Monday Night Bleacher Report ~ Guarding the Line Chapter 10, cont.

Ah, Atlanta. We have the largest division lead in the game and only one All-star. One sportswriter suggested we're the Rodney Dangerfield of sports at the moment. Yet, come September, I doubt anyone will recall how many each team send to Citi Field next week. But just for the record, I want to quote Yahoo Sports Network contributor Anthony Schrieber:

"To paraphrase a ranting diatribe, Freeman should not have to be pitted against a rookie -- scratch that, it is too early to even call him a rookie -- an MLB fetus -- there, that's better -- like Puig."

So, there. Let's go to dinner with Mike and Verity. Perhaps whats on their plates will be more palatable.

continued 

“And this is because of that freak show family you referred to?” Why couldn’t he let the topic rest.

Verity nearly upset her water glass, grabbing for her champagne. While she chugged the glass’s contents, she wondered whether to lie. “Look, I’ll try to explain. My father belongs to a… community, I guess you’d call it. He decided he wanted three wives at once. "With me so far?"

His eyes widened, but she didn't see judgement... yet. He nodded. 

“My mother deceived him about who she was and where she came from.  He had strict ideas about what he was looking for in a wife, and she didn’t meet his standards. He kicked us out of that community before I was born. I grew up with her people, in a place that didn’t accept me because of my father. Are you still following this?” Getting only another nod, she hurried to finish. “He changed his mind when I was twelve and took me away from her. He didn’t stick around, mind you, but I was raised with Sage and Rosemary after that. Only, because of my mother, that community didn’t accept me either. I don’t fit in anywhere, other than with my sisters, and maybe my grandfather.”

“So, this is a religious thing?”

“It’s exactly that.  But I questioned my own worth for a long time. I like to think I got past it, but most of my experiences add up to disappointment if I let myself forget I’m anyone other than the kid who wasn’t wanted anywhere.”

“My father teaches comparative religion at a small college in Oregon. I was raised to believe all religions have part of the answer, and to respect each and every one of them.  Nobody’s completely wrong and nobody’s completely right, according to my dad. Religion can be a cruel tool, a way of categorizing people without taking the time to see their worth as individuals. I didn’t mean to upset you, Vee. What I guess I was after was funny stories about sisters so close in age, but I can tell by the tears you’re trying not to shed, maybe there wasn’t much to laugh about. I’m sorry if you think I pushed you too fast and too hard.”

“I’m flattered you seem to care, actually.”

Her story rubbed every nerve in his body the wrong way.  Protective instincts he didn’t know he had made him want—make that need to—wring her father’s neck. “But now the three of you are close?”  He had to know somebody cared about her.

She smiled and the pain in her eyes seemed to lessen. “We are now. I mean, all we really have is each other.  We fight, don’t get me wrong.  We’re very different people.  Sage probably loves Him the most, and because he loves nobody, it makes her seek male approval and attention.  Rose is hot-tempered and judgmental. That aloofness is her way of protecting herself.  But when push comes to shove, we stick together, no matter what.”

“Now it’s my turn to be flattered,” he murmured.  “You must have a well-developed sense of self-protection too, but you opened up to me.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” she pointed out, tearing her gaze away to glance meaningfully around them.  “Besides, I learned to get along with everybody.”

And keep that wall up to protect herself, too, he’d bet.  “I was right though.  I had to do something drastic to stop you from turning me into just another guy you needed to protect yourself from.”

“I was right, too,” she insisted, fixing him with a glare. “You are trouble on two legs.”

There was something about this woman. Intuition told him complete honesty was the way to go.  “I’m laid back, as you say, but when I see something I want, I go after it. If that makes me trouble in your book, then you need to spell it with a capital T.”

 “And you want more than sex from me?”

Mike knew he was dissatisfied with his life. He had a successful career, but needed something else. Though he couldn’t define why, he sensed she was that something. “I want to see you mad, so I can tease you into a better mood.  I want to see you tired, so I can rub your back and help you relax. I want to open my eyes in the morning and see you look at me the way you did when you walked in this restaurant, like everything’s right with your world because I’m in it. I want that a lot.”

