I looked over and saw Rodrigo getting his cock stroked by a young, petite brunette. He had a thing for small girls that he could bounce around. He caught my eye and grinned. He flashed a number one sign with his finger, and because he was my best friend and I knew him, I didn’t take it as a challenge. He was just celebrating.
As was I.
Jennifers danced around doing the whole over-the-top sexy thing. Why did every girl think stripper-dancing was the only way to be sexy?
The media or something.
I took a long slug of cold beer and watched the show.
“Who’s the winner gonna be?” I asked, to fuck with them a little more.
Why not?
Anything to keep my interest.
My reverie was cut short when someone knocked on the locker room door.
Who knocked on a locker room door?
The door flew open and the most stunning pair of long, cocoa legs I’d ever seen stumbled in. A guy with a camera on his shoulder came in behind her.
She lurched to a stop and stood there with her mouth hanging wide open and a confused look on her face.
Her eyes dropped to the area between my legs.
“Kind of late for an interview, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Sorry,” she stammered as her eyes came back up to mine. “I, I…”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “For you, I’ll hang out awhile.” I caught her gaze and glanced down between my legs. I looked back up and she was still locked on my dick like a tractor beam.
She shook her head. “Sorry, no…”
She took a step back and tripped on what must’ve been a four-inch heel. She sprawled forward flailing her arms. Her face smacked the concrete floor with a slap.
“Ouch! Damn!” I said as I jumped up and ran over.
I leaned down in front of her and extended a hand.
“Take my hand. Let me help you up,” I said.
Still staring at the floor, she held her busted face with one hand and raised her other hand above her head. She reached up and grabbed ahold.
Of my dick.
She missed my hand by a few inches and ended up with more than a few in return. She tugged down and then let go like she’d grabbed an electric fence.
A spark ran through my belly. One that settled deep in my balls. Something in her touch. Something I’d never felt.
I found her hand and steadied her.
“I like where you were going,” I said. “But maybe we should get some ice on that first. Then again, I’m a gentleman, so lady’s choice.”
She pushed up to her knees and looked up.
My heart exploded in my chest. Looking at me were the two most gorgeous amber-colored eyes I’d ever seen.
“I could use the ice,” she replied.
Fire burned in my veins. My dick pulsed and bobbled between my legs. Blood rushed down and my soldier started to raise the flag.
She kept her gaze on mine, which was saying something because her cheek was no more than a foot away from my rising erection, and said, “And it looks like you could use a cold shower.”
A circuit deep inside my brain, deep inside my balls, blew a fuse.
I’d found my winner.
CHAPTER THREE
Alexis
I stood in the press room, nervously drumming my fingers on the back of a foldable metal chair. Ed, my cameraman, and I were the only two people left. Everyone else gave up over an hour ago.
I continued waiting for Leonardo Cruz to come out, knowing full well it was never going to happen. The first person to score a post-game interview with The Lion—El Leon as the Spanish people called him—would get a major ratings boost.
Only he never did interviews of more than a half a minute or so. Just long enough to smile at the fans and thank them for their support. Never enough to satisfy the reporter.
Yeah, I was supposed to be doing a puff piece on the best tapas spots in the famous Gothic Quarter of Barcelona. But that was bullshit, intern-level work.
So what if I was an intern. I was never going to score the big bucks by covering plates of food.
After I ended the relationship with Robert, I decided to stick with the plan of moving to Europe. I wasn’t going to let him screw with my life plans.
Any more than he already had, at least.
It wasn’t an easy feat, but I managed to convince Megan to go, too. We ended up deciding on Barcelona because what’s not to love about the city of Gaudí? Oh yeah, and it was a big, bustling city with a beach on one side.
I’d been working this intern-level gig for five months and was going nowhere fast. There were only so ways to film and describe the delicious Spanish assortment of snacks known as tapas.
I was in desperate need of something major to prove I deserved bigger stories, and The Lion was the biggest story of all, if only someone could pin down the elusive national hero.
Ed sat in the corner with his gear in his lap and his head resting against the wall.
Were his eyes closed?
Was he taking a nap?
“Ed, wake up!”
He jerked and nearly dumped his fragile, ten-thousand-dollar camera on the concrete floor. He snatched it mid-tumble and saved his job for another day.
“What?”
He looked around, his eyes bleary and uncomprehending.
“Did he finally come out?” he asked.
“No, but we need to be ready.”
He shook his head and dropped it back against the wall. He stared at the ceiling.
“You know we’re not supposed to be here?”
I gritted my teeth. We’d already been through this.
“Do you want to be stuck filming dishes of Tortilla Espanola your whole life?” I said.
He exhaled loud enough to be sure I caught it.
His hinted exasperation wasn’t going to change my plan. Not in a million years.
“Good. Neither do I. We’re going to get the interview that no one could get. I’m going places, Ed. And you’re coming with me.”
