The Side Project

Author's Note:

This story will hop across many categories. It's a slow burn to start with though. This is a collaborative project between two authors told from alternating character perspectives (with some other characters getting their own POV chapters later).

For those who are anal-retentive about details and timing (like yours truly) this story begins on November 5th, 2017. You will find minor details altered to fit the story, but most things will line up.

Prologue

I closed my eyes and threw my head back, amazed this was happening. The absolute smokeshow hadn't even bothered to remove her tennis shorts and top before swallowing my cock. I didn't even think twice that the greedy mouth attacking me orally belonged to a senior partner's wife. A few days ago this scenario would have never been remotely believable. But it is crazy how one little game of tennis can change your life. The woman was going to town on me and I quickly hardened in her mouth. She started pulling her clothes off even as she blew me. And that's when I noticed Lexi.

Chapter 1 - Kyle

A Friendly Game of Tennis

"Who are we playing and why did I agree to this again?" I asked grouchily. I was, admittedly, moderately hungover at 10 AM on a Sunday morning after a somewhat adventurous Saturday night.

"We're playing a senior partner at my firm, whose good graces I'm trying to get into, and his wife. You are doing this because you're a good friend, and ostensibly decent at tennis," Reed, my longtime friend, said.

"Friendly reminder, I said I was good at tennis in high school and have barely touched a racquet since I graduated college," I said, hoping to temper expectations.

"You also said it was probably like riding a bike and your muscle memory would kick in," Reed replied in a haughty tone. He was mocking my overly confident drunken words from the previous weekend when he initially presented the idea.

"Whatever, it doesn't really matter if we win," Reed continued. "This douche is always talking up how good he and his wife are. They play on ladders and shit at this fancy racquet club we're meeting at. He basically wants to show off, if we get smoked it'll just feed his ego since I've been telling him how much I love the game and how much I practice. If we win he'll be foaming at the mouth for a rematch. Either way, I win because I get more face time with him at work."

"I'm still amazed you took fucking tennis lessons just to make friends with this guy," I said.

"You know my rules, no expense spared in pursuit of climbing the ladder and making money," Reed said with a grin that reminded me of a shark. He had always been unapologetically ambitious, which I somewhat identified with, although I was not quite on his level.

"Right, and in the pursuit of women. You remember the time you went fucking fly fishing in Wyoming trying to score points with Wendy's dad?" I laughed as I brought up the memory.

"That's a fucking low blow, man. I was young and dumb."

Wendy was Reed's ex who he had been infatuated with when I met him ten years ago. We were both living in Dallas at the time, and I was dating Wendy's best friend Matilda, who went by Tilly. We had become fast friends trying to navigate the complexities of dating the daughters of high-society Highland Park families while we tried to make our way in life just after college graduation.

I had moved away in my mid-20s to work for a startup in Silicon Valley called Theranos that a couple buddies from my days in college at Cal said was going to be the next Amazon. Despite my best efforts, that ultimately led to my break up with Tilly. I had stayed in touch with Reed, though.

Reed had been in law school at Texas Wesleyan when we met, which was a constant source of embarrassment for Wendy and Tilly; they always wanted him to lie and say he was at SMU. Neither woman understood that for guys like Reed, who came from a relatively modest background, a full scholarship for law school was far more important than the name on the diploma.

He ended up getting a job in Houston after graduation with a pretty high-profile law firm and had risen through the ranks. I gathered he was pretty skilled at what he did and I knew that his work ethic was strong considering how many hours he put in. I think he was starting to get tired of me making Suits jokes when he had to work late. He now had his eye on becoming a partner. Wendy had been willing to stick around and live in Houston but Reed grew more and more annoyed with pretentious bullshit.

Meanwhile, the cracks at Theranos had been obvious to me almost from day one since my job was technical documentation of the core product. I was about to bail, but when I found out about the Walgreens partnership I decided to hold out. By the following year I was convinced the whole thing was a bubble and got out while I could even though my stock options hadn't fully vested.

Reed and I would frequently hop on Skype in those days and debrief about things over a few drinks, so he knew my concerns about Theranos well. When I finally bailed he suggested maybe a change of scenery was in order. My friends from Cal were all still drinking the Theranos Kool-aid, so I decided 'what the heck' and moved to Houston. Reed connected me with a drinking buddy of his who was a VP at a medium-sized tech firm for a job and the rest was history.

