Authors: Liz Matis
“Jenny!” Ryan laughed.
“You should see my driver’s license,” replied Samantha. She didn’t photograph wel , which was one of the reasons she stayed in the print media.
“Jenny reads your column. She wants to be a reporter when she grows up.”
“If,” said Jenny.
“Jenny, we agreed there are no if’s, just when’s,” said Ryan. “Maybe you can ask Miss Jameson to take a look at your stories?”
Did he put the emphasis on Miss or was she imagining it?
A look of mortification crossed Jenny’s face. “You can’t ask a big time reporter to read my stupid stories.”
“I wouldn’t know since you haven’t let me read them,” said Ryan.
“I’d love to read them. Real y.”
Jenny smiled. “Ry, Ry could you get me a pitcher of water?”
Ry, Ry?
Amused by the nickname for the tough two hundred and fifty pound tight-end, Samantha hid a smile.
“What’s wrong with this one, it’s half ful ?”
“Yeah, but the ice melted and I like it cold. Pleazzze?”
“Of course, I’l be right back.” Ryan looked skeptical, but left the room with the pitcher.
Jenny reached over to her nightstand and pul ed out a packet of papers. “Here they are, but you don’t have to read them.”
Samantha accepted the papers and placed them in her bag. “I want to. I’l return them next week.” Trying to make herself useful, she leaned over to fluff the pil ows.
“I didn’t let Ryan read them because they’re mostly about him.”
“Oh, wel , I wouldn’t let him read them either. We don’t want him to get a big head.”
Jenny laughed. “Is that why you don’t mention him in your column?”
Samantha stopped mid-fluff. “What are you talking about?” She hit the delete button a number of times when she found herself writing about his heroics on the field, but she did give him fair coverage, didn’t she?
“Ryan never answered my question. Are you his girlfriend?”
“No. I mean, I’m his friend, but we’re not a couple.”
“Why not? He’s the best.” Her eyes shone with admiration.
“The best,” she agreed.
“And he’s strong and soooo handsome,” Jenny sighed. “I want to marry someone just like him if… I mean… when I grow up.”
“He’s a good guy.”
The perfect man.
“So why don’t you marry him? He needs someone. He’s lonely, you know. And I think he likes--”
“Jenny, I think I can handle a marriage proposal al by myself.” Ryan returned with the pitcher and several cups. He looked down at Jenny with a stern face. “It seems like I’ve been sent on a fool’s errand.”
Jenny ignored his look, probably because she knew Ryan wel enough to know he was only pretending. Arms folded, she said, “It’s obvious you need my help, fool!”
Samantha laughed. “Ryan, she’s got your number.”
Twenty minutes later a nurse came in to take Jenny for testing. The frown on Jenny’s face nearly had Samantha breaking down in tears.
***
These visits to the hospital always tore up his insides, but he knew how it felt to be in a hospital when no one came to see you.
“Hey, you okay?” asked Samantha.
“Yeah.” Ryan couldn’t stand the look of sympathy in Samantha’s eyes. A smal part of him wanted to use it to earn some brownie points. However, he didn’t want to go to hel and he didn’t want to appear weak.
The doors slid open and he led Samantha to his Hummer. As he held the door open for her she touched his face with her delicate hand. Their eyes met and something inside him broke. He pul ed her into his arms and held on and tried not to cry. God, she felt so good.
With the smel of sickness and death left behind, Ryan wanted to lose himself in Samantha’s flowery scent…her scent of life. He let go when he remembered she was just hugging him as an act of kindness. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“So did I.”
He real y needed so much more from her, but the hug was a good start. Standing on the runner of the Hummer, Samantha stood almost eye level with him. With a sudden look a determination, she leaned forward and kissed him.
Momentarily shocked, he did nothing. Then she tugged on his shirt, trying to pul him into the seat with her. Her kiss turned into his kiss as he hungrily took what she offered. His lips tore away from hers and he scanned the parking garage for people. Empty.
Thank God.
And the vehicle’s windows were tinted black.
Thank God.
Samantha grabbed his neck, pul ing him in for another kiss. Lifting her up, he closed the passenger door, opened the backseat door, and practical y threw her in. He climbed on top of her.
