by Rie Warren
Why’d you miss Family Day?
No one gets a day off!
You better Velcro that ball today, boy, because I won’t hesitate to bench you during the New York game.
Aaaand then on the field, training, confronted by the entire Carolina Cougars squad led by fuckhot, long-haired, long-legged Delaney.
I pretended the wolf whistles and catcalls from her troupe of chicks weren’t aimed at me. But even from the other end of the field I could see Delaney trying to shut her sisterhood the hell up.
When I ran down the yardage, spun, and caught the ball rocketed from Rafe, that woman Raquel yelled out, “Ai yai yai yai! Look at your man, Laney!”
Coach D heard. He glared at me.
Peyton heard. She scowled at me.
Rafe definitely heard. He sprinted toward me, raised his hand for a high five, thought better of it.
I was probably possibly in for an ass-reaming of the most unpleasant kind if my and Delaney’s foundling relationship came completely to light.
The one bright spot, besides Delaney getting sweaty in her barely-there gear, was Buck Big Mouth Fuck didn’t flap his gums. Maybe the Cornhusker kid had finally learned his lesson once and for all.
Keeping my head in the game, I sweated through grueling drills. I jumped then dove under obstacles. I practiced the spinout move with both Bunyan and Akoni monoliths of muscle in my path.
I stopped to stare at Delaney on more than one unwise occasion. But I couldn’t help it. Her eyes sought me out, too. Sharing a workplace where we got physical, wearing very little clothes, getting hot, did nothing but amp up the sexual tension.
Remembering her on her knees in front of me, swallowing every drop of my come, I missed an incoming ball. Thinking about how she’d teased me with her cunt before telling me to fuck her right, I splatted to my back when AK bulldozed into me.
So maybe there was a good reason for the nonfraternization policy after all. Still wouldn’t have traded a few missed passes or a back-splat for another night with Delaney Jones.
“Y’all!” Rafe stood with his arm slung around Peyton’s shoulders. “Time for the tossing contest!”
As usual, I stroked my fist up and down in front of my groin, pumping air. “Toss this.”
“I think somebody already did last night,” Rafe came back at me.
Dickhole. Middle finger. And I mouthed, “Fuck you too,” just for good measure.
“So Brooks is in,” he said. “Who else?”
Always willing to give it a shot, AK stepped forward. The sweet beast of a man had an incredibly precise arm despite being top linebacker.
Predictably, Luke Buckley raised his hand, a grin splitting his lips.
And for the first time, Calder Malone threw his hat in the ring, too.
“I’ll give it a shot.” Delaney waltzed over, holding the ends of a towel around her neck.
I smoothed my hand over my mouth. Hot fucking damn.
Rafe glanced at me. I didn’t move a single muscle—I was too busy quivering inside. Far be it for me to tell the woman what she could or couldn’t do. And I really wanted to see her beat the fuck out of everyone else.
Buckley toed up to the fifty-yard line first. Peyton and all the coaches watched. As did the entire team of Cougars since their girl was in play for the first time.
Buck aimed for the big black barrel in the end zone. He pulled back, fired the shot that whistled the football through the air. High and tight, the ball zoomed. And the blond boy not-wonder looked ready to celebrate just before the pigskin hit turf half a yard beyond the barrel.
“Looks like another shocking miss for Buckley!” Marquis held his fist to his lips like a mic. “Will we see him shake his moneymaker again—or not—at the next game?”
Peyton winked at Rafe.
I slapped his palm.
Buckley muttered ugly insults under his breath.
Delaney strode forward.
“A first for Carolina Crush. The D-diva, Miss Delaney Jones, ain’t afraid to play with the big boys!” Marquis commentated.
I stood behind her, holding my breath, hoping I didn’t chub wood while I watched her play with the big boys.
Her skin glistened, and she accepted the ball from Coach D. The braid slung over her shoulder. She centered herself on her feet—just like I’d shown her to find her center on Cinnamon. Not that the woman needed any lessons in how to throw a ball. Or suck mine.
Folding my arms over my chest, I ignored everything else around me.
