Clay

With the entry installation nearly complete, the development has begun to look like a place people would actually want to live. Just like I told Ron, we built a brick and concrete sign on the other side of the entrance to mirror the one that was already there, facing people who come from the highway and town. It looks nice. A little landscaping really makes a big difference. People don’t always realize that.

The models are almost done, but even more importantly, the rest of the development has been started. Foundations are in. Sewer and utility hookups are established. After that, houses go up pretty fast. Especially the way that Wanda runs a crew.

Lightning-fast.

Penny stands outside of the fourth model home, squinting up at the roof line. I pull the Jag over into the driveway and come out to meet her. I love the way she glances at me, surprised still. Like I just showed up out of a past life. It all seems very new, even though it feels like a continuation of college life, too.

“Everything okay up there?” I remark, following her gaze.

“Do those look straight to you?” she asks, jerking her chin toward the solar panels on the roof.

“I think they are supposed to be like that, angled toward the sun and everything,” I answer.

I am not sure how she talked to Ron into the solar panels, but I am really glad she did. She put together a whole hippie “green package” that buyers can select when they pick out their floor finishes and counters. It includes passive hot water, solar panels, and other improvements that reduce utility usage and carbon footprint. I would not have thought that buyers in this region were that sophisticated, but she was right on the nose.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” she sighs.

“Everything is cool, Penny,” I reassure her. “Actually, after I get this group through this afternoon, we might be at 80 percent sold as a matter of fact.”

“Wait, what?” she asks, startled. “But we are only at 45 percent now. How are you going to manage that?”

I wiggle my eyebrows, using this opportunity to stand a little closer and get a whiff of her. During the day, I try to keep it professional, but she makes it really difficult. It’s just so easy to be around her. It would be so easy to get her into the back seat of my Jag right now and…

“Keep it in your pants, mister!” she warns me, but I can see that glint of interest in her eye.

“I’m just saying I have my ways.” I lean in close to growl in her ear. She doesn’t pull away too quickly, instead turning her head to expose the length of her neck.

“Yes, you do,” she confirms in a breathy sigh.

“Actually, why don’t you take the meeting?” I murmur in her ear. “Should be an easy sale. You’ll get the commission. Ron will be dazzled by your sales prowess.”

She flinches back. “Wait, what? Are you serious? You want me to take your meeting?”

Oh, I guess we are really talking business, I realize. I should pick a less construction-oriented come-on line next time. Might hold her attention better.

“Well, yeah,” I shrug, returning to a professional demeanor. “You know more about these packages than I do anyway. You could really sell it, and I think this investor will appreciate the forward-thinking.”

“Wow, Clay, that would be amazing!” she breathes, her hand drifting up toward her mouth so she can assume her “concentration pose,” with her fingers pressed to her chin.

“Yeah. It will be an easy score for you.”

Her eyes go distant as she considers the possibilities, the massive commission, and her strategy. I can read her like a book. She has already closed the deal in her mind. It’s adorable.

Then something distracts her and she pulls her cell phone out of her back pocket, instantly changing to tension.

“Shit, Ethan missed his bus. I’m going to have to… Dammit. Well, it was a good idea,” she shrugs.

I feel her happiness slipping away, like a paper sailboat in a river.

“Wait! You’re not leaving, right? Can’t it wait a minute?”

She tips her head slightly and glares at me. “No, Clay it can’t wait a minute. He needs to be picked up. That’s the gig. But I appreciate you thinking of me.”

She pivots toward the driveway and I step in front of her automatically to bar her way.

“Well, can I get him? Just pick him up from school?”

She pauses, clearly startled. Her expression changes three or four times as she processes the information.

“I guess so. I mean… you can? Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“It’s about time he learned how to drive anyway,” I shrug.

“Clay!” she barks, but I am already opening the door to the Jag.

“Bye! We will see you for dinner!” I call out before speeding away.

I’ve broken my promise to stop teasing her so many times, I don’t even promise anymore. I don’t know why it’s so much fun. I like to make her jump just a little bit, to see those sparks of outrage, to tussle with her. Not all the way angry. That is actually no fun at all. But a little bit of heat is quite satisfying. And catching her in my arms when she’s feisty is even more fun. She sparkles. She snarls. I like to kiss her when her mouth is full of objections and swear words, just to drown her out.

But I realize that driving up to the middle school with a hard-on is less than optimal, so I try to focus my thoughts elsewhere. Somewhere else besides her long, tawny legs. That round ass. The sound of her sass being melted away as she submits to my kisses.

