Most Likely To Score

by Lauren Blakely

  “Does this hurt at all? Does anything hurt? You didn’t answer me.”

  I look at the doctor. “I love her.”

  He quirks up an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  Louder, in case he didn’t hear, I announce, “I love Jillian Moore. I want you to know, Doctor Miller.”

  He laughs, his gray eyes twinkling through his glasses. “Did you hit your head, too, Jones?”

  I shake my head.

  “Let’s focus on one thing at a time, then.” He moves my ankle. “Does this hurt?”

  Before I can answer, Ford bursts into the room in a flurry of Armani and wingtips.

  “Dude, you can dress down for a game,” I say, laughing.

  He glares at me. “Never. Also—”

  “—I love Jillian,” I cut him off.

  He shoots me a look like I’m high, waving a hand dismissively as he strides to the exam table. “Is he on morphine already?”

  The doctor shakes his head. “Of course not.”

  “Then what the hell is going on?”

  I grab Ford’s arm, getting his attention till he looks me square in the eyes. “I’m in love with Jillian. All I care about right now is that you know that. Do you get it? I love her.”

  “Sure. You love her. Okay, great.”

  Another slam of the door, and Trevor strides in.

  “Tell him,” I shout to Trevor, pointing at my big brother. “He knows! I told him the other night. Trevor, tell them I’m in love with Jillian.”

  My brother stops in his tracks and laughs. “But how is your knee?”

  I hold my arms out wide. “Do you people not get it? Listen to me. I. LOVE. HER.”

  But they don’t get it. They look at me as if I’ve gone mad.

  My heart stops when the most beautiful sight appears at the door. Long black hair, beautiful brown eyes, red cherry earrings. Tears stream down her face as she runs into the locker room. She races to me, puts her hand on my shoulder, and with concern asks point-blank, “Are you okay?”

  I smile dopily, happiness whistling a happy tune inside me as I meet her eyes. “I love you. I love you so much I want everyone to know that I’m love with you.”

  She dips her face closer. “Did you get hit on the head?”

  “No! Why is everyone asking me that?”

  Dr. Miller clears his throat. “Jones—”

  I know what’s coming, so I slide off the table, landing on both feet without wincing. I take a few steps around the locker room, my arms out wide, showing off. “There? See? Everyone happy? It hardly hurts. My knee is fine. I can probably even run a mile right now.”

  Dr. Miller and the PT each grab hold of an arm before I can show them my speed.

  “No,” the doctor says sharply. “No running.”

  I shake them off and walk the few feet. I stop at Jillian, cup her cheeks, and say once more, “I’m in love with you.” I plant a kiss on her lips. She kisses me back, so softly, so tenderly it makes me tremble.

  We break the kiss, and I spin around. “My knee is fine, and I love this woman. Do you all hear that?” I stare at each and every person in the locker room. “She is mine. I’m with her. We’re together. I’m going to take her to dinner and kiss her in public. I’m going to the movies with her, and I’m going to hold her hand. I’m going to spend the night at her house and leave in the morning. I’m not going to hide.”

  I turn back to her, my words for her now. “I want a career, I want deals, and I want to play for a long time, but I want you more. I should’ve told you last night. I should have told you the night before. I should have sent more than two texts. I should have called Ford yesterday, and I didn’t because I was afraid of losing everything. I was scared of this very thing happening, but once it happened, I realized you’re what I can’t afford to lose. Even if the deals all fall apart. Even if this ends today. I’m not going to give up loving you for any of those things, and I’m sorry it took me getting clocked to see the light, but sometimes it takes—”

  “Man-time,” she supplies with a smile. Tears slide down her cheeks, but they sure as hell look like happy tears now. “It took you man-time.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I suppose it did. Do you forgive me?”

  She runs a hand through my hair. “That’s already done.”

  I grab her, pulling her close, lifting her up and then kissing her once more. When I set her down, I’m greeted by slow claps from the audience. “See? They’re happy I love you.”

