Hard & Deep: A Football Romance

by Krista Lakes

  "Who are you?" her voice came out as nothing more than a squeak.

  The man didn’t answer. Going against all of the alarm bells sounding in her head, Tracy reached out to him. Her fingers barely grazed the man’s tattered jacket when he spun on his heels. Tracy jumped backwards with a yelp, sure that she had made a grave mistake.

  To her surprise, the man who greeted her was not the one from her dream, but rather one of the neighborhood bums. He smiled at her with a toothless (and far from sober) grin.

  "Hey there, honey!"

  Tracy suddenly felt like she was going to throw up. Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes and she felt the skin on the back of her neck get hot. All of the swirling emotions in her head were becoming too much for her to handle. She wondered if maybe she was losing her grip on reality, if she had gotten herself in over her head.

  She backed away from the stranger, then turned and ran to the rear of her restaurant. The tears were flowing freely by the time she arrived seconds later.

  Plopping herself down onto the back step, Tracy buried her face into her hands and let it all out. She sobbed uncontrollably, her shoulders heaving up and down as she sucked down air between fits of anger and frustration.

  She gave herself ten minutes to cry before sneaking into the bathroom to fix her makeup. It wasn't nearly long enough, but it was all the time she had to spare tonight. Honestly, she didn't even really have ten minutes, but the last thing she needed was for people to think she was as crazy as she felt.

  The rest of the very long night went about as well as Tracy could have hoped for. The guests were pleased, her staff pulled in tips that would be hard to beat in the future, and Mr. Hayes declared it a resounding success.

  At long past midnight, after everyone else – including Mr. Hayes, who had to be up for a meeting the next day – had gone home, Tracy and Gordon sank down into two chairs with heavy sighs. Most of the lights had been turned off, leaving them in a spotty darkness that reminded Tracy of their sinful encounter just weeks before.

  "Excellent work, Mr. Baxter," she said with a smile, stretching her arms up and over her head. The tension slowly released as she realized the day was over.

  "Why, thank you." He leaned back in his chair and yanked the soiled apron off, throwing it onto the floor. "I didn’t know if you had it in you," he continued, "but I think that you handled it pretty well."

  You wouldn’t say that if you had seen everything, she thought to herself.

  "I don’t know about that, but I do think that we have cause for a little celebration,” she said, rubbing a sore spot on her shoulder. “Maybe this week we can all go out for drinks."

  Gordon Baxter leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. "Why wait?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why don’t you come back to the hotel with me for a little while?" he asked, taking his hand away but smiling a cocky half smile. His voice was innocent, but the memories of the other night were still fresh. Drinks often had a tendency to turn into something more.

  She raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

  "Don’t worry," he responded, waving his hand like it was nothing. "I had a few menu ideas and vendor suggestions to go over. The hotel’s wine selection doesn’t hurt, either, I guess."

  Tracy looked across the small space, trying to read him. The way he shifted in his chair, she could tell that he wanted her again, but having her alone was something different entirely. Once, with permission- and approval- was one thing. The idea of sleeping with him without Mr. Hayes knowing or agreeing made her stomach twist. She was dating Mr. Hayes. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize what she had with him.

  Still, he was her chef. Without him, this restaurant would fall apart. He was the reason for their success, and she had no illusions about that.

  She let her eyes fall down to where his hands were clasped together, trying to think of a diplomatic way to tell him no and that what they had shared before would never happen again. Her eyes focused on his hands and she nearly screamed when she saw it: a small, half-circle scar just above Gordon’s right, middle finger.

  Instantly, her thoughts ran right back to her visions. She saw everything again, though it passed in fleeting, quick flashes that made her head spin. That scar. She knew that scar so well. Had she been right the whole time? Was it Gordon who had actually been haunting her all along, in some way that she hadn’t even dreamed of?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Tracy pushed back in her chair, sitting up straight, and forced the swelling ball of fear back down into her gut. This was her best chance to find out what the dreams were trying to tell her.

  It wasn't cheating if it would save her. Save Paul.

  "Sure," she said, trying to sound normal and barely succeeding. "Why not?"

  Chapter 22

  Inside Gordon’s room at the top of the luxury tower, the fireplace had been lit well before their arrival, warming the room to a toasty temperature in stark contrast to the cold that had settled over the area. A storm had moved in swiftly, smothering everything for miles in a icy blanket.

  Tracy shivered as she looked around the room, trying to relax. A track of dim, hidden accent lights circled the vaulted ceiling, giving the room an inviting glow. Tracy walked in, her heels clacking on the Italian marble flooring, and tried to take it all in.

  "This place is amazing,” she said softly. It was a beautiful room.

  Gordon closed the door softly. When the handle popped shut, Tracy tried not to flinch. All that she could think about was the gun from her dream.

  "Have a seat," he said and walked to the bar. "I’ll get you something to drink."

  Tracy sat down on the edge of the plush couch near the fireplace. Right away, she started to sink in to it. The softness of it put her sore feet and tired back into focus, making her even more aware of how unprepared she was for a showdown. She could barely even walk, let alone fight.

