January (Calendar Girl #1) Anthology Anthology (135 page)

Neither of them spoke until Mason turned his entire body to me, elbow to the table. “So you love this guy?” He hooked a thumb behind him.

I nodded. “Yeah, but not in the way you’re thinking. I’m not
in love
with him. We just have something. When we’re together, we’re together. It’s just us. But most of the time, we’re not.”

Rachel closed her eyes and then pursed her lips. “I don’t get it. We heard him say he loved you. And in French. Oh my god, that was sexy.” She gasped when Mason’s burning gaze shot her way. “Sorry.” She shoved a piece of fruit into her mouth and looked down at her plate.

Pushing a piece of hair back, and pulling my leg onto the chair, I focused on my two new friends and decided I had nothing hide. I needed to be me warts and all. If they were my friends, they’d accept me for who I was, not who they thought I was. “Alec was a client. We went there.” I made a hand gesture that both of them understood. “Enjoyed the hell out of it. He taught me a lot about people, about loving myself and others. So yeah, I love him. Just not in the ‘I’m going to marry him, want to have his babies, or be his girlfriend’ type way. More like…” I thought about it for a moment while looking at the rain pelting the balcony. “More like ‘I really love it when he fucks me into next week and I care about him and love him like a friend’. Does that make sense?”

Both Mason and Rachel shook their heads and I groaned. “I can’t explain it. Just, don’t worry about it.”

“From the sound of it, the fuck you into next week part sure as hell happened. Damn girl, I rolled over and fucked Rach so many times last night I think my dick might have been sprained listening to you take it over and over again.” Mason joked boldly. Rachel and I both simultaneously socked him in the arm. “Ouch!” He rubbed his arms. “You enjoyed it,” he pointed at Rachel and her cheeks turned a mighty shade of red.

I polished off the sandwich and got up. “Need to shower.”

“Smell you later…sex fiend.” Mason said when I started walking away.

“Takes one to know one, fuck-face!” I hollered back. Maybe Mason would be my boy version of Ginelle back home. That could be nice.

“You both are like children,” was the last thing I heard Rachel say as I closed the door to my room.

***

Over the next couple days, Mason and the Red Sox won their games. Everyone was in the best of moods and it showed. When we got back to Boston, we stepped off the plane, into a cab, and over to the Black Rose pub where his brother Brayden worked the bar. It was time to celebrate and the team was ready. A truckload of guys poured out of cabs and town cars. The second we entered, Brayden whistled over the bar. A pretty waitress went over to something that looked like a stereo and hit a button.

“We are the champions” by Queen filled the bar. It was still early, and on top of that a weeknight, so the bar was practically dead at four in the afternoon, but that didn’t stop the team. They were ready to slug back some beers and let off some steam. They’d been playing like rock stars on the field and they had a few days break to enjoy. Today was time to celebrate. The WAGs found their place cuddling next to, or in the lap of their chosen player and the drinking started.

Several hours into the night and I was feeling mighty fine.

“Mace, I’m going to head home,” Rachel said, leaning close but not too close to cause suspicion. The team didn’t know that he was bangin’ Rachel and not me. All but Junior believed the sham.

“Baby no, meet me at my place?” Mason suggested with a pair of his best puppy dog eyes. I had to give it to a woman that could deny a man what he wanted with that look.

Rachel shook her head. “Got to work tomorrow, I need to do laundry and be fresh for the day. I’ll come by the house for an early lunch?”

Mason nodded and put his hand at her neck. Her eyes widened and so did mine glancing around to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t. Most the crew was already three sheets to the wind anyway.

“Mace,” I warned, nervous he was going to break character. Instead, he just squeezed her neck and then patted her on the shoulder.

“Miss you, baby. See you tomorrow.”

Rachel smiled sweetly at Mace then hugged me. “Take care of him, will ya?”

I looked at her with mock seriousness, put my hand at my brow and saluted her. “Yes, Ma’am!”

“Children. I swear being around you two is like hanging out with twenty-year-old children,” she shook her head and walked off. Mason watched her ass the entire time. Rachel had a nice ass. Small, but she worked it.

“Fine fucking ass that woman. Damn, I’d like to take a bite out of it right now.” He growled and then slugged back the rest of his brew. “Let’s get shitfaced and take a cab back?”

