Indulgence

by Liz Crowe

  He shifted in his seat, trying to get control of himself, a bizarre combination of anger and lust spinning around his brain. The room rose, and Nicco joined them making their way out into the hallway.

  A gaggle of kids and parents awaited them, and the team spent about an hour signing soccer balls, slips of paper, jerseys, getting photos taken with camera phones. Nicco joined in to prove his ability to schmooze like a pro. At one point he caught sight of his new young coach with his arm around a tall, attractive, pregnant woman with coal black hair. Rafe caught his eye and beckoned him over.

  “Nicolas Garza, this is Maureen, my wife, and her son, Adam.” A dark-skinned teenager next to the stunning woman stuck out a hand. Nicco took it, noting the kid’s own club kit and backpack. He took Maureen’s hand, kissed it, and eyeballed Rafe.

  “Well done, young Rafe. What a vision. How did a loser such as yourself rate such beauty?”

  Maureen frowned but her eyes sparkled. “Spare me, Nicco. I’ve heard all about you.”

  “I have no doubt of that, lovely lady.” He gave a short bow. “But may I also say congratulations on the coming joy.”

  She smiled at him, and he mirrored her, liking her already. He valued women who took no shit from him. Winking at Rafe, he made his way back into the teeming throng after nodding at the woman’s son, who didn’t look that much younger than his mother’s new husband. He immediately locked gazes with the blond American usurper and his throat closed up. The man stared at him wide-eyed and innocent, and Nicco had to grip the back of a chair to keep from saying something utterly stupid.

  He’d wager his left nut that young Parker had never been with a man, but the sheer sexual energy pouring off him was intoxicating. His fresh, clean good looks spoke of a typical American, upper class upbringing, expensive soccer clubs and college scholarships. Shit Nicco usually despised and denigrated.

  He broke the eye contact and set his jaw. The kid had another think coming if he honestly thought he’d be taking Nicolas Garza’s place on the team—pure and simple, no matter how fevered his sudden fantasy over popping the kid’s cherry. He ran a hand down his face and swallowed hard. Things had certainly gotten complicated and then some. But he had a focus now—keeping his starting spot ahead of the delectable Parker.

  Chapter Seven

  Parker smiled, signed jerseys, made random small talk with his new teammates, and tried like hell to ignore the blatant stare coming from the famous Spanish player. The guy had a nerve, ignoring him like that in front of everybody. So far, consensus on the team about Nicolas Garza remained consistent—he was the official bad boy, their token player everyone loved to hate. Parker didn’t think it was a good way to initiate team dynamics, but he wasn’t the coach.

  So he did his thing, Tweeted, made a few Facebook comments under his new profile: Parker Rollings, Black Jack, signed more balls and grinned for more pictures. By the time they’d finished the fan scrum his ears rang and his stomach growled.

  “Hey, Parker, do you have a car?” The dark-skinned South African forward slapped his back. “Need a ride?”

  “Uh, sure, um….” Parker tried to remember the man’s name.

  “Kago.”

  “No car yet, so that would be great, thanks.” In Kago’s huge shiny SUV, they were joined by two Germans and a kid Parker remembered playing against in college. During the brief trip to the hotel, he learned Aric and his quieter fellow German, Tobias had both given up decent careers in the Bundesleague to take a chance on this American experiment.

  Tobias was married, but his wife had stayed behind for a year just to hedge their bets. Aric had a girlfriend who’d be joining them in a few months. Kago kept quiet about his personal life, which Parker respected by staying silent about his own.

  The other American, Cole Franklin from Somehere-who-cares, Ohio kept up a steady monologue about himself, his talents, his various trophies and championships, the many women he’d fucked, and how much more pussy he anticipated getting now that he was a pro player, precluding much other conversation.

  Parker stared straight ahead listening to the chatter from the back dominated by the loud American and various grunts and one-syllable answers from the Germans. A hard reality struck him then—the gamble he’d taken coming here matched the huge crap shoot nature of the whole damn project. He had felt such an affinity for Rafe when he’d met him after the championship game, but until that moment he had no idea how far out on a limb he stood with this motley crew of players.

