Dirty Player: A Rough Riders Novel (17 page)

This was more, though—headier—and it made my head spin.

“I’ll see you later?” I asked, barely able to choke out the words. I was lost, free-falling.

“Bye, Oliver.”

I heard the hurt in her words, the total misunderstanding from everything that was slamming inside my brain, and I couldn’t articulate it.

I didn’t correct her, either. There was no fucking way this was goodbye.

I wouldn’t say goodbye to her. Not ever.

Where in the hell did that come from?

I jerked my head when I got to my car. She was still standing in the doorway, arms crossed protectively over her stomach like she was trying to shield herself from me again.

I didn’t think.

I hurried back to her, not caring that she jumped in surprise when I rushed her. I pressed my hands to her cheeks. My rough and callused palms scraped her soft and tender and fucking delicious skin.

I kissed her. I kissed her hard and long and shoved my tongue deep inside her mouth as she gasped in shock. Without words, using the only thing I could think of—my hands and my tongue and my sudden erection clamoring to get out of my shorts—I fucking showed her everything I was thinking and feeling.

The sudden onslaught of emotions, the thick desire to slam her into the door and fuck the daylights and brains out of both of us, had me pulling back, both of us gasping for breath, her eyes just as wide and feral as mine.

“What in the hell was that?” she asked, wiping across the bottom of her lip. 

I followed her finger, pressing less furious kisses long her bottom lip.

“I don’t know,” I said, gasping for breath. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t know what’s going on, but that wasn’t goodbye. Don’t say that to me.”

I was desperate. Sinking and soaring. Falling and flying. Twisting and unraveling.

Nothing made sense except the taste of her on my lips and the feel of her trembling body against mine.

“I’ll see you later, Shannon.”

I let her go before I did everything I wanted to do to her.

But I’d see her later. I’d be drilling my cock deep inside of every inch of her, claiming her and making her mine before either of us realized it could be the worst thing we ever did.

***

“Ice your ankle, twenty minutes on, ten minutes off.”

“I know how to handle it.” I barked at the athletic trainer wrapping my ankle. I had no one to be pissed at but myself. And thankfully, it wasn’t sprained, just twisted and swollen. I’d be fine by next week, but the fact that I hadn’t been able to clear my head, focus on the game and the practice like I usually did still pissed me off.

Fuck, I’d gotten hurt in a practice where we didn’t even wear our pads.

Coach Pomville pushed through the door, slamming it so hard it banged against the windowed wall. “What in the fuck was that?” He shouted at me like I’d lost the Super Bowl.

I had no one to blame but myself, but I didn’t cower to the coach. Not anymore. I had too many years under my belt. Too many bad games and bad practices.

“I’ll get it together,” I assured him. “Just a misstep, is all.”

“‘Just a misstep, is all.’” He mocked my words and shooed the trainer away after he set an ice pack on the table. I was still in my shorts, although I’d ripped my shirt off before I was back to the locker room.

I looked Coach directly in the eyes as he stalked toward me.

“You know what we have riding on you this season? A fucking contract extension. You can’t pull shit like this. You can’t be distracted for a single fucking second. You understand that?”

I understood. More than he did. My five-year contract was up at the end of this season and I was getting old. 

One bad game would be the difference between millions of dollars and retirement.

“I said I’ll get it together.”

“See that you do.”

He left as quickly as he had entered, already barking down another player’s throat, with the door slamming shut behind him.

Coach Pomville was an awesome coach. He knew when to motivate, knew when to kick ass and smack helmets. I admired him, had mad respect for him both on and off the field. 

I’d been off today. I was still sore from last night’s game because the hits weren’t as easily shaken off anymore when men almost ten years younger and stronger than angry bulls charged at me.

I needed to be more focused.

I would be, too, after I settled shit with Shannon. While I should have been focused on plays and receiving and running and taking off from the line of scrimmage, I had been thinking about black curly hair all over my pillows and heaven-scented pussy.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I picked up my phone and called her.

“Hello?” She sounded distracted when she answered, more than a little irritated. 

“You still at Stamped?” I asked, barking out the question like Pomville had just snapped at me.

“Oliver?” The phone went quiet. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t look at the ID before I answered.”

“You always this rude to unknown callers?” A grin tugged at my lips, the urge to tease her unbearable.

“No.” She sighed, and I imagined a finger going to those curls, wrapping it around her finger before she tugged and let it pop back into place like a spring. “Just a crappy afternoon. What are you doing?”

“Headed to your place. I want to see you. We need to talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes.”

“About?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there.” And then I’d show her. “Where are you?”

“Um. I’m at Beaux’s. I can meet you…”

“No.” I wanted her in whatever bed she slept in for once. I wanted her to wake up knowing she’d never get the memory of me washed out of her sheets. Like I gave a shit if Beaux heard me. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

“Um, maybe we can—”

“Thirty minutes, Shannon. Be ready for me.”

I hung up before she could reply, but not before I caught the quick intake of her breath.

So fucking responsive. So beautiful.

Soon she was going to be all mine, because I had two choices: get rid of her before the season started so I could focus on only the game, or go all in so we could stop this ridiculous bullshit uncertainty between us.

And only one choice was acceptable.

I hopped off the bench, tossing the ice pack to the table.

“Hey,” the trainer, Alan, called after me. 

“Ice it, twenty on, ten off. I got it.” I raised my hand as I headed out the door, listening to him grumble about how we didn’t know shit. 

I walked carefully, my ankle tender and twisted but not sore enough that I couldn’t put weight on it.