  "So, is wine okay?" Gordon asked from the kitchen.

  "Yeah. That would be fine." She played with her fingers, trying to keep herself calm.

  The soft pop of the cork leaving the bottle sent memories of Jenna Tice and her attempt to poison Mr. Hayes running through Tracy’s mind. The memory was still fresh and, if she tried hard enough, sometimes she could still remember the smug look on the bitch’s face as she handed Mr. Hayes his glass. Neither he nor Tracy ever got any real answers as to why Jenna did what she did, but the entire Tice family had disappeared after the incident, leaving behind only questions.

  Gordon appeared behind her and lowered her glass to her hands. He rubbed her shoulders for a moment, and she did her best to try and relax rather than tense at the touch.

  "Thanks," she said quietly.

  He sat down next to her, just close enough for the edges of their knees to touch, and raised his glass.

  "To success,” he toasted.

  Tracy met his glass with hers and pretended to take a sip. It didn’t seem like he was watching her very closely, but she was still careful not to give herself away. She wasn't about to drink anything he gave her. The dancing firelight flickered and popped. Neither one of them spoke for a while.

  Gordon broke the stillness with a gesture. He put his hand on top of her knee, then leaned forward and finally spoke. "You know, Tracy, I’ve been thinking about the other night."

  She looked down to his hand, where the scar stared back at her as plain as day, even in the room’s darkness. Seeing it made her want to jump up and run, but she knew that the answers were so close.

  She bit the inside of her cheek and asked, "What about it?"

  He took her glass and put both glasses on the table.

  "I was thinking about you," he said and squeezed her thigh, "and the way that I felt when I was inside of you."

  His hand continued to massage upward, getting dangerously close to her pussy.

  Tracy, despite her misgivings, was becoming aroused by his touch and the things that he was s
aying. There was no doubt that the two of them had amazing chemistry, but she knew in her heart that he was up to something. There was no shaking it.

  This was her chance and she knew exactly what to do.

  She let him pull her legs apart, exposing her black panties under the short dress. Gordon bit his lip and caressed the smooth fabric.

  "Wait, Mr. Baxter," she said and pushed his probing digits away. "Shouldn’t we take this elsewhere?"

  "You’re right," he replied and stood up. He leaned over and pulled her to her feet, then reached around to fondle her ass with both hands. Tracy let him guide her into his bedroom, where a large four-poster bed awaited. She gritted her teeth, hating the way his hands felt on her, but knowing she needed to be in a controlled situation before she could do anything.

  The couple tumbled onto the bed. At the very last moment, Tracy spun them around so that when they landed, she was perched on top of him. She sat up straight and swept the wild hairs out of her face, holding them up with both hands. She gently rocked her hips against his bulging girth, glad that her underwear was there.

  "So, you want to fuck me again?" she asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

  Gordon tried to reach up and fondle her breasts, but she pushed his hands away and ground over him a little harder.

  "I asked you a question," she repeated.

  He seemed a little surprised and answered, "Yes."

  "Good," she replied. She rocked her hips again. "But if you want to feel this again, you’re going to have to do something for me."

  He responded with a familiar answer, "Anything."

  "Don’t move," she commanded.

  Tracy climbed off of him and walked over to his closet. She flung open the door and knelt down, quickly spotting what she was looking for: shoes. There were almost a dozen pairs, so she picked two pairs of his boots and quickly unlaced them. When she was done, she took her four new ropes and walked back over to the bed with them dangling from each end of a fist.

  "And what do you intend to do with those?" he asked, his voice light and playful. If he only knew what she had in store...

  She climbed back on top of him and grabbed one of his wrists.

  "Oh come on now, Mr. Baxter," she said and cinched it tight. "I let you tie me up. Now it’s my turn to have my way with you."

  "You let me?" He raised his hips and lifted her off of the bed, pressing their genitals together. "You wanted it."

  She leaned over to take his other hand and pressed her chest into his face, thankfully silencing him for a moment.

  "I want a lot of things, you know," she said, tying both of his wrists to the headboard. Gordon was still playing along, though he licked his lips like he was nervous. He hadn't seen her this aggressive.

  "Like what?" he asked.

  Tracy could feel him test her knots at his wrists. She pressed her chest further into his face. He mouthed at her nipples, causing them to perk through the fabric of her dress. She didn't want to respond to him, but her treacherous body didn't know what her mind did.

  "I want to tie your feet, too,” she murmured, pretending to enjoy his touch.

  "Go ahead," he responded.

  She sat up, turned around and bent over to work on his ankles, making sure that he could see her panties. She took her time, however, to give him enough time to remember her silky folds and the way that she had screamed his name before. Finally finished, Tracy turned around, straddling his hips.

  "What else?" he whispered, desire echoing through his voice.

  She left the question hanging. The anticipation on his part was palpable; she could feel just how badly he wanted her right then. Though neither one of them spoke, there was no denying it. He needed her as much as the big gulps of air that he was taking.

  She rocked her hips, feeling his erection straining for her. She wished her body didn't crave release, especially from him. She closed her eyes and thought of Mr. Hayes. She needed answers for him as much as for herself.

