"How so?"
Done rinsing the dish, he perches back on the stool and faces me. "I was serious about teaching you about football. The positions, the players, the strategies and tactics. It would help you interview the other Chicago Outlaws. I can see a whole series of articles."
Exactly the same thing I thought. But his comment doesn't sit right with me. Maybe because that's not the journalistic future I envisioned for me. "I did not plan a sports journalism career. I want to report on social issues, women's issues."
He waves a hand, dismissing my argument. "The Windy City Chronicle is small enough you could do both."
"Joe Johnson is the newspaper's sports reporter." And he's already pissed off at me. One or two sports interviews are okay. But I can't dedicate all my time to football. And yet? Somehow Ron's interview whetted my appetite for more. I'm so confused.
"Joe is great at the game, but he can't get things out of the players like you can. They respond differently to you. I could help ease your way with them. Tell you what to ask. What to look out for." His brow scrunches. "Everyone except Ryan Taylor. Stay away from him."
That's the second time he's warned me away from Ryan Taylor which only makes me more eager to interview him. But wait. He said something that doesn't track. "How do you know what I can get out of the players?"
"I read the piece you did on Ron."
"When?" I ask breathless.
"It's in today's paper. Come on, let's go to the living room. It's more comfortable there." He grabs my plate, soda and his beer and heads to the coffee table where he promptly drops everything. "Come sit." He pats the couch next to him.
Like a puppy dog, I do as I'm told. "How did you know the article was in the paper?"
"How else? I looked, MacKenna. It's good. Very good," he says, toasting me with the beer.
Pleased with the compliment, I smile. "I didn't know you read the Chronicle."
"I didn't. Until I met you."
"Oh." I grab the sub and take another bite, to give me time to think. He's never read the paper before me. What's that supposed to mean? That he's interested in me? Or that he wants to make sure I can write a decent piece on him? Probably the latter.
His gaze narrows. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I can't believe how easily he picks up on my moods. He's very good with women, maybe that's all it is. Except, that something tells me it's not the only reason. But I refuse to think about that right now. That's a dangerous path I don't want to travel. The important thing is to focus on my career. "I wish I could talk to Mar about the article. We always shared our college victories."
His brow scrunches. "You haven't heard from her yet?"
"No. I'm beginning to worry."
"You want me to call Oliver?"
I bop my forehead. How stupid can I be? "Why didn't I think of that? I have his personal cell number."
"Oh, you do, do you?" His gaze narrows.
Oops. Why, oh, why, didn't I keep my mouth shut? I could have made a beeline for the bathroom and called him. Too late now. The only thing I can do is explain. "He gave it to me at the Outlaws' facility when he asked me to attend the charity affair."
The explanation doesn't help one whit. If anything, his eyes darken to a stormy green as fire breathes out of his nostrils.
My phone trills. Grateful for the interruption, I pick it up. It's the number of some hotel I've never heard of before. Even though I have no idea who it might be, I answer it. Anything to give me time to figure out a way to deal with Ty. "Hello."
"MacKenna."
A wave of relief rolls over me. "Mar! I'm so happy you called. Where are you? Did you go home last night?"
"No. I'm at the"—she clears her throat—"I'm at the Golden Nugget."
"The Golden Nugget? Sounds like a gambling casino."
"It is."
"Step on it, sunshine, breakfast is here." The male voice in her background sounds an awful lot like . . .
Oh, my God. "Is that Oliver?"
She groans. "Yes."
"You and him?"
"Yes. Look, I gotta go. We're leaving here soon. I'd like to come by your apartment and pick up my things."
The fairyland I've been living in disappears, and reality sets in. "You can't. My place was broken into last night. I'm staying with Ty. I brought your bag. Can you come by his house instead?"
"Your place got broken into? What happened?"
"Last night, Ty accompanied me to my apartment. When we got there, we found my door busted, the place tossed. They took my laptop, a few other things." My stomach heaves. Darn it. I shouldn't have eaten that sub.
"Did you call the police?"
