Sacking the Virgin

by Ryli Jordan

  “I said no, and I mean that,” she says, shaking her head. I guess she's just playing hard-to-get again, and I try to think of what else I can offer her.

  “Well, I'll make sure and throw a touchdown for you on Sunday,” I promise her.

  Marissa rolls her eyes a little. “You'd better throw a touchdown, but not just for me,” she says, clearly trying to get the conversation back on neutral territory. “You're playing the Wildcats on Sunday, and they're our biggest rivals!”

  Chapter Seven — Marissa POV

  I keep glancing over at the roses for the rest of the day, my mind sidetracked by thoughts about Ben. God, if only I were able to act on my desire for him. He's being such a nice guy, such an absolute gentleman for the most part, and I have a feeling that I'm one of the few people who ever get to see this side of him. I feel bad for rejecting him, but it's exactly what I told him: there's no way I can jeopardize my job over this. No matter how much I want to just…

  I blush at the thoughts running through my mind, thinking back to the previous afternoon, after our kiss. I just wanted to melt right there, to go entirely pliant and let Ben use me however he wanted to. I wanted him to press me back against the door and kiss me again—this time, like he really meant it. I wanted him to-

  Well, there were a lot of things that I wanted. The moment I went inside, I was hunting for my computer and pulling up another of Ben's videos, imaging that it was his fingers touching me gently, that he was whispering those sweet words of praise into my ears. I came almost embarrassingly fast and quickly closed the screen, feeling refreshed, but not satisfied.

  So seeing Ben appear in my doorway first thing in the morning was almost more than I could take. And having him ask me out on a date… Well. That was one of the most difficult tests of my willpower that I'd ever had to undergo.

  There were so many great perks to my job, though, that I couldn't imagine giving it up—even if it meant I got to date Ben Price, for however long I could keep him interested in me.

  ***

  Here I am, up in the team box at the stadium, preparing to watch the game of the season, Kings versus Wildcats. If only my dad could be here with me! The view is amazing, and I'm so prepared for some serious action. The best part of all is, I don't even have to worry about covering this game; one of the more senior writers is going to do that. I just get to sit back and relax and enjoy.

  It's a great game, too. Ben is smashing it on the field. It seems like every time our team gets the ball, we're marching at least most of the way down to the other end zone and getting touchdown after touchdown up on the scoreboard.

  After the first touchdown, which Ben scores by himself, running it in after a successful blitz, he turns towards the team box and points. Of course, no one else really gets what he's doing, but I remember that promise from the other day, when he said he was going to score a touchdown for me. I only hope my blush isn't too obvious to anyone else in the box…

  Of course, our defense isn't doing that well, so the Wildcats are also getting touchdowns and field goals up there as well—but overall, we're coming out ahead, and we're all hoping for a clean win.

  It's late in the third quarter when everything falls apart.

  Our men huddle out on the field and then move into formation. Ben hikes the ball and falls back to throw, looking for an open receiver. As he's waiting for it, though, he gets blindsided and a three-hundred-pound linebacker slams into him.

  Ben goes down hard, and he doesn't get back up. There's silence in the box.

  As the trainers and Coach Jeffries run out onto the field, Ben sits up and grabs for his ankle. Even from where we are, it's pretty obvious that his foot is not hanging the way it should be, and Ben is practically white with pain. The trainers huddle around him, and almost in unison, we all turn our eyes towards the jumbotron, where they're showing a recap of the hit and the subsequent injury.

  In slow-mo, it looks really bad. We all cringe a little as we see his ankle snap to the side. There's no way it's not broken. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

  The paramedics are running out onto the field as well, and one of the little medic carts rolls over to wheel Ben off.

  I'm hardly thinking at all, my thoughts just a chaotic jumble of horror, when Mark drops a hand on my shoulder, causing me to jolt a little. His words, when they come, almost seem as though they're coming from far away.

