Be My Babygirl

I trained hard on that field. I ran until I collapsed on the sweet, lush green grass. I worked the crops and honed my muscles, and by my senior year in high school, I towered above everyone, earning the respect of my peers and a free ticket to Notre Dame. I studied by the low, dim, yellow light of my grandmother’s ancient lamp and aced my classes. Moving to college, pursuing collegiate football, it was my first taste of success. My first taste of something bigger than small town life.

My reminiscing comes to a screeching halt when I see the limo pull up. My heartbeat races like it hasn’t in years. I’ve been with women. Hell, I can have any woman I want, and have. But somehow, knowing I can have anything I want makes me feel empty inside.

And the truth is? I don’t want just any woman. I want her.

The car cruises to a stop, and the driver gets out. He nods respectfully to me, quickly walking to open the door for Katie. I don’t even breathe when the door glides open, and she exits, stepping into the overhead lighting, blinking against its brightness.

“Oh!” she says when her eyes come to me. “You’re here!” Her face lights up with a smile so bright, it makes my heart ache. I can’t put my finger on why I’m so enamored with her. It isn’t just those beautiful eyes framed with impossibly long lashes, the pouty red lips, or her perfect, curvy little body, but more. So much more.

“Of course I’m here,” I say with a smile I feel down to my toes. “I missed you.”

My stomach clenches. I didn’t mean to say that.

I walk over to her and reach for her hand. She reaches back.

“Did you?” she asks, her head tipped to the side. “I’m glad, because I missed you too.” She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. I swear to God if I had a ring in my pocket, I’d drop to one knee right here, right now.

I am losing my goddamn mind.

I cup the back of her head and press my lips to her cheek for a brief, chaste kiss. She smells like sunshine and roses and violets, all wrapped up in a bundle. “Let’s get your things and go upstairs.”

“Oh,” she says, flushing pink. “I, um, maybe brought a few things.”

“Good. I’ll have someone bring them up.”

Why does she look so embarrassed?

I signal a bellhop to bring a trolley to us, while the driver opens the car and extracts her belongings. I feel my lips curl up in a smile, but I try to school my expression. I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her, but God is she adorable.

She’s got a large, faded pink duffle bag with a broken zipper stuffed so full of things it’s nearly bursting at the seams, two enormous tote bags overflowing with clothes and shoes, several pillows tied with…string? She watches them loading her possessions on the trolley, but when they take a quilted backpack with frayed edges out, she holds up her hand.

“Stop!” I look at her in surprise, and she flushes brighter pink. She clears her throat and lifts her head. “I’ll take that personally, please,” she says with dignity.

She holds something precious in that bag. I wonder what it is.

They hand the bag to her politely, but I intercept and take it myself.

“I’ll get that.”

“You really don’t have to,” she protests.

I shake my head and whisper in her ear, “This is exactly what a daddy’s supposed to do.”

“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening. “Well, in that case… have at it, big guy.”

I chuckle, take the bag, and swing it onto my shoulder. Something hard bumps against my back. Is that a… laptop? Holding hands, we walk inside. She peppers me with questions along the way.

“Is that a fountain made of champagne?”

“It is.”

“Do people drink it?”

“Of course. Would be wasteful otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

She nods. “Yes, of course. Ohhh, is that fondue? Next to the champagne? Like… a fountain of chocolate?”

My lips tip up. “It is.”

“That’s like a dream of mine,” she murmurs. “Liquid chocolate.”

I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What do you dip in it?” she asks.

I chuckle. “Anything you want.”

She gives me a sly, coy look. “Anything?”

We pause beside the fountain of chocolate. I reach and grab a skewer, pierce a ripe, lush strawberry, and dip the tip into the melted stream of chocolate. I hand it to her. “Yes, babygirl,” I say. “Anything.”

I hand her the strawberry, my mind going a mile a minute with thoughts of what I can do to her when I have her alone.

She takes the chocolate-covered berry eagerly, bites it, and moans as her eyes roll back in her head. “Before you, I’d been living off of noodles,” she says. “You make my belly very happy.”