Romance: New Adult: One Game at a Time - A College Football Romance (Bad Boy Romance) (Sports Contemporary Short Stories) (19 page)

Harry took out some coins and put them in the coffee machine they were standing
next to
. ''Okay so he's a leader. But what about his behavior? Have you got anywhere with him?''

''I've had two days with him so far. Give me a bit more time. But rest
assured,
Josh is quite some guy.''

''I knew it,'' Harry said.

''What?''

''You're falling for him. God help us. If you can't sort him out, nobody can.''

Loren looked at Harry and wondered if he and his wife still made love. ''I'm not falling for him, not at all, okay?'' Harry nodded.

Loren and Harry spent the rest of the evening sitting on a sofa in the corridor.
Every now and then
they heard Josh talking. After six hours and countless cups of coffee, Loren nudged
Harry,
who had fallen asleep. Josh was standing next to them with all his siblings. ''Tubby we're going to London. They're all coming with me. We've said
goodbye,
and now it's time to go. I'll look after them all. I'll hire some help. My house is big
enough,
and it'll be great to have them all with me.''

''You and Loren will have to take the train back to London, there isn't enough room in the chopper for all of us.''

Harry and Loren looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

*****

''Loren, what a surprise,'' Josh said when he answered the door at his mansion the next day.

''Can I come in?'' she asked.

''Sure. But no stupid questions okay?'' Despite the loss of his mother, Josh was
horny; he
hadn't had sex for a few
days,
and Loren looked good enough to eat. She was wearing lip gloss. Lip gloss always turned him on, as did the black pantyhose she was wearing. 

''Can we talk?'' Loren asked.

''Come on it's four o'clock, I'm gagging for a drink. There's a great little place just down the road.''

''What about the kids?''

''
Mrs.
Booths looking after them. They're all round the kitchen
table
eating her chocolate cake.''

Josh told his bodyguard to wait outside the George and Dragon. It was a real English pub, the sort Loren had read about but never visited.

''Tony, my boy, get us a bottle of bubbly and a couple of glasses.
This is
Loren; she
's
American,
and she thinks I’m fucking mental.''

''You are, mate,'' the barman replied.

''Cheers. You're looking gorgeous today,'' Josh said to Loren.

''Josh, I want to be serious for a while.''

''Fuck me.'' Josh rolled his eyes. ''Don't you ever give up? I know you've changed your mind about me in the last few days. I can see it in your eyes.''

''Josh, I.....''

''And Loren do you know what's more?'' Loren shook her head. ''You want to screw me, and that's fine because I want to
screw
you as well because you're hot, and for my sins I've started to like you.''

''Josh, you
really
are the biggest asshole. No wonder they call you a prick in England.''

''I may be both, I may be neither, I don't give a dam. But I know when a woman wants
me,
and I'm looking at one right now.'' Loren put her hand to her neck and played with the pearls she was wearing.
He leaned closer.
''You like me don't you? You don't want to like me, and you aren't sure why you like me, but
you
do,
and you want me so badly, it's written all over your face.''

''Josh, what you did in Manchester with your siblings, it was....''

''Fucking shut up and kiss me,'' Josh pulled her to him. She tried to
resist,
but her body betrayed her. When his lips touched
hers,
she put her tongue in his mouth. He pulled away. ''See I told you, you were gagging for it.'' She pulled him back to
her,
and they kissed once more. ''Tony, we need a room,'' he shouted across the pub. Loren looked around, but they were the only ones there.

When they reached the door to room four, Josh unlocked the door and pulled Loren inside. He kissed her
neck,
and she moved her head to one side to give him better access. All the time she was fighting with herself. What she was doing was unprofessional, but whatever she said to herself she came back to the same theme. He was gorgeous, talented, and possessed mental strength the like of which she'd never seen before.

''Come on pretty lady, stop thinking about how bad you are. Relax, I wanna fuck you so bad, '' Josh said as his hands began to unbutton her blouse.

