Reluctant Rescue - Sex Stories

Reluctant Rescue

... coffee.” She was as good as her word. He drank the juice and was sipping his coffee when she brought his breakfast. “I could get used to this,” he told Cliff. “Why haven’t you?” he asked. “You’ve got plenty of money. You made a lot playing football and you’ve invested it wisely. You don’t touch your principle and you make good money guiding. You could have a maid if you wanted one.” “I’m lazy by nature,” Laban explained. “If I don’t consciously guard against it, I’d be fat as a toad in a year.” “You’re wise,” Cliff said. “When you recognize your weaknesses and take steps to fend them off, you show maturity. You have a good mind, Laban. I didn’t expect that from a football player.” Laban bristled a little at that. “Why not? We’re not all lowbrow types. I graduated 5th in my class from Stanford. I have a bachelors in business and a Masters in Philosophy. You have to be smart to play on the line in football. You have to be able to think fast to play defense. I know some guys have natural ability. I’m big and strong and I was even bigger and stronger when I was playing. I was slow. I had to outthink the tackles to beat them.” Cliff laughed. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I apologize, Laban. I know how smart you are; I’ve seen your scores. That’s what made me think you’d be good for Andrea. She’s very smart, Laban. Even smarter than you and I. If you weren’t smart, I’d be worried. She needs someone that can evolve and change with her. She would leave most men behind in the dust. ...

... I know you aren’t like that.” “She told me she was a genius.” “I can’t believe that. She just said that?” “Well, no. I asked her if she was, just joking around, and she said yes.” “She really is, you know. If you know statistics, she’s more than two standard deviations over 120.” “So, about 160?” “I see you do know statistics.” “I took classes. Business degree, you know.” They talked for hours and Laban discovered that he really liked the man. He was clever, funny and just a little stuffy. There was no harm in him. They talked politics and Cliff was pleased to discover that Laban was an anarchist. “At least you’ve thought about it,” he laughed. “Don’t expect me to agree with you, but you’ll find out that Andrea is on your page. She hates politicians, with one notable exception.” “I don’t hate politicians,” Laban told him. “I just want to be left alone.” When Andrea came home, they went out to eat. They followed the same ritual as the night before. Laban’s stitches were healing nicely and Andrea said the doctor had told her that they should leave the bandages off during the day if there was no sign of infection. The next day was Saturday and she took him downtown. They shopped and strolled along. He was rapidly regaining his strength and it took a major exertion to cause him any pain. They rode in the limousine to his house and she drove his truck to her house. “Does your father always call you Andrea?” he asked. “Yes, he doesn’t like Andy.” “I like Andy, but I think I like ...