Getting the DOWN (A Bad Boy Sports Romance)

by Daphne Loveling

  At least, it used to.

  Somehow, with Rinn, the idea doesn’t seem so bad. The more I’m with her — the more I learn her body, what makes her tick, how she likes to be touched — it’s like the sex just gets better. Usually with women, after I’ve had sex with them once, maybe twice, my dick is already moving on in search of something new and interesting. With her, though, just the memory of how she moans under my tongue, or the way she shudders and clings to me when she comes, gets me instantly hard as a fucking rock. And sometimes, when we’re out in public and I catch some guy checking out her ass, I get this sudden irrational urge to go up to the dude and tell him, Back off, fucker. She’s mine, you got it? All mine!

  So, what the hell do I want, exactly? I have no goddamn idea. All I know is, Marinda Blake has turned my very easy, very satisfying life of ball, booze, and bimbos on its head, and I’m not sure what the hell to do about it.

  The team’s moving into Phase Two of the off season, so the coaches are getting us together for daily on the field workouts, in addition to our strength and endurance training. There are no contact drills allowed, or any offense-defense drills, but it’s still good to be back out there on the field with my teammates. I’ve missed it.

  One afternoon, at the end of a practice, Chad, Zach, Davis and the guys try to get me to go out bar-hopping with them that night. It’s an invitation that the old me wouldn’t have turned down in a million years. But I’m kind of hoping to hook up with Rinn later, and besides, I know going out with these guys is just an invitation to get myself into trouble.

  “Come on, man!” Chad goads me. “You never hang out anymore. The next couple weeks are our last chance to raise hell before training camp starts.” He contorts his mouth into a leer. “You’ve been depriving the female population of the great Jake Ryland. Coming out with us is like a public service to all the women of greater Springville.”

  “Yeah,” Zach agrees, his voice turning dramatic. “Do it for them, Jake. Do it for the fans.”

  Chad’s always been pissed off that I have even better success with women than he does. If it wasn’t for me, he’d have hands down the biggest reputation for being a pussy hound than anyone else on the team. So I know better than to take his words at face value. Inside, he’s probably clapping his hands like a little fucking girl that I might be losing my game.

  Honestly, though? I don’t really give a fuck.

  “I’m sorry, guys,” I shake my head. “I’m gonna take a rain check.”

  “Jesus, when did you become such a fucking pussy, dude?” Chad’s expression is disgusted, but there’s a telltale gleam in his eye. “You always used to be up to party.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’m just growing up,” I say dryly. I’m so done with this conversation. Let Chad have his hollow victory. I don’t need to prove anything to anybody.

  Eventually, the guys stop hounding me and head off to the locker room, arguing about which hot spot to hit first. As for me, instead of going out with my teammates to some titty bar, I decide to go visit Caitlynn.

  She’s weaker today than I’ve seen her. When I knock on the door and push it open, she’s lying back on the bed, her face drawn and pale, almost waxy. I’m startled at the change, but fight not to show it. On the small couch next to the window, Margo looks up and nods a silent greeting at me.

  “Hey, there, champ,” I say softly, grabbing a chair and flipping it around so I can prop my arms on the back. “How’s it going?”

  The words are out before I can think to stop them. Of course, it’s not going well. Just one look at her tells me that. God, talking to a sick kid is just so full of land mines. But if Caitlynn registers how fucking ridiculous my question is, she doesn’t show it.

  “Okay, how are you?” she asks tiredly.

  “Just got done with some drills with the team,” I say. Since she looks like she’s not up for talking much, I tell her about the practice, going into detail about how each of my teammates are looking, how their injuries are healing up, stuff like that — the kind of thing a kid who’s a football fanatic will listen to for hours.

  As I talk, it seems to kind of revive her a little, and eventually she raises her bed so she’s in a sitting position and asks her mom if I can take her on a walk. Margo says yes, so she and I help Caitlynn into the wheelchair sitting by the door and I steer her out of her room and into the hallway.

