Seduced by the Football Player (3 page)

It happens unexpectedly; much more quickly than I’d anticipated. Spots are dancing in front of my eyelids, as my mouth falls open and a nonsense stream of cries comes forth.

Chris holds himself deep within me, waiting for the clenching of my muscles to cease. As I slowly come back to my senses, I realize he’s moving again. Another hard, fast, brutal thrust and then a second. And then his lower half is shuddering in short, sharp spasms, as his rigid shaft lengthens and violent jerks of hot fluid are expelled.

My arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, as my pulse beats hard against my eardrums. He makes a few lazy circles with his hips, and I feel some of our mingled warmth trickle from my entrance and down my thigh.

I jump violently, as a knock hammers on the door at my back.

“Mr. Hays,” a male voice calls. “We need you for a group shot.”

“Alright, just a minute,” Chris replies, his voice calm and strong. “Sorry about this,” he mutters, as he slips wetly from me and steps back. “I don’t want to leave like this,” he continues pulling up his underwear and jeans in one smooth move. “Will you stay here?” he asks, looking up, as he fastens his belt.

“Stay?” I ask, my voice decidedly shaky. I’m still leaning against the door, with my dress around my waist, my lower half completely naked to his view. I’m aware of these facts, but can’t quite find the energy to leave the security of the door.

“Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he quickly states. “But, you’ll leave your number, okay?”

Too brain fogged to really process what’s happening, I’m slow to pick up on the theme here. He wants to see me again. “Err,” I mutter, forcing myself straight and quickly acquiring some dignity, by rearranging my clothing. “Sure.”

“Great,” he smiles. “If I don’t see you, I’ll call you,” he adds, stepping past me, but pausing just long enough to press his mouth to mine.

Still punch drunk, I simply watch him leave. “Yeah,” I eventually say to the empty room. “Yeah, that’d be good.” Things have definitely changed since high school, I think to myself, as my wobbly legs manage to transport me to the couch.

Chapter Four

The office is always noisy, but this morning, it’s particularly so. The drone of conversation is muddling my head and the cackle of Penny’s laughter three desks away is slicing through my brain like a six-inch carving knife.

I didn’t think I’d had that much to drink the night before. Sure, I’d had enough to loosen me up, but I’d been completely in control…hadn’t I? The hangover I’m sporting seems to suggest not. And, in the cold light of day, I realize I made two horrible mistakes.

The first had been allowing Chris to take me from the safety of the very public ballroom. I should have known, and on some level probably did know, that all roads from there led to sex. Incredibly good sex, but that’s beside the point. My second mistake had been to leave him my phone number.

At first, I thought the request had been a formality; a line he used with the countless women he had meaningless flings with. Why I then took it upon myself to leave my card on the tiny coffee table, I cannot begin to fathom. That, along with the fact that I didn’t stop to think about protection, even though I know he has a reputation for getting around, remain mysteries to me.

I’d like to be able to blame the alcohol, to absolve myself of partial blame. However, I know those three or four glasses of tepid champagne had very little to do with it.

No, it was hormones; rampant, raging hormones, that had thrown all caution to the wind.

My head wearily droops into my palms. Without moving my face, my eyes wander to the left, where my iphone sits. Three missed calls. So much for the request for my number being for appearances.

But, why? Why did he want to talk to me? Surely, he’d got everything he wanted from me?

“Jasmine,” a female voice from behind me called.

Spinning in my seat with a speed I immediately regret, I turn to face Jan, my editor.

“Yes,” I reply, wincing.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” the pant-suited redhead asks, as she gestures towards her office.

“Sure,” I nod as enthusiastically as I can muster, while I slowly push myself to my feet. Following the harsh clip of her high heels on the shiny floor, I make my slightly less than graceful way to the corner of the bullpen.

Every part of my body feels heavy and sluggish, how much of that is the effects of alcohol and how much is self-loathing, I cannot say. I know there’s a large amount of self-hatred bubbling beneath the surface. At the moment, it’s taking a backseat to the headache and feelings of nausea.

