Brent Sinatra: All of Me (2 page)

Two Weeks Earlier

Brent, over here!
 

Brent, this way!

Brent, help me!
 

What’s wrong with
you?
 
Why aren’t you helping?

Do more, Brent.
 
Do more.

Brent!
 

Brent!
 

Brent Sinatra lifted his upper body as soon as he opened his
eyes, and his heart hammered against his chest.
 
When he realized it was another bad dream in a series of horrific
dreams, he laid back down.
 
It was getting
to him.
 
A cop for nearly fourteen years,
the chief of police for going on five of those years, a Force that acted as if
they couldn’t piss without asking his permission first, was all becoming too
much.
 
Decisions had to be made.
 
And one especially.
 
It was time.

Since he knew going back to sleep wasn’t going to happen, and
it was too early to phone her, he got out of bed.
 
His naked body was already drenched in sweat
and his thick penis was stiff as steel: a piss hard.
 
He peed, washed his hands, and slipped into a
pair of shorts, a sleeveless tank, and his running shoes.
 
He grabbed his cell phone and keys and headed
downstairs.
 
By the time he made it
downstairs and into his big, gourmet kitchen, it was five a.m.

He stuffed the blender with his concoction of fruits,
veggies, and an egg, blended them all together, and then grabbed the blending
cup.
 
Just as he was about to remove the
top and drink his homemade recipe, his cell phone rang.
 
Fearing it was yet another call from yet
another cop about yet another problem they should be able to handle on their
own, he looked at the Caller ID first.
 
When he saw that it wasn’t the station, but Makayla, he smiled and
answered.

“I didn’t phone you because I thought it was too early,” he
said as he headed toward his front door, his juicer in hand.

“I couldn’t sleep.
 
Thought I’d catch you before you headed out on the jogging trail.”

“Good move.”

“You’re up?”

“I’m up.”
 
Brent opened
his front door and basked in the cool morning air as he walked across his porch
and sat down on the top step.
 
“I had a
dream,” he added.

There was hesitation on Makayla’s end.
 
“Another bad one?”

“More than one.
 
One
day I’m going to have a good dream.
 
A
dream where you’re out jogging right alongside me.”

“Keep dreaming, hot shot,” Makayla said, and Brent
laughed.
 
“If you want a jogging girl
you’d better dump me now because I am not the one.
 
I’ve got too much breast and too much ass to
be jogging along anybody’s trail.”

Brent was enjoying this.
 
“Oh, but you don’t understand.
 
Guys
would pay admission just to see you jog.”

“It would be a sight to see alright.
 
And not in a good way.”

“That’s what you think,” Brent said as he drank some of his
concoction.
 
“I’ll pay money to see it.”

“That’s because you love me.
 
Your view is biased.”

Brent laughed again and looked out across his property.
 
He owned ten acres of what looked like pure
wilderness surrounded by a beautiful lake.
 
It was secluded.
 
It was
peaceful.
 
It was time for her to share
it with him.
 
She was moving to Jericho
in two weeks anyway.
 
“Still excited
about the move?” he asked her.

“Excited and then some.
 
It’s been a long time coming.”

“It’s overdue, that’s for sure,” Brent agreed.
 
Then he decided to tell her.
 
“Listen,” he said, “I’m coming to see you tomorrow
night.”

“Tomorrow night?
 
You’re coming Wednesday night?
 
I
thought you wouldn’t be able to make it until moving week.”

“That was the plan, true enough.”
 
Then Brent hesitated.
 
It was a major-ass decision for him.
 
His biggest yet.
 
“But we need to talk,” he said.

He could sense varying emotions on Makayla’s end, and any
other woman would have asked a lot of questions.
 
But not Mal.
 
She was never anxious about anything, because she always wanted to give
him a chance to change his mind.
 
He
loved that about her.
 
“Okay,” she
said.
 
“I’ll see you tomorrow night
then.
 
And happy jogging trails!”

Brent laughed.
 
“I’m
going to have your gorgeous ass on a track sooner than you think.”

“I promise you that won’t be happening.
 
I’m perfectly contented with my workout
routine.
 
I have no interest in becoming
an enthusiast.”

Brent nodded.
 
He loved
the fact that she was her own woman too.
 
“Good,” he said.
 
“I don’t want an
enthusiast.
 
I want you.”

“Ah.
 
You sure know how
to warm a girl’s heart.
 
A girl’s bed
too, but that’s another story.”

Brent laughed.
 
They
said their goodbyes, and he ended the call.
 
But just as he drank the remainder of his concoction, his cell phone
rang again.
 
He looked at the Caller
ID.
 
It was the station.
 
They probably wanted to know if they should
try to capture the wild boar that was destroying Matt Day’s harvest, like the
call he received early yesterday morning, or just kill the darn thing.
 
He wanted to kill himself with the darn thing
for answering his cell phone that early in the morning.
 
This morning, however, he left his ringing
phone on his porch, along with his empty blender cup, and took off.
 
He was going running.
 
They would have to figure it out on their
own.
 
