“I’ll treat him with respect. And I’ll make sure to tell him all the things that a woman who’s interested in having a relationship with a man should tell him. I’ll make him confident that he can depend on me to support him when he needs it, but stand back and let him do his thing when he doesn’t.”
“Sounds good, but it’s all theory, right? I mean, have you ever used this technique? You don’t have a guy right now, so…”
This time she takes two balls in one hand—like she held my balls in her hand.
Great, now I’ve sprung a woody. “Shit. Fuck.”
I turn away to hide the fact that I’m a fucking teenager in a man’s body. Two feet from me, two little noses and the four rosy cheeks that belong with them press against the chain link fence. With their tiny fingers clinging to the wire, two kids from the playground stare at me.
The taller of the two turns away. Never letting go of his grip, he screams at the top of his lungs. “Mommy! That bad man said bad words.”
I freeze in place, except, out of sheer self-preservation, my hands cover the tent in the front of my shorts. I whip around to face Ronnie. Better she sees it than two tots, whose mother is running over as I stand here, mortified over the fact that I’ve popped a boner.
It’s the first time I’ve gotten embarrassed over going full salute since I was sixteen. That time, I stood in front of my English class, and Mrs. Clemson bent over to get a book. That tight little ass on the twenty-something teacher was more than my teenage cock could handle. I’d take that experience over this one any day.
Ronnie’s gaze goes to the hands still covering my wilting hard-on. Nothing like a couple of rug rats to kill a ball buzz. Her eyebrows shoot up.
I try to keep the conversation on track. “No guy now? Lately? When did you last have a boyfriend?”
“Not that it’s any of your business; no, as we’ve already established, I don’t have a guy, right now. But that really has nothing to do with whether or not my methods work. I haven’t met anyone I want to date since…” She bites her bottom lip, and her eyes jump to meet mine, darting away almost instantly.
“Since?” Why do I even care? What is it about this girl that makes me curious about all the things I’ve never cared about when it came to any woman?
Her inhalation sounds tired and deep. With a shake of her head, she tosses one of the balls into the air and slams it with more aggression than that ball probably deserved. Why do I get the feeling that she might be imagining it’s one of mine?
“Since I don’t want to talk about it.” She tucks a stray curl back into the bun atop her head.
The children’s mother comes to the fence, dragging them away and chattering on about how people should watch their mouths in public. I give her a little wave. At least she doesn’t know what else happened in public. I’d probably get arrested.
I check my watch. It’s seven twenty-two. If they were meeting at seven, Dave’s late. What the fuck? Is he going to stand her up? He’d better not pull some shit like that. Not cool.
“So, did Dave text? He’s late, right?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. We’re set to meet at seven thirty. What time is it?”
“Oh. Guess not then. A few more minutes.” Why do I even care if she gets stood up?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Okay, so she’s a hot piece of ass that I’m dying to tap, but whether or not she succeeds with her work really shouldn’t matter to me. And whether or not she’s disappointed by some guy she’s going on a fake date with shouldn’t be important to me.
But it is.
Damn. I need to get laid. This is ridiculous.
Tonight. I get fucked tonight. Even if it has to be someone from my little black book. This shit’s fucking with my head. Both of them.
I lean forward, hands braced on my knees. I need to play more often. This is embarrassing.
Just sad. I haven’t lost without scoring once between all the games in probably six years. I can usually at least score one measly point. Best five out of seven didn’t take too long.
“You okay, Ronnie?” Dave takes a swig of water from his bottle.
I hold up a finger, still out of breath.
Jackson meets Dave at the net. They shake hands and chat for a minute, but I can’t hear them for all the wheezing I’m doing at the moment.
Dave and Jackson come my way. I stand, trying to fake that I’m fine. I’m so not fine. That’s it. No more tennis. Since my tits got this big, it’s just not worth the pain and suffering, even with the two sport bras I’m wearing—not enough. And I’m sadly out of shape.