  "Do you want to know what I want now?" she whispered.

  She reached down, slipping his swollen member out from behind his boxers. Her hand moved up and down over it slowly, stopping each time to gently squeeze the purple tip. His hips bucked, searching for her body. He wanted her more than he wanted to breathe.

  "Yes," he cried, desire making his voice rough. "Anything, please."

  The moment of truth had arrived. The decorated chef had been pushed to his limit. Tracy could see it in his eyes, just as she had seen it before in other men. At that moment, he would have given her his own legs to have what was between hers.

  She slipped her hand down to the base of his shaft and tightened it firmly. Now it was time to get some answers.

  "I want to know who you’re working for."

  Gordon Baxter instantly turned as white as a sheet and looked at her with his mouth agape, though not a sound came out. Tracy squeezed a little harder. It was no longer sexual, but an obvious display of her power of him.

  "Who sent you?" she asked, her voice dark.

  He looked down to her with a mix of desperation and horror on his face. In that brief moment, Tracy wondered if she had been mistaken all along. Everything that she had done up to that point was all a wild shot in the dark. What if she was wrong? What if this poor guy was just a player in an elaborate scenario that Tracy had built up in her own head?

  “I have no idea what you're talking about,” he whispered, his body straining against the ropes.

  She tightened her grip.

  "Tice," he finally whispered, tears already in his eyes. "John Tice.”

  The words were like a bullet to her chest. She nearly released him. “Tell me more,” she commanded.

  "He heard about your restaurant, about me coming to work for you. He wanted to find out what you were up to. Please, Tracy," he pleaded, his eyes wild with fear. "I didn’t have a choice. How did you know?"

  She finally let go of his softening cock and grabbed the front of his shirt.

  “You know.” She stared into his eyes, watching for any hint of a lie. There was no dream connection. Nothing to indicate that he knew anything about the dreams. All she could see was confusion.

  “I have no idea...” he whimpered. “There's no way you should have figured it out. I was so careful...”

  It was clear he didn't know about the dreams. Tracy changed tactics. “Why? Why did he hire you?”

  “Why would he tell me that?” he replied, his voice cracking with fear. “All that he wanted was information."

  Tracy pulled him up by his shirt, raising his back off of the bed. Anger made her strong.

  "How did he contact you?" Her voice was cold as death.

  "Look, I don’t want to…" he whimpered.

  Without even thinking, Tracy slapped him. Her palm stung with the strength of it, surprising even herself. She wasn't typically prone to violence, but the thought of Tice knowing all her weaknesses because she had trusted this man made her blood boil.

  Tracy leaned in close to his face, "We can do this all night, Mr. Baxter."

  "555-8524." He turned away, obviously as disgusted with himself as she was.

  She released his shirt and climbed down, straightening her clothes once she was off the bed. She grabbed a nearby pen and notepad and scribbled the number down, tossing the pen aside when she was finished.

  Tracy started toward the exit.

  "You’re just going to leave me here like this?! I told you that I had no choice. Who knows what those guys could have done to me? Please Tracy, you have to believe me." Gordon's voice held fear and a growing anger.

  But it was nowhere near the rage she felt burning in her core. This man had lied to her. He had offered her friendship, then tried to convince her to cheat on her boyfriend, all while sending information along that could get her or Mr. Hayes killed.

  She paused near the bedroom doorway and, without turning around, said calmly, "Mr. Baxter, you’re fired."

  The long walk
out of the hotel was a bittersweet one for Tracy. Although she still didn’t know who the man from her dream was, she had some of the answers that she had been seeking. Some answers, but just as many questions. Who was the man from her dreams? And why would the Tice family care about her restaurant?

  "The restaurant," she whispered, realizing what she had just done.

  Everything, it seemed, had been ruined. She no longer had a head chef, not to mention the fact that he had betrayed her so deeply. There was no time to hire anyone else and, even if she did, how would she ever be able to trust them after everything that had happened?

  She wanted to cry, but knew it wouldn't change anything. She leaned against the smooth marble of the elevator and let the tears come anyway.

  Chapter 23

  She hurried through the main lobby. There wasn’t another soul in sight, save for the two front desk clerks who waved her goodbye.

  Outside, posted against one of the tall, Romanesque columns holding up the reception area, Mr. Hayes waited for her silently. When she finally saw him, after almost walking past without a second look, her heart sank. She didn’t want him to find out like this. There wasn’t even enough time for her to process what Gordon told her, let alone enough for her to find the right words to say to him.

  She could only imagine what he thought, seeing his girlfriend come out of another man's hotel room late at night. There was really only one thing he could think and it broke her heart.

  "What is going on, Tracy?" His voice was soft. There was a pain there that made her throat tighten.

  She stopped a few feet away from him and lowered her head.

  "We need to talk," she said. “There's some things you need to know.”

  He swallowed hard and nodded, eyes dark and sad. The two walked to his car silently and got in. As soon as the door shut, he turned to her.

  "Why are you here?" The calmness in his voice surprised her. If their situations were reversed, she would have been screaming by now.

  "What do you know about John Tice?" she asked, unsure of where to begin.