Brayden came over to our side of the bar. “How you two doin’?” he said his coppery hair glinting red off the neon pink bar lights behind him.

“We’re ready to get serious. Shots and beer chasers. Mia, we’re about to play a game!”

I shimmied on my seat. “Love games. What’s it called, maybe I’ve heard of it?”

“Called bullshit.”

“Bring it on, ball boy. My girlfriend Gin and I wrote the book on this fucking game. Never lost!”

Mason grinned a mocking evil little smirk. “Line ‘em up, bro,” he said to his brother.

Since Mace was throwing down the gauntlet, I unzipped my Red Sox hoodie and put it around my chair leaving me in a tight tank. My girls were on display in a big way. He glanced down at my tits and groaned.

“That is not playing fair. What are you doing, trying to distract me?” He accused and I laughed.

“Well, we’re going to need some more players.”

Junior and Kris were sitting close. We brought them into the game and Mason explained the rules. Then the drinking commenced.

***

“Once upon a time I was walking through the woods and I stepped in some bear shit!” Mason said. Usually the stories were more involved, really creative, but we’d been at the game awhile and we were all losing pretty regularly.

I was Bear Shit. So when he said bear shit I had to respond with, “Bullshit!” I yelled, slapping my hand on the bar.

“Who shit?” Mace’s head slammed back as if punched.

“Baby shit!” I snickered and pointed to Kris.

The way the game worked is, you started with a story, blamed “shit” on one of the player’s fake names, then they claimed “Bullshit” and the accuser would respond with “Who shit?” or some version of the same. The person accused would blame someone else. Then the new accused would claim “bullshit.” And so on and so on. I was a master at this game having played endless rounds with Ginelle growing up, but that didn’t stop me from drinking the entire game, right along with the people who messed up.

“Uh, uh…shit, I forgot what I was supposed to say!” Kris pouted.

“Drink!” Both Mason and I roared and pointed. We all did a shot because it was more fun to drink together than one at a time and we continued with the game.

By last call, Mason and I were blotto, barely holding one another up. We’d not had dinner, but had munched on some fries and nachos throughout the game. I tried to slam back water every time Brayden put a glass in front of me, but I’m certain for every glass of water I drank, I’d had three beers and a couple shots to boot.

Brayden got us both into a cab, paid the driver from Mason’s wallet, patted us both on the heads, and told the driver where to take us.

We weren’t really sure how we got home, but there was a lot of singing baseball tunes, cussing, and hollering.

Eventually, we made it back to Mason’s house. We stumbled up the walk.

“How the fuck do we get in,” he slurred and leaned heavily against the door.

I swayed on my feet and looked around. The street was really pretty. Blurry swaths of color streamed past my vision. The wind blew my hair and kissed my skin, making the hairs on my arms prickle enticingly.

“I love your street. It’s like art, all colorful and halos of light,” I moved to step down but Mason caught my arm before I tumbled down the stairs. He pushed me back against the door.

“Keys!” he said as if he’d won the lottery. He pushed a hand into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys showing the prize. “Yes!” he pumped a fist in the air and I tried to high five him but it didn’t really work. It ended up being more a slap of his curled fist.

Together, we struggled to get the door open and then essentially tumbled into the foyer drunkenly. With effort we leaned on one another and made our way up the stairs.

“Shhh, you might wake up Rachel,” Mason said, bumping into the wall and taking me with him.

I concentrated hard and pushed him forward. “She’s not here!” I reminded him.

His entire face went sad. “Oh man, that sucks so bad. I wanted to fuck her. Man,” he slid a hand over his face.

“Aww, it’s okay. You can totally fuck her tomorrow!” I offered, stumbling forward. He pressed me into the wall his chest crushing mine.

“You fucking smell so good, Mia. Did I ever tell you that?”

I shook my head and blinked several time. “No but that’s super nice. You should be nice more often. I like you, like you’re awesome likable when you’re not a douchebag.”

He put his hands to my hips and held me close. “I miss Rachel,” he said, leaning into my chest, his head on the soft pillows of my breasts.