“Shut…” Her breaths were coming in short gasps.
‘Got it.” He snapped it closed and in a flash he was back on top of her. Kissing her, pul ing at her clothes like he was some unschooled col ege boy. But it was his shirt that came off first. Her nails tore into his back. He welcomed the pain because it meant he was alive - that life held good things too. And that she needed him as much as he needed her.
She tugged at his belt while he fumbled for his wal et to grab a condom, nearly dropping it when she slid her hand around his throbbing cock. His lips nuzzled her neck while she stroked him into a feverish state.
He pul ed away to put on the condom. Samantha wasted no time, unfastening her pants, and shimmying them off. Sure they’d sucked al the oxygen out of the Hummer, Ryan’s ragged breath sounded off the enclosed space. The steamed up windows reminded him of a scene from the movie Titanic with that redheaded chick.
Samantha wiggled beneath him. “Ready.”
“Are you?” He reached between her legs and smiled at the wetness. She moaned, her back arching, bringing her breasts up to his lips, inviting him to taste. He accepted.
He nearly growled when he final y plunged into her softness. But desperation quickly took hold as he pumped himself in and out. Her muscles worked him until he thought his cock would implode. His self-control gone, he relied purely on instinct.
Samantha shouted his name, shuddering around him, as his own climax exploded inside her. A few tears of relief mingled with the sweat beading on his face.
What the hell
? That had never happened before. Then again, he’d never felt like he was going to die in a woman’s arms before.
He didn’t know what to say. Another thank you didn’t cover what he was feeling. And he didn’t trust himself to say anything else. He shifted their bodies so they lay beside each other. She quivered and he stroked the elegant curve of her back, trying to bring her down. “I promised you a bed.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“Yeah, but you delivered on the out of this world part.”
“At least I got something right.” Happy he pleased her he pul ed her closer.
They cuddled, neither wanting to move, until they heard a car door slam. After groping for their clothes, they dressed, laughing in unison when they knocked into each other - mix of elbows, hands, and feet.
They drove in silence, a comfortable silence, because they said everything with their bodies. He reached over to hold her hand. She didn’t pul away, instead stroking his with her other hand. An unfamiliar wave of contentment fil ed his body.
He parked a block away from her building since the paparazzi cased Hannah’s apartment complex. Letting go of her hand, he took a loose strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. “Come back to my place. I have a bed, I promise.”
“I can’t. Deadline.”
“Okay, but you need to make a date with my bed soon, otherwise who knows where we’l do it next?”
“That’s a scary thought.”
“I’ve always had this fantasy of doing it on the fifty-yard line.”
Samantha shook her head. “Hopeful y, this fantasy doesn’t include eighty thousand fans.”
Ryan laughed. He loved a woman with a sense of humor. “Whoa, that would be way too much pressure, even for me.”
Samantha opened the door. “Worried about your technique?” she teased. She slid out of the Hummer.
Not until you asked, no
. He leaned over to ask, “Should I be?
She shut the door and then peeked in the open window. “No.” She gave him a flirtatious smile that promised him he should have no worries on that front.
He drove off with visions of her learning about his other techniques.
***
Flesh on flesh. Heat on heat. They were like Jack and Rose in the Titanic.
Stop romanticizing it. I’m 32 and I had sex in a car like some horny
teenager
!
Samantha opened a new file on her computer. She typed ‘A Hero For Al Seasons’, then hit the delete button. Ryan had specifical y told her not to write about his charity work. She’d respect his wishes but believed fans should know he wasn’t another rich, pampered athlete.
She pul ed out the papers Jenny had written and read through them. The girl could write. Something about the style was familiar to her. She tilted her head in thought.
It can’t be.
She signed onto her blog and checked the comments from a couple of posts. After reading a few, she was sure the writing styles matched.
Cancer Girl was Jenny.
Such a small world.
The idea to give her byline up for a day struck a chord with Samantha. She cal ed her editor and he agreed it was a great idea. She cal ed Jenny to make sure it was okay with her before making the arrangements with her parents. Samantha’s shoulders hunched in excitement. Ryan would get the recognition he deserved and Jenny would be a published writer. Jenny would see her dream realized. Ry, Ry couldn’t be mad about that.