“Why me?”

“Because every cell in my body tells me you’re special, maybe more than special.”  He reached to stroke her face, and when she pressed her face against his palm, emotion made his hand tremble. “The real question here is what you need in return. Be honest with me, because I’ve never felt anything like this in my life. Men can be hurt, too, Verity.”

The vulnerability in his eyes had her heart in a second.  His words were like balm to the deep wounds caused by rejection.  The attraction had sizzled between them since the moment she’d looked in his eyes at that tattoo parlor.  Somehow they had skipped right past the initial stages of attraction to the place where it was time for declarations.  The truth might make him run away screaming, but she wasn’t willing to let dishonesty screw this up.  Even if the truth ultimately might mean another rejection.  “I need someone who can accept the unacceptable.  Someone willing to be open-minded and not afraid of the unknown.  I hear what you’re saying, Mike. More than that, I feel it myself. I’ll be just as honest as you are, because that’s who I am.  Do I think I could see your face every morning and be sure everything is right with my world because you are there?  Yes.  But my world might be the thing that you can’t accept, the thing that makes you not want an ‘us’.”

“Take a chance on me, Verity.  I was raised to be open-minded.  I told you already, I’m not rational about you.  Quit over-thinking this.  Go with your gut the way you did last night.  You wanted me, and you reached for me.  Now I want more of you.  It’s that simple.”

Too deep in conversation to order, they'd waved off the waitress.  “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Or can we go someplace else?”

 “I took a cab, hoping you’d offer me a ride home.” 

He gave her a grin as he motioned for the check. “Rosemary suggested I ask to see your beach.”

“You need to stay away from my sisters." she punched his arm as they left the restaurant. He placed the arm around her, hugging her to his side.

“You mean those two unattractive women I had to beg for your phone number?"

She fervently wished her crystals had shown her how this turned out. He sure sounded special.

Be sure to drop by and show Jennifer Simpkins some love while she parties over the impending return of Derek Jeter to the Yankees line-up. Thanks for dropping in. Have a great week! 

Monday Night Bleacher Report & Guarding the Line Chapter 8

Despite the fact the Braves still lead the Nationals by a few games to occupy top spot in the division, I hope they make some serious moves before the trading deadline, because May sucked. Hopefully they'll get some help in the bullpen and possibly free up a lot of money by trading Uggla and BJ. Hate to say it, but after their performances so far this year it might do Hayward and Hudson some good in the minors for a little while. And is it just me, or does Freddie look like he's phoning it in?

~Sincerely, Worried Fan in SC

Let's hunt down Mike and Verity after their hot night in the 'real Obsidian VIP lounge'. At this point, I know more about where their story is heading than I do my favorite baseball team, and that ain't saying much for Atlanta.

Zipping up his jeans, Mike gazed at Verity’s sleeping form. The colorful tattoo covered her far better than the dark sheets, but he feared he’d wake her if he pulled them over her. Even wildcats needed their rest, and if she woke, he knew he’d stay for another round. She’d gotten him hard more times than he thought possible and he had a night game. Better go now while his legs could still hold him. Hopefully, the sated feeling suffusing his body would carry over to the game. Baseball was best played loose and, compared to how he felt now, he’d been wound far too tight. Quickly, he got into his shoes, unable to resist clawing at the half-healed design Thane had put on his arm. The itch reminded him to snag the small jar of ointment off the nightstand.

She swore she made he fragrant ointment herself. He'd try anything that might speed the healing process and stop the damn tattoo from itching. Like his mother, Vee was into all that New Age stuff, telling him to wear certain crystals and offering herbal remedies. Her tat was completely healed, while his had hit the annoying stage. Recalling the hour it’d taken him to trace the elaborate design on her back with his tongue made his lip tingle, a sensation that unbelievably  echoed in his cock, but he eased the curtains around the alcove closed and strode resolutely to the elevator.