  “I don't know what you did, Marissa, but Ben told me that the two of you really had a connection on Tuesday,” he tells me. “Now, we all know what Ben is like when he's injured”—he glances around the room, and everyone grimaces even more—“and he's...not an easy charge. We need to get someone over to the hospital, though, so that we can put out a press release. In light of this supposed connection that the two of you have...”

  I stare at him—surely he isn't suggesting that I, the newest member of the team, be the one to report on Ben's condition when something this important was happening!

  “It's just easy work,” Mark tells me, as though reading my mind. “You're not even writing a story about it. We just need the bare facts: what's injured, how long he'll be out, all of that. I'm sure you can do it.”

  “Okay,” I find myself agreeing—because what else am I supposed to do? I take one final glance towards the field and then rush out of the box, already on my way to the trainers' office so I can figure out which hospital Ben has been transferred to.

  Chapter Eight — Marissa

  When I get to the emergency room and finally get in to see Ben, he doesn't look so good. His face is almost as white as the starched hospital sheets, and he looks exhausted. His foot is up in a cast, in one of those ceiling slings so that he can't move it. But he smiles when he sees me, and I can't help smiling in return.

  “Hey Ben,” I say, making my way over to the bed. “How are you feeling?” I could kick myself for saying that—he has to be feeling as bad as he looks, I'm sure.

  But he shrugs one shoulder, his grin widening. “I'm not really feeling anything,” he tells me. “They've got me on some crazy painkillers.”

  “That's...good,” I tell him uncertainly.

  “I'm glad you came to see me,” Ben says. “You're like my guardian angel or something.”

  I snort. “If I'm your guardian angel, I'm doing a pretty bad job at it. The doctors say-” I cut myself off before I can say too much because I don't know what they've told him already. I don't know if he really realizes he'll be out for the rest of the season yet… And I definitely don't want to be the one to break that news to him, if he doesn't already know it!

  “What do the doctors say?” Ben demands.

  “That you're going to be fine,” I say soothingly, reaching out to smooth back his hair.

  Ben rolls his eyes. “Well of course I'm going to be fine, Marissa,” he says. “You've seen me; I'm practically invincible.”

  I can't help but laugh at that. “You are, are you?” I ask.

  “Oh come on, babe, don't try to fight it. You know you can't resist me.”

  I give him a full once over and arch an eyebrow at him. “Pretty sure I can,” I say. It's both easier and more difficult to deal with him when he's laid up in the hospital bed like this. Part of me wants to protect him, to kiss him and make everything better. But I also know that I can walk away at any time and he can't push me.

  Ben reaches out and catches my hand, pulling me down towards the bed. “I want a kiss,” he says, as though echoing my thoughts. “Come on, no one's watching. And I played such a great game for you.”

  I pull back a little, uncertain, glancing around the room. It's empty except for us, but that doesn't mean that no one can walk in, and it doesn't mean there aren't...cameras or whatever. I wouldn't put it past the paparazzi to rig up cameras in every room in the hospital just so they could spy on Ben in the eventuality of a situation like this.

  “Babe,” Ben whines, tugging a little at my hand, which is still grasped in his warm, strong palm. Even doped up
on painkillers and kind of out of it like he is, he's still stronger than me, and I fall forwards, putting out a hand on his chest, feeling how firm and muscular it really is.

  “How about this?” I ask, backpedalling desperately. I sit down in the chair at the side of his bed, but I don't have the heart to pull my hand away from his. “I'll sit here while you take a quick nap,” I tell him. “And then when you're feeling less...drugged out, I'll give you a kiss that you'll remember.” I figure it's safe enough to say that since there's no way he's going to remember this later.

  Ben pouts a little. “I'd remember it now,” he insists. “I could never forget a kiss from you...”

  I blush and duck my head. “Well, let's just-”

  “Please, Marissa,” he pleads, and I blink, taken aback. I never would that thought that Ben Price would be pleading for me to kiss him.

  Most girls would kill to be in my position.

