Forward Progress (Men of Fall Book 1)

by S. R. Grey

  And there it is.

  I start to interject, but Paul beats me to it.

  “Uh, I think that ship has already sailed, sis. You’re living with Graham in that big fancy house, remember? No way is anyone thinking you paid for it.”

  Eden shoots her brother the bird.

  Shit, this really must bother her.

  Stepping forward and touching her arm lightly, I say, “To hell with everyone, Eden. We all know the truth, and that’s what matters. But still, I think you should go with whatever car you feel most comfortable with.”

  She smiles at me. “Thanks, Graham. You guys are right, though. To hell with everyone else; let’s go check out the Audis.”

  Paul pumps his fist and shouts an exuberant, “Yes!”

  And two hours later, we’re driving off the Audi lot in a shiny new apple-red A6.

  Game Night

  I can’t believe I bought an Audi. I have no regrets, though. It’s a sweet car, and I really do love driving it.

  Graham likes it as well.

  And my brother freaking loves it.

  The three of us took it out on a few country roads this weekend to test its agility and speed.

  And wow!

  My new A6 is fast and nimble.

  It’s hot too, what with the bright red color.

  But the car looked its absolute hottest when Graham got behind the wheel.

  That man was smokin’ when he opened up the Audi, hitting ninety down a quiet back road.

  Oh, and I just found out, like ten seconds ago, that the Comets are beyond happy that I bought something nice and flashy.

  Jock just called to congratulate me on settling into my girlfriend role so adeptly.

  “You’re taking to this relationship like a fish to water, Eden.”

  “Thanks, Jock,” I reply, chuckling at his strange sayings.

  “Tonight is still very important,” he reminds me.

  I turn serious. “I know.”

  Tonight is über important; it’s the first regular game of the season.

  “The Comets will be watching,” Jock informs me. “It’s not just Graham and his performance that are under scrutiny, they’ll have eyes on you as well.”

  Gulp.

  “Okay, okay, all right. I’ll be sure to play my role well.”

  “Excellent,” Jock says.

  I wrap up with him and go look for Graham.

  He’s in the kitchen.

  It’s about five o’clock, and it looks like he’s getting ready to head down to the football stadium. He’s in faded blue jeans and a white tech tee, chowing down on a protein bar at the counter.

  I walk in and start pacing.

  “I swear, Graham, I think I’m more nervous than you are right now.”

  He chuckles, pointing at my moving feet with the protein bar. “It sure looks like it.”

  I make myself stop and, leaning against the counter, lament, “Ugh, I hate this. I’m a mess.”

  “What are you so worried about?” he asks, cocking his head.

  “Well, first, I just talked to Jock.”

  “Ah,” he replies knowingly. “He can be a bit extra.”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  Oh hell. I should just open up to him.

  Sighing, I say, “I’m supposed to be up in a luxury box with some other players’ girlfriends, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I don’t want to say or do anything wrong. What if I fuck up and give us away?”

  Smiling, Graham assures me, “You’ll be fine. Just do you, Eden.”

  I snort, “Me doing me is what I’m worried about. What if I put my foot in my mouth?”

  “You’re worrying way too much. First of all, there are several luxury boxes for the wives and girlfriends, and some even sit in the regular seats. Hell, a lot of them don’t even go to the games, so I’m predicting there’ll only be maybe one or two other women in there with you. Most of the seats in that box will be occupied by management.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Great. Just what I need. More eyes on me.”

  “Don’t worry,” he says softly. “They’ll be too busy checking you out. You do realize you look amazing tonight, right? I assume that’s what you’re wearing?”

  “Aw, thank you,” I reply, blushing. “Any yes, it is.”

  I’m not overly dressed up, but I guess I look nice. I have on skinny jeans, a super cute flouncy pink blouse, and cream-colored high-heel ankle boots. All sport designer names, having been chosen from my team-approved closet of clothes.

  Looks as if they’re Graham-approved as well, which is a little more important to me.

  I like when his blue eyes make an approving pass over me.

  That’s it, there’s no more denying that I really like this man. No matter how hard I try to stay neutral, I just can’t.

  It’s been like this all week too.

  Ever since the night we bought the Audi, Graham and I have stolen many hungry glances. I’ve caught him staring longingly at me so many times it’s not even funny. And I’m sure he’s noticed me doing the same to him.

  It doesn’t help that we get along so exceptionally well. He and I just mesh perfectly, it’s like we’re in-tune or something.

  And that only adds to our growing attraction.

  Speaking of attraction, Graham himself is really nice to look at.

  So I slip in a peek now.

  He’s turned away from me, so I know I won’t get caught.

  Ahh, the way his jeans showcase his firm ass. Perfection.

  And that tight tech tee he’s rocking totally accentuates his wide shoulders and back.

  Mmm, I’d like it even more if he lost the shirt.

  Wonder what his skin tastes like.

  Whoa, wait. Where’d that come from?

  I don’t know, and I’m starting not to care.

  A short while later, while I’m at the game, lusty thoughts are still on my mind. I’m up in the luxury box, and Graham was right. There are only two girlfriends of players up here with me, and, so far, they believe our phony Graham and Eden love story.

