The Lineup Read online

  “Wow,” I say, taken aback by what a great idea the celebrity softball game is. But not only that. Jason is just . . . so damn impressive. First, who looks out so honestly for kids with disabilities? But also, who thinks about trying to elevate a rival team member whose exit could pave the way for his own succession to the team he’s loved forever? It’s just ridiculous how generous and . . . selfless . . . this man is. I’m astonished. “That’s a great idea. I’m floored by your attitude toward Rockwell, but it’s an amazing concept on all fronts. Are you selling tickets to the game?”

  “Yeah.” We move forward in the line. “One of the stipulations about my trade to the Rebels was their support of The Lineup. They’ve kept their promise and have truly helped me put everything together. Natalie, my sister, has been in talks with them as well, organizing the local side, getting kids from around the area to participate and apply. It’s going to be a pretty big event. We have some sponsors—”

  “I’d like to be one,” I say, not even having to think about it. “I’d love to be a silent sponsor, anything you need.”

  “Dottie.” He smiles softly. “You already donated ten thousand dollars. That’s more than enough.” Leaning in, he places a sweet kiss to my forehead. “Don’t forget, your donation or accidental donation is what brought us together.”

  “That was from me. I want this to be from the company.”

  “I mean, I’m not going to deny the kids more money for equipment, but you don’t have to. I didn’t tell you about the event to look for a donation.”

  “I know you would never do that.” I see where he’s going with this, cautious with my past and previous guys using me and my family. He has his arm around me, so I do the same, bringing my arm around his trim waist. I look up at him and say, “You’re different, Jason. I know this. You wouldn’t hurt me, you wouldn’t use me. You’re a genuine human being and because of that, I want to support The Lineup. Please.”

  He chuckles and cups my cheek. “How the fuck can I say no to that?” He bends down and places a sensual kiss to my lips just as an attendant asks us how many people in our party.

  I hold up two fingers and say, “Two.”

  “Lane one,” the college looking student says in a monotone voice, not at all happy to be at work today, especially while wearing one of the most ridiculous outfits I’ve ever seen. Why do amusement parks torture their employees with ill-fitting, retro-looking outfits? They’re supposed to be happy, so give them something to wear to be happy in.

  Together, we make it to lane one as the car pulls up. I glance at the seats and then back at Jason. “What the hell is that?”

  “That’s the X-Flight. The first wing coaster in North America. It’s supposed to feel like you’re sitting on the wing of an airplane,” Jason says with pure excitement.

  “But . . . we’re hanging off the track.”

  “Which makes it fun. Come on, Dottie, you’re not scared, are you?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Ma’am, you either need to get on or move to the other side and wait for your partner,” one of the ride attendants says, annoyed.

  Jason holds his hand out. “Don’t go weak on me now, Domico.”

  Damn it, when he looks at me like that, assuring me with his kind eyes that he’d never let anything happen to me, I find myself getting strapped into a roller coaster and praying to the heavens above that everything is going to be okay.

  * * *

  “It’s okay. Shh, yup, just let it out.” I rub Jason’s back as he hovers over a trash can, barfing his breakfast inside the canister as onlookers pass by. “Bad hot dog,” I say to a couple who are staring us down. “He’s not at all suffering from motion sickness. He’s a tough guy.”

  “Fuck,” he mumbles and sighs.

  X-Flight was AMAZING. And since there hasn’t really been any lines, we went on it three times in a row and then hit up Goliath, the largest wooden roller coaster, then Batman, and then Vertical Velocity, which was Jason’s undoing. He was looking green around Batman, but he swore he was okay and when we were waiting for Vertical Velocity, he looked pale. I told him we should probably get something to drink and take a break, but being the “macho man” he is, he swore he was okay.

  Guess what? He wasn’t.

  It’s been ten minutes and we haven’t moved from this trash can. Thankfully it’s in an alcove, tucked away so we aren’t dead center in the middle of the park for all viewing eyes.

  “How are you doing? Do you want me to get you water?”

  “No. Stay with me. I might need your breasts to rest upon.”

  “I want you to get better, but that’s not happening in public.”

  He takes a deep breath and then lifts up, holding on to the trash can for support. I grip his side, letting him know that I’m here for him. My breasts can be there for him later.

  “You okay?” I ask, loving how vulnerable he is right now and not even caring to hide it.

  He nods. “Much better. Man, those donuts must have been off to bring on this bout of food poisoning.”

  “Yup.” I chuckle. “It was totally the donuts. It wasn’t the twisty turny—”

  He brings his hand to his mouth and shakes his head. “Don’t mention them. Please, for the love of God, don’t mention them.”

  “Oh, Jason.” I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his chest. He immediately returns the embrace and sinks into it, resting his cheek on top of my head. “You’re too cute. Seriously, sometimes you are too adorable.”

  “Adorable but sexy, right?”

  “Really sexy.”

  “Even if I’m barfing in a trash can because Big Daddy Boo-Boo Bear can’t handle roller coasters anymore?”

  “Even if you call yourself Big Daddy Boo-Boo Bear.”