  “Where do you want to go?” I ask her. I wonder if she’s allowed to leave the hospital.

  “Let’s go up to the rooftop garden,” she suggests. She points me to the elevators and tells me to push the button for the top floor. When we get there, the doors open and in front of us is a bank of windows and a set of glass doors that lead outside to a small, lush garden. Caitlynn pushes the large wheelchair-access button and the doors open for me to push her through.

  It’s a clear, sunny day, and the contrast of this frail, birdlike girl in a space so green and burgeoning with life is disconcerting. Caitlynn raises her face to the sun, drinking in the warmth on her skin. “That feels so good!” she says quietly. It’s like she’s worshiping, praying, almost. I can’t push away the thought that she might not have many more days to do this, and the idea that she might be thinking the same thing almost breaks me.

  I don’t say anything for a few moments, and eventually she opens her eyes and starts asking me more questions about the team. Being outside seems to be doing her some good, and she grows more animated as we talk. She even starts teasing me a little about the upcoming season and how I’d better play my cards right since her dad told her our second-string QB, Steve Holton, is looking pretty good this off-season.

  “So,” she eventually says, changing the subject. “What about your girlfriend?”

  “That again?” I say, mock rolling my eyes.

  “Yeah. Did you ever ask her to be your girlfriend?”

  “Not yet,” I tell her. “But we are going on a big date, sort of, in a couple days. A charity thing.” I shouldn’t be telling anyone that there’s something going on between Rinn and me. But somehow, I feel like letting Caitlynn in on the secret.

  “You should take pictures, and show me the next time you visit,” she demands.

  “I will,” I nod.

  “Promise?”

  “You bet.”

  “You know,” she says softly. “You should tell her you like her. Because what if something happens, and you never got the chance to do it? And then you’d feel bad about it, like, forever.”

  I look over and Caitlynn’s eyes are locked on me. In that moment, the entirety of the weight she’s carrying, the knowledge of how temporary life is, is written all over her young face. My throat constricts painfully, and it’s all I can do to keep my face from betraying the horror I feel at the unfairness of it all, that anyone so young should have to know this, have to know it all the time, without ever getting to ignore death’s looming presence through the silly, mundane things that human beings do to occupy our time on this planet.

  How do you answer something like that, especially when it’s true?

  “Who are you, Dear Abby?” I try to joke, but my voice comes out a little strangled.

  Caitlynn frowns in confusion. “Who’s that?”

  I laugh shakily. “Right. Sorry, kind of before your time.”

  Pretty soon, Caitlynn starts to get tired, so I take her back downstairs to her room. By the time her mom and I get her back into bed, her eyes are already beginning to flutter closed. So I say goodbye to Margo and tell them both I’ll come back in a few days, and make a mental note to myself to bring Caitlynn a picture of Rinn and me from the charity dinner, like I promised her I would.

  Chapter 19

  Marinda

  I had been pretty nervous about my first charity gala as interim director, even before being Jake Ryland’s image-maker was dropped into my lap. Now, with him taking over the emcee duties, I’m even more nervous and anxious for things to go well.

  Not to mention, now that he’s
going to be there looking like a Greek god in a tux, I have to find a dress that won’t make me feel like a sequin-clad hippo beside him.

  Thankfully, Kate is always up for a shopping trip, and she has much better — if more expensive — taste than I do.

  I let her choose the stores, because I hardly ever buy anything that isn’t on sale. I know that now’s not the time to be bargain hunting — even if I’m pretty sure my pocketbook’s going to be screaming for mercy by the end of the day. Shouldn’t I get some sort of clothing allowance from the foundation for having to go to these things? I wonder, but I know better than to ask for something like that, especially as long as I’m only the interim director.

  Shopping is Kate’s idea of recreation, so she forces me to make a day of it with her. At store after store, I try on dress after dress, and by the fourth place, I’m so tired of looking that I’m ready to take the next thing I try on, even if it makes me look like a large African water mammal.

