Megaballs

  “We’re not getting rid of the TVs, Finley,” Farrah announces, clearly not picking up on my sarcasm, “and you have been thinking about that guy a lot these last couple of days. I can tell, you start doing this thing with the corners of your mouth and your eyes get all squinty.”

  “It’s called smiling,” I deadpan, “and excuse me for feeling a little bit giddy when I think about some random, hot-guy stranger who flirted with me and then left me a piece of paper worth over a hundred million dollars, because that’s usually the kind of stuff that only happens in books and movies. I’ll try to keep the happiness at a minimum, grouchypants.”

  “I’m not a grouchypants, and I actually like when you’re happy, sister dearling,” she crosses her arms over her chest, “but this guy obviously didn’t want you to know who he was, or he would’ve signed his note or have tried to contact you by now. I wish we knew who it was too so we could thank him for whatever reason he did this, but we don’t, so we should focus on all this important stuff we need to take care of.”

  I raise my eyebrows inquisitively, steal a glimpse over at Fiona, who shrugs and grins, and then dare myself to ask the question. “All what important stuff, Farrah?”

  A smile splits her face in two as she jumps up, and shouts, “House shopping and buying a new wardrobe!”

  “ARE YOU SURE, Ms. Farewell? We can ask the manager to clear out the store, if you’d like?” Matteo, one of the members of our security team, asks as we approach Louis Vuitton in Union Square, a place I’ve only ever dreamed about stepping foot in, knowing before I probably couldn’t even afford a pair of socks. If they even sell those here.

  I scan our surroundings, taking in the light Monday afternoon crowd strolling around the plaza known worldwide as a high-end shopping mecca. Most locals are either at work or school at this time of day — which reminds me another decision I need to make soon is if I’m going to finish my last year of college now or wait until everything calms down — and the handful of tourists nearby seem more interested in taking selfies with landmarks around the area instead of paying any attention to us. The officers, a pair in front, a pair behind, and one flanking each side, are careful enough to keep a distance that doesn’t draw interest in our presence, but close enough that if anyone were to approach us, they’d be there to intersect them.

  “No, that’s not necessary,” I reply with a polite smile, “but thanks for asking. Will you guys just stay outside the store while we’re in there?”

  Our group stops outside the doors as he shakes his head. “Dax will stay with Farrah, Travis with Fiona, and me with you at all times. The other three will be positioned outside the door.”

  “Okay,” I agree with a curt nod, while chewing on my bottom lip. I’m already tired of this security crap and it’s only been a few days. But our safety is my highest priority. I remind myself this will only last for a little while. Once we get settled in a new house and my picture isn’t flashing across TV screens and news websites, we can go back to normal. Whatever the hell our new normal will be.

  With Matteo and his counterparts leading the way, we step inside the brightly lit store filled with purses, wallets, and sunglasses on the bottom level, then clothes, shoes, and other accessories up a small half-flight of stairs toward the back. Other than the two salespeople, there’s only one other woman inside, and not long after we enter, she completes her purchase and makes her way back outside, leaving us alone in the store.

  “Good afternoon, and welcome to Louis Vuitton,” the male employee greets us with a skeptical smile. “Is there something in particular I can help you all find today?”

  The way he looks down at us past his pointy nose all judgy-like rubs me the wrong way, and I want to tell him to go suck an egg because I don’t want to buy any of his overpriced crap, but Farrah is on a mission, and she seems to think some retail therapy will help us all relax, so I bite my tongue and let her run the show.

  “Shoes!” she exclaims, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “Then we can find an outfit and bag to match.”

  Without waiting for him to respond, she takes off toward the wall of footwear with Dax right beside her, squealing with delight when she picks up a pair of high-heeled black leather boots. The sales associate sprints off behind her, a hint of hopefulness that we might actually be able to afford to shop here lighting up his face.

  Fiona is the next to get bit by the shopping bug when she spots a small gray, pink, and red printed backpack covered in the signature LV brand emblem, but when she looks at the price tag hanging from it, her eyes open wide with shock and she peers over at me, mouthing, “Two thousand dollars?”

