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“Damn it, no. This is my forever girl, and we’re going to be uncles to each other’s kids and shit. We ain’t sharing our wives.”
“Damn dude, spoken like a guy who knows his future. To make myself clear, like I said to you before, I have no desire for the kid stuff. Not getting married, not doing that American dream shit. So just drop it.”
“Got it, but you need to drop any mention of Rakell and us all together. I have to know that…”
“I would never go there unless you asked. That’s how we’d always worked it. That’s our understanding, part of the bond, the trust…” I emphasized that last word, ensuring Jake’s spun-up head remembered it. I won’t deny that in the beginning, when I thought it was just an Austin summer fling, I didn’t picture getting after that booty. Goddamn, who wouldn’t? All high and meaty. Yeah sure, I pictured Jake inviting me over with Rakell in a fucking swimsuit, those big tits spilling out the sides, the bottom barely covering her plump ass. It was perfectly juicy, fleshy, and muscular…that girl had a fucking bum, as she calls it, but then she was doing that model thing. Not eating, flesh melting off her. I wanted to tell her not to let that happen, but Jakesaid she was already going down that path, following the Hollywood skinny-girl trend. She was already thin enough, but I could tell from the shit Jake said that she was self-conscious. I’m sure all the comments on social media now would be tripping up her brain. Damn shame. But yeah, I had pictured us both taking her in his backyard. I knew he loved anal, and I’d have given it up to have those big tits bouncing up and down above me, while I sat on the outdoor couch, the fire going, flickering light all over her beautiful face, as she rode my cock, Jake swatting her ass, asking her if she liked my thick cock inside her…her yelping yes, yes repeatedly, then me gently asking her if she was ready to take her man’s dick in her ass, as I’d reach around, getting a handful of that butt in my grip, spreading her open, Jake slipping his lubed-up fingers in and out of her tight bum, her pussy leaking all over my dick, her little mewls, anxious but desperately wanting to take us both as he’d move two fingers in, then three, absolutely sure she was ready. Jake would have asked her the same way I’d heard him do it before: “Tell me baby, tell me you want my cock in your ass, that you really, really need both of us in you at the same time.” He was fucking skilled at making chicks beg for it. He talked so much I always thought I was going to blow before he got in the girl. He made consent an art, a dirty talking art, that seemed to melt the fucking panties off any woman he got with. Yet there were some important lessons I’d learned from Jake—one being, if you can’t talk about what goes on in the bedroom, totally sober, clear-headed, it shouldn’t happen. He’d said he had a few drunk nights he regretted, mostly because he always wanted to know that all people involved would have done it sober. I didn’t see him and I ever being with Rakell, though. She had grown on me like a sister, and it would seem weird.
Then Jake had broken into my thoughts. “Yeah, so we bonded over that, but I get you, I feel like I know what’s beneath the surface.” His words came out slow and thoughtful, wrapped in a low, deep voice as if he were trying to figure out how he knew me so well.
But I knew already. I’d touched his arm and said, “Jake, it’s been time. We’ve known each other for most of our twenties, and we know how to trust each other because of all the time we’ve had together. You’ve tried to understand me, put yourself in my shoes, and in turn…” I shook my head. “I have tried to understand how it would feel to be a privileged white boy like you. Fuck, it seems like a dream to me.” I guffawed, the deep rumble echoing off the water.
“Huh? What the hell?” His words were swallowed in a laugh. “Yeah, I guess it has been a pretty easy ride.”
“You think?” I’d retorted. “Then throw in those fucking penetrating blue eyes that make women’s clothes fall off. Oh, let’s not forget athletic as hell, then mix in a little Southern charm. Forget being nervous about Jaxton; folks can see him coming a mile away. It’s you they never see coming…that makes you more dangerous.” I finished by trying to get him to see that he had the advantage in this situation. Jaxton looked like an ex-con, all tatted up, a fixed scowl on his face, his shoulders and arms always flexed, like he was ready for a fight. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I could see how women would find him attractive in that dark mafia sort of way, as in, this guy will either kill me or rock my world sort of way. Or both.
Women had twisted themselves around for Jake, literally dissolving into pieces when he reiterated that he wasn’t interested in the long-term. He’d repeatedly tell them but then treat them so well they couldn’t help but dream of a future. I got stuck on the phone with more sobbing women than I care to think about after Jake had moved on, and if they got wise and dumped him first, he just shrugged before dipping into the next honey pot. Women usually believed me when I said we were just having a summer fling…somehow, I just wasn’t quite as charming as Jake.
Jake and I had learned from Jordan to make our intentions known upfront, not lead women on, and above all, be seen with them in public a few times before sex. I was more of a dog than Jake, maybe kinkier, but I also waited longer and stayed back on my heels until they jumped me, not just sort-of sober, completely sober, and I preferred two women at a time. Not just because it’s super-hot but because there’s a witness with two. We were all in this together, and I couldn’t overtake either. Like Jordon used to say, ‘Jake needs to stay one step in front of his stupid, but as a Black professional athlete, hell, just a Black dude, you best stay two steps in front of your stupid.’ I thought about that kinda shit all the fucking time. Only on rare drinking nights did I let Jake into that side, ‘cause he’d grimace and show sympathy, but in no way could Jake ever empathize. I appreciated him so much. He’d stood up over and over again. He’d fucking go to battle in a heartbeat for something that didn’t affect him, and that’s about the most you can hope for from a white boy who was raised with a big high net—not just the money but family and friends who went back to grade school. They didn’t have to escape a life, then try to build a new one. Guys like that just got to return and be the hero of the same life they’d always known. The truth is, Jake pulled my whole family and me into his life, and his family welcomed us with open arms, but that couldn’t erase the fact that our memories and understanding of ourselves in this world would always be completely different. Even my brother, Damien, who’d graduated from the University of Chicago and was now getting his MBA at Yale, felt the need for caution, always putting forth an overly polite demeanor. That’s why I liked women to be the aggressors—I never wanted anyone to think I forced anything on anybody.
