by Max Monroe
I smiled and crossed my arms over my chest as she turned to the crew and prompted them to stop packing up. “Guys, hold up. We’ve got one more interview to do.”
She turned back to me then, surveying my stance, and her already vivid eyes started to dance. “You planning to do the interview like that?” She glanced pointedly to my barely covered cock and jerked her chin. “Or would you rather wear pants?”
Only then remembering my state of undress, I jerked to full height, and she laughed.
“I mean, I’m sure it’d be a big seller with the ladies. Maybe I should have done all the segments in underwear. Especially the really big guys,” she said with a wink.
What the fuck did she mean by that? I was a big guy. I had a big fucking cock and had half a mind to show her just how well-off I was—
She smirked.
Well, well. I shook my head. Someone is a feisty little teaser.
“I’ll go get dressed.”
Her laugh was melodious. “Good plan…” The rest of the sentence hung in the air like a lead balloon.
Did she not remember my fucking name?
“Sean,” I supplied with a frown.
She snapped and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Right. Sean.”
This girl was one fucking kick to the balls after another.
“Right. I guess…I’ll be back,” I muttered, a good amount of the wind officially gone from underneath my wings.
“Okay,” she said with a smile. “See you soon.”
I reentered the locker room to find it a lot emptier than before. Most of the players had headed out, through the back entrance, off to their lives.
Truth was, I didn’t have much of one outside of these walls. My sister was at least close, now that I was living near NYC, but I kept a tight training schedule and an even tighter friends list. Any of the guys I hung out with outside of the stadium were ones I saw in it, and any women I gave my time to were on a one-time basis. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend or a wife. That would come later. After I’d done everything I could to make a name for myself as one of professional football’s most influential players.
Quinn Bailey, however, had waited for my return, despite having a girlfriend to go home to. I suspected it was all for the pleasure of getting in one more good jab.
“So?” he asked, a mischievous sort of joy lingering in the corners of his lips and eyes.
“We’re doing my segment now,” I said, avoidance of the facts hidden under layers of camouflage.
“And why is that?” he prompted, unrelenting.
I sighed and rolled my eyes, knowing he’d find out one way or another. I might as well go ahead and get the truth over with. “She forgot about me.”
He guffawed. “O-ho! Wow, that had to sting, huh, buddy?”
“Shut up. She just doesn’t know me yet. Once she does,” I taunted, “she won’t be able to forget.”
“Sure, sure,” he agreed with a laugh. “She’s getting your name tattooed now.”
“Just go home to your girlfriend already.”
He smiled, full of pure ecstasy and adulation as he swung his bag up onto his shoulder. “Don’t mind if I do.”
He gave me a slap to the shoulder and booked, and I was left alone to get dressed. I hurried through the motions, making sure I got everything in place, and then made my way back out the door to Six.
She smiled sweetly, comically, really, at my new state of cover. I tried not to roll my eyes.
“So where do you want me?”
She held up a hand, a slight shake of her head saying it didn’t really matter. “There’s good.”
Without pausing to brief me, she glanced over her shoulder and nodded to the man with the camera. “Hit it, Joe.”
I flinched at the sudden flash of the light in my face, but Six didn’t even pause. She dove right in. “We’re here with Sean Phillips of the New York Mavericks.”
I forced myself to smile as she stuck a microphone in my face. “Say hi, Sean.”
“Hi, everyone!” I greeted cheerfully.
With a flick of her wrist, she dragged a hand across her throat, and the camera shut off immediately.
“Wait…What? That’s it?” I asked.
“Yep. We’re good. Thanks, Sean.” She turned to the guys. “Go ahead, you can pack up now.”
“You don’t want something more?” I asked again, knowing she had to be mistaken.
Her smile was unrepentant. “Nope. I’ll see ya next week.”
And just like that, it was over. She was gone, and so was my usual cocky confidence.
What the hell had just happened?