  He grinned and looked at Kago who threw him a genuine smile in return. Maybe it would be fun. A convertible raced by them, top down, long blonde female hair whipping around on the passenger’s side. Parker bit his lip at the sight of Nicolas Garza behind the wheel, one hand draped over it, the other along the back of the seat, his dark face casual as if the whole driving thing was just an afterthought.

  Swallowing the urge to grip his thighs and clamping down on all forbidden fantasy images, he took a long breath. The car sped up and zoomed around them, disappearing into the shimmering heat of the highway ahead.

  All his intense imaginings about men had to remain in his head. He would likely never be able to experience the hard muscular planes of another man’s body under his hands. Not if he were to achieve his goal of pro soccer stardom. He swallowed hard and made a mental note to find a girlfriend, fast.

  “So Parker. How do you feel about being pitted against Nicco the Terrible?” Kago asked.

  Parker frowned. “Pitted against him? I figured I was just his second.”

  “No. Our coach is going old school on us. Making us earn our spots in one-on-one competitions starting on Monday.”

  Parker’s heart sped up. He had always admired the Spaniard’s style, but was confident of his own talents. “Huh. Well, I guess I’ll have to beat him then.” He blushed as the three older men burst out laughing. One of the Germans smacked his shoulder.

  “Big talk. You have no idea how hard that bastard will work to keep his spot. But never mind. That’s for Monday. It’s Thursday and I, for one, have never been in a big American city. I say we hit at least three strip clubs, two casinos, and end the night with an orgy in…your room.”

  Parker gave a weak grin at the roars of amusement and ran a thumb over the new debit card the pretty, dark-haired assistant had pressed into his hand earlier.

  “Plenty of money here, Parker. An advance on your salary to get you settled.” Parker had never in his life thought much about money. Now on his own, worries about how to actually afford tucking singles into bikini bottoms and throwing cash at the gambling tables invaded his brain.

  They pulled into the hotel’s swank front court, exited, and made their way to the bank of elevators. Parker’s head spun from residual stress, hunger, and anxiety at the thought of an actual strip club. He shook his head. Get a grip and act like a man, Jesus. Men do these things all the time. No big deal. He shut the room door and leaned on it a minute, trying to still his racing heart. He’d never regretted his sheltered life as student-athlete-with-regular-sex-from-a-girlfriend more than at the moment.

  He glanced around at the suite, which boasted sleeping and sitting areas, plus a luxurious bathroom with a tub and shower big enough to hold a family of six. Parker devoured an apple and a banana from the fruit bowl and tossed his new phone on the marble table top before slumping into a chair.

  He stared at the new device wishing he had someone to call; someone who gave a shit he’d arrived safely and was settling into his new life. But he didn’t. His mother had called once leaving a terse, predictable message that made him ache for his old life while at the same time relieved he’d left it behind. He’d made his choice. Although disturbing erotic thoughts of the compelling Spaniard, the guy he was supposed to compete with for his starting position, made him doubt his sanity.

  *****

  Rafe sipped his beer and attempted to relax. Maureen and Adam chattered with friends on either side of him as he smiled at the various locals wh
o stopped at their table to congratulate him on pulling together such a great team His heart pounded in his ears, the gigantic, colossal mistaken nature of this project whipping through him like a hurricane. Huge. Epic. Failure waiting to happen.

  His leg bounced from nervousness until Maureen’s calm, cool hand touched it. She kept talking to the woman on her right but her palm stroked his thigh, soothing, erotic, and annoying all at once. He wanted to crawl up the damn walls. Why had he put himself in all these simultaneously stressful positions? Jesus, just a year ago, he coached a group of teenagers on an elite travel team, his main stressors that of parents always pressing for more playing time or positive evaluations for their kids. With no real worries other than where he’d buy his next meal or what girl he would call to take off his edge.

  He blinked, staring at his wife’s profile. They had gone through hell to get to this point. It had taken him months to convince her he loved her. He would not trade it for a million dollars. Still, he should have taken one glance at her brother’s proposal to take on recruiting for this crazy project and said “Hell. No.” before running in the opposite direction.

