There is a spark between us that just does it for me. Colleen is as beautiful as she is real, a stone’s throw from a lot of the women I encounter as a professional athlete and a Los Angeles resident. When I saw her standing outside her hotel room, later to learn she’d locked herself out, I knew it was fate intervening.
She was jealous of Marlena being in that family suite, which means she’s just as affected by me as I am by her. I couldn’t help kissing her in that supply closet, and wish I could do so out in the open now. I’m not sure when the tide of my feelings turned for her, but between all I’ve seen her do professionally, and how she handles herself in tough situations, it makes me even more attracted to her.
The rest of our dinner goes well, with both of us silently agreeing to drop all the tension and expectations or boundaries between us. We talk about stupid stuff, like our favorite Christmas present we ever received or the last place either of us has eaten truly delicious seafood. For her, it’s Montauk. For me, it’s Malibu.
By the time the check comes, which I wrestle from Colleen’s grip with a wink, we’re more relaxed with each other than we’ve ever been in person. This dynamic finally feels as comfortable as we did when we were texting for those couple of days after she was attacked in the parking lot. It’s friendly with some heavy flirtation hiding just underneath the surface.
The walk back to the hotel is picturesque, as it’s a breezy night to walk along the water.
“Do you have a boat?” she asks randomly.
I shake my head. “No, too much maintenance. I like to go out on the water, but that kind of upkeep for something I’m not truly invested in? No, thanks. My house back in LA is on the beach, though, so I do have jet skis.”
“I love to jet ski. Well, I haven’t done it in a long time. Actually, it’s been a long time since I took a vacation. But if I did take one, jet skiing would be on top of the list in terms of excursions.”
I can’t help but be distracted by the thought of her in a bikini, her legs straddled over the roaring engine of a jet ski.
“What is your favorite kind of vacation?” I clear my throat, hoping she doesn’t notice how husky it has suddenly become.
“Definitely the kind where you lie on the beach and someone brings you drinks with little umbrellas. Or maybe occupying a seat at a swim-up bar on some island resort. When you’re as busy and travel as much as we all do in the professional sports world, I have no desire to go on a sight-seeing vacation. I want to be as lazy as I possibly can. Preferably with many massages included.”
And now I’m picturing rubbing a naked Colleen down on a massage table, or having her underneath me on a beach chair on some secluded white sand. Maybe this line of questioning isn’t as innocent as I would have liked.
We pass a small park inside a fancy little condo neighborhood. The development reminds me of something in Alexandria, a place Bryant has taken me once or twice when I played games in DC as a minor leaguer. It’s upper crust and expensive, this inner harbor paradise, but it doesn’t make it any less appealing.
The garden is gated off, but I can make out that there is no lock in between the vines of ivy growing up the red brick walls meant to keep outsiders from entering.
I lace my fingers in Colleen’s, a move that must take her by surprise, because she startles a little, and walks us toward the community’s garden.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to go in here,” Colleen hisses.
“Then you better keep your voice down.” I throw a smirk over my shoulder.
Pushing it open, the gate creeks slightly, and we slip inside. We’re greeted by darkness and silence.
Using our connected hands, I swing her gently into me, until she’s close enough that I can settle both of my hands on her hips.
“I wouldn’t be able to do this back at the hotel, or anywhere near the vicinity of it. And it’s been such a nice night, perfect actually. Flip-flops and all.” I grin, moving slowly so that our noses touch. “I don’t want to be one of those men who leaves you with indecision, wondering if I was going to kiss you or if I’m just being respectful. Because believe me, I want to do many things that aren’t respectful when it comes to you. At least here, I can do it in private.”
Before she can speak, I lean in, waiting for her to tilt up, giving me implied permission to kiss her. Colleen does, her eyelashes fluttering closed down onto her cheeks, and then I take her mouth.
The kiss is gentle and measured, with me holding back a lot of inner heat bubbling up from my balls and making my cock go rigid. But this is a first date kiss, not the passionate, forbidden kind in a closet. The breeze blows between the space our close-knit bodies create, and it feels like our lips mold together forever. I’m dizzy by the time I pull back, and Colleen can’t seem to be able to open her eyes.
“Let’s go get you that hotel key. Wouldn’t want you to be locked out all night.” I smirk, and a small smile forms on her thoroughly kissed lips.
Although, if she simply had to spend the night in my room, I would not complain.
23
Colleen
Whitney’s backyard has been transformed into a full-on circus.
No, seriously, she spared no expense for her youngest son’s third birthday party. There is an entire petting zoo over in one corner of her massive lawn, a clown doing magic tricks, two ponies with a female acrobat flipping between their backs, a row of carnival games and face-painting, and then the line of food trucks serving free food from funnel cakes to cheesy corn on a stick.
“Hi, buddy.” I bend to kiss and ruffle the top of Kyle’s hair. “Happy birthday!”
He holds up three stubby, sticky fingers to me. “I’m three today!”
“I know!” I exclaim, examining his fingers and figuring out he definitely has had too much cotton candy. “Did you get to ride a pony yet?”
His tiny head bops up and down. “And Mom says there is a camel coming later!”
My nephew, what I call him even though Whitney is my cousin, runs off and his mom walks up.
“He is never going to sleep tonight,” she says, shaking her head even though she’s smiling.
“He’s having the time of his life, let him. You doing okay? This is amazing.”
“And absolutely ridiculous, you can say it. Ian already has. But it’s wonderful and Kyle loves it, so I don’t even care. I’m okay. Glad I hired the food trucks so we didn’t have to lift a finger with food. That’s always the worst part.”
I nod like I understand, even though I don’t. There are dozens of parents and children here, some of them from the Callahan brood. My cousins have boys and girls abound, and I’ve spent time with a lot of babies, toddlers, and kids in my family. But I’m still not a natural around them. Sure, I’ve watched the boys for Whitney when she was in a jam once or twice, but I’ve never had that motherly instinct.
Probably because I barely have a mother of my own, and the role my father was supposed to take on when she left wasn’t even filled by a parent who possessed the gene of compassion.
My mother and father met when they were in college. Both rich kids, both the offspring of wealthy families at an Ivy League university. It was as much a marriage of status and convenience as it was a marriage for love, or at least that’s how my father told it. Yes, my father told me the story of how my parents never should have married when I was about thirteen, so that’s all you need to know about the kind of environment I grew up in.