  “What about that yellow dress at the last place?” I whine to Kate as she walks though the racks of formal wear at Sammon’s Department Store, grabbing dresses here and there and draping them over my outstretched arms.

  “It was okay,” she murmurs, “but not perfect. If you’re going to spend this much on a dress”— I have no idea how much this much is — “then it should be perfect.”

  “I thought that’s what the alterations were for,” I complain.

  “Alterations can make a dress fit. But it should already have, like, communicated with you as soon as you try it on that it’s your dress.” Kate is insistent.

  “God,” I moan. “Remind me to never get married. If it’s this hard just shopping for a charity event, finding a wedding dress sounds like a nightmare.”

  Kate ignores me and continues to rifle through the racks. When she’s loaded me down with half a dozen dresses, I stagger to a fitting room. She waits just outside as I try them on, wanting me to come out and do the big reveal on each one.

  The third dress I try is a style Kate calls a mermaid gown. It’s gauzy and slinky, the color something called mink, which is kind of like a darker version of champagne. There are sequins that seem to dance around the V-neck of the bodice, and as soon as I slip it on, it feels luxurious.

  “Wow,” says Kate when I come out of the dressing room. “That’s it.”

  “Do you think so?” I ask, but I’m smiling. It’s perfect, just like she said it should be.

  “Definitely. It doesn’t even look like it needs to be altered much.” Her eyes twinkle. “He’ll love it.”

  “Who’ll love it?” I ask, but even as I say the words I start to blush.

  “Duh. Jake.”

  “I’m not buying the dress for Jake,” I lie.

  But Kate’s not having it. “Oh, please.” She waves her hand in the air dismissively. “Don’t even try to lie to me, girlfriend. Of course you want to look hot when you’re going to be spending the evening on the arm of a total hottie.”

  “It’s not a date,” I protest, but even I can hear how lame I sound.

  Kate smirks. “It will be, if you get that dress.”

  I don’t even try to argue that one, and go back into the dressing room to take off the gown. Only then do I look at the price — yikes, four-hundred dollars! I have a little mini panic attack, and only manage to talk myself down by telling myself that if this gala goes well, maybe Rose will name me permanent director and I’ll be able to wear the dress again.

  Two days later, I’m nervously applying my makeup and checking to make sure that no loose locks of hair are escaping the updo I’ve managed to recreate from a YouTube video. I’ve decided that the sequins on my gown are enough bling, so I’ve left my neckline bare and chosen only some small diamond studs for earrings.

  Jake’s picking me up at my place in fifteen minutes, so I slide on the dress that I practically had to sell a kidney to afford and reach behind myself to zip up awkwardly. I walk over to the full-length mirror in my bedroom and have to admit, the effect is stunning. I feel a rush of confidence that mixes like a heady cocktail with the anxiety I’ve been trying to fight back all day. Everything will be okay, Rinn, I tell myself. Just breathe, and relax.

  Right on time, a knock comes on the front door of the side-by-side townhouse that I rent, and I swish over to the entryway and open it. Outside, Jake is standing there in his tux, looking even better than he did when he tried it on for me a few days ago.

  “Wow,” he says simply when he sees me. “Just, wow.” He shakes his head once and lets out a soft laugh as his eyes traveling slowly down my figure, taking in every detail. A little shiver runs through me, almost as though he’s touching my skin.

  My skin flushes with pleasure and embarrassment. I’m not great at accepting compliments, but I don’t want to ruin the moment by protesting. “Thank you,” I finally say.

  “I was going to say that this feels a little like prom,” he murmurs, coming inside. “But I sure as hell never had a prom date who looked like this.” Jake’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me to him. My breathing hitches a little as I feel a telltale, very familiar bulge press against me. I stifle a moan.

  “We’re never going to get to the gala if you don’t let me go,” I whisper.

