Page 32 of Getting Played

Dean crouches down and lifts Chet up by the front of his shirt. “Talk about her again and I’ll break every bone in your body. Do not make me come back here—you’ll fucking regret it.”

I’m not usually into violence, but I’m not going to lie—the way Dean Walker does it is nothing short of magnificent.

~ ~ ~

After the front lawn fight, Dean and Jason are out on the back porch, having another mano a mano chat. And I’m in the kitchen, peeking out the window—watching and listening—again. But this time I’m not alone. Eavesdropping is strong in my family, and my sisters and mother are all gathered round.

“That was freaking awesome!” Jay exclaims.

“No, Jay. It was not awesome.”

“What are you talking about? He said—”

“I know what he said. And it was messed up and wrong . . . but they were just words. Adults shouldn’t solve their problems with fighting, I want you to understand that. I could get arrested for assault. I could lose my teaching license.”

Jason scoffs. “That’s not going to happen. He’s too much of a chump to ever admit to anyone you kicked his ass.”

“That’s not the point, kid.”

“So what are you saying? You regret it?”

Dean snorts. “Not even a little.”

Jaybird starts to laugh.

“Your mom deserves someone who’s going to kick anyone’s ass who talks about her like that—and I’m happy I get to be that guy. But I don’t want you doing anything like that. Ever. You use your words. Are we clear?”

I can almost hear my son rolling his eyes.

“So basically, you’re saying do what you say, not what you do?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Wow, Dean. I think that officially makes you a dad. Congratulations.”

“I think that officially makes you a smartass.” Dean laughs, nudging Jay’s shoulder. “But thanks.”

My father steps out onto the porch next and hands Dean a beer and a bag of frozen peas.

“For your hand,” he says gruffly.

Dean takes a drag from the beer and lays the peas on his knuckles.

“My daughters tell me you’re a drummer,” my dad says as he lowers himself into the folding chair.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“He’s the offensive football coach too, Pops. And the Mathlete’s advisor,” Jason volunteers. Then he asks Dean, “Can I have some of your beer?”

Dean hands the bottle over. “A couple sips. Don’t chug it.”

The smell of my father’s cigar wafts through the window. “I was a guitar man, back in the day. When Fender was new.”

“No kidding?” Dean asks.

Listening to the three most important men in my life talk, and knowing my dad approves of Dean—he doesn’t tell his guitar stories to just anyone—is the best Christmas present I could’ve gotten.

~ ~ ~

Dean

I don’t know what wakes me—but something does. We knew we’d be getting back late from Lainey’s parents’ place, so Grams packed a bag and we all decided to spend Christmas night at Lainey’s house. But everyone’s been asleep for hours now, and the house is still and quiet. The weight of Lainey’s head rests against my arm. I run my hand down her side, over her stomach where the baby lays.

That’s when it happens. The boop, the bump, the nudge, the kick—I feel the baby moving under my palm.

And it’s the wildest fucking thing, a miraculous thing. My vision goes blurry as I watch, wait, to feel it again.

“Hey, in there,” I whisper. “Merry Christmas. We all really can’t wait to meet you.”

As if it’s answering me back, another little jolt kicks up against my hand.

So incredibly cool.

I lay there, waiting for more movement, but after a half an hour, I figure the baby’s gone back to sleep. So I slip out of bed, pull on a pair of sweats and head downstairs to check everything out, to make sure all is as it’s supposed to be.

Lainey’s made some good progress decorating the past few weeks. The kitchen, the living room, Jay’s room and two other upstairs bedrooms are finished. And Christmas is her favorite holiday, so the house is a veritable wonderland of wreaths and bows and soft glowing lights. She’s got real evergreen garland along the fireplace mantle and an eight-foot spruce in the corner of the living room, decked out in silver and gold stars and popcorn garland.

I do a lap around the first floor, looking out the back window at the shadowed trees, double checking the locks on the doors and windows. I walk back upstairs and peek into Jason’s room—where he sleeps in a burrito of blankets. Then I check on Grams, where she’s snoring away in the queen-sized bed of one of the finished spare rooms.

I close the door and go back to our room, stripping out of my sweats and slipping back into bed. Lainey shifts, turns, I wrap my arm around her and she curls against me.

“Dean?”

