Page 9 of Playing Hardball
He stays locked up in his room for the remainder of the day. I don’t see him until it’s time for us to leave for a dinner at the Stevensons. They invited us to dinner at the last town meeting. From what we were able to gather, the Stevensons are the wealthiest family in this town. Dinner at their house is considered a formal affair, which is why Wesley is dressed in a dark suit that is so fitting, it looks like it’s bespoke even though he just randomly bought it. I’m dressed in a black strapless dress that is fucking tight and matched with black open-toe stilettoes. The look Wesley gives me when I walk out is worth the discomfort. He obviously can’t hold out for much longer.
In the car, I keep sneaking glances at him. He really is handsome. Except for the frown that’s marring his face. I sigh, he’s clearly still pissed.
Of course, I’m not used to the quiet. So I ask him something I’ve been curious about.
“You have a slight limp,” I begin.
He looks at me but doesn’t say anything. The limp isn’t extremely obvious and he’s really good at hiding it. But I had noticed it a few days ago.
“How did you get it?” I ask, fully expecting him not to answer.
He surprises me though.
“Work,” he says simply.
“What work?” I ask.
“I used to be a Navy SEAL.”
“Oh, so that’s what your boss meant when he said you all had military experience.”
“Yes. The army, air force, you name it. We’ve all been involved in a part of the military.”
“That’s nice. How long were you a SEAL?”
“About 20 years,” he answers.
“That’s a really long time,” I muse. “How old are you?” I ask.
His lips curve into a small smile.
“Why do you want to know?” he asks.
“I’m just curious.”
“You’re curious about other people’s lives and yet yours is shrouded in complete mystery,” he says off-handedly.
I have no idea what to say to that, so I revert back to silence. I don’t do it intentionally. I just don’t like to talk about myself. I want to be safe. My story is the opposite of safe.
“I’m 39 years old,” Wesley says when we’re parked in the garage of the Stevenson’s. I smile gratefully when he opens the door and helps me out of the car. Hidden under the layers of hostility and intimidation, he’s a gentleman and he has a soft heart.
Dinner is a boring affair. The old couple try to prod and find out everything about our lives. They’re a proud couple who seem to think they are better than everyone else. I can tell Wesley wants to snap at them but he keeps his cool trying to behave like a good house guest.
When Mrs. Stevenson goes to get a pecan pie out of the oven, inspiration strikes me. Her husband’s head is buried in a newspaper he’s reading and he’s not paying any attention to us. I slide down my seat a little, push my stiletto heels off my left foot and raise my foot until it’s lying in Wesley’s lap. The table is narrow which makes it easier for me.
He raises an eyebrow. He mouthswhat are you doing?And I shrug innocently.
My foot lands on his cock and it immediately rises. He clenches his hands into fists. I shift my foot, rubbing it over him, his entire body is tense. I continue teasing him until Mrs. Stevenson returns. The old woman hands me a plate of pecan pie and after thanking her I dig in.
Her blue eyes linger on me for a moment.
“I must say dear, when are you planning on having kids? You’re not getting any younger, you know. I can already glimpse some grey hairs on your husband’s head,” she says.
Wesley chokes on his dessert and his hand flies to his hair consciously. I watch as his eyes blaze with irritation and he abruptly stands up.
“Thank you so much for your hospitality, ma’am. But I just remembered, my wife and I have an urgent family matter to take care of at home. Please excuse us.” He says in an albeit rude manner.
I want to caution him against it but the look on his face says only one thing. Well more than one.
