Chapter 18 Baseball Players & Bunnies
BASEBALL PLAYERS this one had been moved to late morning because I had a lunch meeting. I wasn’t sure if we were making progress. I didn’t know what progress would look or feel like. Or how I was supposed to feel.
“Like shit,” I said, spitting out the words.
“Why? Did it touch a nerve?”
I nodded. She paused, tilted her head, waited. Therapists were good at waiting. Waiting for you to cough up answers. But I didn’t have any to serve.
“Are you going to tell me about these impossible choices that have brought you here?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I didn’t know why the hell I needed to open up to anyone else. Casey knew. Why did anyone else need to know?
“How do you feel keeping it all to yourself?” she asked.
The same way I’d felt for a year. The same way I’d felt since the Ski Patrol carted Aubrey’s body down the mountain.
Like hell. Like I was cloaked in the guilt that clawed away at me.
The only thing that made it go away was Michelle.
Being with her, being close with her, fucking her into the fantastic bliss that only sex could bring.
Yeah, that was the kind of therapy I needed.
“Fine,” I muttered, my mind on Michelle; the nights with her were doing a far better job blanking out this mangled stew of emotions in my gut.
Hell, it wasn’t only the sex. It was the before, during and after. It was all of it. It was her. She was sexy and she was guileless. She was naughty and she was direct.
She was two floors away right now. I wanted to see her. Wanted to touch her, taste her, hear her laugh, watch her raise an eyebrow at some comment I made. Then take her.
When I was through with Kira, I pushed open the door to the stairwell, ready to head up the steps to her office. But I stopped myself. She had a job to do. I couldn’t go barging in.
from: Jack
subject: Could you sense my masculine intensity just two floors down?
Was so tempted to stop by your office a few minutes ago.
from: Michelle
subject: Ah, that was the heady scent wafting into my office
Just finished with a session. Too bad I missed a potential “session” with you. I’d have happily let you service me again.
from: Jack
subject: Starving now
You little fucking naughty dirty vixen.
from: Michelle
subject: Only scratched the surface of dirty
That’s how you like me.
from: Jack
subject: As dirty as you want to get. That’s how deep I’ll scratch.
God, I love it when you say dirty things. Do dirty things. Spread your legs for me right now, and tell me what you’d say to me if I had walked into your office.
from: Michelle
subject: This.
Fuck me with your tongue.
from: Jack
subject: I want that.
I need to be drenched in your pussy tonight. I need to eat you and fuck you and lick you all over. I need to have my fingers in you.
from: Michelle
subject: All of that and more
You should test some of your new toys on me. I’m very willing to be your research project.
from: Jack
subject: I am a very thorough researcher.
I am going to research the fuck out of your beautiful body. Prepare to be ravaged tonight. That is a promise. I have to go into a meeting. This is going to be the most painful meeting of my life. Where can I meet you when it’s over? I need to see you.
Tugging at my white button-down shirt, as if that would sap the heat from my body, I powered down my phone a few blocks from my destination.
Michelle was still on my mind, and the effect of even that one email exchange was abundantly evident in my body right now.
I didn’t need an erection this demanding knocking on my fly at a lunch meeting, so I tried to force my brain to let go of the images tearing through my skull.
Potent pictures of all that had transpired over the last two weeks wouldn’t leave my head; the time on my couch; the time in my shower; the time in the hallway; the time in front of the window. Each time was better than the last.
And then there were the images of all the times I intended to have with her.
The things I wanted to do to her. The adventures I wanted to have with her willing mind and body.
She was such a passionate lover, such a sensual woman, whose body responded to my every touch.
She gave herself freely; I could only imagine the paths we could continue to explore.
I stopped at the red light on the corner of Fifth Avenue. A mannequin in the window of a lingerie shop down the street beckoned to me, her barely-there lacy pink bra and panties like a goddamn magnetic force calling out.
“Fuck,” I seethed as the September sun beat down.
These images were not helping my case one bit, nor was that strategically placed shop.
As if it were there to tempt me. Taunt me.
I needed to think of baseball players or bunnies, not of how enticing Michelle would look in that bra and panty set.
Because of course she would. That was a given.
Focus, Jack. Get your mind out of the gutter.
I grappled at topics that were boner killers.
The Comets were playing tonight. They were down by a game and a half, which meant they’d need to win tonight and then again tomorrow.
I computed batting averages and RBIs and statistical likelihoods of no-hitters, given that there had already been two so far this season.
By the time I reached the next block, weaving around a bicycle deliveryman riding on the sidewalk, I was a man on a mission.
Today’s mission? Eden. Henry had called this meeting with his brother-in-law, the lawyer who was fighting the developer’s efforts to force the clubs out.
I hated shit like that—Eden was a perfectly legal business that supported the neighborhood, and this guy wanted to replace it with what, short-term rentals, hidden under the guise of more housing?
I was outraged that Henry and Marquita were being attacked because some rich dude wanted to get even richer.
He was playing the “my plans are better for the city” card, but the reality was, they were better for his wallet.
I reached McCoy’s in midtown, our favorite spot for power lunches.
A shot of air-conditioning blasted me as I opened the door.
The cooler inside air was a relief. I joined Henry, Marquita, Leo Reyes, and Casey at a plush red booth in the back, cloth linen napkins spread across laps, silver utensils gleaming.
After orders were placed, Henry clasped his hands together. “We have a problem.”
“I figured as much. Unplanned lunch meetings don’t usually stem from good news,” I said dryly.
Leo cleared his throat and opened his tablet, clicking open a news article from a prominent NY gossip site. Conroy Blasts Eden for East Side Fire.
Casey’s jaw twitched and her eyes burned. “Now you’re firestarters?” she said, she bent closer to Leo to read the post.
After a fire broke out last night on 88th and Madison in the basement of a building that had been hosting a sex-themed party, prominent developer Jared Conroy called anew for closures of all the private adult clubs that have sprung up on the Upper East Side.
While the small blaze was quickly snuffed by the local fire department, a few attendees suffered smoke inhalation.
“This is a classic example of why we need to shut down these establishments. Not only do they bring an untoward element to our neighborhoods, they are clearly dangerous. I shudder at the thought of the type of damage the fire could have wrought had the fire department not been nearby,” Casey said, reading on, the frustration deep in her voice.
I blew out a long stream of air after she’d finished.
Time to level with them. “This is a whole new wrinkle. Is there an issue with things being up to code in your clubs?” I asked Henry, not bothering to mince words.
“There’s not a damn thing wrong in our clubs,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “Because this isn’t one of ours.”
Oh. Well that was a horse of another color. And maybe we needed to fight fire with fire.
Casey’s eyes lit up. “This is perfect. This shows exactly why it’s better to have regulated clubs run in a reputable fashion.”
I beamed at my sister. “Look at you, PR genius.”
“Well,” Casey said insistently as she turned to Henry, “that’s the point, right? You don’t have any problems at your clubs like this. You have regular inspections. You adhere to the fire code. You have a liquor license. You follow laws.”
“Exactly,” Henry said with a nod, and Marquita dropped a hand over his, a look of pride on her face as her husband spoke. “We afford a safe place for these activities. If the regulated clubs are shut down, there will be more incidents like this, not less.”
“The question is, how hard do you want to hit this message?” I asked, turning to Leo. “What’s the feeling in the neighborhood?”