Authors: Chamein Canton
Marcus couldn’t believe that it was a small world after
all. “That’s right. When was your birthday?”
“August sixteenth.”
“Her birthday is the sixteenth.”
“How wild is that? We have the same birthday and I’m
just a couple of years older.” She winked.
He laughed. “You said your family took you there.
Didn’t your mother go?”
“My mother doesn’t celebrate birthdays.”
Here comes the
million dollar question,
Cathy thought.
Marcus looked totally confused. “She doesn’t celebrate
birthdays? Is it against her religion?” he joked.
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
Marcus was clearly baffled. “It is?”
“Believe me you don’t want to get into it. We’d have to
drive all over Manhattan for me to explain and you have a
game tonight.”
“Must be some story.”
“Oh believe me, it is.”
“I’ll leave it alone then.”
“Thanks. I promise I will tell you about it one day.” She
was grateful for the temporary reprieve.
“Okay.” He seemed pensive for a moment. “I have to
ask, she does celebrate for the grandchildren, right?”
“Nope.”
Marcus’s mouth seemed to hit the floor. “My parents are
itching to become grandparents; they would love to go nuts
for a grandchild’s birthday.”
“Most grandparents would but my mother isn’t most
grandparents. She didn’t celebrate for my kids and once my
sister has children, she won’t celebrate for them either.”
“That blows my mind.”
“Imagine how we feel.” She looked out the window
again. “We’re in Manhattan. Are we far from your place?”
“No. We’ll be there in just a bit.”
“Cool.”
Marcus was quiet for a few minutes. Cathy wondered if
she’d shared too much too soon. How was she going to tell
him that up until ten years ago she hadn’t celebrated either?
She still kicked herself every day about it.
“Here we are.”
“Oh, terrific.”
Cathy got chills just looking at the Tower. She’d heard
that it was a mix of celebrity tenants and entrepreneurial
wealth, a place where a neighbor might have an Oscar or
two on their mantle, or perhaps own prime real estate in
Manhattan. As they pulled up to the front of the building,
two doormen rushed out to attend to them. One opened
Cathy’s door.
“Good morning, miss.” Although she was a bit of a
feminist, at 40,
miss
felt like less of a demotion to Cathy. In
fact, she actually appreciated being called miss.
“My name is Daniel.” He helped her out of the car.
“Thank you, Daniel.”
The other doorman took the bag out while Marcus
grabbed Cathy’s handbag.
“That’s okay, Bill. I have it.”
“Very good, Mr. Fox.”
“Bill, if you could park the car and bring the bag up, that
would be great.”
“Not a problem.”
Marcus held her hand as they entered the building.
Cathy’s eyes lit up. Everything she’d read about the
Tower was true. The lobby was simple yet elegant. Even the
elevators had style. When Marcus pressed the button for the
penthouse, her heart raced so she unconsciously squeezed
his arm. Her wide-eyed expression made him smile.
“Here we are.” He opened the door. “After you.”
Cathy stepped into a place she’d seen only in
Architectural Digest
or in
In Style
magazine. Marcus’s apartment was very modern, but the walnut colored walls
balanced the room’s nearly sterile aesthetic. As the sun shone
it bathed the room in warm light, giving it personality while
it highlighted the Monet and Picasso prints that lined the
walls.
“So what do you think?”
“It’s amazing.” She smiled. “It’s very yin/yang. That’s not
easy to do.”
“I had a great interior designer.”
She nodded as she looked around. “You certainly did.”
Cathy walked over to the window to a magnificent view
of the city.
Marcus put his hands on her shoulders. “Would you like
the grand tour?”
“Absolutely.”
Marcus was tickled to take someone who appreciated
architecture and interior design on a grand tour of his place.
In the past Marcus had brought women to his place but he’d
always felt that they had a mental calculator going. Cathy
seemed genuinely impressed with the design aspect.
“Here we are. I just want to say this is only the tour
stuff.” He opened the door to his bedroom.
She walked in. “Oh, wow. This is gorgeous. I see you
chose to continue the color from the living room in here. It’s
very soothing.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely.” Her eyes lit up when she saw the bed. “I
love sleigh beds.”
“So do I. My decorator didn’t put a lot of pieces in the
bedroom. Something about creating a restful space.”
“I think it’s feng shui. I did the same thing with my
room. You’re supposed to leave work at the door to create a
space for rest.”
“Does it work?” he asked.
