Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set

by Bishop, S. J.

  Dash was vulnerable. I couldn’t imagine what divorce must do to an ego. It was understandable that he’d be on the rebound, but me – I didn’t have an excuse.

  I stopped at the local gourmet shop on the way home and picked up a sandwich and a big bottle of Belgian beer. I reached into my bag to pull out my wallet and hit my phone instead. Realizing that I hadn’t checked it since lunch, I pulled it out of my bag. Oh, fuck. I had two texts: one from a teammate asking for a ride tomorrow, and one from Dash.

  I shot back a quick response to my teammate (yes I could pick her up). Dash’s text was short: Sorry about last night. U have time to talk?

  I swallowed. I’d need to finish that beer, and maybe a bottle of wine, before I got the courage to talk to Dash again.

  God, just the thought of him sent heat rushing between my legs. I shook my head, biting my lip. I had a real problem.

  I had just hit the steps to my apartment, and was fishing around in my bag for the keys, when I heard him. “Annie!”

  I turned, hoping I was imagining his voice, but I wasn’t. Dash stepped out of a black car.

  I swallowed and waited while he paid the driver and sent the limo on its way.

  “I sent you a text,” he explained, striding up to my door.

  “I just got it a few minutes ago.”

  Shit. We were both standing there awkwardly. Why was he here?

  “Can I come in?” he asked. He looked serious, intent. I couldn’t very well keep him out here on the stoop.

  “Yah, come on in,” I said, unlocking my door and ushering him upstairs. Dash climbed the stairs two at a time, and I had to force myself not to stare at the way his butt flexed against the fabric of his athletic shorts. He must have been filming again today.

  I unlocked the door to my apartment and stepped in before him, letting him close the door. Then I headed for my kitchen. I had a sandwich to eat. Whatever Dash wanted to say to me, he could say.

  “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” said Dash, hesitating in the entrance of the kitchen. I pulled out a chair and sat, using my keychain to pop the top off of my beer. There was no need to use a glass. I wasn’t trying to impress him anymore. I picked up the bottle and took a long draught. I could feel his eyes on my throat as I swallowed.

  I set the beer down, picked up my sandwich, and was slightly irked when he picked up the beer and took a long drink.

  “What idea am I supposed to be getting?” I asked him.

  Dash looked unguarded for a moment, and slightly embarrassed, but then he cleared his throat. “What I mean is that, I’m not here for a booty call.”

  “Got it.” So, why the hell are you here?

  “I understand that we crossed a line last night that we shouldn’t have crossed,” he said. “And I know I probably shouldn’t have come over tonight…” he stopped speaking and ran a hand through his hair, mussing the blond strands. I wished he wasn’t so goddamn beautiful. It would be easier to be angry.

  I took a big bite of my sandwich, but my stomach turned traitor. I got nauseous when I was nervous.

  “…but, I don’t know,” he finished weakly, waving a hand. “I just… I didn’t want to be alone tonight in my hotel. I didn’t want to fly home to Boston early and sit alone in my apartment. I didn’t want to go out and get drinks with Ted Schnieder or Dino Roberts or Blaire Hopkins. I just wanted to sit on your couch and watch a movie. So, I’m here.”

  And we weren’t going to talk about what had happened last night. That much was clear.

  He was in need, and he’d come to me. I didn’t want to analyze it any further than that. I didn’t want to examine my own motives or the elation that was blossoming deep within my chest.

  “Okay,” I said, setting my sandwich down. “My movies are over here.”

  I showed Dash to my DVD collection and watched him frown over the titles Rebecca and An Affair to Remember.

  “I like old movies.” I sounded more defensive than I’d meant to.

  Dash’s grin was hesitant, but when he looked into my face and saw my irritation, his grin became a full-blown smile. He shrugged and pulled out Notorious.

  Dash settled into my sofa (a glorified love seat), propping his feet on my coffee table while I put in the film. He was still smiling when I turned around.

  “The English teacher with a collection of old, Romantic movies. What a cliché,” he teased. “Who’s your favorite leading man? Clark Gable? Cary Grant? Lawrence Olivier?”