  Jillian shrugs. “I think they’re happy because you walked and you lifted me, even though ten minutes ago you were wincing in pain.”

  I look down at my knee. “Holy shit. It doesn’t hurt anymore. She’s a miracle worker.”

  The doctor laughs, then clears his throat. “Be that as it may, we still need X-rays.”

  “Listen to the doctor, Jones,” Jillian says. “Go.”

  “Don’t leave?”

  She crosses her arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Thirty minutes later, Dr. Miller studies the X-ray film and makes his declaration. “You’re one of the lucky ones. Sometimes you fall and you fracture your tibial plateau. Sometimes you tear your ACL, and sometimes it hurts like hell when you get clobbered and it turns out to be nothing.”

  “This is nothing?”

  He nods. “This is nothing. Right now, I see no reason why you can’t play next weekend. But come back tomorrow to check in, and you know the drill for tonight – ibuprofen and ice if you need it.”

  As I leave with Ford and Jillian, I tell my agent once more, “I’m not having a secret relationship with this woman any longer. I’m having a relationship that’s out in the great wide open, and that’s exactly where I want to be with her. We need to tell Liam.”

  “Tell him yourself. He’s chatting with your parents.”

  We find them on the field, and my mom clasps me in a big hug, reaching up to circle her arms around me. “They told us you were going to be fine. Thank God.” Her voice is laced with the relief that I suppose only a mom can ever feel this deeply. Liam takes a few steps away, giving us space.

  “I’m great, Mom. I’m all good.”

  We separate, and she pats my chest. “You be careful.” Her blue eyes are fierce and full of love.

  “Mom, I want you to meet someone.” I squeeze Jillian’s arm, and she smiles at my mom. “This is Jillian Moore. She works for the team. She’s my girlfriend. Can she come over for dinner sometime?”

  My mom freezes for a moment, then turns to Jillian and shakes her hand. “You’re welcome anytime, sweetheart.”

  “So great to meet you. And thank you, Mrs. Beckett. I’m looking forward to it.”

  My mom swivels her attention to me, wagging a finger. “And thanks for telling me you had a girlfriend.”

  I shrug happily. “Everyone is kind of finding out at the same time. But I’ve wanted to introduce her to you for a long time.”

  “Good. Now, let’s have you meet his father,” my mom says to Jillian then takes her to meet my dad.

  Ford brings Liam to my side, and my agent’s voice is deep and firm. “I believe you gentlemen have some things to chat about, and I’m happy to help.”

  “Thanks. I can take it from here,” I tell him, since this is my job—to man up. Like my dad taught me—success on the field is about talent and effort, but also luck. This is the effort part.

  I look at Liam and waste no time. “I’m dating Jillian. I love her. And if that causes a problem with the contract, I’m sorry. Please know I enjoyed working with you. But I love this woman.”

  Liam blinks, surprise registering in his eyes. He’s quiet at first, scratching his jaw, swinging his gaze down the field. He takes a breath then turns his attention back to me. He hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “I met your parents.”

  “Good to hear,” I say, not sure why he’s mentioning what I already know.

  “They’re good people.”

  I smile. “They are.”

  “Your mom
couldn’t stop talking about how worried she was about you, but how she knew you were going to be okay.”

  “Yeah?”

  Liam nods. “She said she watched the replay over and over. Said it was like a fall you took in high school, but you walked that off, too.”

  “Those are the best kinds of falls.”

  He’s silent again, and I have the impression he’s the type of man who’s fine with the quiet. Who takes time to process. When he speaks again, his words surprise me. “I see you introduced Jillian to your parents.”

  “I did,” I say, then add, “sir,” because he feels like one right now.

  He laughs lightly as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “And you invited her to dinner at their home.”

  Damn, he has good ears.

  “I bet that’s not something you’ve done a lot before.”

  I shake my head. “Never.”