The Mavericks’ cheering section boomed with raucous hoots and hollers and applause, and I raised a small handheld camera to capture some of the goodness.
Miami’s crowd, on the other hand, was about as interesting as a deflated balloon. Disheartened and unenthused as the visitor’s fans celebrated their team’s big away-game win, they filed out of the stadium with long faces and broken souvenirs. I, personally, thought it was a bold move to smash a cup that had cost $14.95, but what the fuck did I know? My team had won.
I smiled on the sidelines, scanning the vast, now nearly half-empty stadium as New York supporters started chanting “Phillips! Phillips! Phillips!”
A twentysomething girl in a gold half-shirt and his number twenty-six painted on her toned stomach bounced up and down excitedly, her perky and very large breasts just about smacking her in the face from the movement. I moved my handheld camera over to her just in case I had a chance to capture the damage.
Just to her left, two grown men with beers in their hands hugged each other while their beverage of choice sloshed out of the glasses and onto the red metal seats.
And a little girl holding a “Marry Me, Quinn Bailey” poster smiled big, her homemade memento blowing violently in the Florida wind and almost slipping out of her hands. Thankfully, her mom was there to save the day, gripping the edges of the cardboard sign with her hands and preventing a fan-tastrophe.
The win for New York today stretched this season’s record to 5-0, and it was moments like this that made me realize just how fucking lucky I was.
Every day, I lived my freaking dream. I worked for myself, I made my own schedule most of the time, and I got paid for making videos about how many chicken nuggets were too many chicken nuggets. I’d traveled to Mexico to film a segment on the beach in sponsored bikinis, and I’d tasted some of the best-brewed beer in the world when I’d talked a brewery in Germany into doing a fun segment on their flavor development. I never had to worry about evaluations or progress reports, and the only scrutiny I really had to face was from haters online.
And even then, they were doing it from a computer.
And now, with my new assignment doing this series with the Mavericks, my workday consisted of watching an amazing game, from the sidelines, with nothing more than my camera in hand.
Life was good.
But as I followed the team toward the tunnel, filming their raucous laughter, testosterone-fueled cheers, and overall hyped-up reactions, the inklings of fatigue started to set in.
I’d only been working with the Mavericks for a little over a week now, but damn, fitting the busy filming schedule in with my daily vlog content was no easy feat.
Alicia Keys’s voice filled my head as it pumped through the stadium’s sound system, but instead of singing about being on fire, I switched it up to suit my mood.
This girl is so tired! This girl is soo tired!
“Enjoy the game, Six?” An actual, real-live human voice met my ears, and I looked up to find Sean Phillips walking beside me. Helmet in hand and a few droplets of sweat dripping down his handsome as hell face, he was the epitome of every male athlete fantasy I’d ever had. And, high of all highs, right now, he was smiling at me.
He had played one hell of a game tonight.
Three touchdowns and boatload of passing and rushing yards under his belt, he’d more than he
lped the Mavericks bring home a win.
I didn’t have to check my video footage to know that a lot of it revolved around the cocky manwhore himself in action.
Likely a cool ninety percent.
“It was o-kay.” I shrugged to emphasize the mediocre tone of my words, but in the end, I couldn’t hide my teasing smile.
Had I mentioned the Mavericks had pretty much blown Miami straight out of the water? If it weren’t for a single field goal, they would’ve managed a complete shutout.
A soft chuckle left his full lips. “Just okay?”
Gosh, he had nice lips. It was too damn bad those lips were connected to a man I would never in a million lifetimes kiss.
I laughed, but before I could respond, Martinez came up from behind me and wrapped a big, strong arm around my shoulders. The man’s huge frame made me feel so damn tiny, and his long strides, and my resulting jog to keep up, made the two of us move ahead of Sean. My shoes barely even had time to sink into the rough, green turf as we skated across it.
“You partying with us tonight, little lady?”
