by Lane Hart
“I hate you,” I tell Kohen.
“Well, honey, I can’t say I’m real fond of you either,” he replies with a slight southern drawl.
“Honey?” I repeat in disbelief. Of course, I’m used to the assholes in high school and college calling me babe or sweet cheeks as insults, taunts to remind me I don’t belong on the field with them because I wasn’t born with balls. I’m just not used to hearing a man other than my father say one of those words and make it sound like Kohen’s term of endearment.
“Honey,” he says again before he reaches over to grind the phone into my pelvis. His lips and the tip of his tongue tease the right side of my ear like I did to him earlier before he speaks. “Because you’re about to make a hot, sticky mess in your panties.”
“Ugh, God,” I moan as a shiver runs down my spine. My hips lift on their own when the muscles in my thighs and ass tense before the pleasurable waves of bliss erupt in an explosion of heat from the clenching of my core. My hands tighten on the wheel but never let go even as my eyelids grow so heavy I can’t hold them open any longer.
As soon as my body relaxes again, I remember where I am and who I’m with. My eyes flutter open, but thankfully Kohen has shifted his car into park, and there’s no more than half a car length between it and the Beemer in front of us. The phone is also absent from between my legs, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. A scorching flush of arousal now covers my face and chest like a spotlight emitting my embarrassment. On the bright side, at least I didn’t lose the bet.
I try to avoid the man sitting inches away from me at all costs until his movement catches my eye. His hand grips his cock that’s jutting out from his athletic shorts and adjusts it.
“You’re welcome,” he says, causing me to scoff.
“I didn’t say thank you.”
Kohen chuckles. “Maybe I should be the one thanking you,” he says. “That was so fucking hot. But now I’ve got a craving for honey.”
“Will you put the car back into drive?” I ask, avoiding his compliment and innuendo.
“Are you still uptight? Because that was supposed to loosen you up,” he says as he does as I asked and shifts the car into drive so I can inch up behind the Beemer.
“How much further?” I ask, ignoring that jab as well.
“Only about ten minutes.”
“Good.”
“If we were actually moving.”
“Fuck.”
“Do you want the phone back?” he asks, followed by a snicker when I glare at him. “Fine. I have to say, though, I’m surprised you didn’t forfeit the bet to move it. I was almost certain you would give up.”
“I’m not a quitter. I’ve worked my ass off to be a great football player, just like you,” I tell him, reminding myself why I can’t let anything like that happen again between Kohen and me, or any other player.
Chapter Seven
Kohen
God, I can’t wait to make Roxanne come for me again. Only next time, I’ll be using my hands, tongue or dick to make it happen.
I can tell by the way she’s clenching her jaw and avoiding my eyes that she’s gonna put up a fight before she caves again to this crazy attraction between us. That only makes me want to break her even more. I like a challenge, and for some reason, she’s the equivalent to the Super Bowl of fucking. The lethal combination of forbidden and feisty makes my cock swell with a desperate need to succeed in getting inside her. Never before have I thought that I needed to fuck a woman or risk my balls bursting from the pressure. Forget blue balls, this here is a horse of a different color.
The fact that we’re on the way to my house means we’ll have easy access to a bed. Not that a mattress is needed for the type of fucking I want to do to her, but it would be preferable since my knee’s fucked up. Time’s running out too. Soon I have to hand over the signed document promising to stay away from Roxanne. While I may have a long record of bending the rules and stretching laws to the fullest extent, I never actually break them. Especially not ones that involve my much needed paycheck.
We finally start moving at more than two miles an hour, and eventually my exit ramp can be seen in the distance.
“The next exit and then a left,” I tell her, the words coming out in a rush thanks to the urgency of the situation, mainly my log of a cock that’s currently siphoning all my blood supply away from my brain. Even on my best day, I’m not the brightest bulb in the box, but at this moment in time, I couldn’t add two plus two. All I know for sure is one plus one equals hell yes squared to the ninth power.
“Take this right at the light, and we’re there,” I tell Roxanne, already removing my seatbelt. It felt too tight across my chest. My loose fitting cotton wife-beater and nylon shorts are now snug and suffocating me as well. I need them off. First, I need to figure out how to get Roxanne out of her clothes.
Shit, I can’t think of a plan. Nothing’s coming to me. The phone between her legs was my one ingenious move of the day. All that’s left is for me to try and use my looks and charm. Maybe that’s all it will take thanks to the magnetism that’s been simultaneously pulling us together and repelling us since we met.
“You can park anywhere along the second dock,” I instruct her before we come to a stop.
“Where’s your house?” she asks with her forehead creased in confusion.
“Right there,” I answer, pointing to the Wet Dream, my houseboat. While money may not buy happiness, it does buy a four bedroom, seventy-five foot, million-dollar houseboat, which makes me pretty fucking ecstatic. Not all kickers are probably paid as well as me, but yours truly is the third best placekicker in the entire fucking league, baby.
Do you know how many games come down to a field goal for the big win? A shitload. When there’s three seconds on the clock and the score is tied, I’m the person who has saved the Wildcats more times than I can count from crunching it out on the field in overtime simply by booting a pigskin straight through the uprights to seal the deal.