  He rocks onto the balls of his feet. “Listen, Jones. I appreciate you telling me about Jillian now, before it gets out. It’s always good to know these things. You can never be too careful these days. With the climate we operate in, we’ve both seen how brands and companies have to be sensitive about the slightest things—a wrong comment here, a remark out of context there, something that sounds far too insensitive . . .”

  His observation is spot-on, and exactly why I’ve been cautious with Jillian. But it’s his turn to speak, not mine. So I wait.

  He heaves a sigh. “But you’re in love with her, and I don’t have the sense you’re going to go carousing down Fillmore Street with a bottle of Jack Daniels before you screw her in an alley, to be frank.”

  I jerk my head back, startled by his bluntness. “No, I don’t plan to do that.”

  He claps my shoulder. “Just keep doing things the right way. Be good to her, treat your fans well, and keep loving on that pooch of yours. That’s all I can ask for. If you do that, we’ll keep doing business together.”

  My muscles relax, and I smile. I was willing to let him go. More than willing if I had to, and maybe that’s the biggest reason he’s keeping me. “Count on it.”

  He nods. “I will.” He screws up the corner of his lips, as if he’s thinking. “Also, I’m happy for you. You chose well.”

  “Thank you. I think so, too.”

  A little while later, I tug Jillian close and whisper in her ear, “Come home with me tonight.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “That’s presumptuous of you.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while. Presumably.”

  And I do. I make it very worth her while indeed.

  Three times, in fact, including once with her bent over the bed. Yeah, my knee is just fine. Sometimes, I suppose your luck doesn’t run out after all.

  Epilogue

  Jones

  The sizzling rice soup with shrimp is delicious. The pepper steak is some of the tastiest I’ve ever had. And the company is unequivocally the finest—my girlfriend. When I offer her a taste of the pepper steak, she opens her mouth and I feed it to her. In public. At a Chinese restaurant she loves.

  Someone might snap a picture.

  Someone might not.

  Both options are fine by me.

  If anyone did capture our date, they’d have a gallery of images of one of the happiest guys in the city, walking into House of Nanking with his arm wrapped around the woman he works with, one who now happens to be VP of publicity for the San Francisco Renegades. They’d see me hold her hand at the table as we ordered. They’d see her reach across to ruffle my hair when I made her laugh.

  After we finish, the waiter brings a plate of fortune cookies, and Jillian grabs the one pointed at her, cracking it open. Her eyebrows wiggle as she reads. “Ooh, this is a good one.”

  “What does it say?”

  “It says, ‘You have the hottest guy in the city wrapped around your finger.’”

  “Sounds less like a fortune and more like the truth.”

  “I speak no lies.”

  “What does it really say?”

  She takes a breath. “It says, ‘Good things come to those who wait.’”

  I scoff. “That’s kind of vague.”

  “I don’t know. I waited for you.”

  “Did you?”

  “You know I had my eyes on you for a long time.”

  “I had my eyes on you for even longer. So much so I was always getting naked in front of you. Why didn’t you have your eyes on that?”

  She laughs. “I’m making up for lost time,” she says, then tips her chin at my cookie. “What’s your fortune?”

  I break the cookie and fish out the white strip of paper, reading the red words aloud. “‘May your life be as steadfast as the mountains and your fortune as limitless as the sea.’” I nod, taking in the sentiment, letting it roll around in my head. “I like that. In fact,” I say, folding the slip of paper and tucking it into my wallet, “I’m keeping it with me.”

  “Like a good luck symbol,” she says knowingly.

  “You know luck and me are like this.” I twist my middle and index fingers together.

  That’s why before every game, I follow my ritual. I eat a pomelo, whether home or away. So far, it’s been working. We’re only a few games into the season, but we have a winning record.

  The record that matters most to me, though, is the one I have with Jillian. Every night I tell her I love her. Every morning, too, and usually several times during the day.

  What can I say? I text her a lot. Many are naughty. Many are not. But she’s never far from my mind, or my body, since I’ve convinced her to spend nearly every night with Cletus and me. I have a big appetite, and I find the one streak I don’t want to break is having her every damn day.

