Authors: Prescott Lane
“I like her more than you, Olivia. At least I d
o
now
.
” Olivia wasn’t sure whether Kathleen was joking. She could never really tell and decided it was best not to ask. “John and I agreed I would buy the dress, and he’d cover the shoes and veil.” Emory hugged Kathleen tightly, thanking her profusely, and as they embraced, Kathleen mouthed to Olivia, “Just teasing you.”
“Wait a minute,” Wesley said to Kathleen, “you talked to John?”
“Yes, we’ve actually spoken a few times.”
Emory still couldn’t believe it. “A few times?”
“Wedding details,” Kathleen said.
“Oh no?” Olivia teased, darting her eyes to Emory. “Daddy has some secrets!”
Wesley flashed a sinister grin. “Is John tapping that ass, Kathleen?” He exploded in laughter along with Olivia, both almost falling out of their chairs. “You better marry Mason soon,” he continued, “before he becomes your brother!” Wesley fist-bumped Olivia again, and Emory slugged him hard in the shoulder.
Kathleen rolled her stone, cold eyes, then fixed them directly on Wesley. “You know, dear, I’m not opposed to a little homosexual hate crime. I’ll do it right here in this shop.”
Wesley came to attention, sitting up straight in his chair, looking around nervously. Like Olivia a moment earlier, he couldn’t tell whether Kathleen was joking and didn’t dare to ask. Emory wasn’t sure either.
Another crazy threat. Or was that one rea
l
? Penelope returned with a handful of dresses and set them on a rack.
“I’m going to apologize now for anything else my friends might say,” Emory said. “They are a rowdy bunch.”
“No problem,” Penelope said. “I hear it all.”
“Well, good,” Olivia said. “Can we get this show on the road? I pumped my breasts to be here, and in a few hours, I’m going to be making enough milk to feed a small village.”
* * *
Mason sat behind home plate, holding his two month old nephew at his first ballgame. He was glad the women, and Wesley, were off dress shopping, and that he wasn’t part of it.
I don’t care about the dress anyway, just what is underneath. Thongs
.
He took in the sounds and smells of the stadium. There was nothing better, he thought, than attending a sporting event with family and friends, unless of course he was on the field.
Mason held Noah up, so he could take in the moment as the Texas Rangers took the field at The Ballpark in Arlington, the crowd roaring. The Rangers infield took their positions and tossed the ball around, as the pitcher began his warm-up tosses. Mason brought Noah back down on his lap and turned his head, looking behind him on each side, hoping his brother would hurry up and get back from the concession stand. “If you need to take a shit, Noah, you have to hold it until your daddy gets back, OK?”
Noah responded with a blank stare and some drool running down his chin. Then he began to cry, softly at first, then he amped it up, getting louder and louder, punctuating it with a high-pitch squeal. Mason scrambled for something to do, some way to make him stop. Helpless, he felt his face begin to sweat, as several nearby fans groused they’d had paid top dollar for good seats and didn’t expect a crying baby. Mason apologized to those around him, adding the baby was not his, then nervously looked for his brother again.
Then Noah began to scream so loud Mason feared the umpire, dusting off home plate only twenty feet away, was going to throw them out of the stadium. He held Noah to his chest, as if protecting him from the umpire and fans, trying to quiet him before the first pitch. “Where the hell is your daddy? He’s deserted us!”
Mason bounced his nephew slowly, but Noah only squirmed and screamed more, arching his back in apparent agony, as if Mason was torturing him by taking him to a baseball game. As the Rangers pitcher took his final warm-up tosses, Mason saw the diaper bag on the ground and seized it quickly, fumbling around for a toy, pacifier, anything to calm Noah. Then he saw what he hoped was the Holy Grail. He grabbed hold of a bottle and stuck it in Noah’s mouth. He gulped it down, like he’d been wandering the desert with nothing to drink.
Thank God
!
