Who would have thought that Dee, with all her reserve and insecurities, would have this wanton side that embraced the wilder needs in me? As soon as I let go, without any restraint, the hot burn of release had come upon me hard and fast. I’d made a halfhearted attempt to pull out. But lost in the pure essence of her sweet, tight heat, I’d shot off inside Dee as though a firestorm were blazing through me. Never had I come like that. Sex was usually a good physical release. But with Dee it was about so much more. The first time and every time after, making love with her was a soul-rocking trip to nirvana. I couldn’t get enough.
Oh, we’re going to happen again, Dee,I threatened.And soon.I said it to get under her skin. But my taunt backfired, because my need for Dee was now lodged under my own skin, like a sharp splinter driving me insane.
I hoped physical exertion would drain this throbbing desire. But thirty minutes later, I can still hear the little catch in her breath when I hit a sweet spot. Dee wasn’t a screamer, but those throaty moans were the sexiest music to my ears.Ohh…Mick….
Locking my jaw against the erotic playback, I run harder along the winding path that hugs Lake Michigan, but even the slaps of my footfalls can’t block out the breathy noises in my head. I run faster and faster, pushing myself until my muscles burn and the heaving of my lungs force me to stop, bend at the waist, and gasp for air.
I shouldn’t have touched Dee yesterday. Now I know the weight of her full breasts will still be heaven in my hands. Know she’ll still feel warm and soft under me, over me, surrounding me.
Jesus!I need to get a grip. No, what I need is to get laid. And purge this lust for Dee out of my system. For good.
Breathing raggedly, my mind backtracks to an earlier message from Juliette, one of several women I hook up with when I have an itch. Women who know the score. There are no strings either way. No pretty words. No promises. We have a good time, and I’m gone before the sheets have cooled. It’s a temporary and free exchange of companionship and sex. Nothing more, nothing less.
Juliette texted that she’d just gotten back from a modeling gig in Italy and wanted to see me tonight. So why the hell did I sit around waiting for Dee to get home? A question I’d rather not contemplate. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I check for my phone to call her back even though it’s almost eleven, and discover I left it at the condo.
Lowering the bill of my cap, I jog back at a steady, even pace, calming my head if not my body.
The affluent Gold Coast neighborhood soon comes into view. Originally built by Chicago’s elite in the 1880s, today, Gold Coast, one of the richest areas of the city, is a mixture of old-world wealth and modern age luxury.
I slow as I approach the entrance to the sixty-story glass tower where I’ve lived since relocating here two years ago.
“Good evening, Mr. Peters.” George, the doorman who works the late shift, greets me, tipping his hat. “Nice weather for a jog.”
“Yes,” I acknowledge, gathering my breath.
“Though nowhere near as warm as Florida,” he says of my days with the Miami Heat.
“I always preferred the change of seasons.”
“Spoken like a true Illinoisan.” The doorman smiles. “It was good to have you playing at home, sir.”
“Thanks, George,” I say, unzipping my blue windbreaker. “The Bulls were a great team.”
“Indeed. Although this season won’t be the same without you. Do you suppose you’ll miss it?” the older man asks as he holds the door open for me.
“No,” I admit. “It was time.”Past time.
“Ah. Very good, then, sir. I am certain your next endeavor will be as successful.”
“I appreciate that.”
I cross the marble lobby, bordered by waterfalls, to take the private elevator up to the top floor, wishing I shared George’s confidence in me. It’s true that the decision to retire was long overdue, especially if you consider that I’d joined the NBA for all the wrong reasons.
Looking through the cylindrical glass enclosure as it climbs the sixty floors to my penthouse, I’m provided with a spectacular view of Chicago’s skyline. The lights from the city wink in the darkened sky like stars, reminding me of when I was young and had stars in my eyes. I was so sure of my life then…of the future I’d planned. When I think of how far I’ve veered away from my dreams, the disappointment nearly chokes me.
And those dreams are all tangled and twisted up in Deeana Rae Chase.
Loving her was incredible. Losing her unbearable.
Coping was a bottle of whiskey. It was making more money than I could spend. It was drowning the memories in fame and women.
Life is too short and precious to waste, Mick.
I shrugged off Papa T’s wisdom for years. Until he got sick.
Cayo Torres died in March. In June, right after the season ended, I quit.
The grief hit me hard. How could he be gone? The man I loved like a father was indestructible. So full of vitality. Papa T loved life and never wasted a second of it. He threw himself into everything, from the garage he built from the ground up to his family. He didn’t go through the motions of living. He lived. His life had been unfairly cut short, and there I was wasting mine.