"Yes. They came. Wrote down the details, took fingerprints. They didn't hold out much hope they'd find whoever did it, much less what was stolen."
"So Ty took you back to his house."
"Yes, but—" A quick glance at Ty tells me he's focused on the game, so I whisper into the phone, "I can't stay here."
"You can move in with me, MacKenna. As long as you need."
A big wave of relief washes over me. "Thanks, Mar. I was hoping you'd offer."
"We probably won't make it there 'til this afternoon. We're moving kind of slow this morning."
"Err. It is afternoon, Mar."
"Ouch," she yells.
"What happened?"
"Oliver snapped my butt with a towel. Why did you that?" The latter sounds fainter, like she's turned away from the phone.
His voice comes over the phone, clear as a bell. "So I could kiss it and make it better."
Oh, geez. An amorous Oliver and Mar, the queen of I'll see you when I see you. That can't end well.
"Gotta go." Her voice sounds crazy strained and . . . urgent.
"Okay." I hang up. Wow. Oliver and Mar. Is she interested in him? After one night? Yeah, MacKenna, and how long did it take you to fall into Ty's bed. A whole two days, that's how long. And you're the no-sex queen.
Darn. I never gave her Ty's address. I shrug. Maybe she'll call back, when she's not so . . . busy. And even if she doesn't, Oliver probably has it, or knows someone that can get it for him. I shrug. They'll figure it out.
I return to the living room and take my spot next to Ty. Even though his gaze is pinned on the game, his hunched-over shoulders still brim with tension.
"So, is your friend okay?" He mumbles after taking a sip from his beer.
"Yeah, she's with Oliver, if you can believe it."
The tension leaches from his body, as he turns to me with a smile. "Really?"
"Yeah, really." I return his smile.
"And you're not upset?"
"No. Why should I?"
"He asked you to the function, not your friend."
"Actually, he asked us both. After Marigold found out that Tony Landon would be there, she practically begged. They're coming by this afternoon so Mar can pick up her things. Hope you don't mind."
"Nope. I don't mind." Sitting back, he wraps an arm around me and tucks me against his side. "I figured I'd give you your first football lesson this while we watched a game."
"Okay. Do you have a notebook I could write on? I found your shopping list pad this morning, but it's too small."
"Yeah, I do." He rises and disappears into the hallway. A few minutes later, he returns with a notebook and hands it to me before sitting back down. "Now, tell me what you know."
He spends the first quarter explaining positions, starting with his, of course. But soon he's moving on to the other players.
"Now the tight end there." He points to a player on the TV who's lined up at the end of the line.
"That's kind of personal, isn't it? I mean his heiney is pretty toned, but to call him that seems rude."
He stares at me like I've grown an additional head. "That's the position he plays."
"Oh." Blushing, I duck my head and write that down.
"Now the fullback and the halfback? They run the ball."
"So if they're fullback and
halfback, are they more important than the quarterback?"
"Hell, no. No position is more important than the quarterback. I call the plays, throw the ball, manage the players on the field. Shoot, they'd be dead in the water without me." His Texas accent emerges, something that seems to happen when his emotions enter the picture.
"Uh." I cringe when one of the ball carriers gets tackled. "But they're the ones getting hit."
"Believe me, I get hit plenty. Got a concussion once."
"That explains it, then."
"Explains what?"
"Never mind." I bite down on my lip to keep a smile from breaking out.
But, darn it, he notices. "You messing with me?"
All innocence, I widen my eyes. "No, Ty. I'm not."
He looks at me askance, but doesn't push me for an answer.
During half time he takes me outside to demonstrate the 'finer points of the game.' Before I join him, I throw on my coat. No way am I going out there in only jeans and sweatshirt. He lobs a couple of balls, makes a few moves. I'm supposed to tackle him. Fat chance.
When we come back inside, the third quarter has started so we make our way to the couch. But he pays no attention to what's happening on the television. Instead, he cups my face between those big hands of his. And softly, so softly, brushes his lips against mine. I shiver from the contact. Who would've thought he'd be so gentle?