''Oh God Josh, you're so irresistible.
You just never give up do you?''

''Giving up is for wimps. I see what I
want,
and I get it. And I want you.''

Loren hadn't had sex for two years since she'd split with her TV presenter boyfriend. He'd betrayed her so badly she'd had trust issues with any man that came anywhere near her. She knew one day she would begin to trust again, but that it would happen with such a wacko as Josh she could never have imagined. How was she going to explain to Harry what had happened? She may even lose her reputation. But nothing seemed to matter
now; Josh
was going to screw her and boy
was
she ready.

Josh continued to nibble her neck and unbutton her blouse. When it fell open, he put his hand inside and felt her breasts through her bra. She tossed her head back and took out the clips that held her hair up. It
fell down
over her shoulders and
back,
and Josh gathered it in his hand and pulled her head back further. Loren groaned but was silenced by his tongue making small circles
on
of her many erogenous zones. He let her hair go and pushed her blouse from her. In a second her bra was lying on the floor next to
it,
and he was running his thumb over her nipples.

''You've got
the most gorgeous
tits I've ever seen.'' Her nipples were rock hard under his touch and so sensitive she felt a charge running down to her moist center.

''Take your clothes off, Josh. I want to see you naked too.''

Josh stood back and pulled his T-shirt over his head. She rubbed her hands over his torso feeling the tight muscles under his warm skin. ''I like the eagle,'' she said.

''You've never fucked anybody with tattoos before have you?'' he said. ''You've only ever been with posh boys.''

''Oh God, why do you make me feel so secure in your company?''

''Because you are.''

She ran her fingers over the eagle and looked into its eyes. They were menacing as if it was eyeing up its prey. Josh was eyeing up his
prey,
and he liked what he saw.

Loren licked her lips when she saw his hand unfasten the button on his jeans. He pushed his jeans and his shorts down in one movement. When he stood back up again, she moaned at the sight of his smooth shaft, rock hard pointing at the ceiling.

''Well don't just gawk at it. Come and get some,'' he said massaging his length seductively.

Loren had always hated porn. As far as she could see it was all about the man.
She
hated shots of women on their knees in front of men, sucking their cocks. But now she wanted to do just that. She wanted to take him into her mouth and taste him. 

When she
did,
he pulled her head onto him and moved in and out of her hot mouth. She so loved the smoothness and the taste of him, fresh and masculine.

''Go
on, touch
yourself, you know you want to,'' he said when he saw her hand loitering between her legs. ''Pull up your skirt and feel yourself.'' She looked up at him and saw his eyes urging her on. She hitched her shirt up around her waist, pulled down her pantyhose, and put her hand inside her panties. When he saw her fingers moving down below, he pushed deeper into her mouth feeling her lips encase him, and her mouth sucking on his tip. After a couple of minutes, he threw her off him. She looked up anxiously but soon realized it was her turn.

''I wanna taste you, Loren. You look so fucking good.'' He pulled her to her feet and pushed her back onto the bed. He ripped her pantyhose and panties from her in a show of strength she'd never experienced before. He took hold of her ankles, pushed her legs wide apart and buried his head in the softness of her womanhood. She screamed out his name as soon as she felt his tongue touch her clitoris. As he circled her tiny bud, he inserted two fingers into her and began to massage her G-spot. Loren wondered where he had learned to do that, but it was so pleasurable she didn't care. It was an attack on all
fronts,
and she soon began to pant uncontrollably. Josh was now so turned on by this wonderfully sexy professional woman, that his penis began to ache to be inside her. But he wanted to make her
come; he
wanted to feel her body quivering on the end of his fingers.
He
didn't have to wait long. A soon as he began to suckle on her clitoris, she exploded in
a loud,
brazen show of feminine sexuality.

She lay gasping for air as he took his shaft in his hand and inserted it into her. The feel of him
parting
her, filling her, was
wonderful,
and she wrapped her legs around him. She looked at him as she thrust so hard that he shoved her up the bed out of reach. He didn't seem to care. He got on the bed, turned her on her stomach and entered her from behind.
He was so forceful, the vibration of his thighs slapping against her buttocks triggered another huge orgasm.