The fact that I was injured, mildly, only gave me ideas on how Shannon could take care of me later. With her hands, her mouth, her thighs clenched around my hips as she rode me, taking us both over the edge.

“Hey.” Beaux slapped my shoulder, and his voice along with his touch was just the bucket of ice I needed to drown my erection. A hard-on in athletic shorts was too obvious. “We’re partying tonight, heading out. You coming, old man?”

I couldn’t help myself. “I’ll be coming. But not with you.”

The kid’s skin went green and he covered his eyes. “Jesus. Fuck. Don’t say that shit to me. I’m fucking serious. I don’t need that image—” He scrubbed his face and shook his head. “Seriously, you’re an asshole, Powell, you know that?”

I slapped him on the shoulder. “Have fun tonight. We won’t wait up for you.”

“Aw…hell. You’re doing it at my place now? Stay off the furniture.”

I hadn’t planned on being on it. At least not for long. I still wiggled my eyebrows as I pushed past him on my way to my locker.

“Dick!” he shouted and turned toward his own locker on the far side of the room.

Because we were men, and we thought with that part, and in the locker room everything went, I reached down and grabbed my semi-hard dick and shouted Beaux’s name.

“She likes it, though, you know? I think it’s good for her.”

“Damn, Powell,” one of our defensive linemen groaned. “That’s just nasty.”

“You’re nasty,” I shouted back. “Hale can take it.”

“Oh the innuendo in that one. The things I could say,” Rudolph muttered, earning another round of groans throughout the room.

“Don’t fuck with the quarterback,” someone else shouted. 

I thought it was the safety, Smith, but I turned back to the locker when I saw Hale’s cheeks had turned bright pink with embarrassment like Shannon’s did. I might have gone too far, but the safety kept talking.

“Quarterback’s pissed off at you and you won’t get the record for tight end receiving touchdowns this year.”

“I wouldn’t fuck with his record,” Hale said.

I turned to him, the fact that I’d forgotten all that lay in the palm of my hands…all that rested in his had been momentarily forgotten while my judgment became clouded with pussy. 

“Swear to fucking Christ, Powell, I wouldn’t pull that shit on you, no matter how much you piss me off. Don’t fucking hurt her. You do and I’ll kick your ass, but that shit won’t filter onto the field.”

I examined him then. It was the most serious I’d ever seen him, most determined about anything. Beaux was always so fucking laid back it was hard to trust him, but I couldn’t find a single part of him that didn’t seem one hundred and ten percent honest about his statement.

Something grew between him and me in that moment. Respect.

I needed it from him like I needed to give it to him, and that would earn his trust, both on and off the field.

“I hear you, kid,” I said.

I dropped my shorts and wrapped a towel around my waist. I only had a few minutes for a quick scrub-down before I could be at Shannon’s when I told her I would be.

I didn’t need to spend any more of it bonding with the men.

***

She answered the door to the condo as soon as I knocked, her hair disheveled and flying out behind her, and a little breathless. None of it matched the fury flashing in her eyes that she tried to hide as soon as I stepped in.

“Beaux called, said he and the team were going out tonight. Did you plan that?”

I grinned. “Fortuitous, I think, but no, I didn’t. Is that why you look ready to strangle someone?”

She groaned and moved toward the kitchen. “No. I’ve been on the phone with my friend Melissa all damn day because Patrick’s being a douche-nugget about my furniture.” She yanked the cork out of a wine bottle and filled a glass with deep red liquid. “Sorry, you want some?”’

“I’ll help myself to water. Who’s Patrick?”

“My ex.”

My head was buried in the fridge when she muttered the word. When I looked back, she was swallowing the wine like she was in a college chugging contest.

“Hey.” I walked to her and took the glass from her mouth, smiling as she leaned forward to get one more drop and then licked her lips to get any remaining ones that fell. “What’s going on?”

She shook her head and looked over my shoulder. “That’s not why you came here. Not to talk about that.” Her brow wrinkled and she looked at me. “Why did you come here? This morning…I thought—”

“We’ll get to that.” I opened my water and chugged half of it. I was stuck on her ex being an asshole—an asshole that fucked around with another woman and was stupid enough to get caught. Red blurred at the edges of my vision. “Tell me what happened today. Is that why you were irritated when I called?”

“Irritated, pissed, distracted and too busy to handle all this shit on my lap? Yes.”

“Whoa.” I handed her wine back. She was babbling and manic. Maybe the alcohol would settle her down. “Calm down. You eaten dinner yet?”

“No. I ordered pizzas a while ago.”

Pizza and massive carbs would mean a four-hour workout tomorrow instead of three. I didn’t say shit. She looked like she could reach for a butcher’s knife and fling it at the next thing that set her off. It wasn’t going to be me moaning about pizza.

“How about we sit and talk,” I suggested and then opened the door to the freezer. I was helping myself like I lived there and she didn’t say a word. I dug through bags of frozen vegetables until I found an ice pack.

“You’re hurt?” Her eyes jumped and her gaze quickly roamed my body before meeting mine.

“Twisted my ankle. No big deal, I swear.”

Her shoulders slumped a bit and for the first time since I’d arrived, I think she breathed.

I walked to the living room couch and sat down, propping my foot onto a pillow on the coffee table to keep it elevated. Once I was settled, I put my arm on the back of the couch and gestured for her to join me.

I tried not to let it bother me that she sat just out of my reach instead of curled into my side like I wanted.

We’d get there after she bitched about Patrick and after we talked about where I was taking us. She didn’t trust me yet and she shouldn’t. I’d been way too fucking mercurial.