Al Trunk Mahoney, Defensive Line Page 15

  She stared at him, licked her lips, and then pushed to her feet. “That’s sweet, Al, but you don’t know what you’re getting into. Let’s keep it the way it is.”

  Before he could explain, she was at another table taking an order. His heart sank, and a heaviness settled between his shoulders. She doesn’t even know about me, and already she’s backing off. Not a good sign.

  Carla brought his food, and he wolfed it down like he hadn’t eaten in days. People dribbled into the bar, keeping the barkeep occupied. Trunk decided to lick his wounds by going to a movie alone. He raised his hand to wave goodbye as he headed for the local cinema three blocks down the street.

  At ten, he finished the last spoonful of a hot fudge sundae at the diner. He returned to the Beast, climbed the stairs, and turned left. He needed a night by himself. He stripped down and got into bed. After trying to concentrate on a thriller, he eventually put the book down, after reading the same words over and over, and turned out the lights.

  * * * *

  At one, Carla padded down the hall to her place, looking forward to some quiet time with Al. But when she hit the light and saw the bed was empty, her jaw slackened. Where is he? He couldn’t be in the bathroom, because the bedclothes hadn’t been disturbed.

  She turned to stare in the direction of his room. “What the?” A pain shot through her heart. What’s happening? Where did he go? Why isn’t he here? Did I say something?

  Tears filled her eyes. She wanted him, wanted to make love, wanted him to hold her all night long. After counting up the night, she was twenty percent down from the usual take on a Friday. The slowdown in her business was beginning. Every year she managed to squeak through, but it didn’t stop her from being nervous. She needed Al’s reassurance.

  “That son of a bitch,” she mumbled to herself, pulling her sweater over her head. She finished getting undressed and climbed under the covers naked. The sheets were damn cold, something she wasn’t used to since Al had come to share her bed. She closed her eyes, but anger and hurt kept her mind reeling, playing out all types of negative scenarios between her and Al Mahoney.

  The room was so still, she heard the click. Bathroom after one beer. But there was no corresponding sound of the bathroom door. A slight swish met her ears as she lay rigid. A noise nearby drew her gaze. She watched the knob turn slowly. Then, there was a light rap on the wood before it opened.

  “Are you awake?” Al whispered.

  “I am now.” Attitude poured through her voice.

  “I’m sorry. Are you pissed?”

  “Ya think?” She rolled over to face away from him, wiping away stray tears from her cheeks.

  “I’m going. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

  “That’s it? Go back to sleep? Get over here.” She turned back toward him.

  The big man followed along like a misbehaving puppy with his tail between his legs. “What?”

  “Why did you come down here?” She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest.

  “Oh. Yeah. I was…Well…I couldn’t sleep. And I thought…Nah, you wouldn’t.”

  She reached out to grab his hand. “I wouldn’t what?”

  “Forget it. I blew. I always blow it.”

  “Get your butt in this bed.”

  He slid in next to her. Emotion welled up in her, raining tears down her cheeks. She sniffled.

  Trunk reached out in the dark and stroked her face. “You crying?”

  She reached for a tissue and blew her nose.

  “Aw, baby. Did I do this? Com’ere.” He pulled her close and kissed her hair.

  Her feet ached, and her eyes wanted sleep. Scared and hurt, Carla wanted her man. She slumped against him. The feel of his skin soothed her. She nuzzled her face into his neck and blew out a breath.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “I didn’t know where you were,” she said in a tiny voice.

  “I’m sorry. I had a frustrating day. I thought I needed alone time. But it was Carla-time I needed. I’m an asshole.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Do you want me, honey?” His words were low and seductive in the dark.

  She nodded.

  He chuckled. “I can’t tell, baby. Talk to me.”

  “Yes. And you weren’t here.”

  “I’m here now. How about it?” His hand found her breast. His gentle pinch on her peak woke her up. A tingle shot through her as his lips hovered over her ear.

  “Al, I…I—” She stopped. No “L” word.

  “Let me give you some lovin’.”

  She ran her palm down his side and up through the hair on his chest. God, he felt good. Touching him revived Carla. Her nerves jumped to attention. Her skin woke up to every little brush of his fingertips as his hands roamed over her body. She found his face in the dark and drew his mouth down to hers. The kiss was hungry. She smoothed her hands down the back of his neck as he came to life, kissing her with abandon, stealing her breath.

  “Do it, Al. Take me,” she panted.

  “You got it.”

  He eased her down on her back, spread her legs, and kissed his way down her body. Carla sighed then moaned when he made contact with her hot, damp flesh. Heat rose through her, passion building, as she put herself in Al Mahoney’s hands. He didn’t disappoint.

  * * * *

  Al kissed between Carla’s breasts. Sweat dripped on her from his face. He wiped it with his hand. Her fingers combed his hair. His body sang the song of love. He rubbed his stubbly chin gently over her belly, smoothing it with his lips.

  Mary never did that. I gotta let her go. Carla is a real woman. The kind I want. And she wants me. Heaven.

  “Mary ever wake you up for sex?” she asked, caressing his cheek.