  I’m selling it hard, though funny thing is I’m finding I barely have to work at it.

  And why is that?

  I guess it’s because I’m pretty much infatuated with my pretend man.

  Can you blame me?

  Graham in jeans and tech tee was hot, but Graham in full pads and tight football pants—just look at that bulge!—is a true sight to behold.

  One of the women with me, Jodi, is dating a tight end for the Comets named Caleb. I’ve heard Graham mention him. He likes the guy, and they’re becoming friends.

  That’s why I’ve spent most of my time talking with her. That’s working out great, since the other girl is on her phone every second.

  Jodi is super sweet. She and Caleb haven’t been together all that long, and I sense there’s an interesting story there.

  But it’ll have to wait. There’s a game going on!

  Graham comes back onto the field for a second down, and as I peer down at him, a smile plays at my lips.

  Jodi, leaning in, says, “Wow, you sure can tell you guys are in the early stages of your relationship.”

  “Yeah? How do you mean?”

  She nods down to the field. “You watch him like someone who can’t wait to get him into bed tonight.”

  Oh my God, I almost die.

  If she only knew the truth—there won’t be any me and Graham in bed tonight…or any other time. We sleep in separate freaking rooms, for starters. Plus, I haven’t even seen the inside of his bedroom.

  Not that I haven’t wondered many a night what he’s doing down the hall in there.

  I imagine him lonely, like how I usually feel. In my mind, I’ve watched him reaching down, taking his cock in his hand, stroking the thick shaft while thinking of me.

  It’s only fair, as I always think of him when I can’t stand it any longer and have to find release.

&nb
sp; One particular fantasy I enjoy is pretending Graham has just come into my bedroom.

  First, though, he knocks…

  “Come in,” I call out.

  When he opens the door, the light from the hall illuminates his large frame. Graham is a mountain of solid muscle in my doorway, wearing nothing but dark boxer briefs.

  I sit up, the thin sheet falling to my waist.

  I remember then that I’m sleeping in the nude.

  “Oh!” I try to cover myself.

  But he implores me to stop, rasping, “No. Let me see you, Eden.”

  Graham walks into my room and sits down on the edge of the bed.

  I long for his touch so badly that I start shaking.

  He reaches out, his hand skimming over my breast. “May I?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  He cups me gently, his thumb grazing over my nipple, making me shudder. “More,” I plead.

  And Graham gives me more.

  He plays with one breast while lowering his mouth to suck on the other.

  I writhe, pulling him down onto me, wanting more.

  And then—

  Jodi grabs my arm. “Eden, oh wow. Did you just see that amazing play? Your man just ran the ball in at the goal line for a touchdown.”

  “Er, um, right,” I blabber. “I know. That was really great, right?”

  Too bad I actually missed it all.

  Missed it because while Graham was penetrating the end zone, in my mind, he was penetrating me.

  Let’s Celebrate!

  We win our first game and I’m beyond pumped.

  I’m not normally a hit-the-town kind of guy, but I feel like I should celebrate in some capacity. Too bad the only thing my teammates want to do is go out to a bunch of clubs.

  That’s a hard pass for me, for obvious reasons.

  First, I don’t really drink that much. Not after my painkiller days. But there’s another reason for my reticence—even if I did go out and abstained, the team would probably disapprove.

  It just wouldn’t look good with the image they’re currently trying to cultivate for me. I’m no longer just a guy in a committed relationship with Eden. Nope, now I’m also the newest hotshot poster boy for the Comets.

  Just a few days ago, management, having seen an old beefcake photo of me, decided to have me pose for a bunch of photographs with my pads on, but my shirt off.

  I guess those shots then went up online somewhere, seeing as yesterday I received a huge batch of fan mail, mostly from women.

  There were lots of letters stating variations of: You’re so hot, would you want to go out sometime?

  A few marriage proposals were even in the mix.

  Those made me laugh. I plan to show some to Eden. I think she’ll get a kick out of them.

  So yeah, due to all those reasons, clubbing is most definitely out.

  “Maybe some other time,” I tell the tight end, Caleb, when he double-checks to see if I might change my mind.

  He’s the teammate I like the best so far.

  “No problem, man,” he replies, looking like he does really understand. “I’ll catch you later.”

  He’s already showered and dressed, so he grabs his bag and leaves.

  I’m showered but still in a towel. I drop it and pull on boxer briefs and a pair of nice black pants. Then I put on a crisp white button-down shirt.

  Ready to go, I leave the locker room and head down the tunnel.

  I don’t go toward the parking area, though.

  No, I go back to the field.

  I have a little reflection to do, something I used to do in my former playing days.

  The stadium lights are on since the cleanup crews are still working, but all the spectators are gone.

  Shit, I can’t believe what a great game we had. We pummeled the Dover Sharks and won with a score of 35-21.

  And—this one makes me grin—I freaking ran in one of our five touchdowns.

  As I gaze out over the bright green turf, reliving each and every play in my mind, I can’t help but think of Eden.

  Wonder if she enjoyed the game from up there in the luxury box.

  I hope she got along well with the other women. She was so worried.

  Wonder if she saw me score.

