by Max Monroe
I highly doubted the Mavericks had a secret stripper room, but a girl could wish, she could dream, she could fucking hope.
“Sounds good,” Joe said with a laugh and nodded. “I’ll do a little scouting and then shoot Barry and the crew a text and let them know where to meet us.” Before he could jump into action, his phone started ringing. I rolled my eyes to shame him for his popularity, but he pulled it out of his pocket anyway.
I stuck out my tongue as he studied the screen and then snapped my face back into the glossy graciousness of a debutante when he looked back up. “Hold on, give me a sec. It’s Lisa.”
Lisa was Joe’s fiancée. And she was as sweet as a glass of iced tea in the Bronx. That is to say, not. She was a fucking tartlet with big tits and a fake smile, and she was constantly bugging Joe about his schedule. I thought several times about going on a covert mission to switch her nail polishes into different bottles at night, but in the end, I was always too lazy.
I loved Joe, though. We’d been good buddies since NYU, having met at freshman orientation, and he’d been the guy with the plan. A film major with his sights on California, he’d wanted all of the things we were striving for now from the beginning.
I was the opposite—a finance major by my parents’ choosing without a fucking clue what I really wanted to do with my life.
Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have started my career as a YouCam vlogger had Joe not been cute enough to make me want to hang around him. But he had pretty blue eyes, a sweet smile, and back then, a really tight ass. I’d tagged along to several of his stupid film things for the view. Until I realized Joe’s ass in his Levi’s wasn’t my main focus anymore.
All of the stupid film shit wasn’t actually stupid. It was interesting. And I wanted to be a part of it.
His filming and video editing expertise took my interest and turned it into a possibility.
And we’d been together since then.
Lisa was a relatively new addition, but Joe Mellow acted like she was the sun and we should all orbit around her.
News flash, Joe. The sun is 4.6 billion years old. Your punk-ass witch wishes she could handle that shit.
I was a good faker, though. And I never wanted Joe to feel like I was judging him based on his shitty girlfriends. I was, obviously, but I didn’t want him to feel it.
“Tell her Six says hi!” I called sweetly toward his retreating back as he walked down the hall to a place devoid of talkative jocks. He offered a lazy wave of his hand, but other than that, walked several feet down the long hallway and continued his conversation.
Ensuring I wasn’t in the way of the team filing out of the auditorium-style meeting room, I slid the messenger bags out of the doorway and squatted down to start unpacking and making sure we had everything we needed.
Since the lighting inside this wing of the stadium was pretty much shit, I silently prayed Joe brought extra light boxes to fix that sad situation.
Raucous laughter from inside the meeting room filled my ears, and I shook my head in amusement. Football players were real fucking loud, and apparently, a few stragglers had stayed behind, enjoying their own personal chat session.
Well attuned to opportunities in eavesdropping, I melded my mind with my ears and used all of my energy to hyperfocus on their conversation.
“I bet she’s a feisty little thing,” a deep voice said, and my eyes perked up like Scooby.
She! They’re talking about a woman. Fuck yeah, I bet this is pure gold.
“She’s beautiful.”
Beautiful, huh? Fingers crossed they’re talking about me.
I wasn’t walking around needing ego boosts, but I was as single as a stick of gum.
So, yeah, I’d take all the compliments that were inadvertently thrown my way.
Plus, it’d been a while since I’d dated—hooked up with—anyone of substance. And let’s face it, sometimes, a girl just needed and deserved to hear she was attractive.
I wasn’t too proud to admit that. Fuck, I couldn’t even find my pride most days. She was prudish and afraid of glitter hair spray. I wanted nothing to do with the bitch.
“Don’t get too excited, Teeny,” a raspy, sexy as fuck voice responded, but despite its appeal, it was all ego and cocky cajoling. “I call dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs on the vlogger, Sean.”
Oh. My. God. They are talking about me!