  After a moment of thought, I stand up, as though I'm practically sleepwalking, and bend over, pressing my lips to his. It's okay if he's not going to remember it anyway, right? If there's no one there to see me. If…

  I lose track of my thoughts, concentrating on the way his soft, slightly feel as they're pressed against mine. He's dominating even like this, pressing his tongue into my mouth without a moment of hesitation, drawing a gasp out of me. I consider pushing him away, like I did the last time he kissed me, but I want to give myself this little indulgence, when I know there's no harm in it anyway.

  I let him continue to kiss me sweetly, trying not to whimper as he first nips at my lower lip and then sucks gently at it. When he finally pulls away though, I'm absolutely breathless, and I sit back hard in the bedside chair.

  Ben smiles at me, and I can't stop myself from shakily smiling back at him. I want this so badly, but I know I'm not allowed to have it. Unfortunately, that only makes me want it more…

  But I know I need to get out of there before I do something that I'll regret. I wait until Ben's eyes finally slip closed and he passes out cold. Then, I go out into the hall to call Mark and tell him the bad news: that the Kings' star player will be out for the rest of the season. The press are about to have a field day over this one—I'm sure there will be all sorts of speculations about whether Ben will be traded and things like that—and I need to push romantic thoughts of him out of my mind if I want to be useful to my department.

  Chapter Nine — Ben

  It's only about five hours of being at home on my own before I am bored and not sure what to do with myself. The thing is, I haven't had this much time to myself in forever—and whenever I do, I'm on the treadmill or at the gym or doing something else to better my game. I mean, I take breaks sometimes and play video games. But it's kind of lame playing video games against yourself and only slightly better playing against random people on the internet. But all my friends are at practice or the gym or…

  I'm practically tearing out my hair with boredom, and then suddenly it occurs to me that there isn't really any way I'm going to be able to cook dinner for myself anyway. I mean, even when I don't have a huge, awkward cast on my leg, I don't cook for myself. So now, well.

  I pick up the phone and call Marissa, whose number I have from when I had to pick her up for that charity event. She answers after the first ring.

  “Hey Marissa,” I greet her.

  “Ben?” she asks, sounding confused. “Uh, were you trying to reach someone else?”

  “No, I was calling to talk to you,” I tell her, smiling a little at how oblivious she is to her charms. “Marissa, I'm bored. I don't know what to do with myself. And I'm hungry, but the doctor said that I'm strictly on bedrest.”

  “So what do you want me to do, come over and cook for you?” Marissa asks, scoffing, and I'm struck again by how not like normal girls she is. Most women would be jumping at the chance to play nursemaid to me; Marissa sounds almost as though it's the last thing she wants to do.

  “Well, you wouldn't have to cook for me,” I say. “You could just bring takeout.”

  “You could also just order takeout,” Marissa points out. She sounds distracted, as though she's working on something else while she's talking to me. I can almost picture her there at her desk, her long hair falling messily out of its ponytail.

  “I know, but that wouldn't solve my boredom,” I whine pitifully. “I just want to curl up on the couch with someone and watch a movie.”

  Marissa sighs quietly. “Ben, I'm sure there are some other women that you can call up—even with that cast on your leg, you can probably arrange a whole orgy there in your penthouse.” She immediately makes a noise like she can't believe those words came out of her mouth, and I stifle a laugh.

  “Are you at work right now?” I ask her.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I'm trying to finish up the story about the children's hospital—but it has to have something about how you're out for the season now, I guess.”

  “Do you have to remind me?” I ask with a grimace. I'd already had a long conversation that morning with Barry when he'd come to pick me up from the hospital. The last thing I needed right now was to spend any more time thinking about my job—and I would think she would know that.

  “Sorry,” she says sincerely. “Fine, I'll come over after work—around six or so. But seriously, Ben, no funny business this time. I don't need-”

  “No funny business,” I agree, before she can start listing anything out. Hey, if she doesn't specifically say I can't do it, it means I've never agreed not to, right? That's my philosophy, anyway. “I'll be on my best behavior.”

  “All right,” Marissa says, sounding as though maybe she doesn't believe me. But she doesn't retract her offer to come over. “I'll bring some food.”