''What are you doing to me?'' she moaned.

''I'm fucking you. Don't you like it?''

''I love it.''

Once again he pulled out of her and rolled her over. This time, he straddled her and held her leg up against his chest. It wasn't possible for her to be more open, more exposed to his gaze, more at his mercy. But she wanted to be all of those things. 

''Give me it, Josh, come
in
me. I want it all,'' she shouted when she saw how close he was. She gritted her teeth and rode out her third orgasm just before he said her name and exploded in her.

They lay on the bed for some time, exhausted. It was Loren who spoke first. ''What was that then?''

''What do you mean?''

''Was that a throw away fuck or did it mean something to you?''

He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. He kissed her on the mouth. ''A man like me isn't supposed to get all emotional. But if you want to know, it was more than
meaningful; it
was
special,
and I
wanna
do it again. A lot.''

*****

Josh stopped being a womanizer but not an Alpha male. He became Loren's
rock
.
He
didn't control her, he guided her, advised her and protected her. He also fathered her children, all four of them. One day when he'd made her come over and over, she'd admitted that
she'd loved
him from the moment she met him. But she'd had to stay professional. He told her he'd hated her at first but after a while, he'd noticed her sexy legs and wanted more.

They became
a celebrated
couple. A rock star and a psychologist, she ten years older than him, with a rock solid marriage and lovely kids. An exception to the rule, against all odds.

*****

THE END

''Screw this lock,'' Peter said, taking the key out to make sure it wasn't bent. ''Screw this apartment, screw this area, screw the whole world.'' He put down the bottle of wine he'd bought a few minutes earlier and inserted the key again.

''Maybe if you put your weight
against
it,'' Marion said. He turned the key and at the same time rammed the door with his shoulder. The door flew
open,
and he fell into the apartment, landing in a drunken heap on the doormat.

Marion picked up the bottle and stepped over him, anxious to open it and have another drink.

''Nice place,'' she said, already in the kitchen rummaging through the drawers to find a corkscrew.

''It's far from nice,'' Peter said. ''
In fact,
it's the worst place I have ever lived in.''

Peter looked at the phone and saw a light flashing. He pressed the red button and listened.

''Peter, where the hell are you? Probably out with one of your little tramps, getting drunk. Do you know what today is? It's Max's birthday. Remember Max, he's your son. We didn't expect you to send a present, but you
could
have
at least
called him. You were a lousy
husband,
so I guess I shouldn't be surprised you turned out to be a lousy father.''

Peter slumped against the wall next to the phone table and closed his eyes. How the hell did it come to this, he thought?

''Haven't you got a corkscrew?'' Marion shouted. Peter went into the kitchen and threw open a drawer. He pointed. Marion was relieved.

Marion was one of the regulars at the Dragoon Inn, a pub on Grafton Way, in central London. She was a legal secretary by day and a drinker and flirt by night.
She
'd had her eye on Peter Flowers for some time. She was bored screwing lawyers and
businessmen
. She wanted to bed a different kind of man, and Peter answered that description. He was very different from her usual type. He never wore a suit, always black jeans, black shirt and gray jacket. She'd never seen him without his
trilby,
and she liked the fact his wrists
were covered
in tribal armbands.

Peter had a variety of places to stop off at on his way
home;
the Dragoon was one of them. He went there a couple of times a week.  Marion had first noticed him
two weeks
earlier. She'd made the first move. Sitting at the bar alone, mulling over why his marriage had failed so badly, he'd been grateful for her company.
What's more,
he was charmed by her wide eyes, blonde hair and the way she rubbed her breasts against his shoulder when she sat down.

He didn't speak of interest rates, court rulings or the state of the national debt like most men in the Dragoon. He
spoke
to her about the new play at the Alhambra and about the latest book he was reading. A book about a divorced man and how his wife bled him for every cent she could. He told her he loved Rembrandt but not Picasso, and how long the queue usually was to get into the museum in Florence where Michelangelo's sculpture of David
was housed
.