  “No way,” I mutter, as I scurry over next to her and confirm for myself that she’s telling the truth.

  Before we left the hotel and went to sign the papers at the bank, collecting our debit cards in the process, we agreed to a limit of five thousand dollars each, which at the time I scoffed at, thinking there was no way any of us would be able to reach that. But now… now that I’m staring at a price tag that reads $2130.00 for the backpack and another $1050.00 for the tiny wallet next to it, I’m afraid Farrah is going to blow it straight out of the water with one outfit here.

  “Ummm, squirt,” I whisper to Fiona, “we need to get your momma out of here as soon as possible, or she’s gonna have spent all our money before we ever actually get it. And for goodness sake, let’s keep her away from MAC and Sephora. She may buy one of everything they have.”

  “Got it. I’ll go tell her I want to go to the Ghirardelli chocolate bar a few doors down.” She shows me her toothless smile then skips over to Farrah, tugging on her sleeve and begging to go get some chocolate.

  Like the good mom she is, Farrah agrees to take Fiona to get one of her favorite treats — a milk chocolate caramel brownie bar — but not before dropping seventeen hundred dollars on a pair of nude heels that look just like some I saw at Target for thirty-five bucks last week. But whatever.

  Several hours later, we’re all loaded down with bags — even after Matteo made several trips to the car to put some in the trunk, the spending limit having been surpassed quite some time ago. After the Louis Vuitton stop, Farrah maxed out her spending allotment with purchases at Gucci, Chanel, and Max Mara, adhering to the quality versus quantity mindset. Not to mention, she bought nearly two hundred dollars’ worth of candy, loading up on giant gummy bears, a six-foot-long pixie stick, and a bunch of other crap she claims is for all of us, even though we know damn well who will eat ninety-five percent of it. And it’s not the six-year-old who lives with us.

  I, on the other hand, am unable to wrap my head around spending hundreds or thousands of dollars on one article of clothing or accessory, so I stuck to shops like Anthropologie, Urban Outfitters, and Zara, which are still a huge step up from Target, Old Navy, and thrift stores, where I usually buy my clothes. I did splurge and buy my first pair of Louboutin shoes with a matching handbag, but I opted for a pair of their red-soled ballerina flats instead of the torture devices they call ‘pumps.’ Budget-conscious Fiona targeted Gap Kids and the Disney Store, but then she stumbled into Williams Sonoma, and I didn’t think we would ever get her out of there. With every cooking gadget and gizmo her little heart has ever desired all under one roof, I was expecting her to ask if we could just buy out the company. But counting every penny and scoping out the sales, she stayed well under her five-thousand-dollar limit, saying she’d use the rest shopping online and hunting out the best deals.

  “This was the last place you wanted to stop, right, Fin?” Farrah asks, as we amble up to the front of Agent Provocateur.

  I glance over at the scantily-dressed mannequins in the window displays, all clad in animal-print lingerie behind the words “Let Your Wild Loose” printed in large graffiti-style letters across the glass, and my cheeks heat with a twinge of embarrassment as the six men surrounding us all examine the store front.

  “Uh… nah, it’s okay. I’m good.” I stare down at the ground
with a nonchalant shrug of my shoulders, pretending I don’t really, really want to go inside and buy at least ten matching bra and panty sets, a gift to myself for the skin-jabbing, elastic-unraveling, dingy-ass underclothes I’ve been wearing for I don’t know how long. “I can check it out some other time. Later, when I’m alone, or… uh, something.”

  “But, Auntie Finley, I just heard you complaining about needing new bras and knickers the other day,” Fiona insists, as she grabs my arm and tries to tug me toward the entrance. “And I’ve seen you when you’re getting dressed. The queen knows there’s a reason you don’t have many second or third dates.”

  My jaw drops so far open I’m shocked my chin doesn’t shatter on the sidewalk. I cannot believe she just said that out loud. In front of people of the opposite sex. And any other strangers who happened to be walking by. If there’s ever a time for that out-of-nowhere crater that opens up in the Earth and swallows me whole, now would work just fine.