His eyes shut. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
Our voices echoed around the desolate room. Nearly the entire Spanish national team had come out and done the usual circus of interviews after a big game. We’d stood in the corner, doing our best not to attract attention. Everyone was only too happy to oblige by ignoring us.
And, of course, Leonardo spoke with reporters while leaving the field, but then never showed up afterwards as the other players did.
Now two hours later, only Ed and I remained. The rest of the press figured Leonardo escaped out another exit to avoid having to interact with them.
I couldn’t blame him.
The media praised and held him high on the one hand and clobbered and beat him with the other.
Not that it wasn’t entirely, or mostly, his fault. It was. He had a knack for getting his face and half-clothed, gorgeous body splashed across the front-page tabloid news at least once a week.
On the other hand, he’d do something like he did today. I’d seen him on TV giving his jersey to that boy in the stands. Then getting his whole team to do the same for the other kids.
He was a total question mark.
I watched the closed and locked door to the stadium’s back corridors and team facilities, willing it to open, willing my career to mean something more than nothing.
The door clicked and swung open!
And it wasn’t Leonardo.
A janitor pushed a mop and cart through the door and looked up in surprise.
Great.
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “Thought everyone was gone by now.”
“Sorry, sir,” I replied. “It’s just that I left my purse in the coach’s office from an interview before the game.”
His eyes widened a little. Getting that interview clearly implied I was a hot-shit reporter.
And he was right. It would’ve meant exactly that, had it been true.
I gave him my sweetest, mo
st helpless look.
“I really need it.”
“Sorry, ma’am. I can’t let anyone into the secured area without clearance.”
“I know, I know. I would never normally ask.”
I dialed on some waterworks.
Only a few tears. Nothing outrageous!
“But I have a flight back to the United States tonight, and my passport is in my purse.”
The janitor’s gaze dropped to the floor.
I notched up the waterworks. Closer to outrageous, but not there yet!
“Oh God, I’ll lose my job if I’m not back in New York City by tomorrow morning.” I said it to myself, but he was my only audience. Well, Ed was there too, but he wisely didn’t call my bullshit.
The janitor bit his lip and frowned.
“Okay, a quick trip. I’ll walk you—“
I turned on the sparkles and megawatt smile.
“Oh Lord, thank you,” I said. “You have no idea how you’ve saved me.”
I kicked Ed in the shin and whispered under my breath.
“Let’s go.”
Ed scrambled up and gathered his gear.
I strolled through the open door and the janitor turned to follow.
“No, please,” I touched his shoulder. “You must be so busy, and I don’t want to take any of your time.”
He considered.
“Well, I was trying to get home for dinner for once.”
It was easy to convince people when they wanted to be convinced.
“I know the way,” I said. “We’ll run back and retrieve my purse and be back before you know it.”
He gave me a suspicious look. “Straight there and back?”
I gave him my widest-eyed, innocent-doe look.
“Absolutely.”
“Okay,” he said as he stepped aside and let Ed slide through.
The door swung shut and clicked into place.
We were in!
Ed eyeballed me, clearly not sharing my sense of victory.
“What now?” he asked.
“What now? What now? Can you give me half a second to enjoy that we’ve gotten this far?”
“Do you have any idea where to go?”
No, he clearly couldn’t give me that little thing.
“Not exactly, no.”
I looked around. A concrete labyrinth extended before us. The underbelly of a stadium that could hold more people than populated most towns in Spain.
We could’ve gotten lost for days.
Were it not for the signs.
Handy, those.
Home Team Locker Room, one said, with an arrow pointing straight ahead.
I took off at a trot, daring Ed to get left behind. The scrambling of feet and gear behind assured me he either didn’t want to miss this opportunity, or he didn’t want to get caught alone back here.
Either way, we were off.
After an almost endless series of concrete corridors and countless turns, we arrived at our destination. A placard next to the door read Home Team Locker Room.
Perfect.
“We should go back,” Ed said from behind.
“Don’t get weak-in-the-knees on me now.”
“We shouldn’t be here. I like filming hot appetizers. It pays the bills, mostly.”
“Exactly. Mostly,” I said. “My life’s plan isn’t to mostly succeed.”
“You realize our employer is The Royal Spanish Football Federation?”
It still confused my American brain that the rest of the world called soccer football. It totally made sense as soccer was the sport where you kicked the ball everywhere. But still, I hadn’t gotten over doing a mental double take every time I heard it that way.
I turned and faced him.
“Of course, I do. I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re not? Because while most news outlets might condone all this sneaking around, ours most emphatically will not.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying our job is to create little, digestible bites of media that make people think Spain is an awesome place to see a soccer game and spend some tourist Dollars, Euros, or Yen.”
“Are you getting to a point?”
He itched his nose. He was always itching his nose.