From the corner of my eye, I spot a double reverse. "Oh, look at that."
"I'd rather look at you."
"But—"
"Hush, I'm kissing you." Boy, for someone who doesn't usually smooch, he's aces at it. His kisses are everything I ever dreamed about—soft, tender. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back. He nibbles my lower lip. He doesn't invade or force himself on me, but licks the seam of my mouth as if he's asking for permission. Eager for his taste, I grant it to him. Gently, he pushes me down on the couch where he proceeds to taste every corner of my mouth. He's so big, so strong. I curl my hands around him and enjoy the feel of Ty against me.
He rips off my top, the jeans I threw on. All that's left are my bras and panties. Leaning in, he smells me like a feral creature out in the wild scenting his mate. "You wet, MacKenna? I bet you are. I bet you're soaked down below. Shall I find out?"
"D-don't." But it's too late. His hand skims up my thigh to my panties. He tugs them off, and suddenly he's there. At the place where I can't lie. His finger slides into my slick pussy.
"Ooohhhhh."
And then he goes down on his knees and kisses his way up my leg to my mons.
Oh, God. No. "Wait. I need a shower. I'm all sweaty."
"No, you don't." Next thing I know his mouth is on me, licking, suckling, nibbling. My heart pounds like a big bass drum. I writhe because I know what's coming this time. Me. "Oh, my god, Ty."
Those green eyes of his shine up at me. "Tell me you want this, MacKenna."
"Yes, oh, yes."
He lifts one of my legs over his shoulders, then the other and proceeds to feast on me. His hot, ravenous mouth gives me no quarter, not that I want any. I clamp on to him while his hot greedy mouth draws the cream out of me. I should be horrified at what I'm letting him do, at what I'm doing, but the truth is I don't care. Plain and simple, I love what he's doing to me.
The bra clasp is child's play to him and it soon joins the rest of my clothes on the floor. I'm naked and trembling, and all I want is him.
"I love your breasts," he says filling his hands with them. He leans down sucks one into his mouth while his fingers tweak the other's nipple. "You taste like brown sugar."
"And your pussy?" He slips a finger into his mouth, the same finger which teased my mons. "Sweet honey." He rubs that same finger over my mouth. "Suck." I do, tasting myself. "I love the way you taste, MacKenna."
He dives into his pocket and fishes out a condom. In seconds, he's shed his clothes, and stands in front of me, his cock proud and eager like the warrior he is. After he rolls on the love glove, he picks me up and walks toward an empty space on the wall, his raging hard on pulsing against my belly. Oh, God. I know what he's going to do. The scent of hot, sweaty man invades my nostrils, and I love it. Because it's him. Because it's Ty.
"Do you want me to fuck you, MacKenna?"
I'm trembling so hard I don't know if my knees will hold me up. A whimper is all I can manage.
"You'll have to do better than that." His fingers sink into my pussy, teasing a "Yes"out of me.
"Good girl." He lifts me, fits himself into me. When he rams home, we both grunt.
He thrusts and thrusts and thrusts, while I hang on tight for all I'm worth. He bangs me against the wall, repeatedly, his hands squeezing my ass tight. I bury my head in his neck and suck his skin. I can't get enough of the taste of him.
"Bite me."
I do, and he comes in a rush inside of me. We collapse to the floor, me on top of him.
When our labored breathing returns to normal, he sweeps the hair from my face. "I'm not letting you go. Ever."
"Ty." My heart skips a beat. I can't be with him. It would derail everything I want out of life. "I—"
But before I can say another word, he covers my mouth with his, in a tender, soul stealing kiss that ends my objection to his scheme.
"
Chapter 16
MacKenna
AS THE GAME ENDS, Marigold and Oliver finally make it to Ty's house, dressed in the same clothes they wore to the charity event. I don't comment on it. Aside from the fact, it's none of my business, I don't have room to talk. Last night I'd accepted Ty's offer with the full intention of staying only for one night. But one rustle of the trees outside my bedroom window had me crawling into his bed. Not only that, I'd practically thrown myself at him. Hell, not practically. I had first chance I got. And this afternoon, I'd willingly enjoyed round three.
