once we crossed the threshold, we were going to be in Never-Never Land, a place that was beautiful but wasn’t really possible for regular people. You would have to be magic to live here … like John was.
There must have been some sort of security camera, because Matthew stuck his head out the window and then a few moments later the gate swung open. I could see the rolling green grass of an enormous lawn as we followed the gravel driveway to the house. But it wasn’t a house; it was an estate.
The facade was grey brick, with massive arched windows. Two red brick chimneys jutted out from either side of the roof. I could see the ocean behind the house. It hadn’t been visible from the road. The view was soothing to look at: the lovely house did not interfere with or detract from the sun-dappled green grass and the sparkling ocean. It was like the house belonged there; like it had organically grown there.
I saw Matthew watching me from the rear view mirror. He pulled the bus forward into the driveway, past the house, and parked it. Then he turned around. “I told you,” he said, reading my expression, and smiled.
I stood up, happy to be able to stretch. I was a little shaky. John appeared at my side. “Hi,” he said. “You ready to get off this thing?”
I nodded and followed him off the bus silently. The rest of the guys were grabbing bags, talking. They sounded upbeat. Everyone was probably glad to be home, if that’s what they called it. Everyone except Darius. I could hear one of the guards yelling at him, telling him to move it.
I wasn’t sure where they were taking him.
Getting off the bus was disorienting. The scent of ocean air, the rolling green grass, was such a contrast to the muggy air of the bus. I’d never seen the Atlantic Ocean before; I couldn’t wait to swim in it. It must be more forgiving than the harsh Pacific that I was used to.John was next to me, his shirt open at the throat, the sun glinting off his hair, which, I now saw, had flecks of grey andblond in it. “Feels good, doesn't it?” he asked, turning his face towards the sun.
“It's so beautiful,” I whisper, trying to take in the enormous house and grounds. I don't belong here.
“You're more beautiful than all of it,” he said to me in a low tone. He lightly ran his finger up my arm. A delicious spasm erupted in my lower abdomen. Anticipation . Anticipation of what, I wasn't exactly sure — but I had a general idea. I smiled at him, trying to keep my cool.
“Thank you,” I said, looking down, feeling a creeping blush. This was exhausting. I needed to take a shower, wash my dirty hair, and clear my hormone-addled brain.
“Okay, so now you have to make a choice,” John said, smiling at me kindly. “House? Or barracks?”
“Huh?” I asked. “What's a barrack?”
He pointed behind me. A long red row house, with simple white windows, was at the other end of the property, near the edge of the forest. “It’s where the guys sleep. It’s pretty bare bones: bunk beds, communal showers —” he laughed here, and I just scowled at him. “Not for you, Liberty. You would have your own room and your own bathroom. Or you can have the Princess Suite in the house. King bed, luxurious bath with a whirlpool tub. And no smelly guys around.”
I looked at him and bit my lip. I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know how to say it, or if I even should. “It depends,” I said, looking at the ground.
“On?” John asked, his voice impassive.
“On whether or not you’re a smelly guy," I said, and surrendered to the crimson blush that was flaring up to my forehead.
“I always stay in the barracks with the team,” John said. “But we do go to the house to watch the Red Sox. And the Bruins. And the Celtics. And the Patriots. And for dinner every night. So we’re actually there a lot,” he laughed.
“I want to be near you,” I said, looking at the ground. It was true. Inexplicably true. I didn’t want to be five feet
There must have been some sort of security camera, because Matthew stuck his head out the window and then a few moments later the gate swung open. I could see the rolling green grass of an enormous lawn as we followed the gravel driveway to the house. But it wasn’t a house; it was an estate.
The facade was grey brick, with massive arched windows. Two red brick chimneys jutted out from either side of the roof. I could see the ocean behind the house. It hadn’t been visible from the road. The view was soothing to look at: the lovely house did not interfere with or detract from the sun-dappled green grass and the sparkling ocean. It was like the house belonged there; like it had organically grown there.
I saw Matthew watching me from the rear view mirror. He pulled the bus forward into the driveway, past the house, and parked it. Then he turned around. “I told you,” he said, reading my expression, and smiled.
I stood up, happy to be able to stretch. I was a little shaky. John appeared at my side. “Hi,” he said. “You ready to get off this thing?”
I nodded and followed him off the bus silently. The rest of the guys were grabbing bags, talking. They sounded upbeat. Everyone was probably glad to be home, if that’s what they called it. Everyone except Darius. I could hear one of the guards yelling at him, telling him to move it.
I wasn’t sure where they were taking him.
Getting off the bus was disorienting. The scent of ocean air, the rolling green grass, was such a contrast to the muggy air of the bus. I’d never seen the Atlantic Ocean before; I couldn’t wait to swim in it. It must be more forgiving than the harsh Pacific that I was used to.John was next to me, his shirt open at the throat, the sun glinting off his hair, which, I now saw, had flecks of grey andblond in it. “Feels good, doesn't it?” he asked, turning his face towards the sun.
“It's so beautiful,” I whisper, trying to take in the enormous house and grounds. I don't belong here.
“You're more beautiful than all of it,” he said to me in a low tone. He lightly ran his finger up my arm. A delicious spasm erupted in my lower abdomen. Anticipation . Anticipation of what, I wasn't exactly sure — but I had a general idea. I smiled at him, trying to keep my cool.
“Thank you,” I said, looking down, feeling a creeping blush. This was exhausting. I needed to take a shower, wash my dirty hair, and clear my hormone-addled brain.
“Okay, so now you have to make a choice,” John said, smiling at me kindly. “House? Or barracks?”
“Huh?” I asked. “What's a barrack?”
He pointed behind me. A long red row house, with simple white windows, was at the other end of the property, near the edge of the forest. “It’s where the guys sleep. It’s pretty bare bones: bunk beds, communal showers —” he laughed here, and I just scowled at him. “Not for you, Liberty. You would have your own room and your own bathroom. Or you can have the Princess Suite in the house. King bed, luxurious bath with a whirlpool tub. And no smelly guys around.”
I looked at him and bit my lip. I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know how to say it, or if I even should. “It depends,” I said, looking at the ground.
“On?” John asked, his voice impassive.
“On whether or not you’re a smelly guy," I said, and surrendered to the crimson blush that was flaring up to my forehead.
“I always stay in the barracks with the team,” John said. “But we do go to the house to watch the Red Sox. And the Bruins. And the Celtics. And the Patriots. And for dinner every night. So we’re actually there a lot,” he laughed.
“I want to be near you,” I said, looking at the ground. It was true. Inexplicably true. I didn’t want to be five feet
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