“But, Dad—”
“There’s no but Dad! I told you after that C last week that you need to slow down and pace yourself—”
“I did take my time!” Jordan comes off a bit brolic with that one.
Don’t kill my baby, Stenton! And don’t curse. Please!
“You did not if you scored a B-, Jordan!”
“Would you just chill for a minute so I can explain myself?”
Uh-oh! He’s asking for it.
“No!” Stenton asserts. “You don’t tell me to chill, first of all. Secondly, you’re cool posture right now tells me you don’t take me seriously. So, you know what, JR? No iPad. No X-box. No DS. Oh, and you will be with your MaMa and PaPa delivering cookies to the shelters this weekend instead of going to the movies with your cousins.”
Ouch!
“But, Daddy!”
“Oh, so now I’m Daddy and not just Dad, huhn? I bet that just took the zing out of your lil’ swag.” I hear the taunting in Stenton’s tenor.
Although he’s right, I’ve had enough of snooping. Besides, the man is home, on fire after losing tonight at a home game against Boston. I skip to the en suite bathroom and start the water in the garden tub, light the candles and throw on some mild rock.
We’re still at my place in Philly. Stenton decided to put his apartment in Bala Cynwyd up for sale. He’s also decided to retire once his contract is up next season. I’m proud of him for making the difficult decision, although it’s time. We didn’t have a honeymoon and I’m okay with that. If there’s anything I’ve come to know, traveling is always on the horizon for me as far as Stenton Rogers is concerned. I just want to get through the season so I can have him all to myself for the summer. I hate his schedule, something I’d never considered before our reunion.
“Zo!”
Zo! I mock at almost a whisper and giggle to myself, hoping he doesn’t hear me. He’s in a mood. A pissy mood. Me, on the other hand, I’m unbothered. I’m on cloud nine and in the mood to ruffle his feathers.
“In the bathroom, StentRo!” I call out to him.
“Here you go with that bullshit,” he growls just behind me, arms stretched at both sides of the doorframe.
Holy mother of Joseph! I hope he didn’t hear me!
Stenton looks delicious in his all black sweatsuit. His limbs extend like an octopus, making me yearn to be wrapped in them.
“How was Poppa Bear’s day?” I ask coyly.
He arches a brow. “You didn’t check the score?”
His tone is brusque, but I see it in his eyes. They’re filled with lust as they graze me from my bare cerise toes, to my nude thighs, barely draped in a small red robe, matching my nails. My hair is up in a messy ponytail, exposing my neck. When his regard lands there, Stenton mechanically licks his heart shaped lips. My nub below is pulsating.
I don’t answer his question because he knows I have. I’ve attended my first game this season—several actually. He didn’t ask me to, but ironically I developed this intense desire to see him in action. It has been a phenomenon to experience. Watching Stenton run the court, yelling calls and using his lanky body to score has been the biggest turn on. Some of our best sex has come after games I’ve attended. I’m completely enthralled by this man.
“Today’s her birthday,” I murmur before bending over to test the temperature of the water. “Have you called, FB’d or tweeted to greet her?” Though I’m purring, my tone is admonishing.
“I spoke with her this morning. You?”
I smile. Good.
“I called her right after you left.”