My eyes popped wide of their own accord, and I had no idea what I was even doing anymore. Pretty sure no one needed to stare at the lens cap for a camera for this freaking long, but surely none of these people had film expertise. I could pass this off as important for a little while longer.
There were professional football players inside that room talking about me, for fuck’s sake. Mariah who? Beyoncé pssshhh. Six is where it’s at, baby.
“Yeah, Phillips, you can’t call dibs. It’s always ladies’ choice.”
Phillips? As in Sean the Manwhore Phillips? The same man whose insanely huge penis I had just been mentally complimenting not even two hours ago while I was giving my best impression of a real-life, female version of a Peeping Tom?
My, my this is getting interesting.
“Just sit back and watch, boys. Six Malone is in trouble.” A cocky, confident laugh filled my ears, and this time, I knew it was Sean Phillips. “Ladies’ choice? She’ll definitely choose… Me,” he said, his voice filled with presumption. “I mean, did you see her playing with me before? So naughty. And naughty girls get the good end of the stick.”
My mouth gaped.
“Because when I really turn it on, no woman can resist,” he went on. “Especially not sexy as fuck Six Malone.”
“You’re such a cocky little fucker,” someone teased, but Sean just chuckled.
“Cocky? Of course.” His voice filled my ears again. “But little fucker? I don’t think so, Mitchell.”
My jaw tried to unhinge, and my mind whirled.
That motherfucker.
Sean Phillips might have had a penis that deserved rosary beads and an altar, but his self-assurance and cocky as fuck personality did not.
His playboy reputation might prove he could charm the fucking panties off of most women, but I wasn’t most women. Sean Phillips had a serious surprise in store for him if he thought he could actually schmooze me into his bed.
It didn’t matter how awesome his dick was. Or how handsome he was. Or how much I loved watching him play football.
Just, no. Hell to the freaking no.
A throat cleared behind me, and I turned on my heels and then looked up, up, up into the baby-blue eyes of Quinn Bailey. In the middle of the hallway, with his uniform shirt covering his toned and firm chest and a mischievous grin smeared across his full lips, he towered above me and winked.
“Interesting conversation in there,” he stated and slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He rocked back and forth on his heels, and that roguish little smile of his only grew wider. “Sounds to me like someone needs to be taught a lesson.”
A laugh bubbled up past my lips at his words. “I agree.”
Quinn winked again, and as if on cue, Cam Mitchell, Jorge “Teeny” Martinez, and Sean the assface, cocky bastard, manwhore, motherfucker Phillips filed out of the room.
“Bail-ey!” Teeny shouted and fist-bumped his quarterback.
Cam nodded.
And Sean, well, he nodded toward Quinn, and then his mesmerizing green eyes met mine.
Fuck, he was dangerous. His eyes. His body. His sexy, raspy voice. He was the full package wrapped up into one bad boy, jerk-off with an ego bigger than this fucking stadium, delectable box.
A man with his kind of ego did not deserve my attention.
Or any woman’s attention, for that matter.
“Hello.” I offered Sean a saccharine, far-too-fucking-sweet smile.
“It’s a pleasure, Six,” he said, sex and hypnotic eyes and pheromones all swirling in a concoction meant to ensnare. “See you around re
al soon.”
Exactly, I mused. Real soon, I’d take Sean down a few notches and bring that big old head of his back down to earth.
And I didn’t mean the one on his cock.
As Sean and the other guys walked in the opposite direction of Quinn, I mentally started to plot my revenge.
Quinn smiled down at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking, and I couldn’t not smile back. I’d been a huge fan of his since forever, and I was probably an even bigger fan of his relationship with his girlfriend, Cat.
A beautiful flight attendant and the sexy quarterback of the Mavericks—in my opinion, it was a fucking fairy tale.
“Ready to get started?” I asked just as Joe walked over to us, and Quinn grinned.
“Ready whenever you are.”