  Did she see the stellar pass I threw to a receiver down field that put us in scoring range?

  Did she watch that play unfold?

  I realize then that I should just ask her all these questions, instead of guessing and wondering.

  Yeah, I should definitely do that.

  Taking out my phone, I start to type out a quick text.

  But then I decide to just call Eden instead.

  “Hey,” she answers on the first ring, sounding really happy.

  “Hey,” I reply.

  There’s sudden mock-concern in her tone when she says, “Wait, is something wrong?”

  Despite her teasing tone, I can’t figure out where she’s going with this.

  “Why would you ask that?” I inquire.

  “It’s just… Did you hurt your thumbs passing the ball tonight?”

  “No,” I reply, still confused as all get-out. “What makes you say that?”

  Laughing, she finally gets to the point. “It’s just not many people actually call anyone anymore.”

  Ah, I get it now. So I play along.

  “Is that so?” I say.

  “It is.”

  “So what do they do these days, Eden?”

  “Everyone texts, silly man.”

  Silly man?

  Shaking my head, amused, I murmur, “Maybe I prefer the more personal feel of a call.”

  “Clearly. But you’re lucky I answered. I generally ignore incoming calls.”

  I’m smiling like crazy.

  Why does this woman make me feel so damn good all the time? Why’s she making me smile so often?

  Softly, I inquire, “What made you answer this particular call, then?”

  She’s quiet for a moment, and then she says, “I saw that it was you.”

  My heart skips a beat, but I play it cool. “Wow, I feel honored.”

  Trying not to burst out laughing, she says, “You should.”

  I like that she’s comfortable enough to tease me.

  Feeling so good I can barely stand it, I say, “So what are you doing right now? Are you back at the house?”

  “Uh-huh. I just walked in the front door.”

  I hear her shuffling around, so it must be true.

  But that doesn’t stop me from asking, “Feel like coming back out?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “I’m in the mood to celebrate, and I can’t think of a better way to do that than to go somewhere with my girlfriend?”

  “Ha-ha,” she retorts.

  That one catches me off-guard. It kind of hurts hearing her dismiss the possibility so easily.

  But why would she not?

  Fuck, I’m being ridiculous.

  In a more casual tone, I ask again, explaining that I meant we should just grab some food. Nothing crazy and certainly nothing like a real date.

  She’s up for that, so we make plans to meet at a local pizzeria.

  “We’re so wild,” I remark, shaking my head.

  “We are,” she agrees, snickering. “Maybe we should really go crazy and order pepperoni on our pizza.”

  “What about black olives?”

  “Those too.”

  “Oh, you bad, bad girl,” I say slyly.

  “That’s me, Graham, the woman destined to corrupt you.”

  Man, if that were only true. I could get into being corrupted by Eden Vetterly.

  On my way to the restaurant, I can’t help but obsess over that. Oh, how I wish it would happen.

  By the time we meet up at the pizzeria, I’m so worked up that I can’t keep my eyes off of Eden.

  The fact she looks gorgeous as always doesn’t help matters. Her makeup is minimal and her long auburn hair is down. She’s still w
earing the skinny jeans and pink blouse she had on earlier but it’s not rumpled at all.

  Damn, she’s stunning.

  “Where should we sit?” she asks, breaking me from my perusal of, well, her.

  “Huh?” I so eloquently reply.

  She knows immediately what’s up, though she doesn’t seem offended.

  Good.

  Pointing to a sign, she says, “It says there we can just seat ourselves. So where would you want to go?”

  “Uh…” I scan the restaurant, which is moderately busy. “How about we grab one of those big circular booths in the very back? We’ll have some privacy there.”

  “Okay. Good call.”

  I’m happy that she’s cool with the plan. Already, on the way in, we were stopped twice by fans wanting to let me know what a “great game” it was, and then asking me for an autograph.

  Luckily, they were just kids asking. Last thing I need when I’m out with Eden is for one of those crazy letter-writing chicks to come up and ask for my hand in marriage…or worse.

  Once we’re seated in a booth, I say to Eden, “I think we’ll be safe from interruptions now.”

  She looks around and nods. “I’d say so. We’re the only ones back here. But really, Graham, I don’t mind fans asking for your autograph.”

  I blush a little. “Thanks. Still, I know it can be annoying.”

  “Nah.” She waves her hand. “You love it. I can see that.”

  “Ah hell, I kind of do,” I admit, chuckling. “I guess it’s because it’s been so long. I don’t know.” I shrug. “All I know is it feels good to be recognized again.”

  Smiling demurely, she says, “You deserve the attention, especially after the way you played tonight.”

  Wow, her praise warms my heart, and maybe some other parts of my body as well.

  Raising a brow, I ask, “So you watched the whole game?”

  “I sure did.”

  “Then I have to ask… Did you see the play where we were at the goal line and I ran the ball in for a touchdown?”

  For some weird reason, she starts blushing. Yep, her beautiful cheeks are definitely turning pink.

  “Uh-huh,” she murmurs. “I mean, I saw most of it. I sort of missed when you actually ran the ball in.”

  “Wait. That was the best part.” I pretend to be horrified. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Um, I’m kind of not.”