Shutout: A Playing Hard Novella

by Marie Johnston

  When we were finished, I carried the dishes to the sink. He cleaned up the counter and helped me load the dishwasher. We fell into a comfortable routine.

  What now? I had a sexual god in my house, but the more I was around him, the more I wanted to know him. It was beyond the enigma that was Coach Ortiz. Sam was a fascinating man with a depth of emotion I’d only seen hinted at.

  I wanted to know more, and I needed to know that this intoxicating chemistry between us was more than just sex.

  Chapter 3

  I reclined against the arm of the couch. Sam hadn’t seemed in a hurry to run off to the bedroom. After we sat down, he lifted my leg onto his lap.

  His strong fingers worked their magic on the ball of my foot. The blinds were closed and the overhead recessed lights were off. A lamp cast soft light around the room. Relaxing. Intimate. My eyes drifted shut.

  “So, rapid-fire round of getting to know you.” Because I had to know. “Have you ever been married?”

  “To my work.”

  I opened my eyes. “The serious relationships in your life couldn’t get past the hours?” The team played over seventy games within a few months. They traveled constantly and when they were home, it was about the training.

  “I didn’t find anyone worth changing my hours for. But, yes, the hours terminated a couple of budding relationships.”

  “A couple? Dude, look at you.” He couldn’t have spent much time single. “What about before you coached the Mavericks?”

  The corner of his mouth hitched up. “I played ball in college and on a collegiate team like the Mavericks. In the same league, actually. After that, I was an assistant coach at the university. The hours weren’t much better, but in my off-time, I helped my dad with his sprinkler business.”

  “Not a lot of women in the sprinkler business.” I couldn’t believe a guy like Sam would go through life having to work for dates. But he was more like a guy that threw himself into his work and didn’t make dating a priority.

  “You seem pretty interested in my dating life.” He hauled my other foot onto his lap. “I’m not hiding anything. I didn’t hire escorts, or pay for sex, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  No, Sam was too serious to take paying for sex lightly. “No harem at your condo who wait on your every need?”

  The humor drained from his expression. “No. The condo is quiet. I chose baseball over relationships for a long time.” His thumb stroked across my toes. “I don’t want to do that anymore, but I didn’t realize it was my job security.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. Foster. You asked what he had to say.” A muscle jumped in his jaw and his eyes filled with anger. “He alluded to the fact that I got the job because of my lack of attachments and he’d hate to see that change.”

  The nerve of that controlling bastard! Had the building not been as empty as I’d hoped, or had Mr. Foster assumed Sam and I were more than friendly when he saw us in the parking lot? “Especially with me?”

  Sam nodded. “Something like that.”

  I could imagine just what Mr. Foster had said. Was Sam supposed to date a woman who fit the image? A woman who wouldn’t consider the behavior of Len sexual harassment? I didn’t want the team to fail, but Mr. Foster could have a stream of bad luck and it wouldn’t break my heart.

  So I guess that was the end of us. The coveted job of head coach for the Mavericks wasn’t one a career coach like Sam would walk away from. Our brief fling was too fleeting to think he’d entertain a substantial attempt at a relationship.

  But he wasn’t leaving. Instead, he pulled my socks off and lightly trailed his fingers up to my ankle and back down to my toes. His gaze was introspective. Mr. Foster’s threat had to be eating at him. I knew as soon as I met the stern Coach Ortiz that he was a guy who’d dedicated his life to his work. To have it so easily taken after all he’d put into it had to taste bitter.

  “But you’re here.” Why was he risking it for me? We’d been acrimonious coworkers for years until the moment he stripped me down hours ago.

  “I’ve wanted to be here for so long.”

  Same. Only I assumed it was a one-sided and useless attraction. “How long?”

  “Since you said you weren’t going to waste four years of college and precious air for more words to tell me again that Dorian Johnson’s sprain needed more treatment than an ice pack and a couple weeks of light training.”

  Laughter bubbled from me. “That was my first week.”