  But, of course, I can’t be that lucky.

  “Yeah, sis, she’s right,” Farrah chimes in, with an acknowledging nod. “Granny Freda wears sexier panties than you.”

  I hear Matteo snicker off to the side of me and I snap my gaze over to meet his. Instantly, his face turns into a stone, void of expression or proof of the humor I know he’s bottling up.

  “Something funny?” I snap, my hand popping on my hip. I may be the one who’s completely mortified here, but he still works for me.

  Dipping his chin to his chest, he at least has the courtesy to appear ashamed for his actions. “No, Ms. Farewell. I didn’t mean to laugh. I’m sure your panties are plenty sexy.”

  The second the words leave his lips, his face glows cherry red and he tries to stammer and backtrack and apologize, but I can’t hear him due to the roaring howls of laughter from the rest of our group, including Fiona.

  Exasperated and utterly humiliated by the entire scene, I stomp away from them, grumbling under my breath with every forceful step, straight inside the store. The truth of their teasing stings. Not that I think the lackluster condition of my underwear is directly correlated with my dating life, or lack thereof, but I’m sure it’s not doing me any favors. I doubt Tyler, the last guy I dated, ever jacked off to visions of me in my cotton briefs that are so faded you can no longer tell what the original color was.

  So, I have one option — make it not true. I’m going to buy an assload of the laciest, silkiest, most provocative lingerie possible, and then find a hot guy to date (more than three times) so I can flaunt him in their faces. Maybe while only wearing said lingerie. Though that may be a little awkward. Okay, a lot awkward. That’s a terrible idea. But I can still parade him around in front of them, and they’ll know he keeps coming back because I’m rocking a killer bra and panty duo. And then they can eat crow.

  While I eat strawberries with Mr. Sexy Eyes.

  Teague

  “IS EVERYTHING OKAY, Teague?” Jessica asks, concern weighing heavy in her voice. “In the three years I’ve known you, never once have you strayed from our Friday night schedule.”

  “Yeah, I know it’s only Tuesday, but I’d really like to see you. It’s been too long.” I struggle to keep my voice even and controlled as I stare out the large corner window of my office, long after everyone else in the building has gone home. I texted Jessica over an hour-and-a-half ago, and she’s just now calling me back. That alone makes me want to bend her over my knee and redden her ass, but realizing I’m at her mercy at that moment, I keep my frustrated thoughts to myself, and add the word, “Please.”

  She stays silent for a minute, probably as stunned as I am that I said it. I’m not a guy who asks people for much, and the few times I do, it’s more of a demand instead of a request. I can’t remember the last time I said please, and don’t plan on it again any time soon.

  “Y-yeah, of course. It’s pretty slow tonight, so I should get off around nine. Do you want to come eat here and then follow me to your place like normal? I don’t have an overnight bag or anything with me.”

  Glancing down at my watch, I see it’s already almost eight. How long have I been standing here, mulling the same thoughts over and over again in my head? Still no closer to an answer than I was four days ago, when all this shit started.

  “Don’t worry about clothes,” I gruff. “You can shower at my condo, and I don’t plan on allowing you to wear anything after that anyway. I’m closing things up here at the office now, so if you just bring me a chicken marsala to go, that would be great.”

  “Okay, honey, no problem. I’ll see you in just a little bit. I gotta go right now though,” she replies, before abruptly hanging up, needing to get back to work.

  My shoulders sag in relief with her agreement. I didn’t know what I was going to do if she said no. I tried vanilla-fucking my frustrations out last night with Mandy, the same girl I’d seen every Monday night for the last couple of years, but it was lackluster at best, and the only way I could finally find my release was when I closed my eyes and pictured Finley Farewell’s face.

  And yes, I finally learned her real last name, seeing as how it’s every fucking place I turn. No one can get enough of the new America’s Sweetheart. A twenty-one-year-old college student, who waitresses at night to help support her single-parent sister and young niece, and who was left the winning ticket as a tip by a strange man who seemingly vanished into thin air. Several of the news stations have reported that the ticket was purchased at a gas station just outside the Eastern Iowa Airport here in Cedar Rapids, but that’s about it. No real speculation on who bought it or why he left it.