  “That means a lot to me.” He squeezes me and says, “Maybe we should go play some carnival games.”

  “Oh, are you going to show off your ability to win me a giant stuffed animal?”

  “Normally, I’d puff my chest and say, ‘Yes, watch how amazing I am,’ but I’m feeling exposed and raw right now. I’m not sure how well I might do so I’m just praying I don’t make a fool of myself.”

  We start to head toward the carnival games, screams passing every few seconds as well as whooshes of the roller coasters speeding through the air. I’m more than happy taking it easy with Jason since puking on a ride is the last thing both of us want, but I will say this, I’m pretty sure Jason made me into a roller coaster junkie. I need to find another way to come back here, even if it’s by myself.

  “Just so you know, if you did make a fool of yourself, I’d still like you. I’d still go back to your apartment with you, and I’d still mount you.”

  That puts a full-on smile on his face. “I see what’s happening here.” He stops at a kiosk and gets a water for both of us. When he’s finished his he says, “The tough girl from the boardroom, the ruthless vixen who makes men in suits cry . . . what she’s really into are sensitive men, men who will pull out the emotions she usually has to hide when dealing in business. Am I right?”

  “I mean, I wouldn’t say that’s how I am always, but I think I found someone who matches me nicely, who makes me escape my head, and shows me the fun in life, the beauty in everyday things.”

  I’ve only known Jason for a few weeks now, but even in those weeks, I’ve come to realize one thing: he does make me feel like a different person. He helps me see the positive, how to bottle it up and experience it. Not that I was a super negative person before he came around, but I’d forgotten it was okay to stop, take a breath, and intentionally live in the moment.

  “That’s a big compliment. Thank you, Dottie.” He kisses the side of my head and chuckles.

  “What?”

  “That old lady back there. She read our shirts.”

  “Let me guess, a gasp with a cane shake?”

  “You could not be more right. I think she’ll be writing a handwritten letter to the park tonight be
fore she hits the hay at five thirty. A perk of getting older, eating dinner at four, yelling at some children for being too rambunctious, and then flopping into bed before the nightly news.”

  “Why do I see that as a future reality for you?”

  “You can see me as an old man?” We walk through an arch, indicating a new land, the carnival games up ahead. “Am I hot, bald? Bet my nutsac is super wrinkly.”

  “Isn’t it already wrinkly? Scrotums aren’t pretty.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Jason brings his hand to his chest in total shock, the color in his face coming back as his quirky personality starts to awaken. “Scrotums were carved by God and placed on a man as his own personal Baby Bjorn. Day in and day out, men are carrying the future of the world’s children between their legs. It’s a struggle every day, keeping them safe, making sure we don’t zip them up after a pee, protecting their intelligence from incoming kicks and punches. Women bitch and complain about having to carry a baby for nine months in their belly. Try a lifetime of carrying a dangling sac between your legs with the fear of getting punctured every day by a pencil.”

  I don’t . . .

  I can’t . . .

  Why?

  Why do these thoughts cross his mind? And why does he voice them in such an oddly charming way that I’m laughing but also funnily appalled at the same time?

  Instead of defending the obvious and getting into an absurd debate that will only result in him going on a playful tirade of nursing his unborn children, I give him a simple answer.

  “The sacrifices men make. Unbelievable. You should have your dicks sucked every night for your heroism.”

  “I could not agree more,” he says, chest puffed, as if he won.

  “Then again, sticking your dick into a woman’s mouth is like shoving your children into the belly of the beast. Letting your unborn kin be swallowed whole while you welcome the all-consuming pleasure from it. Maybe you’re not as heroic as you think you are.”

  There. Take that, Jason.

  I smile coyly to myself.

  “God created blow jobs for one reason: so men can dispense of the moronic sperm.”

  Did not hear that coming . . .

  “Okay, so if that’s your theory, how do you explain the people on this earth who stick their heads in microwaves and think it’s funny?”

  “Easy. Their dads didn’t do a good enough job seeking out blow jobs. I’m not saying we’re all perfect, but I’m sure as hell saying I am. Which by the way”—he stops and lifts my chin but doesn’t kiss me—“thanks for swallowing my idiots yesterday. You did the world a service.”

  I’m starting to think Jason’s dad didn’t get enough blow jobs in his younger years . . .

  * * *

  “You’re totally crushing on me, aren’t you?” Jason asks from the driver’s side of his car. After we played quite a few carnival games, where Jason showed off his talents and earned a giant, stuffed Tweety Bird, we found a grateful little girl to take it off our hands.

  There are a few things I need to make known.

  I’ve never seen anything sexier than when Jason flipped his baseball hat backward, cocked his arm back, and demolished every throwing game available. His arm rippled, his shirt clung to every muscle in his back, and he wore a smile the entire time, genuinely having a grand time. He helped me win a few games, but all in all, I stood there and watched in awe the pure strength power through his body as he tackled every carnival game.

  I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as much as I have today. We didn’t talk about anything too serious, just had a good time bantering back and forth. Most of the time, it was him going off on some weird tangent I had a hard time following, but the passion in his completely ridiculous tangents had me buckling over and sprouting giggles everywhere we went.

