by Jan Moran
"Don't forget your bra on the headboard."
"Oh." She reached for it, lost her balance, and fell on the bed. I rolled my eyes and left her to fend for herself.
Calvin, my business manager and best friend, had his head buried in my fridge when I walked into the kitchen.
"I thought Anna came on Saturday." He pulled out a bottle of red Gatorade, and I snatched it from him. He frowned and grabbed another one.
"She comes on Thursday." I downed half the bottle. "You should know. You hired her. What are doing here?"
"Golf." He waved his hand in front of my face. "You awake yet? We have a tee time in an hour."
"Oh shit, I'm sorry, man. I forgot." I finished the rest of the bottle and reached into the pantry for a protein bar. "Listen, I'll go get dress. You get rid of …" Oh, shit. I forgot that quick.
Calvin gave me his famous disapproving nod. I shrugged and headed for the hallway entrance to my closet. I stopped before entering and turned back.
"Coral," I whispered.
He chuckled and shook his head.
Calvin had herded women to and from me for years, but since he graduated with an MBA from UCLA two years ago, I respected his new role and his new hustle. His ho wrangling days were over. He was no longer my assistant; his role was to make us money.
I pulled on a pair of gray-cuffed golf pants and a white and gray striped golf shirt.
I checked my reflection in the full-length mirror.
Even hung over, I make this shit look good.
"Of course, he'll call you, Coral. I'll make sure of it." I heard Calvin's voice rise to signal the coast was clear. I entered my room and retrieved my wallet and watch.
When I heard the front door shut, I breathed a sigh of relief. It didn't always go that smoothly.
I grabbed my shoes and a jacket and headed out to the living room.
"Where did you find her?" Calvin asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
"You don't even remember where you were last night." He leaned against the counter with his arms crossed.
"I didn't have that problem when you came out partying with me." I always found a way to blame him.
"Dude, I like my wife, and I want to keep her, which means …"
"No strip clubs," we said in unison and laughed. Calvin's wife, Faith, grew up with us, too. She was family to me, most of the time the nurturing motherly type, but when it came to corrupting her beloved Calvin, she was like the frenemy from hell.
"Seems like a big sacrifice," I said. I always gave him shit for getting married. We were only twenty-six. I wasn't ready for it, didn't want the responsibility.
"Seems like a small price to pay for what I got. You just ain't had it like that yet. You'll see." He beamed like that when talking about his wife.
I rolled my eyes and got up.
Calvin remained in the living room. I turned back.
"We going?" I held my hands up.
"Golf clubs," Calvin said.
"Oh, shit." He laughed as I retrieved them from my study and followed him to the front door.
***
"D, man. Aren't you getting too old for this shit?" Calvin asked as he posed and watched his shot.
Calvin and I both hit clean shots into the fairway on the third hole. I was surprised he waited that long before telling me how to live my life.
"What shit?" I asked as I sat behind the wheel of the golf cart.
"Sleeping with strangers. Playing the big-time NFL baller card. Treating these women like this." He hopped into the passenger seat. I took off down the fairway.
"These women know exactly what they're getting. I can't help it if their expectations are out of whack."
"You have no respect for these women, but you'll have sex with them." He stepped up to his ball, lined it up, and took a practice swing then looked at it again before taking a swing. He hit the ball pure, and it landed on the green. I walked up to my ball, took one look at the hole about a hundred and sixty yards away, swung, and landed it two feet from the pin.
The seventy degrees weather and blue skies eliminated my headache and even my best friend's reprimand couldn't spoil my day or my game.
"Good ball," Calvin said with a smirk.
"I don't have to respect a woman to sleep with her." I peered at him. "A woman who sleeps with a guy because he's a professional athlete, and you think your stuff is so good he'll lose his mind?" I stretched my neck. "You don't deserve my respect."
"You don't see how messed up that is." Calvin raised his arms and dropped them.
"No."
We rode to the green in silence. Calvin's lecture brought my hang over back. "I also don't know why it's any of your business."
"No. You're right. It's not." He put his hand on my shoulder.
"So stay in your lane, my friend." I moved away from him.
"Okay." He nodded and grabbed our putters. He handed me mine and stepped onto the green. "Speaking of my lane. What are you doing next weekend?"
"Next weekend." I walked over to my ball and checked the line. "Nothing, now."
"D, the game was over a week ago. You have to let it go. There will be more playoff games, I promise."
"Next weekend?" I marked my ball and picked it up to clean it.
"There's an investment conference in San Diego." He squatted behind the putt, checking his line. He stood up and performed two practice swings before addressing the ball. He putted, and the ball landed in the bottom of the cup. "Businesses seeking investors will have booths and pitch their business, Shark Tank style."
"Sounds cool."
"Maybe you can spend some of that brain power on diversifying more than just your bed," Calvin said as he cradled his putter in his arm.
"They got hot chicks at these conferences?" I said with a grin as I twirled my putter in my hand.
Calvin raised an eyebrow.
I looked back down at my putt, pulled the club back, and swung it through the ball. It rolled, caught the break just right, and landed in the bottom of the cup.