Reed finally decided enough with Wendy, and they had broken up soon after I moved to Houston. I was not sad to see her go. Unfortunately, Reed then had a truly awful experience with a 'saving herself for marriage' girl he had dated as a rebound, and quickly married, after he and Wendy broke up.

He married Alayna on a whim in Vegas and things had been a mess from day one. Alayna was extremely controlling and extremely unappreciative of my brand of humor so we did not speak as much during the six months he had been married. During the divorce process I had sort of become his confidant. When, with characteristic charisma, Reed jumped two feet first back into seeking out female companionship, I was his 'go to' wingman. He was fully committed to a bachelor lifestyle following his experiences with Wendy and Alayna.

I was less fully committed to the bachelor lifestyle. I had not really had a serious relationship since Tilly and I decided our increasingly toxic long distance relationship was doomed a bit over a year after I had moved to California. I had met a girl, Lexi, playing rec league soccer pretty soon after moving to Houston and we'd had a comfortable quasi-relationship going for about two years, but were by no means exclusive.

- - - - -

"The fuck is this place?" I asked as we pulled into the lot of a large building that looked like something straight off the set of a Real Housewives of Houston spinoff.

"This is the sort of place you get a membership to when you're pulling in 300 grand a year plus profit sharing as a fucking partner," Reed said.

"Something to aspire to," I said sarcastically.

"Fuck that, I aspire to be renting a fucking villa in Vegas with a line of sluts out the door," Reed responded.

I laughed. Reed's tales of Vegas debauchery were legendary. I had yet to join him on one of his Vegas trips but the stories he came back with were entertaining as hell to hear over a few drinks...after he had had the mandatory three day drying out period those trips necessitated.

I had dug out a couple of my old racquets from high school and gotten them restrung in preparation for this outing. They were outdated compared to modern gear, and one of them was pretty beat up, but I thought using something I was familiar with would help me shake off the rust faster. I grabbed them out of the backseat along with my water bottle.

"Seriously dude, couldn't you at least have put those in a backpack or something?" Reed asked. His gear was packed in a large tennis bag that would have fit right in at the U.S. Open.

"Nah fuck that, I had all the fancy bags and shit in high school. That shit is pure pretension. Nothing more badass than showing up with just a racquet and beating the shit out of some loser with all the fancy gear," I told him to explain my rationale.

"Dude, this whole fucking club basically revolves around being pretentious," Reed pointed out. I knew he agreed with me in principle, but for him this was basically one grand performance.

"No shit? I guess I missed the 'whites only' notice on the website," I said.

"That's a reference to clothing, stop being a shit stirrer," Reed admonished.

"I know, but they weren't exactly upfront with that with how they did the text sizes," I noted. The website had a large banner with 'whites only' with a clarification that it was in reference to clothing in a much smaller font. As someone who spent my professional days working with words on screen I did not think the racial subtext was accidental.

"Alright, dude. Game face. This is important to me professionally. Seriously, stow the shit stirring even though these are pretentious fucks," Reed instructed me.

"You got it brother, you know I can turn it off. At least when I'm sober," I said. Reed laughed. He knew I would quit my bullshit as needed before my third drink. After that, well, all bets were off.

"Fair fair man, alright I do kind of want to beat this a-hole and have him whining for a rematch. Make you a deal, we win and I'm buying dinner and paying for drinks next weekend," Reed offered.

"Let's fucking do this," I said and we fist bumped.

We checked in at the front desk and Reed told the attendant we were guests of Jimbo Craft, who was apparently the partner he was trying to score points with. The attendant directed us to Court 7.

"Dude, clay courts?" I exclaimed to Reed once I saw the court we would be playing on.

"It's a fucking rich person racquet club, the fuck did you expect?" Reed asked.

"You ever played on clay?" I asked.

"No, it can't be that much different though, right?"

"More than you think. It's a good thing, though. I've only played on it a few times, but I really like it, it fits how I played in high school. Scramble central because the balls move slower and you can't cut as hard on clay as you can on a normal hard surface. Rafa was my fucking idol when I was a kid. It fits my strengths big time. You know, assuming I still know how to hit a ball," I said, remembering all of this was theoretical and based on the assumption muscle memory would kick in.