  And finally, I don’t think I’ve ever swooned as hard as I did when Jason found a little girl to give the giant Tweety Bird to. He carried it around under his arm, scanning the amusement park until he found a little girl with the cutest pigtails bouncing up and down out of pure joy that he was approaching with the stuffed animal. But that wasn’t all he looked for. She had Down syndrome, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget the smile on her face. The total and unfiltered delight. And her parents? They were so grateful, but when they realized who was giving their sweet daughter the stuffed toy, they freaked out. Jason took his time talking to the dad about the upcoming season. He signed a napkin, and then took a few pictures. My favorite was the one of him holding the girl in one arm and in the other was Tweety. Adorable. The parents already tagged him, and Jason—because he’s the greatest guy I know—is trending in Chicago from the kind gesture.

  To say my ovaries ache is an understatement.

  And to answer his question, am I “totally crushing” on him?

  Yes, in fact I am.

  I’m crushing really hard.

  “Come on.” He rattles my hand. “You can admit it. I can see it in your eyes, so even if you try to deny the crushing, I know it’s there. I know it’s how you’re feeling. Might be nice to hear it from your beautiful lips.”

  “You want me to sit here and pump your ego?”

  “Yes, that would be amazing. Thanks.”

  I shake my head in laughter and let out a long sigh. I lull my head to the side and say, “Yes, I’m crushing on you. Are you happy?”

  “Very. Now, tell me in detail what exactly you’re crushing on. Don’t leave one stone unturned.”

  “Be happy I confessed to crushing on you.”

  “I’m always happy, but I want to feel giddy.” He squeezes my hand. “Won’t you make that happen for me? Make me feel a special tingle deep in my soul?”

  “Why do I even choose to hang out with you?” I ask, chuckling. I can feel a deep tingle, but it’s not in my soul, that’s for damn sure.

  “That’s what I want to know. Let me hear it. Three things, and then I’ll say three things about you.”

  He turns right after stopping at a traffic light and heads toward my apartment.

  “You go first,” I say, feeling almost shy.

  “That’s fair. Three things I like about you? How could I possibly narrow it down to just three? There are just so many things—”

  “Okay, just get on with it.”

  “Bossy, I like that you’re bossy. I really like it when you’re trying to get your way with me and I don’t follow your orders. The look of displeasure that crosses your face. God, so fucking cute.”

  No one has ever liked me for being bossy . . . ever. Jason really is in his own world, maybe universe.

  “I think your intelligence and drive is really fucking sexy. It doesn’t hurt that you look like a queen in a power suit.”

  “A queen, huh?”

  “Total dynasty.” He winks. “And the third thing I like about you is this. You might put up this tough front, a total boss bitch, but deep down, you’re a softy just like me.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know about that.”

  “Please. I saw the way you looked at that little girl today. You lit up when she started jumping up and down in excitement. And you comforted me while I was having a special moment with the trash can earlier. If you didn’t have a kind heart, you would have gone off on more rides. There are other examples, but my point is, you’re a softy, but you just don’t show it off as much as I do.”

  I stare out the window, watching the familiar buildings pass by. “I wasn’t always jaded, you know. There was a time where I was more easygoing, not so stiff all the time. But a few rough relationships will change your perspective.”

  “That’s why you need to be in the right relationship.”

  “And let me guess, the right one is with you?” I chuckle, but he answers with a serious tone.

  “You tell me.”

  “I think it is,” I say, taking a second to observe his hard, carved jaw, and the smallest of dimples etched in the corners of his cheeks. You wouldn’t see it head-on, but from this angle, I can fa
intly make it out. This man should have been made with permanent dimples, but then I guess that would be too easy. You have to be close to him to appreciate the simplicity but sexiness of his dimples, and that’s one thing I really like about him. Everyone might get his entertaining personality, but not everyone gets to see this side of him, the way I get to see him. Even Emory and Lindsay probably have no idea just how incredible he is. They called him a good guy, but he’s so much more. Genuine, thoughtful, self-absorbed in a selfless way, even though that sounds like an oxymoron. He’s let me into his private sanctum, and I feel . . . honored. Weird, but true.

  “Good answer. Now give me three things you like about me.” He pulls into the parking garage of my apartment complex and parks in the visitor spot next to my car. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of it.”

  “As if you would let me.” I turn toward him in my seat and rest my head against the headrest. “Three things, wow, how could I possibly narrow it down?” I say with humor, copying him.

  He playfully pokes my side. “Get on with it.”

  Looking him in the eyes, I say, “Your infectious smile, it’s hard to be around you and not be in a good mood and it starts with your smile.” He delivers that smile. “Your caring heart. You’re a giver in many ways when given your stature and celebrity, you could easily be a taker. It’s sexy.” He takes my hand in his and links our fingers. “And I would be remiss to leave out the most important attribute . . .” He waits on bated breath. “Your butt, it’s just too good to leave out of the top three.”

  “Fuck.” His smile grows bigger. “I think I might cry.” He pretends to get choked up and waves his hand in front of his face. “You know how important my ass is to me. You get me, Dottie. You get me.”