"Maybe I could do both," I said with an eyebrow wiggle that garnered another stern expression from my best friend.
Chapter 2
Chai
"Oh, please," I said under my breath as I sat at the bar three feet from the famous playboy Donovan Bryant. I wasn't a sports fan. I hated football and hated athletes. Their cocky attitudes made me sick. The women who threw themselves at them made me hate my gender. The one standing between his legs, rubbing up against his manhood, especially annoyed me.
Preparing and obsessing over my presentation tomorrow had made me antsy. I needed a drink. Drinking alone in a hotel room was pathetic, but instead of enjoying my shot of Patron, I had to witness some low-class chick dry humping the wide receiver from the San Francisco 49ers.
"Donovan, baby?" He tone sweet and disgustingly sappy.
I caught a glimpse of his face over her shoulder. He blinked when she called him baby. He was handsome. His coffee-brown skin was smooth, and he had no facial hair. No hair on top of his head, either. The light reflected off his bald head and made him look distinguished. I wondered what it felt like. As if reading my mind, his date reached up to touch it, but he stopped her and brought her hand back down. He probably required two hands on his member.
I studied his face in the mirror behind the bar. His green eyes popped against his brown skins, and his beautiful smile made my insides flip.
I turned away, shook the image of him grinning at me out of my head, and sipped my tequila. The clear liquid burned my throat, but it wasn't unpleasant. I didn't know tequila but knew wine. Wine would not accomplish my goal for tonight. Tequila worked faster.
I downed the rest of my glass and motioned for the bartender to bring me another.
"I'm going to use the little girls’ room. Order me another." She leaned in and went for the lips, but he turned his face at the last minute, and she got cheek.
"Okay," he said and stared down the front of her dress.
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She seemed reluctant to go.
"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." She walked off, and he turned to watch.
I smirked and rolled my eyes.
"Are we amusing you?" His deep rich voice caused me to stop mid-sip. I swallowed hard and turned my gaze toward him. He stared at me, and I exhaled.
"No, I'm just listening."
"Eavesdropping."
"I was here first. If you didn't want to be overheard, you should have gone someplace more private." I didn't recognize my own voice. It sounded way more bitchy than normal.
He continued to stare.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said with a raised eyebrow.
I shook my head and turned away from him. His gaze made me uncomfortable, which pissed me off even more.
"Don't you get tired of it?" Why am I talking to him?
"Tired of what?" He turned toward me and squared his shoulders.
"The women. Throwing themselves at you like that. Don't you get tired of them just"—my hands gestured out—"lying down spread eagle for you? No intellectual stimulation whatsoever."
"Wow, do you know what a guy likes." He winked and gave me a cocky smirk as he stared at my legs.
I frowned and turned away, determined not to let him get to me.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Chai." I shook my head but answered without facing him. I didn't need to look at him to know he was checking me out. I felt the heat of his stare everywhere. Suddenly, the bar seemed crowded, but we were the only people in here.
"What, like the tea?"
"Yes." My expression, condescending and rude as hell, gave me confidence. I couldn't help it. "Like the tea." I nodded.
He smirked and turned back to face the bar. His cocky grin returned.
"I get it, you know." I turned and crossed my legs. "The pressure of your job and your life. It must be difficult. Sometimes you need to let off some steam."
"Hey, maybe I actually like ... her."
"You don't even know her name." I laughed.
"Leena."
"Very good." I returned his raised eyebrow.
"Why are you so cynical?" he asked. "An athlete broke your heart?"
"No. I've never dated an athlete, but I've been around powerful men, and they all have the same problem."
"What's that?" He turned toward me and stood up. His solid frame filled out his clothes nicely. He rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt.
"You need a woman to tell you you're good." I stood up now, too. "It's okay. You're a man. You can't help it."
He narrowed his eyes, and I narrowed mine back.
"You're wrong," he said.
"Am I?" I countered. "You couldn't turn her down now even if you wanted to."
"Is that a bet?" he asked, amused with himself.
I bit my lip to avoid speaking. My father told me my smart mouth would get me in trouble someday, and here I was, staring at trouble.
"Donovan." Leena returned, singing his name. Her voice grated on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. I blinked at Donovan, and he blinked back before he turned his attention to Leena.
"Hey." He checked his watch. "Listen, it was great meeting you, but I have to go. Please stay and finish your drink."
"What?" She stomped her foot and pouted, and I stifled a laugh. "I thought we were ..."
Her voice trailed off.
Donovan dared a quick glimpse in my direction before turning back to her. "You know, I'm just really tired."
I felt his gaze but stared into my glass. I grinned and bit my lip.
The bartender handed him the bill. Leena bounced from one foot to the other. I noted her six-inch stilettos. She might have been four foot tall without them. She was pretty enough, too. Her body had curves in the right place. The kind guys loved.
Sort of like my own.
I slid back into my chair and turned away. He thanked the bartender. From his enthusiastic response, he must have gotten a good tip. He laid a loud kiss on Leena's cheek. I pouted as he walked away.
His steps echoed in my heart. There I was, sitting alone at the bar with my half shot of tequila.