  “You’ll get no argument from me.” Jake reaches down to cup my ass, drawing me tighter to him. His lips come down on mine, hard, insistent. Oh, God… Why does he feel so good? Heat begins to pool between my legs.

  “Jake!” I gasp, pulling away from him. “We have to stop.”

  “Says who?” he murmurs, but he lets me go and takes a step back, adjusting the bulge in his pants.

  I go into my bedroom to grab my purse, and when I come back out he’s standing a little further inside my living room. “Nice place,” he says, looking around.

  I laugh and glance around the tiny room with my mostly second-hand furniture. “I’m pretty sure my entire place could fit inside your first floor. But it’s home.”

  “I mean it,” he insists. “It’s cozy. Unpretentious. Like you.” He moves toward me again and lifts my chin to his face. “You’re not gonna show me your bedroom?”

  “Jake,” I protest, pushing him away. “We don’t have time.”

  “Killjoy.”

  We walk out the front door and Jake waits patiently as I lock it. We walk down the driveway and I look for his Camaro, but instead there’s a large black SUV limousine idling at the curb. I look at Jake in confusion.

  “Hey, the Camaro’s too low and the truck’s too high. I didn’t want you to have to climb up or down in a formal dress, so I rented Jasper for the night.” He shrugs, but there’s an impish grin on his face.

  I’m actually kind of touched that he thought about this. “Are you sure you didn’t just want someone else to be driving so you could get all handsy with me in the backseat?” I tease him.

  “‘Handsy’?” he chuckles. “What are you, sixty?”

  “You prefer ‘pervy’?”

  He leans in and whispers in my ear as the driver — Jasper, apparently — walks around to open the door for us. “I prefer ‘sexy and irresistible’.”

  His breath is hot against my skin, sending a little thrill down my spine. “Eh, you’re okay,” I say, trying to sound indifferent, but it comes out all wobbly and shaky.

  Jake bursts out laughing as I hold up my skirt and climb into the limo. He gets in behind me and the door shuts. I’ve never been in a limousine before, and this one is huge. It’s almost as big as my entire living room, with wrap-around leather couches, a huge sun roof overhead, and a wet bar off to one side.

  “Holy cow,” I say dumbly.

  Thankfully, there’s also a tinted privacy divider between us and Jasper, because Jake’s mouth has found mine even before the limo has even pulled away from the curb.

  “Don’t you think we should be careful?” I gasp as his lips trail down my throat.

  “Jasper’s the soul of discretion,” he says huskily. He nips at my col
larbone with his teeth and I shudder.

  The whole way there, we kiss and grope like high schoolers. When the limo pulls up to the hotel where the gala’s taking place, I have to take out my pocket mirror to reapply the lipstick that Jake has kissed off. My eyes are dark and shining, my skin flushed. I totally look like I’ve been making out with a hot quarterback.

  I should be more mortified by this than I am.

  Inside, the large, glass-ceilinged atrium where the opening reception is being held is already starting to fill up with the movers and shakers of Springville high society. A jazz ensemble plays off to one side as investment bankers and surgeons mingle and rub elbows with real estate moguls and hospital directors. I’ve been to a couple of these events before, but never as the interim director of the foundation — and never on the arm of a professional football star. Even though as far as everyone here is concerned, Jake is here as the new celebrity face of Give A Wish, I still feel a burst of pride to be here with him.

  At the suggestion of the Rockets’ PR people, a couple of the other players are here, as well, to up the presence of the team and add to the celebrity feel of the gala. Jake introduces me to a man named Zach, who I recognize from that first night at Centro, and who is apparently the center for the Rockets. He’s got piercing blue eyes and dirty blond hair that’s cut in a fade, emphasizing his square, chiseled features. On his arm is a model-gorgeous woman with long, perfectly straight blond hair and one of the most perfect figures I’ve ever seen. Her name is Leah, and after chatting with the two of them for a couple of minutes, I find out she actually is a model.