“Quinn, this is Joe Mellow, my camera guy and video editor.” I introduced the two, and they shook hands. I knew, internally, Joe was probably screaming with excitement like a sixteen-year-old girl.
“I found a good spot for us to film,” Joe said as he picked up the bags of equipment. “Everyone else is already in there setting up.”
“Fantastic. Lead the way,” I said and then smiled at Quinn as we walked side by side behind Joe. “I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t really have a lot of questions about you.”
He quirked a brow.
“I mean, I’m a fan of yours, but I’m a way bigger fan of Cat’s.”
A soft, amused chuckle left his lips, and his blue eyes brightened at the mere mention of her name. “Well, it sounds like we already have a lot in common, Six. But I should warn you, I’m Cat’s biggest fan.”
I damn near swooned. “Oh my God, you guys are so freaking cute it makes my little heart pitter-patter with joy.”
Quinn just laughed, and once we reached the smaller conference room Joe had spotted, our crew quickly finished setting up so we didn’t swallow up all of the famous quarterback’s time for the day.
I took a deep breath and mentally prepared myself for a very long afternoon.
The Mavericks team was huge, and I wanted to get through all of the key players by the end of next week.
Well, all of the key players but one.
“Ohh, Sean-y!” Teeny preened, slamming into the locker room like a freight train. Jorge Martinez was a bear of a guy and not in the least bit ironically delicate. He was loud, he was rough, and he was a hell of a fucking football player. “That catch was siiick. How you even get under that thing, son?”
I smirked, thriving under the praise and the pressure to maintain my status, and shrugged. “I’m just good, I guess.”
Cocky and confident, I’d firmly established my player personality here on the New York Mavericks. At the end of my college career, I’d had a bad knee injury I feared would be the end of my football career altogether. Dejected and completely convinced I’d never play again, I’d lost some of my fire.
But then my sister, Cassie, brought home one of Wes Lancaster’s best friends, Thatcher Kelly, as her new boyfriend. They’d all done their best to convince me I’d been on the list to be drafted before the family connection, but I wasn’t entirely sure I believed them.
Still, faced with the option to do what I loved because of a little luck or reject it outright for the same reason, I’d done the smart thing.
You didn’t just walk away from a professional football career because of the unconventional way you may have gotten your foot in the door.
But accepting what was given and wallowing in it were two different things. And the Phillipses did their best to stand out.
I trained harder, worked harder, lived football harder than almost anyone I knew, and I made a vow to myself I’d believe I had what it took every day.
So far, it’d done me pretty well.
“Good at running your route,” Quinn shot back teasingly. “I’m the one who put the ball in the right place.”
My smile curled higher. “Aw, feeling a little left out of the praise, QB?”
His eyes lit up with the fuel to volley some insults back and forth, and I braced. Quinn was one of the best guys on the team—by far. He was one of the best players in the league and had a heart of fucking gold, but he loved to tease. And just like everything else he did, he was fucking good at it.
“Speaking of left out…you think the cute little vlogger forgot about you? Seems like she finished up with everyone else but you,” he poked.
“Nah,” I said with a smirk. “Saving the best for last.”
I’d had the pleasure of stealing glances at her sexy little ass over the past week, and I couldn’t deny I was practically salivating over the opportunity to be interviewed by her.
No doubt, it would only take a little taste of the charm I was so famous for, and she’d be eating out of the palm of my hand.
All the guys in the locker room clucked and hooted at our little pissing contest, and my chest swelled. They’d been watching Quinn and me go back and forth for four years now, and it was practically a team tradition. Hell only knew what they’d do for entertainment around here when it came time for one or both of us to retire.
The door to the locker room swung open, and a sharp whistle pierced the air. Fifty heads swung in that direction to find Coach Bennett just inside the door.
“Listen up! We’re about to have a female visitor in the room, so get your shit together. You’ve got the thirty seconds it’s going to take me to tell her she can come in to cover your dicks.”