The minute the door slid open on the lower floor, the amused expression in a pair of green eyes halted his late-morning walk of shame. Across from the elevator, visible through an open office door, the twin sat behind a desk. But, if they’re twins, wouldn’t their hair be the same color? Not to mention their eyes? Fraternal twins? He didn’t recall much from high school Biology. He eyed the deep blue shine on the sister’s glossy black short cut. Dyed. Had to be.

“Need help getting out of here?”  This time of day, Mike hadn’t expected to see anyone in the nightclub. He stepped off the elevator and paused at the door of the office, shoving the small jar into his pants pocket. Wracking his memory for this woman’s name turned up a blank. "Actually, I was wondering about that.”

Her mouth looked the same, yet her smile seemed different than Vee’s. “Would you like a cup of coffee before you go? I have a fresh pot.”

The vivid interest in her eyes made him uncomfortable. He felt like he was being considered for lunch meat by some predator. Those eyes looked like she’d knocked the bottoms out of Sprite bottles to make contact lenses. “No, thanks, but I’m not sure how to get out of here.” He watched warily when she stood, moving from behind the desk and slinking toward him, her movement all swaying hips and jiggling breasts. The way she brushed the back of her hand across his groin when she passed sent his spidey sense tingling.

“I’ll let you out, of course. Is my sister awake?”  He wondered if this one had stayed overnight or come in early to check on the little love nest upstairs. She turned in the direction opposite from the VIP bar and main nightclub.

“No, I closed the drapes. I think she’s down for the count.” He felt the woman was waiting to hear something else from him, but she pulled to a stop in front of a door only a few feet down the corridor from the elevator.  He felt awkward but figured he needed to say something. “Uh, thanks a lot for letting her off work last night, and for use of the apartment. I was afraid for a minute, out on the patio, I’d gotten her into trouble.”

Amusement reappeared on her face. “Never, she’s my sister. Although, I must admit, finding you two out there was quite a shock. Vee’s always so… controlled. Last night is hardly her style.” Abruptly, she changed the subject. “You don’t have a membership, do you?  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“My friend has one. Last night was my first time here. I liked it. You have a great place.”  He expected a sales pitch. He could get a complimentary membership if he asked, most likely, since some clubs liked having sports figures in their place, but he wanted to get out of here.

“Thank you.” Her catlike eyes narrowed. “Who’s your friend?”

“Victor Montalvo. He’s our catcher.”

“What does he catch?”

Suppressing a groan, he peered hopefully over her shoulder at the door. “Baseballs. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go throw some at him.”

She leaned on the bar to open the heavy fire door. He could see a corridor with another door at the far end, but felt annoyed that she’d positioned her body so he had to touch her again to get past. “This opens onto the employee parking. There’s an elevator that will take you to street level or any other floor of the parking garage, but you’ll have to go down one flight of steps to get to it.” She held up something resembling a poker chip, but he'd have sworn her hands had been empty moments before. “Here’s a parking token, in case you used the garage. Come back and see me sometime, Mike. Just ask for me at the door. Goodbye, for now.”  She pressed the token into his hand and slid the palm of her other hand down his arm. Her nails raked the hair on his forearm.  He stepped into the corridor quickly, uninterested in the obvious come-on.

Once out the second door, he saw only two cars on the vast employee deck.  One was a sleek Jaguar, parked right by the door. That had to belong to the sister. The other was parked farther from the door. He had to walk past to reach the stairs. He  made a lap around the vehicle, noting the custom black powder coated rims, the expensive racing tires, the manual transmission, the custom paint job done in flat black, with racing stripes denoted only by their gloss. The custom license tag was cute, too, VSPONY. Her ride wasn’t something she paid for tending bar part-time for her sister. Every imaginable expensive car could be found in the player’s parking lot at Turner Field. This model Mustang cost about a hundred grand. 

Still thinking about the intriguing blonde, he loped toward the stairs. Nothing about either the car or the woman seemed controlled to him. She’d been pure, passionate heat. And, God, she said the sexiest, dirtiest things, too. It’d been her idea to go outside on the large deck on the roof and fuck against the railing overlooking the city. It'd be a while before he forgot that sexy voice urging him on as he took her from behind. Jogging down the stairs, he could still feel all that hair wrapped around his fist.  Knowing that anyone on the street below could hear them, or anyone looking out from one of the surrounding office buildings could see them, only made the encounter hotter, more surreal.