She hefted the football—Raquel, Sammy, and Lourdes crowding the sideline. The taut muscles in her arm tightened when she drew back. Her hips twisted then rolled into the motion. Let loose, the football spiraled perfectly, the tip like an arrow intent on the bull’s-eye of the bucket.
That fucking thing bounced off the rim of the barrel, swirled around the edge like a marble in a tunnel, then popped back out.
“YASS GIRL!” Sammy jumped up and down.
Delaney’s posse grabbed her, hugging tight.
She hadn’t made the bucket, but her shot was barely a miss.
Akoni grasped her hand and pulled her into a hug I hoped didn’t crack her spine. I could do nothing but smile, shaking my head, pretending I had no other reaction like—for instance—saying way to go with my tongue in her mouth.
A fucking throw like that?
She’d crushed Buckley. I’d goddamn laugh my ass off if Rafe fell short of her aim, too.
“What an epic baller!” Marquis sounded off. “Girl’s got aim, no doubt about it.”
Akoni took a new ball and rolled his shoulders. Just for the laughs of it, he performed the chicken dance on the sideline, the big man clucking before he got his mean haka face on.
He snapped back and sonic whoosh. The ball flew so fast I thought it shot right into the atmosphere. The next thing I knew, the football pinged into the barrel then popped right back out. The sheer power behind AK’s throw forcing the rebound.
“The Big Kahuna is too strong.” He grinned widely, completely unfazed.
“Damn right, Akoni’s too strong,” Marquis commentated. “That’s why he’s on the strongest team in the NFL! Up next, Mr. Mac Daddy himself, Rafe Macintyre. Can he bring it again?”
“Ask Peyton.” He smirked, hefting a ball. “I can bring it.”
“Ahem. I’m still your boss,” she said.
“Oh yeah. Wouldn’t have it any other way either.”
Rafe turned to take the shot . . . then he jumped and squeaked when Peyton goosed him on the ass.
“Interference!” Marquis called out.
“I got this, man.” Rafe kissed Peyton’s hand, then he took his aim.
That was what I wanted. A woman at my side who was so part of the game she understood everything I did. Someone to come home with, not to. A partner in every fucking sense of the word.
Rafe’s rocket arm hit home. His football tunneled into the barrel and bounced inside.
“Mac Daddy scores again! And we’re not talkin’ about his sugar momma this time.”
Chuckling at Marquis’s words while Rafe slipped a ball to Calder, I glanced at Delaney. She stood with her hands at her hips, chin thrust up, decidedly not paying attention to me.
I bet she was wet and ready for my cock again, but the jock girl wasn’t gonna give an inch. That was okay. I respected that.
I’d have her later.
Calder cracked his knuckles. Cracked his neck. Poised on the sideline, he peered downfield. When his shoulders squared, the ball jetted from his hand. It flew on course, into the chute.
I thought he’d damn near swish that shit, but the football hit the side of the bucket and plunk-plunk-plunked away.
“Newbie Calder Malone stepped up to plate and missed by a hair,” Marquis announced. “But he definitely has the balls to be a huge part of Crush.”
And the man definitely had a fan in Raquel, the Cougar who slid up to him and bumped his fist with her smaller hand.
Calder
had been flirted with, tempted, teased, and propositioned by more than one woman in my presence. He’d always turned them down.
Raquel wasn’t any different as he slipped away from her, back to the Crush team.
“And now, the Crush’s tight end takes his place among some of the finest ball slingers in the game, including the Cougars very own Miss Delaney Jones!” Marquis snapped his fingers then pointed at me.
I glanced at Delaney, putting a little extra swagger into my steps as I accepted the ball from Coach D.
I took a moment to spin the football on the tip of my finger, showing off for Delaney, because, hell yeah I was out to impress the woman.
Her expression remained passive, but there was an extra added gleam to her light golden eyes. Fuck yeah there was.
I limbered up.
“Get the hell on with it already,” Rafe bellowed.
“Suck my dick.”
“Already told you. Not into your ass, and I’m definitely not into your cock.”