By the time they'd finished their first glass of wine, Marion was already desperate to be naked with him. It wasn't just his artistic nature that attracted her to
him,
though. He was also very handsome. Tall with dark brown hair and blue eyes, his facial features reminded her of a smoldering film star. His chin was robust and his jawline angular.

After a few more glasses, she invited herself back to his apartment. It was just around the corner.

''Why do you think this apartment is
nice
?'' he asked.

''Okay, it's not nice,'' she tossed her bleached hair back. ''It's in a seedy part of town, and the door doesn't open very
easily
. It's the kind of apartment you would expect a divorced man to
live in
. But what I meant by
nice
is how you have decorated it.'' She turned the corkscrew one more time and pulled.
Nothing happened
, she gave the bottle to Peter.

He grunted as he pulled and almost
fell backwards
when the cork gave in to his onslaught. ''Decorated? I haven't done a thing to this place,''

''The paintings, the sculptures, the books. I love it. It's
messy,
but I love it.'' She walked to the door which led
to
the small lounge. There was a set of bookshelves on the far
wall;
the shelves bent by the weight of the
heavy
volumes they were carrying. There was a sculpture of some Greek Goddess, Marion didn't know. She sat down on the red sofa. ''No TV?'' she asked.

''I hate TV.'' He sat next to her. ''What the hell is ever on TV that is of any interest? When TV
was invented,
the world was full of hope for
its
role in society. It was supposed to inform and educate. It has failed miserably on both fronts.''

''Kiss
me,
Peter, I want you,'' she said. ''I've wanted you since I first saw
you.
You're different.''

''How so different?'' he asked rolling the stem of the wine glass between thumb and forefinger.

''You're artistic,
sensitive,
and you know how to talk to women.''

He laughed. ''Tell that to the bitch I was married to for eight years. She hates me.''

Marion took the glass from his hand and put it down on the floor. She put her hand on the back of his head and pulled him to her.

*****

A lot of boats cruise the Thames, most of them observe the speed limit. Just occasionally one goes far too fast, causing a huge wash. Such incidents were an occupational hazard for Marcella. She lived and worked on a houseboat just down from Battersea, a suburb of London.

''For heaven's sake,'' she spluttered as the boat shook. At the beginning of the
week,
she'd decided to start a sculpture of a javelin thrower.  At the moment the boat
started
to bob up and down, she was making delicate lines in the athletes forehead. Second time today, probably the same
boat
on it's way back, she thought. She put a strand of loose hair behind her ear and prepared to start again. At that
moment,
she cursed as the phone rang.

''Miss Horner?'' the voice said.

''Yes,'' Marcella said, trying not to get Plasticine on her mobile.

''It's Jamie Smith. From the bank.''

''Oh, yes. Hi.''

''Have you got a moment?'' he asked.

She looked at the
half-finished
sculpture before her. ''Yes.''

''It's about your account. I'm afraid you've gone over your overdraft
limit,
and we need to ask you to add some funds.''

Money, always money, she thought. ''Er....yes....I'll see what I can do.''

''I'm afraid until then you won't be able to draw any cash our use your credit cards.''

''I understand,'' Marcella looked out of the window at the sunlight shimmering on the water. ''Well thanks for letting me know.''

When she hung up, she sat down on the stool and wondered how she was going to be able to comply with his demands.

''Hello, hello. It's only me.'' It was Joyce, Marcella's middle-aged hippy neighbor. She was standing on the quay next to Marcella's Dutch barge. Marcella walked out of her studio and onto the deck at the stern of the boat. When she looked up at
Joyce,
she had to shield her eyes from the sun.

''What's the
matter,
dear? You look terribly pale,'' Joyce said.

''Come on board. Coffee?''

Joyce walked across the gangplank and waited
for Marcella
to walk back through the boat and open the side door.