Something stabbed his hip, interrupting his reverie. He worked the little jar free from his jeans, pausing at the foot of the stairs to rub his fingers over the faceted amethyst-colored plastic jewel on the lid. The bauble matched her eyes. In the bright light of day, he had to admit, that color wasn’t exactly normal, either. Contacts had to be the explanation, he decided, having little trouble finding his car on the deserted deck. Unlocking the door, he felt sure the sisters were into wild-ass colored contact lenses.

But, damn, if last night hadn’t changed his luck, he was in for a long season. He dropped the little jar into the cup holder in his console and cranked the car.

He was still thinking about her as he regretfully showered her scent off his skin, tired yet strangely exhilarated. He wished he’d asked for her number. At least he knew how to find her sister, or one of the other employees probably had her number. He’d find her again, that was for sure, if he had to threaten to break Thane’s arm to get the tattoo artist to cough up her digits. The former motorcycle gang member was much less intimidating than what's-her-name. 

*****

When Vee opened her eyes, it took a moment to recall where she was. Damn, still at Obsidian. She stretched, luxuriating in the silky feel of the sheets against her skin and enjoying feeling tender in all the right places.  The whisper of the elevator door caused her to freeze.  Was he just leaving or had he come back? 

Crawling to the end of the bed, she peeked through the curtain to see Sage holding her shirt in one hand, her pants in the other. “Bring those over here,” she ordered with a chuckle.

Sage flashed a wicked grin. “Ah, you’re up. Sorry if I woke you, but I was just bringing you something from the kitchen. From the looks of him, you’re bound to be starved.” Vee made sure she kept the curtains around her neck when she reached out to snatch her clothes.

Yanking the top over her head, she realized she had no idea where her panties were. A shower would’ve been nice, but she definitely wasn’t risking one with Sage in the apartment. “Speaking of eating, what did you bring?” she called through the curtain.

She barely listened to the reply, but trying to find black underwear among black sheets in a room that was half-dark was proving futile. “A huge bowl of boiled shrimp, one of fruit, and some cold pasta salad. The usual stuff from the buffet, but it’s fresh and we’ve changed the recipes since you’re tried any of this. I thought we could eat and chat a bit if you were awake.  It’s nearly two.  He must have been as good as he looked.”

She gave up on the underwear, jerking her pants on quickly. “Marked not from birth but by a gifted hand, let not my blood see on my skin the decoration of man.” Hurry, hurry, she begged the Goddess. Sage’s muffled steps were coming toward the bed again. Any second now, she feared her sister would yank those curtains back before the spell could conceal her tattoo. An hour seemed to pass until she could twist her head and see nothing on her shoulder. Heart pounding, she pulled the curtains aside, only to find Sage standing right in front of her.

 Sage wrinkled her nose. “You need a shower, girl. You smell like he did—ripe.”

Vee felt her eyes widen. “You saw him this morning?”

“Uh, honey, it was almost afternoon when I saw him. I was doing the books when he came down. That was more than an hour ago.”

Vee gave her sister a hard look, to let her know she didn’t plan on sharing the details of her evening. Whatever teasing Sage had in mind, Vee had her own agenda.

She stepped around her sister, heading for the bar and the food, filling her plate before sitting on a bar stool. Sage did the same, apparently content to eat before beginning her inquisition. She relaxed too soon. “So, I didn’t see any phone numbers lying around, unless it’s on one of the nightstands. Are you planning to see him again?”

Cursing herself for giving her sister home field advantage, Vee tried not to think about whether or not he’d flushed all the condoms, realizing too late what Sage had spent the time doing while she’d been hurrying into her clothes. She gave the counter a furtive glace as well, mortified suddenly as she remembered where the evening had begun. “I haven’t decided yet. I might, but only if we can use this place again.”

“Of course you can. What do you want to know about him?”

Verity dropped the shrimp in her hand and stared at her sister in complete horror. “You did not check him out. Tell me you didn’t.”