Mason reclined back in his seat, the first batter stepping up to the plate.
Steven walked gingerly down the aisle carrying soda, popcorn, and hotdogs. “What did I miss?” Mason gave his brother an evil eye. “Looks like you’re doing just fine.” Steven unloaded the sodas into the cup holders.
“Only because of this baby whiskey.”
“That’s Olivia’s breast milk.”
“So I’m holding her tits?”
“Exactly.” Steven held out his arms. “Give me my son.”
“No way, man. Noah and I are just going to chill together. I worked hard to get to this point.” Mason looked down at his nephew’s heavy eyes, falling asleep with the bottle still on his lips. He slid the bottle away and handed it to Steven.
The leadoff man dug into the batter’s box. Mason whispered to Noah about some options to start the top of an inning -- whether to take pitches to draw a walk, or lay down a bunt and catch the infield napping. He rattled off some other ideas, as Noah was sound asleep. Steven took a bite of his hotdog. “Looks like he’s real interested in your wisdom there.”
* * *
Emory tried Kathleen’s choice first but could barely walk in it, a classic ball gown with a sweetheart neckline, weighing about half as much as Emory herself. Penelope led her out to the pedestal, to the waiting eyes of her crew. Emory stepped up carefully and looked at herself in the mirror.
“What do you think?” Penelope asked.
“It’s beautiful,” Emory said, not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings
.
I could carry all my secrets under this dress.
“It’s a little too much dress,” Olivia offered. Kathleen and Wesley both nodded in agreement. Relieved, Emory nodded, too, then stepped off the pedestal, Penelope lifting the back of the dress to lighten the load.
Emory returned to the dressing room to try on Wesley’s pick, a ballet-inspired, pale pink dress with a full tulle skirt and spaghetti straps. She looked at herself in the mirror, shrugging her shoulders, uninspired again, and walked out of the room. Upon seeing her, Wesley brought his hands to his cheeks. “You look angelic, sweetie!”
Emory offered a polite smile and stepped onto the pedestal. “Maybe.” She did a spin, eyeing the back of the dress. “I’m not sure I want to look like a ballerina at my wedding.”
“I love the color,” Olivia said. “It’s so you.”
“Pink?” Kathleen wrinkled her nose.
“I agree with you, Olivia,” Wesley snarked. “She shouldn’t be wearing white anyway.”
“Wesley!” Emory cried. “In case you forgot, Mason’s mother is here!”
“Kathleen, you wouldn’t believe the noises I hear from her bedroom!” he added, Emory narrowing her eyes at him.
“Do tell,” Olivia said.
“I can’t make the noises right now,” he said sadly. “I’d like to, but it would be disrespectful to our new friend, Penelope.”
Enjoying the banter, Penelope bit her tongue not to laugh. “Yes, let’s not be disrespectful to her,” Emory said, “or me!” She stepped off the podium, her cheeks blushing.
As much fun as this was, Penelope needed to establish some direction for the appointment. “Let’s try something a little less sweet and a little more sexy.” She escorted Emory back to the dressing room.
Kathleen turned to Wesley. “You say you can hear Emory and Mason?”
He nodded. “Our rooms are next to each other.”
“Then I guess they can hear you and Tomás, too,” Kathleen said, Wesley turning bright red.
“Two men all sweaty and thrusting,” Olivia said. “That’s so gross. One man is quite enough.” Wesley rolled his eyes. “But you want to know what else is gross? Steven and I have sex with my nursing bra on or else I leak everywhere!”
Kathleen threw her hands in the air. “OK, enough! You two are so bad. I don’t want to hear anything else about the sexual habits of my boys.”
* * *
The innings passed by, and Mason continued his instruction of the finer points of baseball. “Now, little dude,” he said, Noah sleeping soundly in his arms, “everything I’m telling you is very important, but most important is this -- football comes first in our family.”
“It does indeed,” Steven said, throwing popcorn in his mouth.