“Did it work for you? I see you have a plasma TV.”
“Snuck it in afterwards. You won’t rat me out, will you?”
“It will be our little secret. I have a TV in my room so I
can watch and scream at baseball games.”
“You scream?”
Cathy smirked. “You have no idea.”
Marcus was skeptical. “You don’t look like the type.”
“We never do, but trust me, I sound like a longshoreman.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Trust me.”
He smiled again. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Please do.”
He showed Cathy the master spa bathroom with a
whirlpool tub and a separate enclosed shower.
Her mouth dropped open. “This is heavenly. It’s definitely a place to tune out the world.”
“That’s true. Oh, let me show you one thing.” He
showed her the walk-in closet.
“My sister would kill for this kind of closet space.”
“Is she a shoe or clotheshorse?”
“Both.”
He laughed. “What about you?”
“I’d like to have a closet like this.” She wasn’t nearly as
enthused.
“You don’t sound convincing.”
“I’m more of a kitchen girl.” Cathy resisted the urge to
say,
Can’t you tell from my butt I’m a kitchen girl?
“Then I’ve saved the best for last. Come with me.”
She followed him down the hall. He opened the door.
“Voila.”
Cathy stepped into a gourmet cook’s wet dream: sleek
floors, gorgeous cabinets, marble countertops and stainless
steel appliances. There was an island, plus hanging copper
pots, a Viking range, Sub-Zero refrigerator and every top
rate small appliance she could imagine.
Marcus grinned. She looked like a child on Christmas
morning.
She went over to the Viking range. “I love this. It’s a
range I could drive.” She ran her fingers over the range and
opened the double ovens. “It has a double oven and a
warming drawer?” She placed her hands on the range. “This
is my version of the Holy Grail.”
He burst out laughing. “I never heard that before.”
She started to ask Marcus about the staples, but it didn’t
look as if he spent much, if any, time in the kitchen. The
place was pristine.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“I could eat.”
“It’s still early. How about we go out for a late breakfast?”
“What do you have in your kitchen? I could make something if you’d like.”
Marcus looked at her in disbelief; most women jumped
at the chance to eat out. “You’re willing to cook?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t anyone want to cook here?”
“I hate to tell you but I haven’t met many women who
want to cook.”
“I’m not most women and I’m the mother of teenage
boys. I had to cook.”
“Teenage boys are like having human garbage disposals.”
“Tell me about it. You should have seen my grocery bill
before they went to college. My purse screamed for mercy in
two places. One was the grocery store.”
“What was the other place?”
“The shoe store. Andrew and Alex wear a size 14 and 14
1/2 respectively.”
“Wow.”
“Whenever the shoe guy would bring boxes out I’d ask
him if he was sure there were sneakers in the box. It always
looked like he was bringing me logs.”
He cracked up. “I bet they’re skinny to boot.”
“Skinny hardly begins to cover it. I love them to death
but they’re shaped like the capital letter L, straight lines and
all feet.”
He cracked up again. Her sense of humor made her all
the more attractive to Marcus.
“So would you like me to make breakfast?” she asked
sweetly.
“That would be a real nice change of pace. I usually eat
out a lot.”
“Do you like pancakes or waffles?”
“Yes.”
She chuckled. “Okay, how about Belgium waffles?”
“Cool. I can send someone out to get the mix.”
“Mix? I don’t need no stinking mixes,” she joked using a
voice from an old movie she couldn’t remember the name
of.
“You make them from scratch?” He seemed suspicious.
“Sure. Tell you what, boot up your computer, log onto
Amazon or Barnes and Noble, then type in my name.”
“Okay. But maybe I should tell you where everything
is.”
Cathy knew Marcus didn’t have a clue but she asked
anyway. “Do you know where everything is?”
“No,” he said sheepishly.
“Don’t sweat it. I’ll figure it out.”
Cathy assumed he had a cleaning and maid staff. All she
had to do was think logically to find everything she needed,
including the waffle maker.
As she was sifting the dry ingredients, Marcus swatted
her on the butt.
She jumped “Hey!”
“You little sneak. You’re not just some mild-mannered
literary agent, you’re a cookbook author with two books no
less.”
Cathy smiled. “That’s how E.D. and I met. He was my
agent before I partnered with him in the agency.”
“Do you have any other little secrets you want to tell me
about?”
“I’m not that interesting. That’s about the extent of my
secrets. Do you forgive me for not telling you earlier?”