“All I did was ask who he’d come in with. I looked up the member and asked a couple of discrete questions of a few staff, that’s all.”

“Don’t tell me anything. I didn’t ask him anything and I’m not sure I want to know anything. It was one night, no questions asked.  You should be familiar with the concept.” She gave Sage a warning glare.

“Fine, I’ll keep what I learned to myself.”

“Sage, I said I didn’t want to know.”

“And when he shows up again looking for you? What do I tell him then?”

Intuition told Vee there was something else going on. “You’re interested in him?” she guessed.

“Not if you say hands off.  But you should be glad you saw him first.”

Vee hadn’t had time to think about whether or not she wanted to see the man again, but her sister’s pushing was making her angry. Sage had to feel every man in the world wanted her. Besides, she could find him without her sister’s help, if she wanted, as Sage well knew. “Tell you what, Sage. If you can get him up here, you can have him. Since Avery’s back, it’s not like I’ll be around. What I’d rather talk about are the things I found in this kitchen. Don’t even try to play me.” She gave her sister a hard look, the catty behavior wiping way any guilt she might feel for not revealing her visit from the Triscaro.

Sage put on her best innocent look. “I let Rosemary use the place last week. Nobody can blame me for what she does, now can they?  Besides, this damn suspension has to end soon.”

Vee shoved off her stool, happy when it fell over, in spite of the sound-absorbing rubber flooring. Anger spoiled her appetite. “Sage, you have no idea who is watching us, or when. And why didn’t you mention our sister was in town? Never mind that. Back to what we were discussing. You need to start thinking before you act. I swear, you two are just like Him, aren’t you?  Too arrogant for your own good.  Playing fast and loose with your suspension might just get you a more serious punishment, do you ever think of that?” Or me. You never think of anyone but yourself.

“Don’t use that tone. Rosemary can visit if she wants. Besides, if you’d minded your own business, I wouldn’t be suspended and you wouldn’t have been….”

  “I’m gone, Sage. Thanks for lunch. When you see Rosemary, tell her I said hello, why don’t you?” She didn’t bother with the elevator, simply visualizing her car. It was stifling inside the vehicle.

Vee gunned the Mustang through the light afternoon traffic, trying to recapture the way she’d felt just before she’d realized Sage was in the apartment. The whole reason for taking the damn key from her sister had been to relax. Nothing like sex under a nearly full moon to help a woman center herself.  She’d been lying there wondering if he would show back up at Obsidian tonight, looking for her.  Not that she planned to be there, of course, but since he knew Sage had some authority, he could get security to call Sage, and Sage, in turn would call Vee.  Except Sage had a good look at him this morning, and now she wanted the damn guy.  She should have just asked him to meet her, but she’d decided to let him work for something, at least.

Damn Sage for screwing with that. Sage wouldn’t be able to resist making a pass at the guy, and men weren’t known for being selective. For all Vee knew, he preferred brunettes with green eyes. Hell. If Rosemary was around, he could have a blue-eyed red head. Okay, that wasn’t fair. Rosemary’s not like Sage.

  She pulled up in front of her detached garage and waited impatiently for the door to lift. Once parked, she sprang out of the car and hurried into the house, heading for a long bath. Then she planned to relax with a decent bottle of wine, a sandwich, and a jigsaw puzzle before pulling out her crystals. They’d been dark for too long.

She skidded to a stop as she saw the figure waiting in her living room. Her heart slammed into her sternum.

To be continued...

 Be sure and follow me over to razz my fellow romance author Jennifer Simpkins about her Yankees, she loves that. Seriously, she does. 

Thanks for dropping in. :)

Guarding the Line Chapter 7 ~ The Monday Night Bleacher Report

Welcome back!

We've hit a rough patch in Atlanta.

(I know, I know. Please, someone, nominate that sentence for Understatement of the Year. I need the publicity.) While my fictional Brave's third baseman, Mike Reardon, thinks his luck has changed when he hooks up with Verity on the patio at Obsidian, the real-deal Braves have won only eight of their last twenty-two games.

