothing stuck—not even Megan with Cardi B in the WAP video seemed to do it for her.
Frustrated, she shook her head and tried to concentrate.
She increased the vibrator speed as a disembodied voice entered her mind.
“Look at you, baby. You look so pretty when you come for me…”
Jackie’s back arched off the bed as she felt the early tremors of an orgasm beginning.
“This pussy is too good, Jackie. So good…”
“It’s so good,” Jackie said softly, out loud to her imagination.
“You know it is. Look at me, ma.”
Jackie could feel her throat tighten, as if a pair of strong hands were around her neck.
Strong, familiar hands. She moved her own hand to that very spot, trying to simulate that feeling as close as she could.
Her other hand was furiously using the vibrator on her clit, which was slick with heat and need.
“You gonna come, beautiful? Use your words. Say yes, Jacqueline. Say yes for me, Lucky, baby…”
Soon, the voice was joined by an image of Antonio, shirtless, hovering over her. The fraternity brand on his smooth, deep brown chest flexing with every stroke. Beads of sweat dotting his forehead, which was creased in concentration.
“Yesss!” Jackie yelled as the orgasm nearly rocked her off the bed.
Jackie’s eyes flew open, and she looked around, trying to gather her bearings. Her face was flushed, the edges of her bangs sticking to her forehead. Where the hell had that come from? She threw her vibrator across the bed in disgust.
Now he was invading her self-care time? She hadn’t had a sexual thought about this man in ten years. Okay, maybe five years, if she was being honest. Still, he had no reason to be in her mind at any time, especially in this way. Damn that Antonio Steele!
Jackie grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.