Okay, Clay, knock it off. Really need to focus now.

I know this middle school, because this is where I went. Driving up feels a little strange, and I have to pull around to the visitor parking instead of the bus driveway. But from here I can see the top of Ethan’s shiny, dark head, bent forward over his homework as he sits on a bench next to the basketball court.

He raises his head when I walk up to him, squinting against the afternoon sunlight.

“Hey, sorry,” he mumbles.

“No worries,” I shrug. “Your mom has a meeting so she sent me. Do you want to play a little Horse for a minute?”

He twists around to look at the basketball court behind him, shrugging.

“We are really not supposed to do that, I don’t think,” he shakes his head.

“Those other kids are doing it,” I answer. “And you can’t get in trouble if you’re with an adult. That’s the law. Come on!”

Obediently he sets his bookbag against the edge of the bench and follows me into the court. There’s a rack of balls on one side, leftover from PE class. I take one and bounce it against the asphalt a few times, instantly transported to gym class in my mind. Muscle memory takes over and I take a few steps back, then forward with an easy layup.

“Did you know I went to this middle school too?” I smile as he retrieves the ball and squares off for an easy shot as a confidence builder, just like I told him.

“You did? How long ago was that?”

“Jeez, kid,” I drawl. “Cut to the heart of the matter, why don’t you? Well, it was… A really long time ago.”

I start to do the mental math, then quickly abort that mission. How did I get so old?

He lines up behind the three-point line, then flips around so he can loft the ball backward over his head. To my absolute shock, he makes it in.

“So, the school must be like a hundred years old?”

I try to line up the same way, but as soon as I release the basketball I can feel it’s not going to make it. It ricochets off the edge of the backboard and clangs against the fence.

“Ha!” he declares with a triumphant fist pump.

A stray basketball bounces across our court from the one adjoining. I catch it in one hand and chuck it back over the fencing to the other group of boys playing two on two.

“No, I don’t think the school is a hundred years old,” I sniff, trying a left-hand layup this time, which I make, but barely.

I don’t want to demolish him, but I also don’t want to lose. I need to be in that narrow path of “just out of reach but not discouragingly far ahead.”

Still, after all the games we have been playing in the backyard, he has developed some skills. Maybe he is in the middle of a growth spurt or something. He really seems interested in acquiring some sports skill, and it is nice to have someone to match with. It’s also nice the way he listens when I coach him.

“Hey!” a voice calls out. “Ethan, right?”

Another kid hangs on the fence, squinting through at us.

“Yeah?” Ethan calls back defensively.

“Joey and Trevor had to go home. Do you guys want to take their places?”

Ethan turns to me, alarmed.

“What do I say?” he whispers urgently, pivoting so the other kid can’t read his lips or anything.

“If you want to play, then we say yes?” I shrug.

“Just say yes? And then go over there and play?”

“Yeah, man,” I smile encouragingly, dropping a hand onto his bony shoulder. “No big deal, we just go over there and kick their asses.”

Has this kid never played in a pickup game before? I don’t know, but what I do know is that I haven’t done it in a really long time. It feels kind of strange to be playing with people who are all six inches shorter than me or more, but also kind of awesome. I’m like a giant. My skills are unmatched! They may have stamina, but I’ve got experience and I can touch the backboard just by reaching up.

What. Don’t judge me.

We play for a while, keeping score by shouting it out, ignoring fouls but basically keeping to civil playground play. I resist the urge to unleash, but just barely.

When he isn’t looking, I watch Ethan move around the court with more confidence than I am used to seeing. He is enjoying himself, which is making me enjoy myself even more.

After a while, I hear a car horn and both our opponents freeze in mid-play, twisting toward the sound.

“That’s our mom,” one of them explains, offering his hand to Ethan in a show of sportsmanship. “Good game, Ethan.”

Ethan takes his hand, smiling. “Good game,” he repeats.

I shake their hands too, trying not to tease them about how tiny they are. I don’t even know these kids, I remind myself. But just to be clear, they are much, much smaller than me.

“That was fun,” Ethan grins as he collects the basketballs and puts them back on the rolling PE rack.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Let’s get on home so I can make dinner.”

“Oh, right. I’ve got homework, too,” he scowls.

I don’t know why it feels so good, just this rather mundane interaction. But it does. Solid. Wholesome or something. It feels great.