  “Nope. Never. I was lucky if she’d agree when she was already awake. Never blew me, either.”

  “She was considerate. Not like me. If I want it, and you’re asleep, I’m gonna get you up.”

  He snickered. “Up?”

  She gave his shoulder a playful slap. “You know what I mean.”

  “I love it. You have my permission to wake me up anytime for lovin’.” He lay back on the bed. “Get over here. I’m lonely.” He reached out.

  She giggled as she inched closer.

  Al grabbed her and pulled her against him. “That’s better.”

  “Yeah.” She nuzzled her face into his neck.

  Her breath against his skin was warm, and the air was cold. Al reached down, closed his fingers over the comforter, and yanked it up. He tucked it around her shoulders and then on his right side. He angled his head an inch or so from hers. The scent of her hair was fresh and slightly sweet. “God, you smell good,” he whispered.

  The fragrance was heady, and love flowed through his heart. He’d never known a woman like Carla—assertive, loving, sexy—there weren’t enough adjectives in the dictionary to describe how he felt about her. He finally admitted to himself how much he loved her and prayed she didn’t break his heart.

  It was too late to be sensible, to pull back, pretend he didn’t care. Opening himself to her, taking care of her in his own way, lifted his spirits. His whole being was lighter. Al never knew he could feel this way, or that a woman could treat him so well. He’d come to depend on her, new for a man who hadn’t depended on anyone outside himself since he was thirteen. While it warmed his insides, it also scared the crap out of him.

  The room was pitch black and still. Sleep crept over him. Carla’s even breathing acted like a lullaby. During the night, Al tossed, as stressful dreams about football took over his mind. He growled, sweated, and opened his eyes.

  “You okay, hon?” Carla’s small hand rubbed his back slowly.

  “Bad dream.”

  “About?”

  “Football. Go back to sleep, baby. I’m okay. Thanks.”

  “There’s a lot of pressure to make it to the Super Bowl, isn’t there?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’ve made it twice before.”<
br />
  “Yeah. One win and one loss.” He rubbed his face.

  “You’ll make it.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “You have to believe. If you don’t believe in yourself, who else will?”

  He grinned. “I’ve lived that all my life. I know I can do it.”

  “So do I. I’ve seen you play. You’re a freakin’ animal. You’re the best. No reason why you shouldn’t beat the Gators.”

  “We beat them last time by only one point.” His tone rose higher, and his brows knit.

  “Okay. But you beat ’em. That’s what counts. I’m sure you’ll wipe the floor with them.”

  “Thanks.” The tightness in his chest loosened a bit. They were only words, but they helped. His pulse slowed, and his heart beat calmed to a normal rate.

  “Try to sleep. Roll over on your side. I’ll rub your back,” she said.

  He did as she said. He heard her open the drawer in the nightstand. In a moment, her little hands, coated with something cold, glided across his back. A fragrance he couldn’t identify tickled his nose. “What’s that scent?” he asked.

  “Cucumber, pear, and a couple of other things. Is it okay?”

  “It’s great.”

  She hummed, like a cat purring, as she massaged the tension from his muscles. “Close your eyes, Al. Time to go back to sleep.” Her voice was soft.

  He shut his eyes and focused on the circular motion of her hands. The experience was soothing. Stress didn’t stand a chance. He drifted off, dreaming of a naked Carla lying in thick grass waiting to make love. It worked like a charm.

  * * * *

  Since the game wasn’t until Monday night, Trunk had Saturday and Sunday afternoons to look at houses. He visited two more real estate agencies, but still didn’t find what he wanted. On his way out of the last, a picture tacked on the bulletin board caught his eye. It was small and made of stone. The price was $595,000. Pretty steep for such a little place.

  “Don’t waste your time. That one is ancient. Needs a lot of work, and only has two bedrooms. It’s overpriced too.”

  “That’s big enough. How old is it? Why’s it so expensive?”

  “It was built around seventeen forty, or maybe thirty. I’m not sure. It’s priced so high because it’s on fifty acres.”

  “Fifty acres?”

  “Mostly wooded too. I think there’s a brook running through it. What a headache. Small space, too much land, and renovation necessary. Three strikes. I have a few listings coming in this week you might be interested in,” the agent continued.

  “I want to see this one.”

  She gave him a funny look, shrugged, and pushed to her feet. He slipped on his jacket. The agent plucked a set of keys from a board of hooks on the wall and zipped up her coat. They got in her car. The house was about two miles north of town. Not too far from The Beast.

  She parked, and they walked up a stone path. The dwelling stood two stories tall, proud of its little self. The shutters were black, and the stones were varying shades of gray and white. There was a peaked, wooden archway over the front door. It was also painted black.

  While he didn’t like gray and black, he had to admit to himself that the black shutters gave the place class. It dripped with charm, steeped in history.

  “I think this is a waste of your time.”

  “That’s okay.”

  She shrugged again then tried each key in the lock until she found the one that worked. The door creaked as she swung it open. A musty smell greeted them as they entered. Sunlight pouring through the front windows highlighted a billion dust particles in the air.