  “And you were fresh out of college and ready to take on the world. Putting up with my shit was not on your to-do list.” He grinned. “I believe you said that during your third week.”

  My stomach flipped and preened. The smile transformed his face, draining all the stress, all the worries. Lamplight gleamed across ink-black hair, casting shadows into the grooves from his grin.

  “I didn’t say ‘shit.’” My heart pounded. I wanted to make him smile again. Over and over. I liked his serious side, but this lighthearted banter was an even better side of him.

  “You said ‘I don’t have time for egotistical mansplaining, I have athletes to treat.’ And you stormed off. I watched your ass the whole way.”

  I remembered that day. I thought my job was toast. But Sam hadn’t complained about me or told anyone how I behaved those first few months.

  “Another coach would’ve had me fired.”

  “Another coach should’ve realized that your best interest was the player’s health and without it, they couldn’t play in the minors, much less the big leagues. Mr. Foster hired the best trainer and I can’t believe he was stupid enough to let you go.”

  The gravity of my lack of employment returned. “Well, it’s done. I’m too insignificant to fight him and even if I got my job back, I couldn’t work for a boss like him again. And definitely not with his son.”

  “I’ll deal with Len.”

  “You will do no such thing. Your employment is already on the line.” Len shouldn’t be able to have so much control over two people’s careers.

  Sam shrugged. From the resolute look on his face, that was all I was going to get. His massage slowed. “Mr. Foster’s short chat tonight only brought up other things I’ve been thinking about. Frustrations with my work.”

  How could he be frustrated with work? This was the team’s best year yet. But Sam distracted me from asking by tracing his hand up my ankle, pushing my athleisure pant leg up as he went. “I love your legs.”

  They were my best body part. Defined abs weren’t in the cards for me, but I wasn’t one to wear revealing clothing or swimwear. My arms were toned and sun-kissed or sun-burnt depending on the time of the year, but finding tops that didn’t make me look like a Hobbit while trying to show them off was difficult.

  That left legs. Years of sprints, squats, and jumping jacks built calves that made it hard to find fashion boots to my knees, but so worth it. I lived in shorts and sporty capris. And having Sam take my yoga pants off was better than a cute set of boots any day.

  “Are we covering body parts that we adore? Because I’d like to see your chest again.” A girl could get used to a half-naked Sam wandering around her house. It’d been spectacular in my office.

  He sat forward enough to tug his shirt off.

  My mouth went dry. Unless he was going to laugh and say “gotcha,” sex was going to happen again. After his confession of Mr. Foster’s threat, I had assumed Sam would eventually leave when he thought it wouldn’t hurt my feelings, then not look back.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  Did I want to do this again, only to be the one watching his ass as he walked away?

  He chucked a finger under my chin. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your job…”

  “Let me worry about that. Right now, you’re my priority.”

  But for how long? Would I be okay with tonight? Tomorrow, he’d go to work and realize he risked too much, and I’d update my resume and hit the help wanted ads.r />
  I squirmed out of my bottoms before I overthought it too much. What better way to move on but a round of great sex?

  Cool air from the A/C pumping through my bungalow’s vents wafted over my bare legs. The heat growing in Sam’s gaze kept the goose bumps at bay.

  I dropped the pants off the side of the couch. “Your turn.”

  “Only if you go get the condoms.”

  Deal. I rolled off and found my purse. By the time I turned around with a packet in my fingers, he was naked.

  Whoa. That was a lot of man in my living room. His erection was achingly hard and straining for the ceiling. He hadn’t stretched out or moved from his spot.

  I licked my lips as I figured out my approach. His gaze caught on my tongue and I swear his cock swelled bigger.

  My shirt was still on. My breasts were protesting the restrictions of my normally uber- comfortable sports bra. It was like my nipples were demanding his tongue back on them.

  I did my best saunter toward him, but the look in his eye would’ve made me feel sexy whether I was wearing stilettos on the runway or tripping over my area rug.