Fucker.
Hefting the ball in my hand, I took aim. It was just like shooting a shotgun without the kick-back. And I had incredible aim. Delaney could attest to that.
The football flew without a single wobble, dead on target. The black barrel beckoned. I leaned forward, willing the thing to hit home.
Taking a sudden dive, the football went all Hindenburg. It bounced down on the ten-yard line, dead in the water.
“And Brooks bombed it, folks!” There was an extra note of glee in Marquis’s voice.
Dickwad. Next time I’d commentate and he could compete.
So, great. Epic humiliation coming my way in front of my girl at our next game. On top of the humiliation of losing in the first place.
The guys clapped me on the back and insulted me every chance they got. Delaney and the Cougars returned to their practice after a parting “Burned you,” she mouthed at me.
Later that day, during the first break I got, what’d I do? Grab Delaney for a little touch football or fuck of our own? Nope. Shoot the shit with Rafe, AK, Bunyan and the other bruisers? Nah.
I loped outside of the arena, found someplace private, and pulled out my iPhone.
Gatorade in one hand, cell in the other, I dialed a number I never thought I’d have to use.
Chapter Twelve
Getting in Bed . . . with the Mafia?
Brooklyn
“FRANKIE BURELLI HERE.”
Frankie Burelli, a lowcountry legend, otherwise known as Frankie the Tailor. A former mafia hitman whom I’d heard still did work on the side.
“Hey, Frankie. My name’s Brooklyn Holt—”
“No fuggin’ way. Brooklyn Holt, as in Girth Brooks, as in #43 from the Carolina Crush?”
Before I could affirm my identity, he continued, “’Cause if you’re fuckin’ with my nut, you need ta know I can hunt you down and hurt you.”
Uh. Maybe Frankie the Tailor isn’t the man I want to get in bed with over this shit. Too late now.
“Hey man. Not screwing with you. I am that Holt.”
“No shit? Then what can I do you for? Need a suit for a special o-ccasion or somethin’? Wanna try a real man on for size? Because you are one fine mudderfucker.”
I cleared my throat and clamped my ass cheeks. No entry up there and all that. “Not exactly. I got a guy I was wondering if you could track down.”
“Fuggin’ A. I’m not a private investigator. I make bespoke suits for—”
“Bespoke what?”
“Philistine.”
“Look, Frankie. No disrespect about your business or your former . . . family business—”
I heard a snip on the other end of the line, then the sound of a match flaring followed by his long intake of breath.
“Get da fuck on with it already.”
Huh. He sounded like Rafe earlier. But with a thick Bronx-gonna-stick-a-horsehead-in-your-bed accent.
“I got your name from this guy who helps with my truck,” I said, wondering if the dude would just put a hit out on me instead.
“Josh Stone?”
“That’s the one.”
“The hottest mechanic in Mt. Pleasant?”
“Umm. I guess?”
“Madon. Why didn’t you fuckin’ open with that?”
“I’m new to this.”
“Gimme the details about this schmuck you wanna find.” Frankie’s tone turned low and deadly.
“I don’t have a lot of info. There’s a woman named Delaney Jones—”
“D Jones with the big cajones from Carolina Cougars?”
“Yeah. That’s her. You’re really into sports, huh?”
“Bedsports.”
“Maybe I should call back later?” I asked.
“Fuck that noise. Delaney Jones . . . and?”
Well, all righty then. “Her husband’s after her. She’s been hiding out from him. All I know is his name is Eric Grimes, and they were together since high school in Iowa.”
“Domestic dispute?”
“He beat the shit out of her, Frankie. She reported it to the police when she . . .” I hunkered down. “When she lost their baby. After he knocked her around bad.”
I heard him puffing on his cigar. “That shit boils my balls. You tellin’ me Delaney’s a dame in distress?”
“Don’t ever let her hear you say that, but yeah.” I swiped a hand across my mouth. “I get the feeling he’s still after her.”
“And you’re not gonna let that shit play?”
“Hell no.”