“My point is that getting this interview isn’t our job. And breaking the Federation’s own rules to get said interview feels a whole lot like pre-signing our termination papers.”
I smacked his shoulder.
“Don’t be so gloomy! Besides, if we get caught, I’ll say it was all my fault.”
He dropped his head and slowly shook it.
“Somehow, that doesn’t feel reassuring.”
“Ed, pull it together. This could be the defining moment in both of our careers.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I straightened my hair and looked up through my lashes to verify they were generally combed out.
“How do I look?”
I made a silly face.
He glanced up and grinned. “Like an idiot.”
“Good. Now, let’s roll the camera. I want this live-streamed to the website.”
Broadcast technology these days was amazing. A camera that with the push of a button could stream a video signal straight to the league website as a live stream for viewers all of the world to watch in real-time. It was a ten-thousand dollar camera and there was a team of computer nerds making sure everything worked as advertised. But still, it was amazing.
“Why?”
“Because when we score the interview of a lifetime, I don’t want any bureaucratic bullshit shutting us down.”
“You don’t even know he’s in there.”
A muffled sound came through the closed door.
“Someone’s in there. Roll it, Ed.”
He raised the camera and balanced it on his shoulder. His fingers flew over a bewildering array of buttons and he finally snugged the eyepiece up to his eye.
I checked my outfit. Black turtleneck with sleek, black pants. Conservative, professional, stylish, with a hint of sexy.
“Give me the count,” I said.
Ed raised his free hand and counted down from five.
“Five, four, …”
The last three numbers dropped with his fingers.
The red light on the front of the camera started flashing.
I put on my best reporter’s act.
“This is Alexis Young with The Royal Spanish Football Federation doing a live streamcast in the after hours of the huge win for the Spanish national team. As you all know, the game secured Spain a spot in the upcoming World Cup. One man more than any other made that happen. El Leon, Leonardo Cruz, scored a penalty kick in the final seconds of the game and brought the capacity crowd to its feet.”
I turned toward the door.
“We’re going behind the scenes to capture an exclusive one-on-one interview with The Lion.”
I looked back to the camera, and gave a slightly conspiratorial look.
“Come with me.”
I gave a quick, cursory knock and then opened the door. The muffled sounds that were seconds ago an unidentifiable assemblage of vowels became crystal clear.
I walked in and my stomach jumped up my throat, and then out my mouth and flopped around on the ground.
Leonardo Cruz sat naked on a bench with his legs spread wide. His broad chest and unbelievably chiseled abs raised my pulse. His black hair glistened with moisture. His devastating blue-grey eyes made my earlobes tingle.
My eyes dropped to the one thing that drew attention to itself more than any other—the monster hanging between his legs.
Good Lord!
Why were my insides squirming?
“Kind of late for an interview, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Sorry,” I stammered as managed to yank my eyes back to a more appropriate level. “I, I…”
My brain was so not working!
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “For
you, I’ll hang out awhile.”
I followed his eyes as they looked down between his legs.
There it was again!
Lord! Really?
I was still looking at it!
Look away!
I shook my head. “Sorry, no…”
I stepped back to escape and tripped on my altogether too ambitious high heels. I pitched forward in an all-out sprawl.
My face smacked into the floor. Bright pain shot through my head. Warm wetness oozed down my lower lip.
“Ouch! Damn!” Leonardo said as he ran over. “Take my hand. Let me help you up.”
Oh God, the pain was blinding. I cradled my face with one hand and reached up to accept his assistance with the other.
The faster I got off the ground, the faster I could try to regain some semblance of not being a total idiot.
I found his hand and grabbed tight.
Only…
It didn’t feel like a…
OH.
MY.
GOD.
I jerked my hand away. I froze, not knowing what the hell to do next.
I mean, I just yanked on his thang. His very thick and, let’s be honest, amazing thang.
He grabbed my hand and squeezed.
“I like where you were going,” he said. “But maybe we should get some ice on that first. Then again, I’m a gentleman, so lady’s choice.”
Alex, do not look at it again.
Do not!
I pushed up to my knees and looked up.
It was there, off to the side.
But I managed not to look.
It was easy, actually, because the most hypnotizing pair of blue-gray eyes in the world had me under their spell. My insides squirmed under his hot gaze.
Pull it together, Alex!
Now!
I snapped out of it with a blink.
“I could use the ice,” I said.
Less than a foot away from mouth, I noticed him starting to perk up, like a drawbridge raising.
I so wanted to watch.
The warmth between my legs so wanted to watch.
Not a chance!
It took every ounce of will power, more than I realized I had, but I managed to keep my eyes on his.
“And it looks like you could use a cold shower,” I said.
He pulled me to my feet and, though we were a foot apart, his now horizontal member was nearly poking my belly.
Balls: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (A Cruz Boys Novel Book 1) Page 3