“Partying with you?” I questioned in surprise. Aren’t football players supposed to refrain from partying during the season? “I was just planning on going straight to bed once we got back to the hotel.”
“Ah, hell no,” Martinez retorted and shook his head as we walked. “No bedtime. You owe it to your team to hang out with us for a little while. Have a few beers. Shoot the shit. Celebrate our big win.”
“Beers? Are you serious?” I asked just as we got to the end of the tunnel.
“Of course, he’s serious,” Quinn Bailey interjected. I looked over my shoulder to find his blue eyes smiling toward me.
“Don’t worry,” he responded. “Coach gave them the okay.”
Martinez guffawed. “Oh, don’t act all high and mighty, Bailey. You’re going to be hanging out with us too.”
“I thought I was the leader of this team?”
“You are…most of the time.”
“Suck it, Teeny,” Quinn teased before his gaze met mine again. “So, you coming to ‘party’ with us tonight?” he asked and even used air quotes to drive his sarcastic point home. “And by party, I mean, sit around in the hotel bar with a bunch of football players who will most likely be ready for bed before the clock strikes midnight.”
“Well…when you say it like that…” I paused, pretending to ponder the decision like I had a choice. Tired, schmired. The Mavericks wanted to hang out with me, and I could fucking sleep when I was dead.
A big old smile curved the line of my lips. “I definitely can’t resist. Count me in.”
“Hell yeah!” Martinez cheered. “Now, it’s time to hit the showers,” he updated and pointed one index finger in my direction. “And I better see you back at the hotel.”
I held both hands up in the air like I was being held at gunpoint. “No need to get aggressive, Teeny,” I teased, pointing at him directly. “I’ll be there, and just so you know, you’re buying.”
“That’s an even better idea.” Quinn chuckled, and just as he started to walk inside the locker room with Martinez following his lead, he yelled, “Hotel bar tonight! Teeny’s buying!”
The answering cheers were nearly deafening as the locker room door shut behind them.
I shook off the far too erotic thoughts that threatened to spill into my mind at the mere thought of a men’s locker room.
Apparently, a girl never forgets her first love of a penis party.
Sheesh. I definitely do not want to go there right now…
But there was one place I would be going tonight. The freaking hotel bar to party with the Mavericks.
I’d only stay for a little while, though.
As I walked toward the exit, I kind of hated myself for glancing over my shoulder to watch Sean Phillips make his way into the locker room.
Man, he has a nice ass.
In fact, I kind of hated myself for even allowing that man to be on my radar. But in my defense, I’d seen his glorious body naked. And trust me, that was not a visual one’s mind wanted to scrub from its memory.
You can look, but you will not touch, I reminded myself.
Sean Phillips was completely off-limits. I could look. I could admire the view.
But that was as far as it went.
A few hours into hanging out with a bunch of big-ass and boisterous professional football players and I knew it was probably a bad idea.
Or, maybe it wasn’t so much the larger-than-life men, but the beers Martinez had peer pressured me into drinking?
I had no answers, but damn, it’d been a hot minute since I’d enjoyed a few beers.
After several in quantity and higher than average in alcohol content, I was feeling the buzz.
But a night out without the pressure and stress of work was well worth the dull headache I’d be experiencing in the morning. No cameras. No thoughts of vlog material or video edits or deadlines.
Just fun for the sake of fun.
Not to mention, besides Quinn’s awesome girlfriend, Cat, it was flattering to be the only female surrounded by twenty or so men. Sure, there were a few other women inside the hotel bar, making eyes at the Mavericks’ players from across the room, but for the most part, it was just me, Cat Wild, and the team inside our own little bubble of beer and chatter and laughter.
I was in all my performing glory, and the alcohol had steadily advanced my ability to strut. To the side, to the front, bent over to the back—I’d been practicing hitting all of my best angles, you know, visually, and soaking in the compliments they produced.