Pathetic.
"Can I get you anything else?" the bartender asked.
"No. I'll just close out my tab." I reached for my bag.
"Mr. Bryant took care of it."
I looked up.
"And he asked me to give you this." The bartender slid a small piece of white paper across the bar toward me.
I study it without opening it, scared to touch it. On the outside, he had written:
To Chai.
He spelled it right. Points for that.
I downed the rest of my shot, set the glass down, and picked up the note.
My heart beat out of my chest. I unfolded the piece of paper, and in block letters, Donovan had written:
You owe me! Room 1204
D
Chapter 3
Donovan
As I rode up in the elevator alone, my chest tensed. I flexed and relaxed my fingers. Who the hell was she to tell me who I could and couldn't sleep with? I threw down the challenge, but she'd never take me up on it. I didn't even have the pleasure of seeing the shocked expression on her face when she read my note.
I wouldn't mind looking at her again. She had the prettiest olive skin. His body was on point, too. Her white button-down shirt and black skirt screamed corporate, but it had a naughty edge to it. I saw it in her eyes; she had a dirty mind. Why else would she be so concerned with how I got off.
Smartass.
Her smart-ass remarks came out of that beautiful mouth. My note guaranteed I'd never see her again.
Dumbass.
I entered my room and flipped on the lights. The maids had turned down the bed and closed the curtains. I swept them back. The city lights reflecting off San Diego Harbor reminded me of my place up in San Francisco.
I retrieved a tiny bottle of scotch from the mini fridge and took a sip. The room had a bed and a table and chair with a flat screen on the wall. Nothing fancy since my reservation was last minute. I wasn't the type of guy who had to stay in a suite. I grew up with four brothers in one room, so anytime I had my own bed was a luxury.
A luxury better shared with a female bouncing on my dick.
I grunted and lifted the bottle to my lips. I stopped when I heard a knock on the door.
I grinned, coughed, and straightened my face as I approached the door.
"Who is it?" I asked.
Silence answered me.
I pulled the door open and couldn't get the grin off my face. People wonder why professional athletes were so cocky. A plumber couldn't pull off what I just accomplished tonight.
"I'm sorry, what was your name again?"
She narrowed her eyes, and I sensed it took considerable effort for her to stay.
I grinned again and took another sip. I studied her face. She was a classic beauty; big brown eyes and wavy dark brown hair that flowed over her shoulders. I would guess she was Italian, but her accent was American. She bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest. I laughed.
"Am I amusing you?" she asked.
"No." I shook my head. "Just laughing at the irony of the situation."
"Can you just"—she held a hand up—"not talk?"
"What would you like me to do with my mouth?" I asked and licked my lips, LL Cool J style.
Lust flashed in her eyes. Her gaze fell to my lips, but she covered it by walking in, grabbing the bottle in my hand, and downing it. I saw it, though. She liked the dirty talk.
She stepped to the window, and I walked up behind her. I stood a few inches away, but she shivered.
"You ready?" I asked.
"Ready for what?"
She turned her head toward me.
"Ready for me to fuck that ten pound chip off your shoulder?"
She spun on her heels and stared into my eyes. Her chest rose and fell, her breath shallow and sexy.
I peeked at the curve of her breast and wanted to taste it but stopped myself. She wanted me to make the first move, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
There we stood, toe to toe. I took in the subtleties of her face. The curve of her cheek, the twitch in her lip when she tried to remain neutral.
She leaned in, and I leaned in. She turned her head to the left. I turned mine to the left. She licked her lips, and I did the same. A small wrinkle creased the top of her nose, and I knew it was only a matter of time.
So when she stepped back, I had to mask my disappointment.
She leaned against the window and sighed. Oh man, if it wasn't the sexiest sound I had ever heard, and I had heard some scandalous shit in my time.
I stood my ground. The distance allowed me to check out the rest of her. I was right; her small waist and curvy hips made me hard. Around the time my gaze fell on her shapely legs, she caught me off guard and attacked me.
Chai gripped the side of my face, tilted it, and dove on my lips. Her hand moved down and gripped the back of my neck to press our faces together. I nibbled on her lip, and she opened, and I met her aggression with some of my own when I pressed my tongue in her mouth and tasted her. Her tongue tasted like scotch and honey.
I hadn't put my hands on her, and she must have noticed because she pulled away. Her hand went up to her mouth, and the confusion in her eyes broke me. She stepped around me, but I pulled her back to my chest.
"Where are you going?" I asked as I cupped her breast and ran my hand up her skirt between her thighs. She whimpered. She tried to pull away at first but then sank into me, which pushed my hand up further.
I skimmed my hand over her silk panties, and her knees buckled. I held her up and walked us both over to the bed.
I pushed her down, and she flipped onto her back. Her hands splayed out and gripped the sheets. I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off. I stood in front of her.
"Your turn," I said. I wanted to see her.
She sat up, unbuttoned her shirt, and pulled it off. She deposited it on the floor with mine. The black lace bra framed her breasts so well, I had to reach out and touch them. I ran my fingers over the curve of her mound. They were real.