Her skin is soft and warm and she smells so good.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me.” I kiss her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

Chapter Fourteen

Dean

January

On Sunday night, I leave Lainey editing a video in the living room and Jason reading in his bedroom, and head home. Grams will be the first to tell anyone that she’s self-sufficient—and these days, her social life is more active than mine—but I don’t like to leave her alone too many nights in a row with only Lucifer for company. And I stayed over Lainey’s Friday and Saturday night—fucking her in all kinds of creative ways to accommodate her ever-expanding midsection. God bless Mother Nature.

We did it with Lainey riding me fast and dirty while I teased and toyed with those highly sensitive pink nipples. We screwed standing up in the shower with my knees bent low and Lainey’s hands gripping my ass—there are few things in life hotter than the sight of a slicked, soapy Lainey Burrows. Our last round was over the side of the bed, with her hands braced on the mattress, while I pounded into her from behind—that was a particular favorite for us both.

We had to be quiet, because of the teenager in the house, but not too quiet—because Jason was awesome enough to pick the bedroom farthest from the master suite. I think I’m going to buy him a present for that.

Anyway, Monday morning I get to the school an hour early to catch up on some paperwork that Lainey’s sweet pussy distracted me from doing over the weekend. I grade papers at my desk for a while, then stand up and start writing out the problems I’ll go over with the class today on the board.

I hear the door open and glance over my shoulder to see Kelly coming through it, closing it behind her.

“Hey, Kel, what’s up?” I ask, my eyes back on the board.

“I want you to fuck me until I feel better.”

My hand freezes mid-pi symbol. Cause there’s no way I heard her right.

“What?”

And then I turn around. Kelly’s black turtleneck dress is already on the floor, and she’s standing in front of me in a very sheer black bra and matching panties.

“Whoa!” I hold up my hand. “What the hell are you doing?”

Her big blue eyes meet mine, and that’s when I see hers are wet—swimming with tears and pain.

“Richard left me.”

“What?”

A tear streaks down her pale cheek. I’ve known Kelly since we were fourteen and this is the first time I’ve seen her cry about anything ever.

“He was cheating on me. With his secretary. How clichéd is that?” Her face crumples. “And she’s not even pretty.”

“Ah, shit.”

“Can you believe it? He cheated on me! On me!” She runs her hand across her body. “I mean, look at me! I could’ve done so much better than him. I could’ve married a CFO or an NFL player—or all kinds of other letters! But I married down so I wouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit and now he wants a divorce.”

“I’m sorry, Kelly.”

; And I am.

On the outside, Kelly may not seem like the best person, but when you’ve known someone as long as I’ve known her, you see what’s underneath and deep down. You feel it, not always in what they say or do, but in who they are. Anyone who spends five minutes in Kelly’s class—watches her with her students—will have no doubt that she’s a good person. Certainly good enough to not deserve getting fucked around on.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want your sorry, Dean . . . I want your dick. In the good old days, it always made me feel better.”

“Kelly—”

But she’s already on the move—springing forward, faster than Lucifer ever moved—wrapping her arms around my neck, cementing her body to mine, kissing my jaw frantically, heading straight for my lips.

I grip her arms, peeling her back gently.

“Kel, Kelly—stop.”

She rolls her eyes, like she thinks I’m playing—teasing her.

“Come on, Dean. This room used to be Miss Everstein’s English class—you always said you used to daydream about banging me on her desk. Now’s your chance to make that dream come true.” She lifts up on her toes, going for my lips again. “No one has to know—it’s just us.”

I jerk my head to the side, out of range.

“I’ll know. And I can’t. It’s different now. I’m different—everything’s different.”

There was a time I thought Kelly Simmons was the perfect girl—and she’s beautiful don’t get me wrong. But there’s only one woman who’s perfect to me now.

She happens to have a stomach the size of a basketball at the moment, and that’s perfect too. She’s got a smile that owns me and a laugh that takes my breath away and everything about her makes me happy and horny and so fucking content.

Lainey’s the only girl I want to screw on Miss Everstein’s desk. The only woman I want, period.

I straighten my arms and step back out of Kelly’s reach. Her eyes dim with confusion and her mouth puffs into a pouty bow. This is the first time I’ve turned her down . . . and it’s not even hard.

“It’s because of that girl you’re with?”