by Daphne Swan
I get swept up in conversation with my two oldest friends, but not so carried away that I forget about the hot chick with the flapper girl/librarian look. I’m sure she’ll come over and talk to me. Not to sound too full of myself or anything, but I rarely have to put forth any effort at all to get chicks. It’s because of my status as an NFL player, obviously. It’s a huge turn-on for these girls.
I’m a lucky, lucky guy.
But as the night progresses, it starts to seem like the flapper/librarian chick has no intention of approaching me. Sometimes when I glance over at her I find her gazing back at me with that cute, coy smile, but more often than not, she’s engaged in conversation with her friend. This is an unusual situation, no doubt.
Again, not to sound too full of myself, but usually when a chick sets her sights on me, she makes a move right away. They’re normally not subtle like this one is. Who knows what the deal is? Maybe she’s just painfully shy or something.
“Will you go and talk to that girl already?” Ben says. “The two of you have been eyeing each other up for...what? A half an hour now?”
With a shrug, I pick up my pint glass and take a swig.
“It’s weird how she hasn’t come over to talk to me.”
Ben gapes at me for a moment before turning to Nathan. They exchange a look, and then they both turn back to me with disbelief written all over their faces.
“Fucking hell,” Nathan mutters. “Somebody’s got his head lodged pretty far up his own ass.”
I laugh it off and tell him to shut the fuck up, but I feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment. It’s bad enough when I catch myself acting like an entitled dickhead, but it’s a whole lot worse when someone else calls me out on it.
“You think you’re too good to go up and talk to a girl?” Ben asks.
I can’t help but wince. It’s clear by the look in his eyes that he’s asking for real. It’s not an accusation. He genuinely thinks my ego is so inflated that I consider myself above these things.
“Of course not,” I tell him.
How can I explain this without digging myself further into the hole?
“It’s just...well...I guess I’ve gotten used to chicks coming up to me.”
“Must be nice,” Nathan says with a wry smile.
“I’ll say,” Ben chimes in, lifting his pint glass in my direction before taking a gulp.
I breathe a big sigh of relief. We’re cool. We’re okay. Everything is back on track. I know the guys won’t be holding what I said against me. We’ve known each other since we were little kids and it’s going to take a lot more than a random vainglorious comment to drive a wedge between us.
It’s actually a good thing that they’re willing to help keep my ego in check. I’m not naming any names, but I know a few players whose egos have blown up to such epic proportions that they’ve alienated pretty much everyone in their lives.
And I refuse to let that happen to me.
“Okay,” I say as I drain the last of my beer and get to my feet. “I’m going over there to lay on the charm. Wish me luck.”
“Yeah, right. Like you’ll need it,” Ben says with a grin.
“If you need either of us to step in and keep her friend company, I’m your man,” Nathan says. “The girl’s a knockout.”
“Duly noted.”
The place is pretty packed, but people tend to get out of the way for a guy my size. I make my way easily through the crowd and within moments, I’m standing at the bar next to the chick that has me so captivated. She slowly turns to me with a sweet little smile. God, those plump bow lips are sexy as hell. She really does look like she stepped out of a “talkie” from last century.
“Hey. How’s it going?” I ask.
“Not bad. And you?”
“Pretty good. Things are looking up now that I’m talking to you.”
She groans, shaking her head. “That’s one of the lamest lines I’ve ever heard.”
My lips part in surprise. This is so not the reaction I was expecting.
But then again, she’s got a point. I don’t know what possessed me to deliver such a cheesy line. I have to say I think it’s pretty awesome that she called me out on it. Most girls would probably be acting like my lame comment was the most charming thing in the world.
“Hey, I’m Eric,” I say, holding out my hand.
“I’m Margaret.”
Her fingers are long and delicate, and her skin is baby soft. I hold her hand in mine a little longer than necessary before reluctantly letting go.
“This is Nina,” she says, motioning to her friend.
“Hey,” I greet the girl with a smile.
“Hey.”
Up close, Margaret looks even younger than I’d thought she was. For that matter, so does her friend.
“Are you girls in college?”
“Yep,” Margaret says without hesitation.
Thank god she didn’t hesitate. For a second there, I worried that she was some high school kid with a fake ID.
“Cool.” I prop an elbow up on the bar and relax into a casual, comfortable stance. “Home for Thanksgiving, I take it?”
Margaret’s head moves like she’s about to nod, but then she freezes up. Her eyes widen, her lips part and she glances quickly over at Nina before turning back to me.
I have no idea why such a simple question would have thrown her off like it apparently did.
Shit.
Was I onto something when I wondered if she was underage?
“I’m spending the holiday with Nina’s family. She’s from here, but I’m not. I’m from Michigan.”
“That’s cool,” I say, tilting my head to the side and taking a closer look at her. I think things are kosher. Margaret is obviously too young to be wearing signs of age, but there’s something about the way she carries herself that signifies maturity.
I’m seriously overthinking this, I know. But when you’re a public figure, you have to be cautious when it comes to these things. I can see the headline now:
“Vipers tight end Eric Wenzel arrested on charges of statutory rape of sixteen year old girl.”