A shop doorbell jingled over the line, and Frankie lowered his voice. “I got some connections, but no lie, I like to break heads more.”
“No complaints from me as long as I can take part in the head-breaking.” Completely yes to breaking the dickstick’s head in two. “What’s it gonna cost?”
Frankie chuckled in a dark tone. “I don’t charge for this line of work, it messes with my taxes. But how ’bout some Crush tickets?”
“Done.”
****
The deal sealed with Frankie the Mobster, I made it to the cafeteria, shoveled down some food, and spent another three hours on weight lifting, virtual reality training, then a final physio check by Angela, whose personal pleasure was riding all our asses with her dry wit.
And pretending to ignore Delaney’s hot ass, because I excelled at that. Not.
As soon as I dried off and dressed in the locker room, I beat feet to my truck. Her car was parked nearby, idling.
When I rapped on the window she cut off the ignition. I opened her door, and she stepped out.
Her hands ran from my shoulders to my waist, and she hit me with a lip-biting smile. “Want to come work out with me?”
“What’d you have in mind?” I caressed the sides of her smooth neck, her pulse already beating faster.
“Boxing.”
“Boxing?” I roamed closer, drawing her up and against me.
Her breath skipped across my waiting lips. “Self-defense. If I ever came up against Eric again I wanted to be prepared.”
“You know you don’t need that with me, right?” I tipped her chin up, bringing her even closer.
“Yeah.” She nudged her mouth against mine, and just the slight parting and little peek of her tongue jolted to my groin.
“Besides”—I linked my hands at the base of her spine—“I’d say you already beat me enough today.”
“The quarterback competition. Ego hurting much?”
“Nah. You deserved it.”
“Are you sure you didn’t throw the challenge?”
“Hell, no. I could hardly concentrate.”
“Because of me?”
“Because of you.” Hungry and greedy, I melted our lips together.
Pulling her leg up to my thigh, I sandwiched her against the car. I sucked her long low moan all the way down my throat like I hoped she’d suck my cock later. The heat between us warped my vision, made me insane for the naked feel of her.
I nipped at
her ears, her neck, her tits through her shirt.
Delaney hissed and panted, rocking into me.
“I got a different workout in mind, babe.” Before my dick started spurting in my pants, I leaned away. “Come home with me?”
“Isn’t there a thing about not fucking before you have a big game?”
“Oh, there’s definitely a thing.” It reared in my jeans, and I hauled her against me so she could feel it fully. “And the no sex before a game myth? That’s bullshit.”
Chapter Thirteen
Home Team Disadvantage
Delaney
OH YES. THERE WAS definitely a thing between Brooks and me. The man was kind, generous . . . and an absolute stud when it came to sex. Sizzling with testosterone. A gentleman when it counted, too.
He’d taken me home and even cooked for me before hustling me to the bedroom. Purely so I could keep my energy up for the night ahead, he said.
He hadn’t been wrong on that point. Several hours later I lay panting, half on and half off the bed, until he arranged my trembling limbs next to him.
“Y’okay?” He squinted at me, his eyes finally lightening to a caramel color from dark desirous brown.
I panted some more.
Kissing my lips, he’d smoothed his hand down my belly. “You in there?”
“I’m not sure.” I shivered when his fingers lightly brushed my clit. “I think that was some kind of out-of-body experience.”
“I can make it another in your body experience if you want.” His calloused fingertip slipped through my folds then into me.
My back arched, and I moaned against his neck. I reached between his thighs to find his cock deliciously hard again. When I brushed my thumb over the slick head, he groaned, sliding his finger deeper.
“You’ll have to go gentle this time,” I whispered, on the verge of orgasm already.
“Mmm,” his low addictive voice rumbled out. “I can do gentle. Long and slow.”
Positioning himself between my legs, he hooked my thigh out. The sexy hair on his chest rubbed sensuously against my aroused nipples. That first thrust felt infinite as he speared into me, molding my flesh to his amazing cock.
“Long and slow, baby.” He licked and kissed up my neck to my ear, and I rocked against him, breathless.