How could I have been so stupid? My long-running obsession with him, the fact that he was the first man I ever felt any kind of sexual attraction to, is no excuse. I am no longer a hormone-addled adolescent. No, apparently, I’m a hormone-addled twenty-three-year-old.

“Take a seat, Jasmine,” Jan offers, bringing me back to the present.

I gratefully do as she asks, sinking inelegantly into the high-backed leather chair opposite her desk.

“I need to speak with you about the Panther Sports piece,” she continues, sauntering around the table and slipping into her own seat.

“Oh,” I reply uselessly.

“It’s a little….” she pauses, her face creasing as she tries to find the right adjective. “Thin,” she eventually plumps for.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly the burning of Rome,” I grumble in reply, crossing my legs, as I try not to dwell on last night. “Truth is, the press event was extremely boring.” I shrugged. “Not much to write about really.”

She allows the merest hint of a smile. “I realize that,” she relents, her eyes lifting to mine. “But we’re not exactly the New York Times, either,” she adds.

I lift one shoulder half-heartedly. “I don’t know what to tell you,” I sigh. “The night was very dull. I’ve given you descriptions of the new sportswear they were launching, but there wasn’t much more I could say.”

“Didn’t you get a one-on-one with any of the stars they had attending the event?” she persists.

I felt my face flush, as I immediately relived the one-on-one I’d had. “I…umm,” I stammer. If I say, ‘no’, she’s going to counter it with ‘why?’

If I say, ‘yes’, she’s going to expect some copy on the interview. The interview is non-existent, and the answer to ‘why?’ would be, ‘because I was too busy having the best sex of my life.’ In short, whatever I say to her, I’m screwed. “I…” I continue to babble.

Then, fate smiles on me. A light tap on the door saves me from further aborted efforts to speak.

“Sorry to interrupt, Jan,” Johnny, one of the young interns, states, pushing his upper body through the open doorway. “There’s someone here to see you, Jasmine.”

“Me?” I blurt in confusion, once again regretting the sudden movement, as I twist in my seat,

“Yeah,” he confirms, running his right hand through the slightly too long bangs that rest on his forehead and fall into his eyes. “Chris Hays,” he adds. “Says he has an appointment with you.”

“Huh?” is all I can manage.

“Oh, good,” Jan says. Although I’m no longer facing her, the tone of her voice, tells me that she’s beaming. “So you did get a one-on-one,” she continues, excitedly. “Well, it’s very good of Mr. Hays to come all the way down here.”

“Yeah,” I nod numbly, trying to force a weak smile on my lips. It doesn’t work.

Chapter Five

I lead Chris through to one of the large conference rooms. It has an oval shaped glass table in the center, with eight chairs spaced around it. On the far wall, there’s a 40 inch LED flat screen, which currently displays the newspaper’s logo written in bold red.

Other than a buttock-clenching awkward, ’Hi’, when I saw him standing patiently by my desk, I haven’t managed to say a word to him.  He’s remained silent, too. However, casting surreptitious glances at him, I see him smile warmly, clearly not suffering from any similar embarrassment.

“Take a seat,” I suggest, watching his broad, strong back, as I close the door quietly behind us.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, not bothering to actually place himself in a chair and settling for perching on the edge of the table.

My eyes immediately dart to his thick, muscular thigh as it’s pressed against the fabric of his charcoal gray tracksuit pants. But his hand is soon obscuring my view.

“I take it your editor assumes I’m here for an interview,” he comments casually, as one sneakered foot swings back and forth.

Avoiding his gaze, as I make my way further into the room and take a seat approximately opposite him, I reply, “Yeah, we were just discussing the Nike launch and she mentioned that my article needed something more.”

“So, when I turned up, she assumed I was the something more?” he asks, with a hint of a smirk.

“Something like that,” I shrug.

“Is that why you haven’t been answering my calls? Was it just a ruse to get me to come down here?”