Fuck.
I’m being irrational and I need to get a grip. There’s no way this girl is sixteen. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe, but in all likelihood, she is actually twenty-one or twenty-two. Taking a deep breath, I shake off my anxiety and pick up the conversation where I left off.
“You girls are friends from college, huh?”
“Yeah,” Margaret says.
“Where do you go?”
She doesn’t answer right away, which has my bullshit detector flashing red.
“Berkeley,” she says. “The University of California at Berkeley.”
Nina nods emphatically, which makes Margaret’s claim seem even more false.
What the fuck is going on here? This chick is acting so weird. Can you blame me for being apprehensive?
It’s not unusual at all for girls to get nervous and awkward when they talk to me, but Margaret was so cool and collected when we first started talking. She only started getting agitated when we got into specifics.
Oh, well. Maybe she’s lying to me about everything for some strange reason. Maybe she just now realized who I am and that’s what got her all worked up.
When it comes down to it, I really don’t care. As long as she’s not an underage kid, her weird behavior is not something I need to concern myself with. She’s sexy, she’s beautiful, and to tell the truth, the fact that she’s flustered makes her even more adorable.
It’s all good.
Fucking hell. I could do with another beer right about now. But after that, I’m done. We’ve got a big game tomorrow against the Bobcats and I limit myself to three drinks max the night before a game.
“So, what are you girls drinking?” I ask, pulling my wallet out of my back pocket.
They exchange in a silent conversation like girls sometimes do. After a moment, Margaret turns to me and says, “I’ll have a Swan Lake Spr
itz.”
“Make that two,” Nina adds.
When I motion to the bartender, he responds right away. I like to think this is because I’m a good tipper, rather than because of my threatening size. I place my order and in no time at all, the three of us have our fresh drinks in hand.
“Cheers,” Margaret says, holding up her cocktail glass. “To a night filled with possibilities.”
Oh, I like that. With a smile on my lips, I clink my glass against hers and then against Nina’s. I can’t wait to see where the night may lead us.
3. MOLLY
This is going way better than I ever would have expected. Eric has no idea who I really am. I’m so glad I had the foresight to introduce myself as Margaret. Nobody apart from Mom ever calls me Margaret, so just in case Eric should happen to mention any wild hot encounters in the locker room tomorrow, it’s unlikely that any of the players (or, God forbid, Dad) would be able to put two and two together and figure out who I really am.
Yeah, all right. I know I’m getting ahead of myself here, but I think it’s a safe bet that we’re going to end up in bed together. I mean, come on.
“God, you’re sexy,” he murmurs as he runs his huge hand up my arm.
I give him a bashful smile and say, “Thanks. So are you.”
After she drained her drink in record time, Nina excused herself from our company, and she’s been in the ladies’ lounge for ages. Good thing it’s a nice, comfy lounge. Fifty bucks says she’s sitting on one of the plush sofas, texting our other friends about how I’m about to score with one of my dad’s players. I love her loads for making herself scarce so Eric and I can have the opportunity to start getting cozy.
And I’m happy to say that it didn’t take me long to figure out the best way to go about this. Football groupies tend to be pretty aggressive, so I thought it’d be fun to stand out by being super passive. Aside from giving him coy looks and drawing attention to my lips, I haven’t made any moves.
But Eric has.
When he took my hand, I felt a sensation of heat surge all the way up my arm to warm my whole body. My own hand is positively dwarfed in his, and this is no small feat, believe me. I’m six feet tall. Usually my hands are more or less the same size as the hands of guys I date, so it’s a novel sensation to feel completely enveloped in his big, giant bear paw. I feel dainty and delicate and oh, so feminine.
“So, what are you studying in college?” he asks, reaching up to stroke my cheekbone.
“Classics,” I murmur as I lean into his touch.
“Do you mean classic literature?” He gives me a slow, soft kiss on the temple.
“No,” I say. “I mean, yes. There’s literature, but also philosophy, religion and language—Greek and Latin.”
“That’s so cool.” He kisses my cheek, my jaw and my neck. “Say something in Latin, would you?”
“Te volo tantum,” I tell him.
I want you so much.
“Jesus, that’s sexy,” he says. “Say something else.”
“Te volo nunc.”
I want you now.
“Say something else.” His words are muffled as he nibbles on my neck.
“Volo pene intra me.”
I want your cock inside of me.
I gasp, overcome with the desire building up inside of me. I swear, I am this close to yanking off my panties, climbing up on top of him and fucking him right here, right now.
Eric kisses his way back up my neck in search of my mouth. When our lips meet, I feel a burst of pleasure shooting through my body, almost like a prelude to the orgasm I’m 99% certain I’ll be enjoying later. I part my lips to welcome his tongue, and as he strokes and caresses the inside of my mouth, I wrap my arms around his massive, muscular form and press my body against his.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
Ecce homo.
Behold the man.
I can’t get over the magnificence of this man’s body. With all these massive muscles, he positively exudes testosterone, and my pussy is already dripping with desire. At the same time, I feel strangely secure, somehow protected in his embrace. His muscular arms encircle my waist, creating a sort of cocoon, from which I have absolutely no desire to emerge.