  If I appear out of the woodwork now to explain what happened, I’ll come off as a greedy asshole, looking to claim the winnings — that should’ve been mine anyway — from this girl everyone’s fallen in love with, especially when word of the court settlement with Apex becomes public knowledge. The fairy godfather turned malevolent villain. Yeah, no thanks.

  I power down my computer and grab the briefcase off my desk, flipping the lights off as I leave, hoping I’ll have a little more clarity when I show up tomorrow. My loft-style condo is less than a five-minute drive from my office, which gives me plenty of time to stop and pick up a bottle of wine, shower and shave, and then clean the place up a bit before Jessica shows up.

  By the time she knocks on the door at nine-fifteen, I’ve worn out a path in the expansive area rug in my living room from my neurotic pacing. I nearly sprint to let her in, but catch myself just shy of turning the knob. Dimitri’s guide stresses the importance for a Dominant to always appear confident, composed, and in control. Why would anyone willingly submit — surrender their body and mind — to someone who wasn’t all of those things? Despite everything else going on, it’s imperative I be in command of my emotions and her actions.

  I count backward from five then take a deep breath before opening the door with a calm smile. “Hey, I’m so glad you could come on such short notice,” I say, as I usher her inside, taking the Biaggi’s bag from her hands.

  “Yeah, no problem,” Jessica replies with a kiss on the cheek, then hangs her purse on the coat rack. “My only plans tonight after work were to drink a glass or two of wine and get caught up on a couple of the five hundred shows I’ve recorded and hardly ever watch.”

  “Well, I can help with the wine part,” I point to the kitchen counter where a bottle of her favorite cabernet waits to be opened, “but you know I don’t watch TV if I can help it. Plus, what I have in mind will be much more enjoyable than any show.”

  Her smile stretches wide as she sashays over to the kitchen to pour herself a glass, still wearing her all-black work uniform, as I take a seat at the breakfast bar with my dinner. Opening up the Styrofoam container, the rich, appetizing aromas fill my nose, alerting me to how hungry I am. I guess that’s what happens when all you’ve had to eat all day is an apple and a granola bar with your morning coffee.

  “Why don’t you take your wine with you to the shower?” I suggest,
when I notice Jessica just standing there watching me. “I’ll eat while you clean up, and then we can get started. I have something new I want to try tonight.”

  “Is that right, Sir?” She cocks a dark eyebrow and purses her lips in an impish smirk.

  “Yes, it is. Now go. I don’t like repeating myself.”

  Doing as instructed, she scurries out of the kitchen and down the short hallway to the bathroom. Seconds later, I hear the water turn on and I’m finally able to dig into my food, which I inhale in less than five minutes. After quickly throwing away my trash, I grab a bottle of root beer from the fridge for me and the rest of the wine for her, and then head to my bedroom to get out what I’ll need for the session. I really hope this works in untangling this tension and stress knotted up inside of me.

  “Hair in a braid, Sir?” Jessica asks from the bedroom door, where she stands with a towel wrapped around her head and another around her tall, curvy figure.

  “Always,” I rumble, my stare pinning her in place. “And why are you hiding your body from your Sir? Is that your body or mine when you’re in this house?”

  Both towels flutter to the ground immediately to form a terry cloth pool at her feet as she lowers her gaze to the ground. “Yours, Sir, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You’re not supposed to think when you’re here. You’re only supposed to do,” I reprimand her, my tone stern, steady. “Is that clear, pet, or do we need to go over the rules again?”

  Her chest rises with a deep breath and her nipples harden as I assume the authoritative role she gets off on so much. “Yes, Sir, it’s clear.”

  “Good.” I pull my T-shirt over my head and toss it on top of my hamper in the corner, leaving me only in the pair of worn out jeans I know she likes for me to wear during our sessions. “Go get the brush and a rubber band from the bathroom and bring them to me. I’ll fix your hair for you, and to thank me for being so nice, I’ll let you start by sucking my cock for a bit tonight.”