Offering the excuse we need to get her bag, I lead Mar to the guest bedroom. "Here it is." I point to the suitcase with the bright flower power tag, a reminder of her commune upbringing. "They didn't touch it. Whoever broke into my apartment seemed content to damage only my property. I didn't want to leave it behind in case whoever broke in came back."
After a glance at her suitcase, she sweeps her hand down my arm. "How are you holding up?"
I've held tough until now, but with her comforting gesture, I break down. Tears spill down my face as she puts her arms around me. She's so short, I have to bend to rest my head on her shoulder.
"Oh, Mar. They trashed the place. My clothes, my furniture, my stuff. It's like they wanted to destroy everything rather than steal them."
"Does the police have any leads?"
"No. And they didn't hold out any hope, either. Break ins like mine happen all over Chicago. My guess is hoodlums who enjoy vandalizing just for kicks. Only thing of value they stole was my laptop."
"Your newspaper will replace it, won't they?"
"Yes, and all my research and articles are stored in the cloud, so I haven't lost anything, but still I feel so . . ."
"Violated."
The same word Ty used. And she's right. It feels like somebody defiled my soul, the very essence of me. My information is protected, encrypted by a software program, but who's to say whoever stole my laptop can't break the code and read my most intimate thoughts. My hopes and dreams for the future, things I wrote about Ty and our first night together. The thought sickens me. "Yes."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Ty asked me to stay with him, but I don't think that's a good idea. Aside from the fact it would complicate things at the newspaper, I don't want to get too attached to him. Nothing good can come from it." Wish I could get my body to understand, but every time Ty comes near me, I fall apart in his arms.
Her eyes signal nothing but kindness. "In all the time we were in college, you never dated. Not once. And now you go and fall for the football league's most notorious player."
"I didn't fall for him."
Her lips twist
into a wry grin. "If you say so."
Yeah, I'm lying. To her. To myself. But I just can't acknowledge the depth of my attraction to Ty. Not when I know nothing but heartache awaits me at the end. "Mar, please don't. I'm having a hard enough time keeping it together as it is."
"Fine. Okay. No sense getting attached to him. He's not the sticking kind."
She's right about that. "No, he's not."
"And you're the kind who needs a man to stick around." She brushes her hand down my hair, squeezes my shoulder. "So, you want to stay with me?"
I gaze at her out of what I know must be hopeful eyes. "Do you mind, Mar? I hate to impose."
"Not a problem, kiddo. We can stop by your place and pick up whatever you need."
"There won't be much. The thief destroyed most of my things. But I do thank you." After I give her a quick hug, I stand back and study her. She has a certain glow that wasn't there before. "Don't mention anything to Ty about me moving in with you."
"You're not coming home with me tonight?"
"No. Not tonight. I'll have to pick the right time to tell him." I'm stalling, I know. I should just rip off the scab. Thing is I can't. After his declaration this afternoon, I need to find the right words.
She squeezes my arm again. "Whenever you're ready then."
"Thanks, Mar" I tilt my head to the side, considering the best way to ask something I'm curious about. "There's something I need to ask. It's none of my business. And if you tell me to butt out, I will."
"Go ahead. Spit it out."
"You and Oliver?"
A spot of pink blooms in her cheeks. "Yeah, who would have thunk, right? He's not exactly my type."
During college, her type had been those in need of sexual guidance— dumb jocks, ignorant nerds, clueless intellectuals. She'd taken them under her wing and literally made men out of them. Someone as gorgeous and sophisticated as Oliver Lyons was way out of her league. If anything, he'd probably taught her a thing or two.
"You found something in common?"
"Yeah, lust." She shrugs. "Pure chemistry. Plain and simple. We have the hots for each other. But I'm nipping this in the bud. Don't need any complications in my life. Especially when I hate his guts."
Dirty Filthy Boy (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) (Chicago Outlaws Book 1) Page 11