Bodies lumbered into action, pulling on shirts and pants and buttoning all the fasteners. I was still naked, wrapped only in a towel from my shower, so I did the only thing I had time for and pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs.
I’d just settled them on my hips and removed the towel when Six Malone stepped in. She smiled unabashedly, taking in all of us in our various stages of undress. She didn’t blush, and she didn’t turn away.
Apparently, she didn’t feel the need to be anything other than assertive.
It made me wonder if she had experience handling rooms filled with a bunch of rowdy, half-naked football players.
“Hey, guys! Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got an announcement to make.”
Smiles broke out like a rash across the room. She’d obviously had no trouble winning everyone over.
“The crew is outside packing up now, and we’ll be heading out soon.”
Groans and boos filled the air, but I was too busy frowning.
What the fuck?
Had she actually forgotten about me?
Fucking no one forgot about Sean Phillips.
“I know, I know,” she said with no faux modesty. “You’re going to miss me. Frankly, I’d miss me too. But my time is up this week, and you were all great! This is going to be one of the best opening segments I’ve ever done, and I can’t wait to see what else we can come up with in the next seven weeks.”
Quinn was nearly apoplectic with glee as he leaned over and whispered, “Saving the best for last, huh?”
Six waved cheerily and then exited the sad room. Everyone wanted her to stay, that much was clear, but I’d never even gotten the chance to know her.
What the fuck was going on here?
I grabbed a shirt from my locker, storming after her in just my boxer briefs and trying to put the shirt on as I went.
There was a titter behind me, mostly Quinn if his laugh was anything to go by, but a few others had joined in. I ignored their amusement and lengthened my strides. I’d be damned if the cute little vlogger was going to get away without an explanation.
I was out the door in a flash, and staff looked up and then back down again immediately at the sight of me in my underwear. None of them took out their phones that I could see, but I had more important things to worry about than showing up online in all my hard-bodied glory.
Six startled as I tapped her on the shoulder, and she spun around to find the culprit. Her eyes hit the wall of my chest first, thanks to our stark difference in height, and then climbed the
ir way up to my eyes.
“Oh,” she said, “Hello.”
Oh, hello. That’s it. Like I was the fucking janitor.
“Hi there.” I smarted, trying to keep the grit of my teeth from making me sound like too much of an asshole. “Heard your speech in there about being done.”
“Oh yeah,” she cooed. “The guys were great! This is going to be a hit. I can tell.”
The guys. The guys. Like I wasn’t fucking one of them.
I faked a smile, but even I could feel it was a little manic. “That’s great. I hope it is a hit.”
“Me too,” she agreed easily, twisting her feet and shrugging her hands into her pockets. She was the poster child for nonplussed, and I was about to come out of my skin.
“But I know something that could help.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” she asked, completely oblivious.
The painful truth struck me like a sword to the gut.
Good God. She really didn’t even know who I was. Worse than that, she didn’t even remember talking to me at the meeting, apparently.
Am I completely losing my touch?
“Interviewing all of the guys.”
“Oh my gosh!” she gasped. “Did I forget someone?”
And then she looked around me. Behind me. Pretty much every-fucking-where but at me.
Finally, I lost it, snapping, “Yes! Me!”
“You?” she said, perplexed.
I looked to the ceiling and tried to tamp down the surge of anger. “Yes. Me. Sean Phillips. One of the best goddamn players on the team.”
Her eyebrows popped dramatically. “Wow. High praise for yourself, huh?”
“It’s just a fact, honey.”
“Ohh. Honey now. Interesting. But I’m confused. Are you yelling at me or seducing me?”
I took two deep breaths and talked myself back. Women never responded to aggression. I knew that all too well. Sweet-talking was a much better way to go.
“No seduction, no yelling,” I said easily. “Just helping you out with the information that you left someone out.”
She bit her bottom lip, cutting into the plump flesh dramatically. Her chocolate eyes flared to life, and my gaze zeroed in. “Oh, well, thank you. I guess we’ll have to fix that.”