Slowly, he draws his lips away from mine, but neither of us makes any move to pull out of the embrace. He gazes down at me with a sexy smile on his lips.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask him.
So much for the bashful act...
“God, yes.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d turned me down.
But then he frowns slightly and he turns away, seeking out his friends, I think.
“Give me a couple of minutes, would you, Margaret?” he says.
“Sure.”
It’s still so weird to hear him call me Margaret.
He gives me a quick kiss on the lips before heading back across the room to join his friends. A part of me is scared to death that he’s going to back out on me for whatever reason. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave his friends or maybe he’s in a relationship with someone or maybe he even has some crazy superstition that forbids him from having sex the night before a game or something. He could back out for any number of reasons.
I know. I’m probably worrying about nothing. I’m not sure it’s possible to feel the kind of chemistry I just felt if it’s completely one sided. And if he had the same kind of experience that I did, there’s no way he’s going to pass up the chance to take things further.
At least I hope he’s not!
“Finally.”
I turn to find Nina propping her elbow up on the bar and gazing at me with a big, goofy grin on her face.
“Sorry, sweetie.” I give her an apologetic smile. “I hope you weren’t too bored.”
“Nah. I’ve just been texting with Helena and Colette. They’re super stoked for you by the way.”
My smile widens.
“So...I saw you guys making out. How was it? And are you getting ready to go home with him or what?”
“Oh my god, Nina, it was amazing. I am serious. He’s so fucking masculine.”
She laughs. “That’s for sure.”
“And yeah, I think we’re going to be leaving soon. I’m pretty sure he’s just saying goodbye to his friends. What do you think? Do you want to leave with us?”
“Hate to break it to you, Molly, but you’re not my type and I’m not really into threesomes.”
I roll my eyes.
“You know perfectly well that’s not what I’m talking about. I just mean we could coordinate our Lyfts and head outside together to wait for them.”
“I know what you mean, but I’m fine. I think I’m going to stay for a bit longer. While you were busy making out with Mr. Magnificent, I was having a promising conversation with a guy who interns at the Chelsea Piers studios. I kinda want to stay and see if anything comes of that.”
“I hate the idea of leaving you here on your own, Nina.”
She throws her head back and releases a peal of laughter.
“Oh my god. All those years up in Bronxville have finally worn away your urban edge for good. I’ll be fine, girl. Seriously.”
I know. Nina’s a street savvy New Yorker, just like I am. But still.
“Besides, Colette’s thinking about coming out tonight. Her folks are already in bed and she’s still raring to go,” she says.
“Well, that’s good.”
“If you and your Viper are not on your way back to his place in five minutes, I’m going to kick your ass, Molly. I mean it,” Nina tells me.
I laugh, holding my arms up in surrender. “Okay, fine. You win. Just be careful, okay? And text me about everything that’s going on. Let me know if Colette shows up and what you’re all up to.”
“Oh, please. If you actually plan on reading my texts while the Brooklyn Viper is pounding you, then you’ve got serious issues.”
“Shut up.” I laugh as I jab her in the ribcag
e with my elbow. “He’s coming back.”
I watch as if entranced as Eric makes his way back to me through the crowd. He’s got a sexy smile on his face, and the sight of it kicks all my worries to the curb. There’s no way he’s coming to tell me tonight’s a no-go for whatever reason.
Nope. This is happening. It’s really happening!
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” I smile back at him.
After a pause, Nina says, “So, it was really nice to meet you, Eric. I should get back to Sam,” she says, turning to me. “The film guy,” she clarifies.
“Nice to meet you, too,” he says, offering her his hand.
“Just be careful, okay?” I murmur into her ear when we’re hugging goodbye.
“Same goes for you,” she says. “I don’t want to have to tell your dad who I last saw you with if you end up missing.”
I laugh. When did we become such a pair of old ladies? Everything will be fine. It always is.
With a couple of air kisses and promises to text each other soon (but not during sex) I turn from Nina to Eric. He takes my hand, kisses me on the cheek and then proceeds to lead me through the crowded bar out into the crisp, November night. And even with all the pounding music, and the people shouting and laughing, and the glasses clinking and the traffic and some homeless guy yelling about something or other, I still feel like I’m walking on a cloud.
4. MOLLY
The moment I see the inside of Eric’s apartment, my estimation of him shoots up a hundred percent. NFL players—especially the single guys—are not known for being beacons of good taste. When they become overnight millionaires, a lot of these guys start spending money like crazy with no regards to discernment or quality. We’re not just talking showy jewelry here. We’re talking gilded toilet seats, diamond studded silverware and even a sofa upholstered in actual fox fur. I am not kidding. I wish I was.
Eric lives in a charming brownstone on 82nd Street with exposed brick, polished wood floors, and dove grey walls. The décor is tasteful, sensible and minimalistic. Not that I’m implying he pulled it together on his own. I’m sure he hired a designer to furnish the place. But I have to give him props for hiring a good designer, rather than some tacky charlatan, dead set on spending as much money as possible to build a shrine to his client’s ego.