We opened the gate to the court, interrupting the rally between a guy, Jimbo presumably, and his wife.

"McLane!" shouted the man. I guessed he was 10-15 years older than us, mid-forties. He was impeccably dressed in a white polo and shorts, both emblazoned with a Texas A&M logo, along with white shoes, calf length socks and a white headband, also adorned with an A&M logo. He was carrying a bit more than a spare tire around his midsection despite his tennis habit. He was holding a carbon fiber racquet that was the best money could buy.

"Jimbo! How are you sir?" Reed replied jovially.

"Fantastic, wonderful day for a match, don't you think?" the guy - Jimbo - replied. It was a pleasantly mild November Houston afternoon with a light breeze to lessen the humidity that seemed ever present.

"Indeed, I'm looking forward to it!" Reed said in a tone that was way more excited than I thought was natural. "This is my buddy Kyle, who I've shoehorned into being my partner today. Ostensibly he was an ace back in the day."

"Great to meet you Kyle," Jimbo said, extending his hand. I shook it firmly but was surprised to find his grip limp. I figured a senior partner at a big law firm would have a firm handshake.

"You A&M boys too? Almost have to expect it right?" Kyle and Reed? What a coincidence!" Jimbo continued, making a joke Reed and I had heard roughly 400 times over the last few years.

"No sir, just an odd happenstance," Reed said quickly, before I could mock this Jimbo guy for his lame joke.

"Alright, well shall we do a bit of a warm up then we'll get on with the match?" Jimbo offered. "Oh and I apologize, this is my wife Katrina." He gestured to the woman who had circled around the net to greet us.

"Katrina, I like that name, nice to meet you," I said, extending my hand to shake with the woman, who was by anybody's standards the definition of an absolute smokeshow, particularly in her figure-hugging tennis top and skirt. All white, of course, per club regulations. I carefully maintained eye contact, not wanting to offend as we shook. Unlike her husband her grip was firm and confident. She was probably around our age, not quite age inappropriate for Jimbo, but it was borderline. I wondered if she was his second wife.

"Great to meet you too, Kyle. My parents were up in the air between Katherine and Rita, and figured this was a reasonable middle ground. What can you do sometimes, right?" She asked and laughed.

"Great to meet you Katrina, I've heard such fantastic stories from JC about your tennis skills," Reed said and shook Katrina's hand.

"Great to meet you too, Reed! Jimbo has mentioned to me how dedicated you are to the firm's cases, it sounds like you really know how to bring it!" Katrina said. I had to restrain myself from calling out the double entendre. In any other setting I would have, but I was here to support my best friend so I stuck to my best behavior.

"Right then, let's have a proper warmup," Jimbo said, eyeing my lack of a bag judgmentally.

Reed and I walked to one of the courtside benches and I propped my second racket against it and left my water bottle on the accompanying table. Reed plopped his large bag on the bench and made a show out of digging out his racquet and testing the strings by banging the racquet against his wrist. I resisted making fun of him, knowing he was trying to put on a good show for Jimbo.

We took up our positions and Jimbo lobbed a ball over the net. I misjudged it and hit it into the net. Reed snickered as I went to retrieve it. I hit an easy ball in Katrina's direction and she rifled a shot towards Reed. He misjudged how the bounce would play on clay and barely got it back over the net. I gave him a 'told you so' look while I returned to the baseline.

After a few rallies both Reed and I got more comfortable as he adjusted to the bounces on clay and my muscle memory began to kick in.

"Ready to get started?" Reed asked after about ten minutes.

"Thought you'd never ask, McLane, let's do this!" Jimbo called out excitedly.

We agreed that Reed and I would serve first since we were visitors to the club and I deferred to Reed since he had been practicing of late and I had not hit a serve in years. He fired a first serve that Jimbo could barely touch, much less get back over the net. 15-love. I cocked my eyebrow at Reed and he shrugged as if that was no big deal. Apparently his lessons had paid off.

He faulted on his first serve to Katrina and she attacked his weak second serve by hitting a passing shot down the line that I deflected but was unable to get back over the net. 15 all. I was still rusty.

At the second changeover we were down two games to one, but I was confident I had figured out how to win.