I felt pretty and entertaining, and the whole night was entirely enjoyable. Of course, when I was buzzed, every-fucking-thing was fun. I could be stuck in a room listening to a random stranger talk about organic chemistry, and I’d somehow find a way to be entertained by it.
“All right!” I exclaimed and slapped my hands down onto the table of our circular booth. “Who wants to play a little drinking game with me?” Both Martinez and Bailey were sitting near me, and I caught the attention of at least one of them immediately. Quinn, to be fair, was entirely distracted by the really fucking attractive swell of his girlfriend Cat’s breasts. I wasn’t into women sexually, but I could recognize and appreciate the work of a contouring master. Cat’s boobs were a whole lot fuller than mine naturally, but my voodoo sense tingled in indication that she’d also given them an artistic lift. I needed to know her secrets.
“What ya got in mind, Sixy?” Martinez asked, and I grinned, looking away from the best breasts slowly.
My thoughts were a little slow and muted, but I was still in control. I stuck to the simplest of answers just in case my slurring was worse than I realized. “Most Likely.”
“Most Likely?” Quinn asked, raising a questioning brow, before his gaze moved right back to Cat.
“Yep,” I said, popping the p with an overzealous bottom lip. “Who’s ready?”
“Mind telling us what this game entails first?” Sean questioned as he slid into the booth and situated himself beside me.
Like, right beside me.
I inhaled through my nose and was instantly hit with the delicious aroma of freshly showered, clean laundry, and the oh so perfect scent of Sean Phillips. It was seven types of enticing, and if I hadn’t already decided he was completely off-limits, I might’ve been tempted to lick his neck just to see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
Yeah, I’m definitely buzzed…
“Yeah,” Cat agreed. “What exactly are the rules of Most Likely?”
“It’s super-duper easy,” I started to explain. “Someone asks a ‘most likely’ question, like, ‘Who would be most likely to marry a stripper in Vegas?’ And then, on the count of three, everyone points to whoever they think would be most likely to do whatever the question entails.”
“And when exactly does the drinking come in?” Martinez questioned with a raise of his brow.
“You have to take a drink for
every person who’s pointing at you.”
“Aha,” he responded with a nod of his head. “Count me in.”
“Why the fuck not?” Quinn shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “I’m in.”
“Me too!” Cat exclaimed excitedly.
“Hell yeah!” I cheered, and then I looked directly at the sexy man sitting beside me who, quite literally, smelled like heaven.
I hadn’t been there personally, but I’d read the reports.
Rainbows and fresh, airy clouds, that shit was freaking ordained. “And what about you, Mr. Manwhore?”
Quinn coughed and nearly choked on his beer, and Martinez snorted as the nickname came out unchecked by filters alcohol had conveniently taken out of position. Sober me might have been a little mortified for actually saying that nickname out loud, but sober me was only partially here, and honestly, she didn’t really have much control over buzzed me.
“Did you just call me Mr. Manwhore?” Sean questioned, an amused smirk covering his oh so full lips.
I giggled and shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that knows you by that nickname,” I expanded. “In fact, I think I read it somewhere in a gossip rag that included a full-page spread of you and your many celebrity women.”
Cat giggled. “I think I have a girl crush on you, Six!”
I just barely stopped myself from telling her how much I liked her breasts.
Some other time, maybe.
“Hey, now!” Quinn teased as a result of Cat’s widening affection.
“Shut up. You know I love you most,” she said back, and I swooned. Hand to chest, I think I even made a little cooing sound out loud.
The guys largely ignored us, instead focusing on the virtual dirty rag I’d thrown at Sean before.
“Dude,” Martinez said, slowly dwindling laughter and smile aimed directly at Sean. “She just called you out.”
Sean only had eyes for me. His tormenter. His mystery. The only woman on the planet who’d ever challenged him before taking off her pants, I was sure.
Luckily, amusement was his main emotion, even if the green of his eyes danced as he studied me.