  Large, overstuffed furniture made the small living room appear even smaller. The big man found it hard to move around.

  “Once these people are out, you’d have room to maneuver,” the agent said.

  He eyed the large, stone fireplace and imagined nights there with a good woman, wine and beef stew. He could almost see Christmas ornaments on the mantle. “But where would you put the tree?” he said out loud.

  “What tree?”

  “Never mind. Just talking to myself.”

  “I think the kitchen is this way.”

  He followed, stopping at a small nook. There was a door, which the agent opened. It revealed a steep, spiral staircase. He thought the door, with a wrought iron handle and hinges, was quaint. The little nook might be a good place for a comfy chair and a lamp. To cuddle into on a dank, rainy day and read.

  The kitchen had sturdy, pine cabinets, but needed updating. Trunk got a few ideas as he looked around. Upstairs the bedroom was adequate, but the stone fireplace there blew him away. Images of making love to Carla in front of the fire started blood pumping to his dick. He shook his head and tried to focus on something else.

  “Nice room.”

  “Yeah, but it’s tiny. How could a man your size fit into this house?”

  “If you removed all the big-ass furniture downstairs, it’d be a lot more roomy.” Trunk descended the stairs, relieved to note that his shoulders fit through fine. “Can we take a look at the grounds?”

  “Of course.”

  They locked up and headed for the backyard. There was an outbuilding that looked like a barn and another that resembled a large chicken coop.

  “I suppose, with enough money, you could turn those into something livable. Maybe an office?”

  “A workout room. Perfect.” Trunk rubbed his hands together.

  “Hadn’t thought of that.”

  “This place is perfect.”

  “Perfect?” She whirled around. “Are you nuts? You’d have to do so much work.”

  “Do you think you could negotiate the price down?”

  She stared for a moment before answering. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll try.”

  “Can you call them now? I’ll wait.”

  “It’s freezing. I’m going to my car,” she said, taking out her phone.

  Trunk stood facing the stone house. Little stone house. Little stone house. Why is that so familiar?

  Then, it hit him, hard, like a tornado, almost knocking him down. The poem his mother used to read to him at bedtime. She’d had a book of children’s verses, and “The Little Stone House” was one of them. Trunk recited it under his breath, blinking rapidly.

  “Little house made of stone,

  In the field all alone.

  Weeds are tall, windows broken,

  Grass is high, no words bespoken.

  It looks humble, so forlorn,

  No hope rises with each morn.

  The little house so very sad,

  Buy it, dad, make it glad.

  We could live there, just us three,

  Get a dog, a cat, and plant a tree.

  Please answer little house’s prayers,

  Timmy begged, when climbing stairs.

  It wants a family to live inside,

  To eat and sleep, run and ride.

  ‘Can it be ours? Please buy it, Dad,

  It’s our new house!’ cried the little lad.”

  Emotion choked him, and tears streamed down his face as he recalled the sweet scent of his mother mixed with apple pie baking, the softness of her flannel robe on his cheek. She had held him in her lap to read, or slipped into bed next to him, cuddling him against her.

  When she’d read this poem, he had asked her if they were going to buy a little stone house. She had said that they had planned to buy a bigger house someday. He hadn’t liked the trailer. It had been cramped with the three of them.

  When his parents died, he’d kept the book with the stone house poem in it, until his Aunt had mistakenly taken it to a rummage sale. He’d cried that day, though he was sixteen.

  Cried in the locker room under the shower where no one would see.

  Sometimes, he’d stop at the library on the way home from practice. On Thursdays, it was open late. He’d find the book, open it, and read the poem, remembering her love. He’d vowed to have a house like that someday. But as life took over
and reality washed sweet memories from his brain, he’d forgotten about the little stone house.

  He wiped his face with his sleeve while the agent was busy on the phone. “Mom, this is for you,” he whispered.

  A winterish wind whipped around him, chilling him to the bone. He took refuge in her warm car. The agent seemed to be finishing up her conversation. She made the “thumbs-up” sign at him and smiled.

  His gaze was drawn to the small building. His heart swelled at the memory of his loving parents. How happy they would have been here. His reverie was interrupted by the agent.

  “I did it!”

  “What?” He turned to face her.

  “My brilliant negotiation. I got them down to four ninety five. That’s a hundred grand off the price.”

  “Awesome. I’ll take it.”

  “Wonderful! Let’s go back to the office, and I’ll get the paperwork going. Do you have a loan officer? I know someone real good.”

  “I’m going to pay cash.”

  She stopped, and her mouth opened a little. “Oh. Okay. Even better.”

  “Call me when the contract’s ready, and I’ll have my lawyer pick it up.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Trunk burst through the door as if he were a bulldozer. Carla was putting away clean glasses and looked up when he entered.

  “You won’t believe it. I found the perfect house.”

  His face was animated, bright, his smile broad. His body seemed to be fueled by kinetic energy, as he couldn’t stand still. He paced, he hopped, he jumped, and then plunked his palms down on the bar and leaned over.

  “Perfect?” she asked, maintaining her cool.

  “Ideal. Perfect. Will you come see it?”