“Of course. Who wouldn’t forgive someone who can
make Belgian waffles from scratch?”
“Plug in the waffle maker for me, please.”
Within about 20 minutes Cathy made a full breakfast,
including coffee. Marcus was quite impressed. Cathy ate a
couple of waffles and left the rest for him.
Out of habit she cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. As she finished loading, Marcus came up behind her
and wrapped his arms around her waist. Cathy felt those
butterflies again and this time some of them were heading
due south.
“Are you just happy to see me or is your cell phone
vibrating?”
Cathy had completely forgotten her cell was in her back
pocket.
She checked the caller ID. It was E.D.
“Speak of the devil, it’s my partner, E.D.”
“Don’t mind me.”
She smiled as she picked up. “Hello, E.D. What’s up?”
“Hey, Cathy. I just called to tell you we got the paperwork on the offers from the other day. Since they were your
babies I thought I should let you know.”
She knew better than that. He had something else on his
mind. “Good. Now tell me what’s happening?”
He paused. “I saw the paper this morning and I wanted
to make sure you’re all right.”
“Thank you. I’m fine.”
“What did Marcus say about it?”
“Haven’t talked about it yet.”
He finally caught on. “He’s still in the room.”
“Right.”
“We’ll talk later.”
“Okay. Bye.” She closed her phone.
Marcus was still behind her. “Everything cool at the
office?”
“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine.” She slipped the phone
back into her pocket.
“You know you can leave the dishes. I do have someone
who takes care of that.”
A little embarrassed, she put the dishes down. “Sorry. It’s
a habit.”
Marcus turned her around to face him. “That’s all
right.”
As he looked into her deep brown eyes, he softly
outlined her face and lips with his finger, then kissed her
sweetly. “I think we have to talk about something. I know
you must have seen the paper.”
“First thing this morning.”
Marcus tensed up a bit. “You know, I thought I would
have more time to prepare you for this fishbowl known as
the reality of dating me.”
“The media microscope.”
“I hope the caption didn’t bother you.”
“Listen, Marcus, I’ve been a big girl all of my life. I used
to spend all kinds of time obsessing over my weight and size
until one day I decided I had better things to do.”
“I think that’s terrific. Still, it’s one thing to deal with it
in private and quite another to deal in public.”
“I won’t lie. I had a moment this moment this morning
when I let it bother me, but I let it pass. If I’m going to be
around you I have to take the good with the bad. I’m not
made of glass.”
He pulled her closer to him. “I just want you to know
that I think you’re great the way you are.”
Up until that moment, Cathy was under the impression
that athletes refrained from sex before an important match
and/or game. No one had bothered to remind Marcus.
Pressed up as they were against the dishwasher, soft and
sweet kisses burst into white-hot passion. Just as Cathy tried
to get her bearings, Marcus kissed her neck while he skillfully unbuttoned her shirt with one hand. When her shirt
lay on the floor, his eyes widened at the sight of her ample
caramel breasts. They were so inviting in her sexy black lace
bra. “You’re gorgeous,” he panted.
Thank God I wore a pretty bra
, Cathy thought to herself.
Somehow I don’t think an industrial bra would have elicited
this reaction.
Before she responded, he kissed her neck and breasts.
With slight of hand he undid her bra and caressed her
breasts.
Who ever said all you needed was a handful obviously
didn’t know what he was talking about,
he thought
. I’ll take
two and half handfuls any day
. Marcus pulled his shirt off
and threw it onto the floor.
Cathy forgot how to breathe. He looked good in
pinstripes but shirtless he was amazing. She ran her hands
down his toned chest to his six pack abs; her hands were
anxious to explore more of his tight, muscular body.
Marcus explored the softness of all her curves. He ran his
fingers through her hair, down her neck and then ever so
slowly down her back. He paused to unbutton her pants and
slowly pulled the zipper down. He felt her body tighten as
he inched ever closer to the sweet spot just beyond.
She pulled away suddenly. “Wait a second.” She could
barely catch her breath.
“Is something wrong?” Marcus worried.
“No. I just want to be sure this won’t affect you later.”
“Affect me later?”
“I’m afraid this will affect your performance.”
She looked at his expression.
He thinks I mean need a
little blue pill performance.
“Affect your performance for the
game,” she clarified.
He let out a relieved laugh. “I thought you meant…” He
shook his head. “Never mind what I thought. I can assure
you making love to you before the game isn’t going to affect
my performance on the field.”