He refused to be stretched thin
this early in the morning.

“Wrong choice,” the sales clerk said as Makayla Ross stood in
front of the full-length mirror and checked out the biscotti-colored, strapless
satin dress she was trying on for size.

They were in the dressing room at Zac Frome’s, a high-end
clothing boutique in downtown Augusta, Maine, and the sales clerk was
flustered.
 
She had picked out six
different dresses that she thought were “perfect” for Makayla, but Makayla had
rejected them all.
  
The strapless satin,
the dress the clerk loathe, was the one Makayla had chosen herself.
 
“What’s wrong with this one?” she asked the
clerk.

“Where do I begin?” The clerk assessed Makayla’s body through
the dressing room mirror with a look most disapproving.
 
“I don’t like the color on you, for
starters.
 
Brown dress, brown skin?
 
It all blends in together and does nothing
for you.
 
And as for the fit?”
 
She shook her head.
 
“No.
 
No.
 
And no.
 
It reveals too much cleavage on top, and on
bottom?
 
Oh my.
 
This dress makes your ass look really big.”

Makayla smiled.
 
“My guy
likes my big ass.”

The store clerk was not amused.
 
“I seriously doubt that,” she said.

Makayla looked at the older woman as if she had lost her
mind.
 
Why was she being so serious about
something that wasn’t serious in the least?
 
“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry to be blunt, but I know the men of Maine.
 
I have lived here all my life.
 
And I have never known a Maine man to like
anything big on any woman.
 
They like
their women small and dainty like me.
 
Petite.
 
Fat girls have never been
their thing.”

In any other state in the Union, Makayla would not be
considered fat by any stretch of the imagination.
 
She was a woman with curves alright, there
was nothing skinny about her.
 
From her
big breasts and flat stomach that nicely transitioned into perfectly proportioned
hips, to what Brent called her tight, juicy ass, she had the kind of sexy body
most men would have loved to try on for size.
 
But in some parts of Maine, where flat-butt, flat-chested, rail-thin
females were the norm, Makayla was looked upon, especially by those very
females, as if she were an amazon.
 
But
their depiction never bothered Makayla.
 
She had grown comfortable in her own skin long before their
narrowly-constructed definitions of beauty attempted to define her.

“This one will do nicely,” she told the clerk.
 
“I wish to purchase this one.”
 
Then she put back on her own clothing, paid
the pinch-face clerk, and left the boutique smiling and satisfied with the
dress of her choosing.

She pulled out of the parking lot in her aging Acura TSX and
headed back to the state Capitol building where she worked, in the Attorney
General’s office, as a supervising attorney.
 
She was on her lunch break, and was already late getting back, but she
wanted something special to wear.
 
Brent
Sinatra was her longtime beau and that call earlier this morning had excited
her.
 
He was coming to Augusta tomorrow
night, Wednesday night, because they needed to talk.
 
With any other boyfriend, and in any other
relationship, she would have been concerned.
 
But Brent was not the kind of man who would let you down easy.
 
If he had wanted to dump her, he would have
done so early on.
 
Not four years in.

But the timing was odd, she thought as she drove.
 
She had just submitted her resignation a day
ago and was set to move to Jericho, Maine in two weeks.
 
Because Augusta, Maine was a four-hour drive
away and they both had super-busy schedules packed solid, she had assumed that
they wouldn’t see each other until the move.
 
But he phoned and said he was coming tomorrow night.
 
And that they needed to talk.
 
She couldn’t be certain, but she had a
wonderful feeling that he was coming, not to break up with her, but to ask her
to marry him.

It had been a long time coming.
 
Four years ago they stood on Brent’s front
porch in Jericho and decided to give their brand new, long distance
relationship a real shot.
 
And for the
first three-and-a-half years of that relationship, it was truly long
distance.
 
Makayla lived and worked in
the nation’s capital, in Washington, D.C., and Brent continued to live and work
in Jericho.
 
They were able to see each
other very infrequently, usually once or twice per month, as Makayla moved up
the ladder in the Justice Department and Brent continued to head a very active
and overworked police force.

But three-and-a-half years of eight-hour drives or
uncomfortable plane rides just to see each other for very brief periods of
time, began to take a toll on their relationship.
 
They even stopped seeing each other for a
short time, as their jobs and the grind of travel became too much.
 
But after Brent’s Aunt Sprig died six months
ago and Makayla attended the funeral, they realized being separated was not
going to work.
 
At that same time, a
position became available where Makayla could return to her old job in the
state of Maine’s Attorney General’s office, and they jumped at the chance.
 
They were still long distance, as Augusta
wasn’t exactly around the corner from Jericho, but their travel time had been
cut in half.

Then, a week ago, a job even closer became available: Deputy
District Attorney for Jericho County.
 
Makayla applied for the position without hesitation and was told on
yesterday that she had been selected.
 
She resigned.
 
To Brent’s great
delight, not to mention her own, she would soon be heading to what very well
might become her permanent home.
 
That
was why, when Brent phoned with his
we
need to talk
request, she was far more excited than worried.