“No,” I quickly assure him.

“Then why haven’t you been answering my calls?” he counters, the smile vanishing from his face, as he regards me closely.

Feeling like a bug under a microscope, I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat. What is it they say? The best defense is offense.

“Why have you been trying to call me?” I challenge, folding my arms beneath my bosom and leaning back in my chair. “I mean, surely you get everything you want from me last night?”

His strong jaw falls open slightly, as his brow creases with incredulity. “Excuse me?” his deep, warm voice scoffs.

“You had your fun,” I continue, ignoring what seems to be genuine surprise on his face. “Time to move on to the next conquest, isn’t it?” As the words flow, I push my chair back and rise to my feet. Not entirely sure what I’m doing, I march toward the door. “So, I figure we don’t have anything to talk about,” I finish bluntly, throwing the door open wide and standing aside. With a dramatic gesture of my right hand, I offer him the way out.

His upper body had followed me, and is now twisted around so he’s half facing me and the door. Disbelief is still etched on his face. I guess this is because he’s unused to women calmly accepting that one night was just one night.

“Have I done something to offend you?” he asks, cocking his head to one side.

“Look,” I sigh, reluctantly tugging the door closed, in case my next words are overheard. “I know that I’m just one among hundreds, maybe even thousands,” I pause, as that thought prompts a fresh wave of nausea. “So, you’ve had me. It’s time to move on to some fresh meat, right?”

“Hey,” he objects, running a hand through his short crop of blonde hair. “What makes you think any of that crap is true?”

“What?”

“All that bull about my reputation that’s printed in the tabloids,” he explains. “What makes you think it’s true?”

I chuckle humorlessly. “You seem to forget,” I sigh. “I know it’s not for nothing you’ve got that reputation.”

“I thought I told you last night,” he quickly interjected. “I did not sleep around in high school.”

“It’s not just that,” I shook my head. “What about us?” I ask. “You make a habit of taking strange women into dressing rooms and-”

“You’re not a stranger,” he interrupted on a laugh. “Jesus,” he chuckles. “I’ve known you for what? Eight years?”

“We haven’t seen each other in seven,” I matter-of-factly respond. “And I wouldn’t say we knew each other in school. Would you? Can you even name a time we talked?”

“This is stupid,” he blurts, pushing himself from the table. “I’m telling you, I didn’t sleep around and I don’t sleep around.” Taking two steps toward me, he looms at least a foot above me. As he folds his arms across his chest, my eyes are drawn to the biceps that swell, stretching the cotton of his white T-shirt.

“I’m here because I want to talk to you,” he adds. “If you don’t want to talk to me, fine. But just say so,” he almost shouts. “Don’t use some dumb excuse.”

I don’t know how to reply. I’m aware that my mouth has fallen open and that my breath is suddenly coming faster. His sudden flash of temper, something I’ve never seen before, is making me weak kneed. I lift my gaze to those icy blue, dangerous eyes. There I see something other than anger. His pupils are dilated, making the iris almost completely black.

Suddenly, he swoops forward, closing the distance between us and pressing me against the wall. Unhesitatingly, his lips find mine in a passionate, hungry, demanding kiss. His hands are at my hips, but they quickly smooth up my torso. Covering my breasts with his large, strong hands, he rubs his palms forcefully against my blouse-covered nipples.

Initially caught off guard, I passively relent. However, it doesn’t take long for me to return his passion. Grasping the back of his head, I pull his face closer, opening my mouth to welcome the invasion of his tongue. I’m arching my back, pushing my breasts more firmly into his hands, as I feel the beginnings of his erection against my belly.

“Wait,” I suddenly gasp, wrenching my lips from his, but not quite finding the strength to move any other part of my body away from him. “We can’t do this.”

Not easily distracted, Chris continues to place open mouthed kisses down my neck, sucking at the soft skin. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” he mutters, gripping the thin flesh at my collarbone between his teeth.