Page 6 of Second Go-Round

Antsy and impatient as always, I found myself ready to roll an hour early. Freshly showered and shaved, dressed to fucking kill in my short skirt and plunging neckline blouse that barely contained the girls, I decided to just head out and grab a drink and get my groove on before Jarod even arrived.

My cell rang, stalling me from walking out the door.

“Hey, Dad.” I always answered if and when he rang. Allowing a loved one’s phone call to go to voicemail had been his biggest regret. We’d learned our lesson the hardest way imaginable.

At least we still had Mom’s recording, her final words to both of us from when we had been too busy at Fenway watching the Sox play to answer. Had we known the house burned down around her, that afternoon would have gone differently. Still tragic with all hope of rescue lost but with less regret.

On that day, everything baseball had become a hard limit for me. Dad’s and my love for all things sports shifted, but at least we still bonded and enjoyed the Pats, Celtics, and Bruins.

“Christine,” Dad said when I answered, “Uncle Bradly wanted me to ask if you would be interested in assisting them with a last-minute fundraiser.”

A heaviness settled in my chest. Too often, I got caught up in my own little world, forgetting about those who suffered around me. Wanting to live, experiencing freedom because I could, probably made me appear selfish to those outside my bubble. But those inside? They saw my loyalty, that giving nature I lavished on all those in need.

Uncle Bradley wasn’t blood, but he’d been beside Dad and me for more of our outdoor sporting events than not when I’d been a kid. They’d gone to school together, attended the same college, married and even had kids within months of each other. Not that I was close with their daughter. She’d had depressive struggles as a child which had blown into suicide attempts and eventually a mental institute.

But I would do anything for Uncle Bradley and Auntie Sophie who both worked for the New England Patriots’s organization and had gotten Dad and me season tickets for ten years in a row.

“You know I will,” I promised Dad, trusting him to relay my agreement to whatever it was Uncle Bradley needed my help with.

Dad gave me a quick rundown of what his best friend wanted, and I climbed aboard the idea, ready to take the reins and roll with it. There wasn’t a lot of time to get a plan in place, but I was definitely the bitch for the task.

People could trust me to get shit done, and with Uncle Bradley, it wouldn’t just be a job but a passion project as well. With his connections, I expected a lot of big names at the event too—definitely a perk.

“I have his number, so I’ll give him a call tomorrow before we leave for the game,” I promised my dad.

“Are you going out tonight?” he asked, concern lowering his tone.

Unless I babysat for Jessica or went out to dinner with my dad, I always went downtown on the weekends. But, I wasn’t about to tell him the truth of who I was meeting up with that night.

“Yep,” I answered. “Going dancing.”

“Please be careful,” Dad said, without a doubt worried that I took my chances during a time of unrest with the whole bombing situation. But I wasn’t about to let some homophobic asshole ruin my nightlife.

“Chantelle’s Too doesn’t allow bags, and they’re even making everyone who enters go through metal detectors. I’ll be fine,” I assured Dad, having checked before suggesting Jarod hook up with me there. “Promise.”

“Call me if you need me.”

My throat tightened at his request. “I will, Dad.” Swallowing hard, I hung up. Like me, Dad would always answer, no matter what time of the day, no matter where he might be or what he did.

“Fuck.” Lips in a thin line, I returned to the bathroom to make sure the wetness welling in my eyes didn’t cause my makeup to smear.

Shutting down thoughts of lost love, my mom, and assholes who embraced violence rather than acceptance, I strode back toward my front door. Necessities for the night in hand, I went outside to climb into my waiting Uber.

I could have requested Elite to pick me up with their limo—and meet Jarod exactly as Jessie had done with Reid, but again with the no date-ish feels for the night. It would be hard enough moving on from good dick. I couldn’t imagine getting to know the guy first, actually clicking or feeling a connection, then bending over the closest piece of furniture and being fucked until I melted at his feet.

Butterflies erupted inside me as I settled into the backseat of my ride, and restless energy had me squirming. I’d made the mistake of not getting myself off while showering, wanting to save my climaxes for when Jarod stuffed me full, but I was worked up enough with anticipation that another three or four bouts of release in the coming hours would have been easily accomplished.

Especially if he fucked like a god—which he must, right? How else would a guy get hired to be an escort?

My panties were soaked by the time I stood inside the dance club thumping with bass, sex already scenting the air. Slightly on edge, I grabbed a beer and tucked myself into a corner where I could enjoy the coolness sliding down my throat and not draw too much attention.

With curves scantily covered by tight clothes and having long red hair that refused to be tamed, I tended to get a lot of attention when I went out. I didn’t need it tonight. Only twenty minutes left until our agreed-upon time to meet up, so I focused on the main entrance, expecting Jarod to be prompt if not early.

Or maybe he’d already arrived in order to do the same of watching for me to arrive.

I quickly scanned the balcony across from where I stood, but the lone pretty boy I looked for scanning the gyrating bodies in front of me wasn’t there.

The beer didn’t help to lessen my jitters, and I couldn’t stay still any longer or I’d lose my ever loving mind. I started moving my hips there at the crowd’s edge, keeping in sight of the door. Another song ended without my escort’s arrival. Drink downed, I tossed the bottle in the nearest can and allowed myself to get caught up in the sea of lust, the warmth of bodies beckoning to my hormones and my need for release.

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