  His phone buzzed but he ignored it in favor of easing into Maureen’s under-the-table caress, needing her more than he needed anything at the moment. She turned to him, her bright blue eyes comforting. He smiled as the band around his chest loosened an inch or even two.

  “Let’s go home,” she whispered, her hand planted firmly near his crotch, making his scalp zing with anticipation.

  “Can’t,” he whispered back, moving so she could get a better angle. “Jack and the guy from the casino are coming by. They want a play by play from the team meeting.”

  She sighed and sipped her lemonade. “Okay, but it’s already nearly nine.” She stared at his beer. “Jesus, I wish I could have one of those.”

  “Hell no, woman. You won’t corrupt our son that way.”

  He leaned into Maureen, taking a deep breath of her scent which had always thrilled him but now had a ripe undercurrent that never failed to bring his whole body to strict attention.

  “I love you.” He’d never meant anything more sincerely in his life.

  She put her head on his shoulder. “I know. And you’re going to be fine. This whole thing is going to be great. I know it.”

  “Yeah, Garza and all, eh?”

  “Well, he seemed very nice.”

  Rafe snorted.

  “Yeah, Dad, he did.” Maureen’s body stiffened. Rafe let it pass.

  “You think so, Adam?” He thought his heart might burst from his chest. “I hope so. I really really do.” He had never asked Maureen’s nearly grown children to call him anything but Rafe.

  Jack strode up, his eyes full of stress, but smiling at the sight of them. He dropped into the booth. Maureen leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Hey, handsome.”

  He ordered a beer, then sat back and unbuttoned his top shirt button. “Fuck me. What a day.”

  Rafe raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Goddamned market is going haywire. People are back to writing purchase offers on the hood of their agent’s cars. Like the old days, but Jesus please-us is it stressful.” He grinned and sucked back half the amber brew. “Any good news to be had?”

  “Well, Sevim gave me a verbal agreement about an hour ago. He’ll be in by Friday to sign a contract.” Rafe’s personal triumph over signing the Turkish coach faded at the sight of the unfamiliar local number on his phone. He’d programmed in all the players’ new numbers so he had no idea who this could be. “Inez.”

  “Yes, this is the J.W. Marriott. We have a couple of complaints and, um, the noise seems to be coming from your floor. You know, the players’ floor.”

  Rafe groaned. It starts.

  “All right, I’ll call the manager. He should be in the building, and I’ll be right out.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He hung up and met his brother-in-law’s dark stare.

  “You let them loose? Tonight? You do realize where they are right? Smack in the middle of Detroit with casinos, strip bars, and nightclubs in their path?”

  He ignored the man’s rhetorical bullshit and hit the speed dial for the team manager as he got to his feet. No answer. He ground his teeth and sent a text demanding a return call in the next five minutes. “Yeah, Jack I do. But these are grown men. They’re….”

  “A bunch of prima donna professional athletes with too fucking much money and an ass load of testosterone to blow off. Loose in downtown Detroit. Better call the PR department.” Maureen started to slide out of the booth. Rafe took her hand and helped her up.

  “I’m fine, honey. But I need to get home.” She glared at her brother. “You. Be nice.” The tension in his face softened as he looked at her. Rafe’s head still buzzed with stress.

  “I’ll update you later,” he tossed over his shoulder as he led them out of the increasingly noisy restaurant. “I’m so sorry.” He kissed Maureen’s forehead. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  “It’ll be fine. The hotel is probably being picky. Go make some threats and get them calmed down. You have practice, when?”

  “Monday.” He winced, realizing the mistake, even as he said it.

  “Oh, well, um, maybe you should call an impromptu one this weekend—you know, mandatory or something so they don’t…I don’t know.”

  As he climbed behind the wheel of his truck and watched Maureen’s taillights disappear into the traffic, Rafe tried to figure out how in the hell he’d been named babysitter for a bunch of grown men.