  I was not going to admit to being a Gary Cooper fan, so I kept my mouth shut and took a seat on the opposite end of the loveseat. Dash seemed to take up the whole thing.

  As the movie started, Dash got up and turned off the lights so that only the lamp atop the bookshelf illuminated the small living room. When he settled himself back in, our legs were touching.

  I tried to nonchalantly pull my leg closer to me, but there was little room, and I ended up hugging my thighs. Dash had claimed my beer and then decided to share. We passed the bottle back and forth until it was gone. I could barely concentrate on the movie. My eyes kept straying to Dash’s perfectly carved face, to his tired eyes, and to the way his short-trimmed hair was brushed back from his brow.

  Dash, on the other hand, seemed perfectly focused on the film, his eyes trained on Ingrid Bergman as she drew on her cigarette.

  I tried to lose myself in Cary Grant’s beautiful accent and his self-assured smile. Dash reached up and grabbed the crocheted blanket from the back of my couch. It wasn’t cold, but when he placed it across his lap and offered it to me, I stared at the blanket a moment, my heart hammering. My mind returned to last night, to how Dash had felt, sliding between my thighs and filling up every inch of me. Heat pooled in my stomach, and I relaxed on the couch, sliding closer to get under the blanket.

  Our thighs touched.

  As Ingrid Bergman glided through Claude Rains’ dinner party, Dash’s arm slid across the back of the sofa, his fingers dangling casually just above my shoulder. After an eternity, Dash’s hand dropped, coming to rest heavy on my shoulder. He waited, as if to see if I would move away. I should have moved away, but I didn’t.

  When he turned me gently toward him, I was ready. He didn’t say anything; he just looked into my eyes for a moment. He seemed to see what he wanted because his lips descended a moment later.

  This was no desperate, barely controlled kiss. This was slow, delicate, and intentional. His mouth moved sensuously against mine, his lips teasing until I opened for him. Then his tongue swept in. The kiss deepened. He pulled me into him, his hand sliding under my hair.

  When he broke away, it was only for a moment, and his mouth fastened, hot, on the skin just below my ear. “I can’t help it, Annie. I can’t be this close to you and not be inside you.”

  This was a dream, clearly, and I could do anything I wanted because I was going to wake up any moment.

  “Dash,” I gasped as he shifted so that I was on top of him, my skirt shoved up almost to my hips. Dash’s erection pressed against the fabric of his shorts, hitting my clit through the thin cotton of my thong.

  We made short work of our clothes. Dash tugged off his t-shirt and nearly tore the buttons off my blouse in his attempt to get it over my head. He didn’t bother taking off my skirt; he hiked it higher and pulled my thong to the side, sliding his fingers into me as his tongue slid inside my mouth.

  I writhed against his hand, moaning for more, and he gave it to me. He positioned himself at my entrance and held my hips, guiding me slowly up and down his shaft until he was seated all the way inside me.

  I tilted my head back, reveling in the feeling of fullness. Then I started to move.

  Dash closed his eyes and tipped his head back, the cords of muscle in his neck standing out as he held his breath. I rode him slowly, savoring the feel of each stroke and leaning forward so that my clit rubbed against his pubic bone, so that his shaft hit just the right spot inside me. Oh god, I was all heat and flame, burning from within. T
he more I moved, the more frantic I became, until I was gasping for him.

  Dash took control then, guiding me in an inexorable rhythm, carrying me closer and closer… My orgasm ripped across my senses, obliterating me completely, rippling through me like wildfire.

  But Dash wasn’t done. He urged me on, his head bowing to take one of my nipples into his mouth. His teeth scored the sensitive tip, and I whimpered as he surged against me.

  Suddenly, he scooped me up, standing and moving swiftly toward the bedroom. I could only cling to him as he moved; he lay me down on my back and moved to cover me again, sliding in deep and hard.

  I cried out.

  “Again,” he rasped, bringing my knees up and driving even deeper than I thought possible. “Come for me again, Annie.”