  “And beer?” I ask, making my voice especially pitiful.

  “I don't know if you should be drinking alcohol with all the painkillers that you're taking,” Marissa says, sounding uncertain.

  “I'm not taking the painkillers anymore,” I lie, glancing towards the bottle sitting suspiciously close to my position on the couch. Sure, it might not be the most responsible thing, drinking while I'm taking painkillers, but it won't be the first time I've done it. Anyway, I'm out for the rest of the season, so. It's not like I'm going to get too drunk for practice or anything like that. I can't practice anyways.

  That thought hurts—all the more reason to get some alcohol in my system, so that I can forget about that.

  “Fine,” Marissa says, but I can tell even over the phone that she's shaking her head. “Is there anything else that you need, your majesty?”

  I grin a little. “Well-”

  “Never mind, I don't want to hear your answer to that,” she interrupts quickly.

  I laugh. “Just get here soon,” I implore her. “I'm practically dying here.”

  “All right, all right,” she says. “Let me get back to work so that I can finish up here.”

  Chapter Ten — Marissa

  I'm a bit nervous about going over to Ben's condo. Okay, that's a lie: I'm incredibly nervous about going over to Ben's place. I know I probably shouldn't have agreed to this in the first place, but he'd sounded so...pitiful over the phone. And I had to figure that he was pretty upset about missing the rest of the season. The last thing he wanted at the moment, I was sure, was to hang out with the guys from the team, knowing that he wouldn't be lacing up to join them for practices or packing up for away games any time soon.

  I nervously buzz his penthouse, glancing around to see if there are any paparazzi lingering around. Fortunately, the coast appears to be clear.

  When I enter Ben's open studio space, he's lounging on the couch, shirtless. I can't help but swallow hard at the picture that he presents, there in the designer apartment—like some modern-day Adonis. He smiles sweetly at me, and I wonder if he realizes that I can clearly see his...nether regions up the leg of his flimsy gym shorts.

  He probably does. He's hot, and he flaunts it.

  I'm helpless to fig
ht the shiver—of excitement or nervousness?—that runs up my spine at the sight. I know I shouldn't be here, but it's too late for that now.

  “I brought beer,” I tell him lamely, holding up the bag. “And pizza.”

  “Oh my god,” Ben says, his eyes widening comically. “I haven't had pizza in forever.”

  “Oh shit,” I say, taken aback. “I probably should have asked what you were allowed to have on your diet. I wasn't thinking. I can-”

  “I'm out for the rest of the season,” Ben interrupts, his face flipping through a set of emotions before he carefully gets it back to neutral. “I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to work off that pizza before I'm back out on the field. Now, come here.”

  I hesitantly make my way over to the couch, setting the beer and pizza gingerly down on the coffee table. Before I've even sat down on the other end of the couch, Ben is digging into the pizza and taking a huge bite. “Fuck,” he groans, his eyes slipping shut for a moment as he savors the taste—and oh, that combination of his blissed out face and the peek at his junk is getting me hot…

  He opens his eyes and gives me a rueful look. “Sorry, I know it's pretty rude to talk with my mouth full,” he says, “but you can't even imagine how this feels right now.”

  I smile shyly at him. “It's kind of cute, honestly,” I admit, even though I should know better.

  But the devilish grin and the sex-fueled comment don't come. Instead, Ben just grins at me and takes another bite of his pizza. I reach out and help myself to a slice as well.

  “I was watching a movie before you got here,” Ben tells me. “Some comedy. Do you want me to start it back at the beginning?”

  “Okay,” I say. A movie is a good idea, right? No words necessary, so I can't say something stupid to embarrass myself.

  Of course, I'm not counting on the fact that it's way too easy to sip down beers as we watch the movie, and it takes me way too long to notice that Ben is moving progressively closer to me on the couch each time he comes back from the bathroom—or am I moving closer to him? Whichever it is, by the time the credits roll, we're curled together, his arm slung casually around my shoulders, and I'm close enough that I can smell his aftershave.