  Chapter Eight

  The early sun warmed Nicco’s skin as he finished the sixth of his ten-mile run. His head finally cleared allowing him into the zone of pain-free euphoria he always reached at about this point every morning. No matter how late he’d been up, what or who he’d been doing, he never, ever, skipped his run.

  The fog had burned off a nearby golf course and early players headed to the first hole. The brisk Michigan air brushed across his skin, making him break out in a chill. He slowed, headed up a hill, crested it and stopped, looking around at the vista of bright green. For some reason, it seemed unnatural and surreal, exactly like this whole fucking expansion soccer team experiment.

  He sighed and started back down the other side, picking up speed and letting the increasing exhaustion in his legs distract him.

  By the time he got back to the lobby, a bunch of his new teammates had gathered in the coffee shop, jawing and sipping from cardboard cups. They ignored him. He returned the favor, tipping a salute to the hot blonde receptionist who’d given him a stellar blowjob the night before.

  Several teammates had made a half-hearted attempt to include him in their lame plans to hit strip clubs and casinos and whatever else Detroit could provide them last night, but he’d demurred and spent the evening between the legs of said lovely behind the desk. A much better tradeoff, considering the young coach had been called in at one point to yell at them all to shut the fuck up or risk getting booted to the curb of the high-class hotel. By the time that happened, he’d been passed out, sated, after sending what’s-her-name on her way.

  He’d been subjected to a second round with the psychologist and spent a pleasant half hour baiting the guy about his own “I’m gay and I’m proud” confession. Then he passed the rest of the time staring sullenly at his own shoes.

  “See you next week, Nicco,” the therapist had said at the quiet end of the hour. Nicco had snorted and slammed the door.

  Leaning against the mirrored wall of the elevator, he let endorphins from the hard run rush through his brain. He barely noticed when a hand appeared between the closing doors, forcing them back open. Grimacing at the delay Nicco looked straight into the bright blue eyes of the man who had haunted his wet dreams.

  “Oh, um, hi. Sorry.” Parker Rollings blushed and ran a nervous hand through his short-cropped blond hair.

  Nicco didn’t trust his voice so he nodded, annoyed by how his scalp prickled at the young man’s p
roximity. He stood up straighter, letting his gaze traverse the very pleasant landscape of young Parker’s, back, waist, and ass. He took a breath, tried to think of something to say but couldn’t. Which really pissed him off. When the doors slid open, Nicco remained frozen in place, gripped by uncertainty.

  Parker turned to him.

  “We got off on the wrong foot.”

  Nicco nodded, throat closed in agony at the deep slightly southern cadence of the other man’s voice. “So, let’s try again.” The tall American stuck out a hand. “Hello, I’m Parker Rollings. Pleased to meet you.”

  Nicco stared at it, willing the muscles and bones of his shoulder and elbow to cooperate. He observed his dark hand gripping Parker’s. And just barely resisted the urge to grab the rail behind him at the bright shock of chemistry passing between them.

  Parker gasped and yanked his hand back, staring at Nicco as if at a particularly disgusting roadkill. Then, as is the way with polite, well-brought up American boys, he smiled, putting Nicco at ease in way that terrified him and turned him on in equal measure.

  “And you are Nicolas Garza, the guy I think I’m supposed to beat if I want my starting spot, correct?” He stood next to Nicco, forcing him to ease away ever so slightly. “Good run?” Nicco’s eyes refused to obey his brain’s direct orders and stared as the sweat droplets on Parker’s shoulders and beautifully defined biceps beaded up and disappeared in the dry cool air of the small space.

  The silence expanded, encompassing Nicco in a cocoon of awkward lust. “Oh, uh, yeah, good run. You?” He passed a shaking hand over his face and moved another few centimeters away from extreme temptation.

  The doors slid open. The two men didn’t move. Nicco pushed himself away from the wall, his body sore, frozen, old and used. The fresh beauty of the young man pissed him off for some reason. Take his starting spot? Not likely. He fixed what he hoped was a smug look on his face, turned to face Parker’s fresh-faced eager youth, and got slammed straight in the libido by a connection so intense his jaw dropped. He clapped his mouth shut and frowned trying to square the warring emotions in his brain.