''Marvelous boat, this,'' Joyce said. That's what she said every time she visited.  Joyce was a forty-six-year-old divorcee who had decided to sell her house and live on a boat. She was tall with prematurely gray hair a
very large
bust. She was terribly
forthright,
but Marcella liked that. ''Now tell me what's the matter.''

''Money, as usual.'' Marcella took two mugs
from hooks
above the sink in the galley, and put them down on the table Joyce was
sitting at
.

''Money. It's ironic isn't it?''

''What?''

''You the daughter of an Earl, one of the land's richest men, yet you have to struggle like this.''

''But you know the story, I've told you a hundred times. He won't give me a penny because I chose to study art. He wanted me to study law or
business,
but I'd rather be poor.''

Joyce looked at her. Marcella was still very young, just twenty. She looked like one of the young debutantes Joyce saw in magazines sometimes. She was aristocratic in appearance, her shiny black hair flowing down over her shoulders, ending halfway down her back. Her eyes were crystal clear pools of blue and her skin bronzed. Joyce had long since given up on her
figure,
but when she was
younger,
she remembered having
a figure
similar to Marcella's. Slender around the waist with curvaceous hips supporting
a tiny
behind, and a bust that pushed forth to meet the admiring gaze of any young man.

''If I'd had children, I'd like to
think
I would have treated them better,'' Joyce said.

''
At least,
I've got this boat. I love it.''

''Yes, it's the finest
houseboat
around. Your grandmother loved it too.''

''I'm so lucky she left it to me when she passed away. I will treasure it forever.''

''That was another anomaly. Your
grandmother
living on a boat. Wasn't she  Lady Simmons from Harwood?''

''Yes. She was very
posh
but alternative.'' Marcella poured hot water onto the instant coffee she'd put in the mugs and added milk. ''Did you want something or is it just a social call?''

Joyce was bored. Her usual tactic was to pretend she wanted to borrow something, so she could hang around and chat. Marcella didn't mind. She liked
Joyce;
she was her type. Arty. ''No just a social call. How are you getting along at college?''

''It's hard. Its' the London Academy of Arts, they expect a lot from their students.'' She took a sip of coffee and scowled. ''More sugar?''

''Sugar? If I have
sugar,
it'll have deposited itself on my hips by five o'clock this afternoon.''

''Do you want to have a man again?'' Marcella asked. She never heard Joyce talk about men.

''I'm off men for life. Divorce kills you. I don't want to go through that again.''

''But you could have a casual lover.''

Joyce burst out into a loud bout of laughter. Marcella grinned at her, wondering what was so funny. ''My dear, wait until you've had more experience with men. Men want it all. You may think you've got a casual lover, as you call it, but very soon they come
round
with their dirty clothes and ask you to do the washing.''

Joyce looked out of a porthole and saw two legs standing next to the boat up on the quay. ''You see. Here's your casual lover.''

''Hello,'' Mike shouted. ''Permission to come on board.'' Marcella looked at Joyce and smiled at the face Joyce pulled. A grimace.

''Yes,'' Marcella shouted.

Mike was very tall and had to stoop to get through the door and down into the galley. ''Mike, nice to see you,'' Joyce said.

Mike ignored her. ''I don't know why you live on this boat. It's far too small.'' In fact, the barge wasn't small at all. The only
narrow
bit was the entrance
into
the
galley
. Through the
galley,
there was a large sitting room and further down a corridor, two bedrooms. Each bedroom had
its
own
bathroom.

''Come out for lunch,'' he said to Marcella.

''Sorry Mike, but
I'm snowed
under with work.''

''But it
isn't really work
is it? I mean you make models.''

Why the hell does she bother with this man, Joyce asked herself? Okay, he was handsome, but he was a prize buffoon who had no understanding of his
girlfriend’s
passion for the arts. ''Of course it's work,' Joyce said. ''You work in a bank.
That's not work,
that's robbery.'' Joyce laughed heartily
again,
and Marcella wanted
to,
but didn't.