Page 41 of Ella Gets the D
“How you been?” The question comes between bites of his burrito, the mix of chicken and purple rice visible with every chew. It’s a miracle he’s not stashing pieces in his beard to save for a snack later. You’d think he fasted for a week the way he’s eating.
“Ask me tomorrow, after I recover from carrying your ass tonight.” I reach for the sriracha, coat my spicy pork burrito, and eat half of it in one go.
Hunger is a guarantee after practice, and this Korean joint in Navy Yard always hits the spot. It’s a short walk from the field, and this place always loads you up on veggies and proteins in house-made sauces.
You’re full without the bubble guts.
“It’s a bye week because of the holiday weekend. You’ll survive,” he says with an exasperated sigh, like I’m the one being annoying and not the other way around.
Antonio polishes off his plate and pats his stomach. The muscles in his arms flex when he stretches them back, past the big head holding up a tiny man bun. The bun has grown since the last time we saw each other, but it still looks like a turd in color and size.
“Speaking of the weekend, what are we doing Saturday?” His brown eyes remain glued on the laminated menu for the next item that won’t satisfy his appetite.
Lucky for him, he inherited his father’s metabolism, along with a well-paying position at his family’s investment firm to support his never-ending food habit. His grocery bill would be obscene if he cooked himself.
I shrug. “Thought about staying in.”
He pulls his attention from the menu with a lifted brow. “Another game night like last year?”
It’s true. My game nights are unforgettable, even a year later. My basement is a playground for the grown and sexy—one that transforms into a playground for the tiny crew whenever Duke comes over.
Classic arcade games line a wall next to a Skee-Ball machine and a two-player basketball game. There’s an air hockey table, a dartboard, and two rows of leather recliners in front of a large screen we use for karaoke, gaming, and watching movies. I added a small concession area with a bar, juice on tap for my nephew, and an old-school popcorn machine.
We get down in the basement, hence the soundproofing.
But Antonio isn’t referring to a rowdy game of Uno, though slapping back-to-back Draw Fours like you’re ready to throw hands isn’t uncommon.
Anyone who saw me and Kierra circling each other last year didn’t have to stretch their imaginations to guess we had sex. Lingering touches, shared fuck-me eyes, and a game of Twister was all it took to clear everyone out, and we spent the rest of the night in the back bedroom. Getting up early the next morning for work was the only bullshit excuse I could muster on a Friday night, but it did what it was supposed to do.
But before that, Kierra’s roommate blew up her phone like she didn’t have her own business to mind. She swung by todrive her home after the clubs closed and did not take kindly to idling outside for twenty minutes before we let her in. Whatever frustration she had stayed in the car. Once she came inside, she came again—under Kierra’s tongue and on my dick.
I never told Antonio what went down, but I guess the stupid grin I had on my face during the barbecue at my parents’ house the next day gave it away. He had his own to match after heading back to his Adams Morgan penthouse with a player from the ladies rugby team.
Thirty was a memorable birthday, full of unexpected turns and lots of positions. But what happened between me and Kierra was a one-time thing. I was back on a plane to our London office three days later.
Tonight’s practice was the first time she and I have seen each other since then. Antonio assumes we’ll run it back, but I’m not jumping to have people at my spot. Especially since I’m not living alone—or at least won’t be once Ella and her kids move in.
Soft, full lips shatter my concentration and any thought of my birthday. Sure, I can have people over. She’d never hear anything, and the basement has a private entrance. Truth is, I haven’t been able to concentrate since last weekend, much less on another woman.
Not since I tasted her mouth and the fiery determination to kick me out of my own house.
The same fire burned in her eyes when I caught her in my office on Tuesday. Neither of us wanted to back down from our standoff of will and unspoken desire. Ella left after Morgan popped in, and I spent the rest of the day keeping the urge to wrap my hand around my dick at bay. Her stubbornness still makes me laugh—which has Antonio wondering why the hell I’m smiling.
He stops mid-bite of another Korean-style burrito that somehow made its way to our table. “You good?”
Am I?
On the surface, nothing is out of place. Calm and detached is my default mode. But on the inside, I can’t stop thinking about the woman in my bed whose lavender scent still coats the bedsheets I refuse to wash. Her memory traces an impulse I thought I’d buried far out of reach and sight.
There’s something about Ella that’s different but familiar. I’ve never had such a natural pull to someone. I want to know her better. Spend more time with her. For the life of me, I don’t know why.
Antonio’s stare pulls me back to our wooden high tables across from the bar. It mirrors the one his pops would give us every time we looked like we were up to no good—which was more often than not growing up.
Drawn brows.
Pursed lips.
Eyes scanning for guilt.
