For one, she might be hotter than hell in July, but the girl had dollar signs in her eyes and I was the fucking wallet.
When she turns in my arms and presses her sweet little ass against my crotch, I grab her hips and play along. Why the hell not? It’s not like I’m married, not like my actions are going to hurt anyone. I know my limits when it comes to women; one night is as far as I’ll go. And sure, there are plenty of chicks who’ll stroke my ego and my dick and tell me that’s all they want as well, but again, I know better.
I’m only twenty-four years old, but I’ve been around the block a time or two. This isn’t my first rodeo. I spent four years at the University of Alabama as starting quarterback and I’m familiar with this dog-and-pony show.
The no-name redhead whose ass was harmoniously caressing my cock through my pants is not going to be okay with only one night. And that means I’ll be going home alone tonight, like I do every night because one thing I learned early on, honesty is the fastest way to spend a night alone with my hand. And I’m okay with that.
This has been my life since the second I was drafted into the NFL five short months ago. There were more women than any sane man knew what to do with, more booze than a distillery in Kentucky, and more parties than the Kardashians attend in a year. And I’m playing along because that’s what’s expected of me.
But banging some unknown chick and having her blow up my phone for weeks after—that’s not my thing. Sure, it sometimes requires a little more effort than I care for to convince my dick that one night buried inside a hot, wet pussy is not worth the hassle that’s going to come along with it, but that’s my rule and as far as I’m concerned, it’s a good one.
She turned in my arms and her hand slid down to cup my dick through my pants. I smile down at her. “What’s your name?”
“Jessica,” she says, a distinct Texas twang in her voice.
I’d bet money Jessica had turned twenty-one sometime in the last couple of months. Not that age matters to me, but twenty-one is definitely as young as I’ll venture. However, the fact that she likely has more experience in this scene than I do is slightly off-putting. I mean, I did go to college and kept my grades up, but I still attended my fair share of parties on any given night of the week. As the star quarterback, I’d even had an unlimited supply of pussy.
Jessica leaned in, her hands coming around to cup my ass, her smile almost predatory.
“I’m gonna be forward about this.” Her twang is thick, her eyes a little glassy, and it’s easy to tell she’s had far too much to drink.
I cock one eyebrow and wait.
“I wanna go home with you.”
I smile. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Why’s that?”
She frowns and I can tell my question threw her. She’s probably used to guys grabbing her hand and lighting up the path to the door.
I’m not that guy.
“I thought, maybe…you know.”
I lean down closer to her face. “I don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
It’s not that I’m trying to be a dickhead, but like I said, I’ve been propositioned more times than I can count. And that was just tonight alone. If I’m going to go home with a woman, I’d like her to at least pretend she’s halfway interested in me and less interested in finding out what my ride looks like and how big my house is. Sure, that might make me sound like a pussy, but so fucking what.
“We could get naked,” she slurs, making naked, sound more like nekkid.
“Is that so?”
“Yep.”
“And after we got nekkid,” I say, using her term, “will you be pissed when I call you a cab?”
Her eyes widen and she pulls back.
I easily let her go. It’s not like I’m surprised by her reaction. I seriously doubt she’s worried about transportation at this point.
She frowns again and I can tell she’s contemplating my words. Plenty of women would’ve smacked me upside my head for a statement like that, but this woman—not much more than a girl, really—is actually considering it.
I sigh, then shake my head. “Thanks for the dance, Jessica, but I’m gonna have to pass. Got a big day tomorrow,” I lie.
Some of the confusion disappears and what looks a hell of a lot like determination etches her fine features. But before I can make a clean getaway, she takes my arm, a huge smile plastered on her face. “If that’s what you want, I’ll even call my own cab.”
Of course she would.
And I can’t deny that a renewed sense of disappointment fills me.
One day, I’d like to meet a girl who wasn’t willing to fuck me just because I’m a football player. Then again, now that I’m the quarterback—a rookie, at that—for the Dallas Wranglers, I don’t see this problem going away anytime soon.
Savannah
“Do you see that girl?” Allison asks. “She’s all up on him. I swear she just met him. Like fifteen seconds ago.”
I glance at my friend and follow her gaze down to the dance floor below us.
“She’s rubbin’ up on his dick. Now come on. That’s just gross.”
I laugh because it’s true. The little redhead is grinding up against Jason Stone like his dick’s made of gold. Not only was she grinding her ass against him, but now she was groping him through his slacks.