Welcome to that time of year when I start to put some serious thought into what I wear on game days. Their pink Mother's Day bats didn't do much for the Upton brothers yesterday. Does that mean...(gasp!)  Has my lucky pink Braves cap lost it's magic? Say it ain't so, Joe. Should I not wear my lucky hat when we play the D'backs tonight? Do I need to find my Chipper Jones bobble-head doll, build it an altar, and sacrifice a live chicken? Will my neighbor miss their live chicken, or are they serious Braves fans, who might understand that their new rooster is driving me up a fricken wall  that true fans must do whatever it takes to help their team?

Believe it or not, that kind of fan-think was one of the motivations behind Guarding the Line. We all know someone--or are the one--who thinks our behavior can affect the outcome of a game. Or, maybe you have to live in the sports-crazy culture of the South. But I had the thought "What if there's no such thing as bad luck? What if the things happening in an alternate reality bleed through and affect humans day-to-day activities." A bit of musing on all the times I hunted a lost item, only to find it in exactly the spot when I searched most often, and voila! GTL got it's start.

Oh, so you caught me diverting your attention from the Brave's season, did'ja? Guilty as charged. So is Verity, when we last saw her, she'd been caught red-handed by her half-sister Sage, coming out of a curtained booth on the patio at Obsidian.

Onward:

Verity could've strangled her sister, but she kept her voice even.  At least she hoped it was even. “Going back to the VIP bar, Sage. I think my break’s over now.”

A wicked smile curved sage’s lips. She eyed Mike, then looked at Verity. “So, the fact that Avery came into work isn’t information you’re interested in?”

Verity felt her heart speed up, as if the organ wasn’t beating hard enough already. “I thought Avery was in Jamaica?”

Sage raised one shoulder. “And the lovely vacation turned into a spat. His lover picked up somebody else to love, so he’s back, and you’re off the hook. Poor man’s eying the tip jar like a drowning swimmer looking at a life preserver. Nothing like a bit of cash to soothe a broken heart.  I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I couldn’t believe it when Hanes said he saw you come out here, and Jeremy said you were…well, anyway.” 

Verity thought about sending her sister a bouquet of her special roses for the way Sage dropped her eyes to examine Mike’s…package. “Really, Sage?” She didn’t feel a single twinge of guilt for not telling Sage her suspension was up. The information had slipped her mind. For a week. Yeah, right. Closing her eyes, Verity quickly filled her mind with images of trivia…the dark curtains surrounding the patio, the beach at her front door, her front yard. The last thing she wanted was for Sage to discern information about her visit from the Triscaro. She’d tell Sage at some point, but until Verity figured out what Sage had done to warrant the punishment Verity suffered on her behalf, she wasn’t in any hurry to let her sister go back to practicing magic. And it would be best if Sage didn’t know how interested Verity was in the man standing at her side. Wasn’t it just like Sage not to show an ounce of compassion for Avery? How awful, to break up on vacation. Embarrassment made her thoughts whirl.

“Thank you, Sage, whoever you are.  I have plans for this woman,” Mike said, grabbing her hand. So much for secrets. “Let’s get you clocked out and go someplace else.”

“This is my sister, Mike. It’s her club. Sage, this is Mike…uh, don’t think I recall your last name.” Dammit, she was too old to blush.

“Reardon.  Nice to meet you, Sage.”

“Oh, no. the pleasure is all mine,” Sage purred. Before Vee could react, Sage stuck her hand between her breasts, bringing out a key. Removing the chain from around her neck, Sage pressed the small piece of brass into Vee’s hand. “Allow me to help you with those plans. Have fun, kids.” Verity curled her fingers around the key, watching Sage preen like a parrot through narrowed eyes. Sage smoothed her short hair and stuck out her breasts. Her eyes were still glued to Mike and Vee didn’t miss the avaricious gleam. If the guy had returned Sage’s look, Vee wouldn’t think twice about leaving, but he didn’t. A quick glance showed Verity he was looking at her. For now.

Vee swore silently.

“What’s the key to? Are there more, um, private places in this damn nightclub?”