  “I can’t!” I cried out as he angled himself to press against me. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Oh god!” I chanted as that inexorable pressure began to build again. Dash was close; his rhythm picked up, and my second orgasm crashed over me. Above me, Dash roared, coming hard and deep inside of me.

  I don’t know how long we lay there, but as my heart rate settled and a heavy contentedness settled in my limbs, I wondered how he was going to handle this one. Was he going to run away again? Pretend it had never happened?

  Dash moved sleepily, sliding out from between my legs and rolling so that he was spooning me. His arm draped heavily across my hips and, as the emotional toll of the last day sank in, I had the sleepy, fleeting thought that this couldn’t happen again. He’d come over because he’d felt lonely, and I’d been a good way to drive away the loneliness. But the truth of the matter was that I loved Dash, and I couldn’t afford to have my heart broken any more than it was already going to be.

  10

  Dash

  Upon waking up in Annie’s bed alone, I had a vague recollection of Annie sneaking off around 6 in the morning to go row. I rubbed my eyes. It was 8 AM. Who the fuck had early morning practice on a Saturday? Not even professional football players were that crazy.

  I’d made a decision last night while watching Ingrid Bergman marry the wrong man: I was through fighting my attraction to Annie. There was no real reason why we couldn’t fool around. Annie was fun, sweet, and incredible in bed. I had another few days before I had to report back to Boston for some pre-season meetings. Maybe I could get her out of this cramped little apartment and spend a few days down in Virginia, at a B and B, touring around wine country.

  I got up and took a shower, dragging on the jeans and black t-shirt I’d brought to the shoot. Donning a hat and sunglasses, I grabbed an Uber down to Water Street. I had a vague idea from Google where Annie’s boathouse was located. I grabbed a coffee along the way and arrived just in time to see her boat pull into the dock.

  I didn’t know much about rowing, but I couldn’t help but be impressed when Annie climbed out of the boat. At the shoot, or around her sister, she’d always seemed so self-conscious, so aware of how people perceived her. Here, she didn’t seem to notice. She moved with brusque intention and laughed at something a teammate said.

  I hovered near the entrance, trying to look inconspicuous. But as soon as Annie turned to head to the locker room, she saw me.

  “Looking good out there,” I said as she got close. She was wearing a pair of criminally short spandex shorts and a tank top. Her tight sports bra created a delicious line of cleavage that I had trouble taking my eyes off of.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, looking disconcerted.

  I blinked. I thought she’d be happy to see me. “I came to see if you wanted to grab breakfast.”

  I was startled that she even had to think about it, but she hesitated a moment before nodding. “Yes. I’m starved, and there’s a place on the boardwalk where I can eat dressed like this.”

  She grabbed her crew bag, waved to a few of her teammates, and ushered me out the door and down toward the boardwalk.

  The place she picked was cafeteria style. I filled a container with eggs and some turkey sausage and grabbed a bottle of water. Annie had grabbed eggs, bacon, toast, and home-fried potatoes. She paid for hers before I could make it over to the counter and was sitting in a booth in the back by the time I’d paid.

  “Bummer you had to run off this morning,” I said, squeezing in across from her. I offered her a smile, but she didn’t return it. Instead, she looked down at her hashed browns and shrugged.

  “I can’t call out of practice last minute. If I don’t show up, the boat doesn’t row.”

  “Not a big deal,” I said. I took a bite of my eggs, and we ate for a silent minute or two before I gathered up the nerve to speak again. I don’t know why I was so nervous; maybe because Annie was looking a bit forbidding. “Listen, I’m supposed to fly out in a few hours, but I was thinking of changing my schedule.”

  Annie looked up from her tray. If I had to read her expression, she looked worried. What on earth was she worried about?

  “I had a good time with you the last few nights. I thought you might be interested in coming to Virginia with me, relaxing in wine country for a few days.”

  “Today’s Saturday,” said Annie.

  I nodded. “Yes. All day.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday, and I’m back to work on Monday.” She shook her head. “Thanks for the invite, but I can’t skip work… or practice, for that matter.”