“He’s gonna go home with her,” Allison predicts.
Probably.
Not that I care.
I really don’t give a shit what any of these players do. If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t even be here tonight, but since my father owns the Dallas Wranglers and I’m an integral part of the team, he says it’s my duty to be out and about with the players after a win.
Truthfully, I’d rather eat glass than sit in this club, but I know Allison loves this shit, so here I am. It pleases my father and my best friend and I don’t look like an old maid because I’m sitting at home by myself watching Netflix and playing on Snapchat.
Not that I care what anyone else thinks of me. However, I do try to make my father happy. He honestly doesn’t ask for much from me or my brother, so this is one of the little things.
“He’s probably tellin’ her all the dirty things he wants to do to her tonight.”
I watch as Jason Stone smiles down at the woman, all white teeth and seductive eyes. It’s a look I’ve seen on so many players’ faces, most of the time in the bowels of nightclubs like this one. I’m happy to say that look has never been directed at me.
Allison’s voice deepens as she imagines a running dialogue of what they’re saying to each other.
“Oh honey, you’d look so hot in my bed. I want to see what you’ve got underneath that dress.” Her tone changes to a high-pitched whine. “Oh Hottie McFootball Man, I want that too. I want to feel your big penis inside me. You can even throw me like a football when you’re finished. I don’t even care.”
I laugh. How can I not? Allison is freaking crazy.
“Oh Red,” Allison continues, once again imitating a male voice, “I want to bend you over my couch and bang your brains out. You don’t mind if I don’t look at your face, do you?” She switches voices again. “No, I don’t mind. Not at all. So yes, please. I’d like that. I don’t even know your name, but…yes, yes, yes!”
Once again, I’m laughing as I sip my wine and watch from our table, safely positioned in the VIP section above the dance floor.
“Ooh, did you see that?” Allison nudges me. “What did he say? Her eyes got all big and she backed up. You think he turned her down?”
I’m staring at the pair once more and sure enough, it appears Jason Stone said something the woman didn’t like. I wait patiently to see her reaction. I can almost imagine her smacking him across the face, putting him in his place for assuming she was easy. Granted, that never happens and it doesn’t happen now. Red is suddenly latching onto his arm and grinning like an idiot as she follows him off the dance floor.
My eyes trai
l them as they move back to the bar. He calls for the bartender—probably to get another round for both of them—before he turns and leans his elbows on the top.
Interesting.
He’s giving the girl his back, as though he’s not interested.
Not that she’s deterred in the least. The little redhead presses up against him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
I sigh, dragging my attention across the bar to the far corner where I see a guy and a girl practically screwing against the wall. They probably think they’re in a dark corner, but every so often, one of the strobe lights hits that spot. It lights it up enough that I can see his thigh is between her legs, her dress indecently high, and they’re slobbering all over each other.
His hand falls between them, he shifts, and…
“Oh my God,” Allison whispers loudly right next to my ear, “they’re fucking.”
Sure enough, his ass thrusts forward and it’s obvious that guy is banging that chick right against the wall.
“And you’re surprised?” I ask Allison, unable to look away from the sight.
“Who is that?” she asks. “I can’t see his face.”
I shrug. I think it’s Leon Downs, but I’m not sure either. And honestly, I really don’t want to know because I have to face these players regularly and the last thing I want to do is have a mental image of one of them fucking in a club.
Not that I haven’t seen it before.
Oh sure, not all the players are horndogs. If someone claims they’re all like this, it’s a classic case of stereotyping. Football players are people, too. Some are married with children, happily at home tonight with their wife and kids. Some are gladly single, out having a good time with their friends and not looking to pick up the first available piece of ass that shakes it in front of their faces. And yes, there are the players who flaunt their fame and use it to get pussy whenever possible.
My eyes drift back to Jason Stone. He’s still standing at the bar with redheaded Barbie at his side. He’s still not paying attention to her, but she seems content with that. I watch as he leans in and speaks to the bartender. I’m curious as to what he’s drinking, so I watch the bartender grab a glass, drop some ice in, then squirt in club soda. I wait for what comes next—whiskey or vodka, I assume—but that doesn’t happen, and the bartender passes the glass over to Jason.
I smile to myself.
Looks as though our new rookie QB doesn’t drink.
Why that makes me like him a little bit, I’m not sure.
But there it is.
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Bad Reputation Page 27