  Hesitating as I reached the couch, I was trying to decide whether to spread out next to him and murmur “ravish me, darling” or straddle him and get down to business.

  “Come here.” His deep rumble went straight to my core, flooding it with wet heat.

  I closed the distance between us and stood at his feet. He held his hand out, and I dropped the condom in his palm.

  “Now take your shirt off.”

  I liked this game where he told me what to do. Hearing him call out orders and commands to others for years had only programmed me to listen to him. Sam was a man who knew exactly what he wanted from a person and how to get it from them. It was a trait that made him excel at being a coach, and I was finding that I liked that in the bedroom as well.

  Or in the living room.

  I stripped off my top and tossed it onto the pants. He shifted and wrapped a hand around his cock.

  It made me wetter.

  “Take your bra off,” he commanded, giving his erection a pump.

  The bra flew off like it had a mind of its own. I didn’t even know where it landed.

  He held eye contact and was about to rip the packet open when I said, “Wait.”

  He froze, his fingers primed to rip. I sunk down to my knees between his legs.

  A breath puffed out of him and he set the condom down. “Ava.” His tone was full of awe like he couldn’t believe it.

  I wanted to make him as wild and out of his mind as he’d made me on my desk.

  Wrapping my hands around his solid shaft, I stroked up and down, admiring his size and heft. His balls were tight like he hadn’t ejaculated in months when it’d only been hours.

  I pumped up, rimmed his tip with my thumb, and glided back down.

  He groaned, his hips rocking up with the move.

  Lowering my head, I took my time wrapping my lips around his broad head.

  “Ava,” he breathed again.

  I took him in deeper. The latex tang of our first round was still on him. I licked it off. Edging closer, I positioned myself over him and sucked him completely in.

  His pelvis lifted and he buried his hands in my hair.

  Twirling my tongue in time with the bobs of my head, I sucked and hummed. The way he fisted my hair, careful not to pull or push made me feel both powerful and precious at the same time.

  His thrusts became faster until he went completely still. Lifting my head off him, he said, “I want to fuck you again. If you keep going, I’ll finish soon.”

  He took my hand and drew me onto his lap. I straddled him. He reached for the condom, but I snatched it up first.

  “Let me.” I tore it open and tossed the packet behind me. Sitting on his knees, enjoying the delicious throb it sent through my needy body, I rolled on the protection.

  Sam didn’t yank me to him and immediately impale himself in me. He tugged me close for a kiss, his tongue diving inside. We devoured each other. Our shared dinner flavored his kiss. I rocked up and down, trying to find some relief when he pushed a hand against my folds.

  Yes. More.

  Like he’d heard my silent plea, he slid a finger inside.

  It wasn’t his cock, but it was enough to clench my walls around.

  I kept rocking and he matched my pace. My breathing grew more frantic, my moans louder.

  Then his thumb hit my clit.

  I ripped my mouth off him and gripped the back of the couch. I rode his hand hard. The feet of the couch scraped against the floor as I undulated on top of him.

  The pressure built, but I held it off. If this was my last night with Sam, I wanted to hang onto the way he played my body, literally squeeze out every ounce of pleasure he gave me. Because I’d never met a man who could bring me to this level of ecstasy with one hand.

  My impending climax was temporarily cut off when he removed his hand. I almost yelled at him, but he guided me onto his cock.

  His girth filled me as I slammed onto him.

  “Fuck, Ava.” He rested his head between my breasts. “You feel amazing.”

  His thumb was back and the orgasm found where we’d left off. He didn’t have to move, I did all the work, taking everything he had to give.

  I swayed up, then rammed back down. He tilted his hips to meet me, his hands digging into my ass.

  It wasn’t long before I tumbled over the edge. Tumbled was too tame a word. I’d held the orgasm at bay so long that when it hit, a scream tore out of me and I nearly broke the frame of the couch.

  I was dimly aware of him jerking against me as he came. Nonsensical words tripped out of both of us.