Bringing up my arms, I patted his back and ran my nails through his silky hair. “It’s okay. She’ll be here soon. She’s gonna make us lunch probably. She’s really nice like that,” I said but didn’t have any idea what I was saying. If I had I’d known what I’d sounded like, basically an uneducated idiot, I might have tried hard to think straight but the liquor was taking its toll. It dawned on me that technically I was a junior college dropout but whatever. That shit didn’t matter anyway. I was making a hundred G’s a year. A month. Whatever it was. A lot of fucking money.

While I was thinking about my station in life, Mason had moved his hands up and was squeezing both my breasts, looking down at them in complete awe. “You’ve got the best fucking tits. Rach has small tits, but I like 'em. Yours are world class fuck me titties. Can I fuck your titties? That would be awesome!” He screamed happily and I pushed him away. He hit the other wall and barely stayed standing.

“No, stupid. You cannot fuck my tits. And thank you.” I smiled wide and held my own boobs appreciating their size and weight. “They are some good tits. Men like ‘em a lot. It’s one of my best features.”

Mason shook his head vigorously and so many times that, in my drunken state, I worried it would break off.

“No, no, no. You’ve got great tits and ass for sure. But your hair and eyes could make men worship at your feet. Your eyes are like green diamonds,” he came close and held my face up into the hall light. “Yep, like fucking jewels. You have jewel eyes!” He exclaimed and then rubbed his jaw into my neck. His body seemed then to slump against me. “I’m tired.”

When he said it, I thought about it. My limbs became really heavy, as if I was carrying around a box of rocks in each hand and had a two ton weight on my chest. The weight was Mason who was leaning his entire body against mine, practically sleeping. I could tell by the tiny puffs of air that he was going to fall asleep standing up.

“No, we have to get you in the bed.” I pulled against him and we both maneuvered sloppily to his giant bed. “Now get ready,” I told him.

He lifted his chin and pulled off his shirt. Fuck me. His chest was golden and muscled to perfection. I thought back to my Frenchie. He had a really hot body just like Mason. “Your turn.”

For some reason this request, in my current state, did not sound odd. I pulled off my tank then together we unbuttoned our jeans and slid them down. I was in my bra and panties and he was in his boxer briefs.

“Are we gonna fuck?” He asked swaying on his feet. I glanced down at his equipment. Nothing was happening.

“No! Stupid ass,” I pulled back the covers. “Besides, you have whiskey dick,” I giggled and cuddled into the covers. The second my head hit the pillow I was falling asleep.

Mason rummaged around, pulled back the covers and climbed in. “I no not have disky wick,” he claimed and I laughed hard snuggling deeper into my cave of blankets. “I mean dick whiskey,” he slurred then grabbed me by the waist, and plopped me on his chest. “Nite Rach,” he said, holding me close.

“Not Rach. I’m Mia,” I rubbed into his warm chest enjoying the heat.

“Mmm ‘k, night, Mia.” He said and we both feel into a sleep of the dead, or more distinctly, the sleep of the drunk.

***

Vaguely, I could hear noises downstairs. I figured maybe Mason was making breakfast. My head was pounding like an entire marching band was playing a John Phillips Souza tune in my head. Instead of opening my eyes, I snuggled deeper into the warmth that surrounded me.

“Oh man, fucking hell, my head,” I heard Mace say. Only it wasn’t from downstairs or across the room, or next to my bedside. It was a deep rumble against my ear, adding to the music in my own head.

I blinked several times and opened my eyes. At the same time I started to pull away from the body I was in bed with, the comforter fell to my hips and left me half naked in my bra.

“What the…” I said looking down at a bare chested Mason who was slowly opening his own eyes.

Of course, none of this made a lick of sense. My head roared and I pressed my palms to my temples desperately trying to relieve the pressure while trying to remember what happened.

That’s when the door opened and a chipper, suit-clad Rachel entered saying, “Wake up sleepyhead…” and then she saw me, and Mace sat up, the blanket revealing his bare chest. “Oh my God.” Tears instantly pricked at her eyes and a delicate hand covered the horror wanting to spew from her lips. “No…” she uttered and her entire body trembled.

Mason looked at me in confusion then Rachel and jumped out of the bed as if a match had been struck under his ass. And then it got worse because he was wearing only his underwear. Rachel made a gurgling choked sound, and I shook my head.