I purposefully diverted my eyes from Jake’s puppy dog sulk, blowing him off in the locker room. What he did on the field in front of the world tonight had gutted me. The way he’d approached me with his begging eyes, like he thought I was going to shrug off the humiliation, made me want to throttle him after the game. I had come so close to screaming, You fucking pansy-ass wuss, you gonna act like a jackass every time she doesn’t show up for a game? She was supposed to be in the stands tonight but missed again after she couldn’t make it to the last three. Rakell had called him two nights ago, saying she was staying in Georgia. They were filming on Saturday, and there just wasn’t time.
No way was I going to move past this. I wasn’t being a jerk. I knew Skyler was fuming after I blew off his attempted apology, but he was the one who fucked this one up. “Jaking it” isn’t always the answer. Even if he begged for me to move on and accept his bullshit version of “I’m sorry.” I didn’t care that he was pissed at Jaxton and meant well by confronting him. Jake didn’t get it. He couldn’t understand how badly he’d undermined me out there and further alienated Jaxton—just when I felt like the kid’s eyes seemed to brighten with a trace of trust. It was fleeting, but I noticed a flickering smile when Jake congratulated him after the Seattle game a few weeks back. Those moments of connection made Jaxton easier to coach as if he sensed we were on his side—but that just blew up, thanks to my best friend.
I stepped out of the Sternewirth, the Hotel Ema’s main bar; the place used to be an old brewery. When they converted the brewery into a hotel, they kept the structure of the original building intact. Drink in hand, I just wanted to walk around, get my head on, and maybe find Jaxton. I thought there was a chance he might be at the ice cream joint right outside the hotel. The whole area was called the Pearl after the old brewery, and there were several shops and restaurants in the complex. The team planned to stay the night and fly back to Sacramento in the morning. Jaxton’s only vice seemed to be ice cream, so he’d usually find some after a game when the rest of us went to the bar.
As I walked toward the front door, I was distracted by a massive two-story library in the hotel lobby. Whiskey in hand, I opened one of the large glass doors, my eyes scanning the expansive room lined with bookshelves, a staircase leading up to a second story filled with books as well. I heard footsteps on the second level but ignored them, sinking into an oversized cowhide couch, my gaze catching on all the travel books covering a wooden coffee table. Pictures of places I wanted to visit but hadn’t yet, some exotic, others historical. Someday, someday, I told myself.
“Sir,” a young man’s voice called out. I raised my gaze to a smiling guy pointing toward a portable bar in the corner. “We offer complimentary drinks if you're staying here. Are you staying with us, sir?”
“Yep, yes, sir. I am.” That’s something you learned when you moved to Texas, to call people sir and ma'am, especially anyone older than you. It had become a habit, and I addressed everyone that way. It made them look at me differently, like I was a respectful dude. It seemed like a small thing to do to get people to want to help you.
“Well, tonight we’re offering spicy margaritas, but I can leave out the jalapeno juice if you don’t like the spice, or if you prefer, we also have White Linens.”
“White Linens?” I recognized that the drink came from a bar in downtown Sacramento—Ella’s.
“Yes sir, that’s gin, elderflower liqueur, and cucumber, but I recommend the spicy margarita since the Lone Stars won tonight. We have the White Linen because the Condors are…” I raised my eyebrows, letting a smug grin take over my face. This kid, probably in his early twenties, made me smile for the first time tonight.
He halted, cheeks flushing, realization washing across his face. “Shoot, sorry sir, you’re the wide receiver, Sticky Fingers Bradshaw. Yeah,” he said, taking a bouncy step back, staring at me, “it’s you! I can whip you up an amazing White Linen. The main bartenders taught us this afternoon, in case…”
“We won,” I chimed in.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said, the cocktail napkin in his hand shaking as though a flutter of wind had just whisked by.
“Actually,” I said, tipping the whiskey back, chugging the whole thing, “I’ll take one of those spicy margaritas if you double the tequila.” Shifting my ass on the couch, I reached for my wallet.
“Yes, of course, it’s on the house.”
“Well, I’m fishing out a tip 'cause you made me smile for the first time tonight.”
“That’s not necessary, sir,”
“Yes, it is,” I assured.
“But what I really want is an autograph.”
“I’ll give you that, too.” Then I asked him, “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go? Just asking because I haven’t traveled a lot.”
“Well, my parents like to travel, so I’ve been all over, but I think my two favorite places are Dublin and Mexico City.” As he said the last piece, a hushed intake of breath sounding decidedly female filtered from the second floor that overlooked the area where I was sitting. We both looked up but couldn’t see whoever it was. There were massive, round concrete columns that someone could have been standing behind, and the truth was, even if Beyonce herself were up there, I wasn’t interested. Okay, maybe that was bullshit. But really, I wasn’t in the mood.