“You’re going, and that’s final.” Hannah wiped the beauty cream off her face with a tissue.
Samantha wondered how many thousands she could get for pictures of Hannah sans makeup. “I can’t afford a thousand dol ars for a plate of over-cooked chicken.”
“My treat.”
“For that kind of money you could send me to the Bahamas.”
Hannah rinsed and gently patted her face with a fluffy towel. “But Ryan wouldn’t be there.”
“Exactly.”
“If you don’t go, then it’s a thousand dol ars less for the Tomorrow’s Children Fund.”
Samantha wavered, thinking about Jenny and the other kids. “Wel , when you put it like that… ”
“Hurry, you only have an hour.”
“Oh, only an hour?” said Samantha with dripping sarcasm. She gazed at her closet and wished for a whole day of shopping. Just as she feared, al her clothes were hopelessly outdated. The last time she’d attended an A-list affair, President Bush was in his second term. The yearly White House Correspondent Dinner was an event to which every journalist sought an invite. She’d been to two.
Sighing, she pul ed out the very dress she’d worn and held it against her body. The Victorian neckline would hide the assets she now wanted to show off. Seeing nothing else to wear, she shed her clothes and slipped it on. Wel , it stil fit, if that was any consolation. After glancing in the mirror, it wasn’t. She groaned inwardly. Ryan wouldn’t give her a second look. What had made her buy this awful dress? She recal ed the article in the paper…frumpy.
With a capital F!
Perhaps Hannah had a scarf or belt.
Face it; nothin
g
would help this fashion faux pa. I’m not going.
It was childish, but she simply had nothing to wear. Hannah of al people would understand.
She leaned against the doorframe of Hannah’s room. Samantha nearly cried when she saw Hannah’s transformation from pretty duckling to elegant swan. Samantha would settle for average. “I’m not going.”
Hannah whirled around, showing off the little swish her red beaded gown made. “What do you mean--” She stopped dead as she took one sweeping look at Samantha. “You’re right. You’re not going anywhere in that!”
She knew it was true, but Samantha was stil offended. “It was good enough for the President.”
“Who? President Lincoln?”
“Very funny.” She strode into the room and threw herself on to the king-sized bed. “I’m hopeless!”
“Oh, quit it. I’m the drama queen here. And you can wear something of mine.” Hannah swept her closet door open with a graceful hand gesture that Vanna White would’ve been proud of, and said, “Cinderel a time.”
Samantha’s eyes lit up at the thought of wearing one of Hannah’s fabulous gowns - to look glamorous if only for one night. Unfortunately, Hannah was a size, maybe two sizes, smal er than her. She drew herself up to her knees and folded her hands in prayer. “Oh, Fairy Godmother, can you also turn me into a size four?”
“Wow, I’m real y rubbing off on you, aren’t I? Besides, official y I’m a size zero.”
Fifteen minutes later half the contents of the massive closet lay sprawled out on the bed. Nothing here would fit her. It was hopeless. Defeated, she plopped down on the edge of the bed and then jumped back up when Hannah squealed with delight.
“I found it! I found it!”
Hannah emerged from the closet with a shimmering bronze gown. Samantha gasped, “It perfect.” Then reality set in. “Except… ”
“Don’t worry, it’s a size 4. Had a fat stage.”
“Sure you did. Besides I’m a size 6.”
“No, you’re real y a size 4. The clothes you wear are too big for you.”
“They are not!”
“Hel o? Me fabulous fashion model, you frumpy reporter.”
“Ouch.”
Hannah threw the dress at Samantha and glanced at her diamond-studded watch. “We’re running late.”
Ten minutes later Samantha stood in front of the mirror, shaking her head. Oh, the color was right, matching perfectly with the flecks of gold in her eyes. With a four-inch heel, the length was perfect, skimming her ankles with a slit riding up modestly to the knee. The silk lining danced along her skin making her feel wicked. The material hugged the curves she hid under her everyday clothes and her breasts practical y spil ed out of the top. It was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. “It’s too tight,” she complained.