Sage’s smile would’ve melted the Abominable Snowman. “A private elevator, the one that goes to an apartment in this building,” her sister informed her hook-up.

       “Give me that key,” he replied, reaching for Verity’s clenched fist.

“Not the trusting sort, are you?” Verity relinquished the object. “First the hair comb, now the key?”

He didn’t let go of her hand. “Come on, gorgeous. The gods answered my prayers. Let’s go. Call it insurance so you don’t change your mind without giving me the chance to talk you out of it.” 

He didn’t give Sage a second look. 
Maybe my luck’s changing.

****

They made their way around the dance floor. The crowd had thinned a bit, since it was well past midnight. Verity led him to a door marked Female Employees Only. Torn between necking in the hall and shoving her through the door so they could go wherever the key in his hand might lead, he was relieved when she twisted from his grasp and disappeared through the door.  He leaned against the wall after sending a text to Victor, to tell his teammates not to wait.  He shoved the cell phone back in his pocket, waiting impatiently, while visions of the things he planned to do with her danced like demons in his head. What was it about her that had him panting like a teenager, even though she’d just milked him damn near dry?  He hadn’t been able to take his damn eyes off her, not at the tattoo parlor, not tonight. With hundreds of women in the place, she was the only one he could see, despite the nearly identical sister. It had to be those amazing eyes, he decided. How weird was it to imagine something so beautiful, only to have it come true? He could barely wait to have her beneath him.

And me without a condom or four. Surely, little Miss Sage had some handy. There had been a large bowl in the men’s room, mounded with glossy black wrappers imprinted with the club name across the front. 

The door opened, and he shoved away from the wall.  He could see her nipples through the fabric of the tee shirt. What a hot little number.

“Do I need to duck into the men’s room for some condoms, or will she have some in her apartment?” he asked.

“There will be some upstairs,” she assured him.

“Let’s go.” Grabbing her hand again, he let her lead the way. She stopped in front of an elevator door, but he saw no buttons on the brass plate, just a small hole. He realized the carriage took a key, and fished in his pocket. The key Sage had given them slipped in easily. The polished black door slid open without a sound.

He found the key slot on the inside of the elevator door and once more fitted the key inside the lock. Gold-tinted mirrors lined the walls of the elevator, a relief from the unrelenting black.  The door closed obediently. Turning toward her, Mike pressed her against the back of the elevator, pinning her with his hips as he kissed her hungrily. He felt the elevator ascend. Odd, because he’d thought the club was on the top floor.

Before he could do much with her shirt, they stopped and the door slid open. Looking over his shoulder, he realized the elevator opened directly into an apartment. He reached for the key, but she put a restraining hand over his. After depressing a tiny button below the slot, she took his hand. They stepped into the apartment, leaving the key in place.

Mike let out an admiring whistle. During his time in the majors, he’d seen some fancy digs, but this place was right up there with them. The facing wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, overlooking the city. Through the sheer drapes, he could see a large balcony, complete with fire pit. Black-lacquered furniture studded the room. The upholstery had been done in black leather.  A kitchen sat to his left, tucked into an alcove. The black countertops were identical to the ones downstairs in the bar. Bright pottery decorated countertops and shelves. To his right, another alcove featured a massive poster bed. The covers were black, but pillows of turquoise, red, orange, and hot pink were piled at the headboard. The colors mimicked the crocks and jars in the kitchenette. Even the floors and walls were black. The flooring looked and felt like rubber. Squinting, he thought the ceiling was covered in the same material. Sound-proofing, maybe? The lighting was subtle, as was the music. The song playing wasn’t the hard-driving stuff from the club.

“Sage is fond of black.” She toed off her shoes.

“Does she live here?”

“No. If anyone asks, now you can tell them you’ve seen the real VIP lounge at Obsidian.”

Fuck gawking at the room like a tourist. Mike put his hand on her waist. Since their little adventure on the patio, every time he touched her, a strong sensation shot straight to his cock. “Show me that tat.”

(To be continued 5/20)

 Thanks for dropping in. Let's go see what fellow romance author Jennifer Simpkins has to say about her damn Yankees, shall we?