  I felt like an idiot. I had completely forgot that, just because I had a few days off, didn’t mean she did. Shit. Rally, Dash.

  “No big deal. We can go just for tonight and spend tomorrow driving around the hills. I’ll have you back before you turn into a pumpkin.” I grinned at her.

  Annie pressed her lips together. I watched her inhale deeply through her nose before she looked up to meet my eyes. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. The DC paparazzi know that you were only here for a three-day shoot. If you stay here, they’ll follow you. They’ll take our picture. It’ll get back to Becca.”

  Annie shook her head. “I had a lot of fun with you, Dash. I just don’t think this should go further. I think it’s probably better for both of us if we stop this here.”

  I felt like I’d been sacked by a Stealers lineman. I felt…fuck, I felt vulnerable.

  I realized I was just staring at her, and I tried to rally. “Yah,” I said. “Of course, you’re right…” But I hadn’t been expecting her to say no outright. Especially not after last night. Fuck, I’d made her come twice.

  I realized I was getting angry and that if I didn’t get up and leave, I was going to say something I’d regret. Taking a deep breath, I stood.

  “In that case,” I said, “I’d better make sure I catch the flight I booked.”

  Annie blinked. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t realize…of course.” She stood. “It was. Ah. It was great seeing you, Dash.”

  Did she have to my name like that? She sounded wistful. Was I reading her wrong? Did she want me? I reached down; I couldn’t help myself. I pulled her into a hug and felt her lips press softly against my cheek. “See you,” she said, but the way she said it didn’t sound as if she planned on seeing me any time soon.

  11

  Anne

  “I think I’m going to have the hanger steak,” said Pete, setting his menu down with an air of decisiveness. “Were you looking at the pasta?”

  “Nope,” I said. The pasta happened to be the cheapest entre on the menu, and if I had to suffer through this dinner with Pete, then I was going to order something pricy. Because I’m worth it!

  “The hanger steak looks good,” I said, setting my menu down too and sending Pete a smile.

  He looked disconcerted for a minute, and I bet I knew why. Pete was the kind of guy who probably dated DC socialite girls. They probably ordered small salads and expensive cocktails. That wasn’t my thing.

  The waiter came to take our orders, and Pete ordered for me. Not for the first time in the last two hours, I wondered why I’d agreed to go on
this date with Pete again.

  Probably because I was desperate.

  Word had gotten out around the boathouse about the good-looking guy who’d taken me out to breakfast. Pete had come up to me the following Monday and struck up a conversation. After two weeks of casual conversation, he’d asked me out again. He’d been travelling for work, so we hadn’t actually gotten to have our date until a full week later.

  The date wasn’t going poorly, but neither was I all that excited about Pete. Granted, he was good looking. In dark blue slacks and a pale pink button-up shirt, with his dark, chin length hair swept back off of his head, he was rocking an American-Psycho-esq vibe that was sexier than I wanted it to be. While conversation between us might have been a little forced, I had to keep reminding myself to stop comparing Pete to Dash.

  “I’m happy you agreed to come out tonight,” said Pete, reaching across the table and taking my hand in his. His palm was slightly clammy; I’d forgotten that about him. “Especially after the last time we went out. I’m really sorry about that, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” I said, accepting his apology. “I was surprised, honestly. I thought we’d been hitting it off.”

  Pete shrugged. “I think I just got cold feet. I looked too far into the future rather than just enjoying the moment, you know? Anyway, I felt bad about it. I wanted to give it another shot. So I’m glad you were interested.”

  What had he seen in the future that had freaked him out?

  Our dinners came, and we cut into them. I was halfway through my steak when Pete brought up the Cromwell Cup.

  “The race is Saturday morning. I was planning on heading up on Friday night and staying through Sunday to hang out in Boston a bit. Care to share a hotel room?”

  Share a room with Pete? Wasn’t it a bit soon for that? I mean, this was technically our fourth date… but the Cromwell Cup was just next weekend.

  “I don’t know,” I said, frowning. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to sleep with him yet. Didn’t you sleep with Dash twice, and you guys weren’t even dating?!