"Dude, don't even bother hitting to Katrina unless you have to," I whispered to Reed. "Girl probably has hours of tennis lessons every week. She doesn't miss. Maybe if there's an opportunity for a drop shot or a volley, but honestly, hit it to Jimbo if at all possible. I know this fucking type. He's all about trying to hit winners because he wants to show off his skills and thinks he looks cool when he hits a big shot. We'll lose a few points when he gets it right, but he's not half as good as he thinks he is. We just have to get enough of them back and he'll start overhitting because he wants to prove he's the man. Then he'll get mad because he's not the badass he thinks he is and start making errors even on easy shots."

"Fucking pusher, I knew it," Reed joked.

"It's fucking clay, bro, trust me," I retorted.

"All good man, I think you're spot on. Also, you notice how weak his backhand is? He should leave a lot of those for Katrina to hit a forehand but he's such an arrogant fuck he takes them anyway," Reed pointed out.

"Good call, I'll try to get at that, too," I said.

We ended up winning the first set 6-4.

I drank from my water bottle and watched as Katrina coolly sipped water while Jimbo gesticulated angrily from the opposite bench while we took a break.

"He's fucking wound up, I think," I said to Reed.

"Oh yeah man, I think we're under his skin big time," Reed said.

"I'd expect a full meltdown around the sixth game of this set," I projected.

"Sounds about right. Jimbo has no chill at work. With how great he thinks he is at tennis, good chance it'll be sooner."

It turned out Reed was right, my guess was generous. The meltdown actually happened when Jimbo mishit a backhand while trying to hit a winner down 40-30 in game four. The weak shot set me up perfectly for an overhead that I smashed past Katrina to put Reed and I up 4-0 for the set. Jimbo immediately began screaming curses and smashing his expensive racquet into the fence until it broke. Katrina tried to calm him down. I tried, and failed, to suppress my laughter that a middle-aged guy was this bent out of shape about a friendly game of tennis.

Reed and I fist bumped smugly and closed out the set 6-0. Jimbo demanded a third set, blaming his 'bad racquet', which was now laying in pieces beside his bench, for the loss.

"Let's hit to Katrina more this set," I suggested quietly. "Make it more interesting."

"Yeah man, good call. Honestly if we bleed a couple games that won't be the worst thing in the world for their egos," Reed agreed.

"Plus it's a hell of a lot more fun to watch her, ahem, strokes, than it is to watch that fucking loser flail," I pointed out.

Reed laughed. "True that, man. True that."

We still won the third set 6-3, but it was more competitive. Jimbo was in a bad mood afterwards and stormed off to use the bathroom.

Katrina approached us while Reed was stowing away his racquet.

"Nice match, boys. I see you keyed in quickly on my husband's weak spot," Katrina said and gave Reed a playful shove.

"His fault," Reed said, gesturing towards me.

"I played a lot of tennis growing up, I sort of recognized the type," I said and shrugged, hoping that wasn't offensive.

To my relief, Katrina laughed. "He does get obsessed with his ground strokes. If you boys want a more competitive match, how about a rematch between you two and me and my friend Natalie on Wednesday during the day?" she asked. I thought I detected something slightly suggestive in her tone. The way she was making eyes at Reed had me wondering if she was flirting a little.

"I suppose I can take a long lunch," Reed said with a smile.

"I'm in," I agreed, sensing there was something larger afoot here.

"Great, give me your numbers and I'll shoot you a text to set things up," Katrina said. Reed and I duly passed on our digits.

Chapter 2 - Reed

A Rematch and a New Match

I was standing in my kitchen Monday morning, finishing my coffee and about to walk out the door, when I noticed a text from Katrina.

'Still up for the Wednesday rematch? Natalie's in'

I smiled and downed the last of my brew.

Sunday had been fun. I liked beating Jimbo. I liked seeing him lose his cool. I was looking forward to seeing him at the office. The unexpected part was how much of a bombshell his wife was. Not only was she attractive, we seemed to have some sort of undercurrent if I was reading things right. The timing of her text reinforced my feelings: this wasn't a weekend text. This had the feel of something sent as soon as Jimbo closed the garage door in whatever rich suburb they lived in. And it was just to me, not a group text with Kyle.