“And you also must remember,” Mason continued, “that even though we are from Texas, we hate -- and I mean
,
hat
e
-- the Cowboys. They passed on Uncle Mason in the draft.”
“Big mistake,” Steven said. “They’ve got that clown now.”
* * *
Emory stuck her head out of the dressing room. “I’m not coming out in this one.”
Olivia quickly got up from her seat. “Oh, yes you are!” She walked towards Emory and pulled her out of the dressing room, Penelope following behind and watching more absurdity unfold. Olivia pushed Emory onto the pedestal, and Emory looked at herself in the mirror. She felt naked in the silk, backless dress, with a halter neckline, tightly hugging her curves. Olivia whistled at her. “I’m sure that would be Mason’s pick.”
Kathleen frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“This looks more like a nighty than a wedding dress,” Emory said, wrapping her arms around her chest to cover up.
Wesley walked around her on the pedestal. “Not sure you have enough up top to pull that one off.”
Penelope grabbed plastic inserts. “We could always add a little boost.”
“Nope.” Emory stepped down, turning back towards the dressing room. “Next dress, please.”
In the dressing room, Penelope could tell Emory was getting a bit discouraged. She pulled out an A-line silhouette with a bateau neckline, cap sleeves, and intricate beading. Emory slipped it on, and looked in the mirror. It was floor length with a slight train, fitted perfectly to her lean frame. Her face brightened, her eyes filled with tears, immediately knowing it was the one.
I’m going to marry Mason in this dress
!
Penelope smiled widely and nodded in approval. Emory took a deep breath to settle herself, still needing to run the gauntlet outside.
She opened the door of the dressing room and cautiously walked out. Olivia immediately started to cry. “It’s perfect!”
Wesley agreed. “Oh yeah, baby girl. It’s sexy and classy, like you.”
Kathleen just stared, her hard eyes giving nothing away. Emory shuffled her feet and did a small turn, waiting for some reaction, not realizing until this moment how much she wanted a mother’s approval. Penelope appeared with a cathedral length veil, and placed it on her, fluffing it out. But Kathleen still offered nothing. She stood up and inspected Emory and the dress, walking all the way around, eyeing her future daughter-in-law as if she were inspecting a car for some design defect.
She suddenly grabbed hold of Emory and hugged her tightly, both women crying. “This is it. My boy will love it!” Kathleen then exchanged a whisper with Penelope, causing her eyes to bulge, but quickly composed herself. “Now you run along, Ms. Penelope, and get me a good deal on it!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A few short days in Texas was just the escape Mason and Emory needed from the pressures of the NFL. But it brought with it the pressures of family and dress hunting, so getting back to Charlotte brought some relief. Fielding questions about the date of the wedding, and where the reception would be, and what kind of invitations, and colors they would have was exhausting. The only thing that Mason and Emory had decided was that the wedding would be on some date in the short window between training camp and the start of preseason, which left no time for a proper honeymoon. Mason knew where he wanted to spend their wedding night -- in the suite with the pool table, and preferably with Emory in her red lace panties. A honeymoon would have to wait until after the season ended, though there’d been enough delays in their lives. It was part of the demands of NFL life, and Emory thankfully understood.
* * *
Emory grabbed a pool stick, while Mason racked the balls. They hadn’t been back to Gus’ Bar since the night their worlds collided. But on this night, it was pool, not ribs. Emory drew back the stick, and Mason watched her intently, leaning over the table, sliding the stick between her fingers wiggling her hips suggestively. She then slammed the cue ball into the triangle of solids and stripes, breaking them with great force, even pocketing a few balls. Mason raised his beer, impressed by her fast start, as she strutted around the table with a sexy grin.
She lined up to pocket a stripe. Right before she struck the cue ball, he asked, “So what do you want to talk about first -- our wedding or house?” She swiped the side of the cue ball, bouncing it off a rail and into the corner pocket.