  That’s what I plan to do tonight, and as we leave and walk past a laughing Buddha statue, she stops, rubbing its head. I do the same. She grabs her phone, asks me a question with her eyes, and I say yes.

  She takes a picture of us rubbing the Buddha and posts it to my Instagram, tagging it with #luck, #goodfortune, and #love.

  Out on the street in Chinatown, I pull her in close and kiss her as we wait for a Lyft. Someone walking by mutters my name. Maybe that someone takes a picture. Maybe it’ll show up online. Maybe it won’t. Whatever happens is all good because I don’t have to worry anymore. I’ve learned the best way to rehab a reputation is to be a good guy and to fall in love with a woman who makes you want to be even better.

  Jillian

  My boss was right. Being involved with a ballplayer means you’re under scrutiny. A lot of gossip papers wanted to know why her? What does she have that the model, the actress, the Tinder chick didn’t have?

  Let the press speculate. I know what I have—a guy who declared his intention for me, and then declared it again and again and again. I have a guy who has a heart as big as his hands.

  And, well, a certain other part.

  I do love when he uses that part on me.

  And when I watch him use it for himself.

  I still have my fantasies.

  But now, they’re my reality.

  Like tonight, when I told him I wanted to come home from a long day at the office to find him in bed, a sheet riding low on his hips, a hand wrapped around his hard length, stroking absently. I drop my purse in his living room, kick off my shoes, say hello to Cletus, and head to the bedroom.

  The light is low. Only the rays of the moon streak through the window. I stand in the doorway, and a shiver runs through me as I savor the view.

  His eyes are closed, his muscles ripple, and his right hand grips his erection. I bite my lip as I watch him, like the voyeur he lets me be. Everything about this turns me on wildly, especially the sounds—his groans, his grunts, his heavy breathing. The pants as he strokes faster. The moan as he grips tighter.

  Most of all, how he always says my name.

  That always breaks me.

  Tonight, when he utters it in a raspy, needy voice as his hand shuttles up and down, I strip
off my skirt and yank off my top.

  My panties are gone in seconds, and I climb on him.

  I know why this turns me on so much.

  It’s because he’s getting off to me, even when he’s by himself. I think that will always turn me on because it makes me feel so wonderfully wanted.

  Right now, I want to show him how much.

  He lets go of his dick, grabs my hips, and brings me down on him. I draw a sharp gasp as he fills me completely.

  He’s completely bare.

  I’m on birth control, and he’s safe, and I love the feel of us like this. Together. No barriers. He moves me up and down, and with every stroke, I moan. I breathe out hard. I shudder.

  I’m not sure how sex that’s been this good can become even better, but as he runs a hand up my back and into my hair, I’m given the answer.

  It comes as he brings my face near to his. “Need you closer to me.”

  He’s never held back in bed. He’s always made it clear where he stands between the sheets. This man has the biggest appetite. He wants more of me, as much as he can have. And I love giving myself to him. He makes me feel beautiful, sexy, and alluring.

  He makes me feel like I’m all he needs.

  As he draws me closer, telling me to ride him harder, faster, rougher because it’s so fucking good, it’s all so fucking good with me, I know he’s all I’ll ever need.

  A little later, as we lie in bed, sated and sweaty, he positions us so I’m in the crook of his arm. “You know you can sleep on me anytime, right?”

  “I do know that, since I sleep on you every night.”

  “Sleep on me, sleep with me. I love it all,” he says, then he shifts to his side and drops a kiss on my nose. “I love you. Have I told you that today?”

  “Maybe ten times?”

  “Let’s make it eleven.” He kisses a trail up my neck to my ear, and I tremble again, then I shudder as he says, “I’m so in love with you.”

  Cletus jumps on the bed, wagging his tail and plopping down between us.

  “He’s also in love with you,” Jones says as I rub the dog’s little head.

  “I love him, too. And the other guy as well,” I say when a soft paw swipes my shoulder. I crane my neck to see Smoky sitting on my pillow, purring.