  My chest heaving, I tipped my head down to where his was still buried against my chest. He’d loosened his grip and had wrapped his arms around me.

  God, I didn’t want this to end. I didn’t want him to walk out and not talk to me again. I didn’t want to be forbidden.

  It wasn’t just great sex, and “great” was a watered-down word for it. Spectacular? Titillating? Exhilarating?

  It was how he remembered exact words I’d said three years ago. How he’d watched my ass and loved my legs. It was his consideration in helping me straighten up the office and carry my boxes out. The easy conversation at dinner and the cozy foot rub afterward. It was how he still held onto me so I wouldn’t go spilling off the couch in my post-orgasm stupor.

  Sam Ortiz was a great guy, and I wished I could keep him.

  Letting Sam in my bed, and further into my heart, would only hurt me—because it’d hurt him. If he followed through with dealing with Len, and then if Mr. Foster discovered we were together… Would Sam get an ultimatum?

  It wasn’t an image thing. Mr. Foster liked control and if he couldn’t get rid of me completely because Sam and I were seeing each other, he’d either make Sam’s job hell or fire him outright. Either way, it’d put Sam in a professionally tough position that I’d feel responsible for and I was starting at square one.

  I climbed off him and gathered my clothing. He took the hint that the game had shifted and disappeared into the bathroom with his arms full of sweats. While he was cleaning up, I got dressed—and made up my mind.

  When he emerged, I followed through with that decision, no matter how my stomach churned thinking them. “I…think you should go.” My gaze jumped off him to the front door.

  A crease formed between his eyebrows. I hated that I recognized it as his seriously concerned expression. It only appeared when a player’s career was on the line.

  “Was it something I did?” But his voice wasn’t clipped. It was full of worry.

  “No, nothing like that. But we’re at different places in our lives. I don’t want you to risk your job and I can’t sneak around, not after the way I was fired.”

  “We wouldn’t have to sneak.”

  “We both can guess how Mr. Foster would react and what work would be like for you. You’re going
to have an uphill battle even talking to Len.”

  “I can deal with it. I can deal with them both.”

  “And the whole time you did, I’d know it’s because of me.” I huffed out a breath, feeling as naked and vulnerable as I was minutes ago. “I have to try to land a job. I have no income coming in. To get through this, I have to be on my game. Not…distracted.”

  Understanding flashed in his eyes and then that heavy emotion I could never identify appeared. It wasn’t always the same, but now that I knew him better, I would call it disappointment.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  His lips flattened. “Me, too.”

  Chapter 4

  No messages. Not a one.

  Yes, I’d known the situation. I was an adult. But the wave of hurt that roiled through me every time my home screen showed no messages and no missed calls was unmistakable. Seven days of this, and it wasn’t just my pride that hurt. This was heartbreak. And I was the one that called the out before Sam could round first base.

  Maybe we could’ve made it work— No! I had my reasons.

  I’d fallen for Sam so easily because I’d lusted after him for years. I couldn’t expect him to be pining for me after I had sex with him and kicked him out.

  But maybe I hoped he was.

  With a sigh, I focused back on my computer. For the last couple of hours, I’d been stuck adding my most recent work history to my resume. I’d typed in “Head Athletic Trainer” and hovered there ever since. I could fill up a page with my qualifications, but I couldn’t get past the insecurity Mr. Foster had ignited when he’d said that damned sentence.

  It’s just not the image we want the Mavericks to portray.

  I’d given myself two days to mope, to go for long walks instead of a run, and to bitch about the Fosters to my bestie from college. I hadn’t told my parents yet. They’d have all kinds of “go get ’em” advice to fight Mr. Foster. Which I was going to do, starting with the detailed e-mail to the Mavericks HR department, cc’d to the league’s HR manager, that I’d sent before lunch.

  Perhaps it was the anticipation of a long, ugly battle alone that had me stalled over my resume. Who’d want to hire someone embroiled in a bitter wrongful termination case?