And, yeah, I maybe splurged a little too much thanks to an unfortunate influence at the time I purchased the boat, but I love life out on the ocean and hope to earn and save enough money to retire here in my thirties.
“Hold on. You live on a boat?” Roxanne asks, appalled or astonished. I’m not sure which.
“Yeah. Come on, and I’ll show you around,” I suggest to get her inside.
“I’ll wait here,” she replies with a shrug.
No, no, no. If she doesn’t come in, I can’t get it in.
“Fine, but I’ve gotta take the keys,” I tell her, grabbing them out of the console and shoving them in my pocket with my phone. “And once I’m halfway down that dock right there, the car will cut off, and you’ll be sitting in the heat until I get back. Probably close to a hundred degrees today, and it may take me a while since I haven’t even packed yet.”
All true statements.
Roxanne works her bottom lip between her front teeth for several silent seconds like she wants to say something but is trying to refrain. Finally, she speaks. “Do you, um, do you think I could borrow some clothes and maybe some bathroom travel supplies if you have them? My bag and the rest of my things are in my Jeep that’s now gone to who knows where –”
“Hell yeah,” I say eagerly, cutting her off since that means she’ll have to get out and come in. “You can try on a few things, see what you like.”
“Thanks,” she says, obviously unaware of my ulterior motives.
“My pleasure,” I reply before trying to get the door open. It soon becomes obvious that the car is so low, that getting out without the crutches may be a problem. “A little help?” I ask, not feeling bad about asking for assistance since it’s her fault my knee is messed up anyway. And who knows, a little sympathy might be the key ingredient to getting into those panties of hers. Wonder if they’re light blue ones that match the bra I saw a flash of earlier, and if they’re now soaked with her honey. “Fuck,” I groan at the thought, crav
ing a taste.
“Hold your horses,” Roxanne says before getting out. Grabbing the crutches, she walks around the car. She thinks I was cursing because of the pain. Yeah, there’s a pain that’s just a little higher than my knee.
Once she’s in front of me, holding up the sticks, I pull myself up, putting my weight on the crutches and keeping my left foot off the ground. God, this sucks.
“Are you gonna change your shorts?” Roxanne asks with a grin when I’m standing in front of her, lowering her eyes to the crotch.
“Yeah, thanks to you, they’re sticky,” I tell her. Taking a few steps away from the car, I shut the door and start down the wooden dock.
“Won’t the guys notice?” she asks, and it takes me a second to figure out what she’s talking about since I’m too busy trying to stay upright on the uneven surface.
“No one will notice I changed my shorts,” I assure her, leading the way to the Wet Dream.
“It’s beautiful out here,” she says, glancing around the marina.
“Yeah, even more beautiful away from civilization.”
Thankfully, I keep a ramp down for my boat; because otherwise, jumping over to the deck on one leg would suck.
“Can you get my keys out of my pocket?” I ask Roxanne instead of leaning one of the crutches against the sliding glass door just because I want her hand in my pants.
She huffs, but then her small hand is fishing in my pocket, pulling out not only my keyring but my phone.
“Shit. I fucked up your phone,” she says, looking down at the broken screen.
“Don’t worry. Your pussy didn’t crack it; it was your SUV,” I tease her.
“I’ll, um, get you another one,” she tells me, dropping it into my pocket and then unlocking my door without me asking.
“I’m sort of partial to this one after where it’s been,” I joke.
“Oh my gosh. Could you please not ever mention that again?” she asks. “Besides, you lost. I won the bet despite how much you tried to screw me over.”
“Right, you get to pick my outfit on the first away game,” I reply. “Small price to pay for seeing a beautiful woman come apart.”
Roxanne doesn’t respond to my compliment. Instead, she slides the door open and steps inside.
“Wow. Your place is…wow,” she mutters as she spins in a circle in the center of the main salon. And I admit I’m filled with pride knowing that she’s impressed with my home that I love. She looks damn good standing in it too.
“Thanks,” I tell her, following behind.
“I had no idea a boat could be this big or have this much space,” she remarks.
“Yeah, well, I wanted a yacht, and the ones I looked at cost as much if not more than most houses, so I said fuck it and went with a two-in-one.” Lola actually picked this model with a ton of upgrades and shit I didn’t need, but the luxury is really fucking nice even if it did put a huge drain on my bank account.
“Generators keep the power and everything on at sea?” Roxanne asks.
“Yeah. My brother and I spend the summers traveling up and down the east coast.”
“Sounds fun,” she says.
“Yeah, it was pretty cool to relax out in the Atlantic for a few weeks while he was on summer break, but he just graduated from college, so…”
“So no more summer vacations?” she finishes.
“Right. Now Chase has done the unthinkable and gone to work for our dad,” I tell her, and then wonder why the hell I’m oversharing.
“Family business?” she asks.
“Uh-huh. Law enforcement.”
“Oh, so they’re cops?”
I nod. “My dad’s the sheriff in Summerville, our small hometown near the Virginia border.”
“Nice. So I guess you grew up pretty straight-laced, huh?”
“Nope. I was a troublemaker. A perfect angel while my parents or teachers were watching; but as soon as they turned around, I raised hell. Drove them crazy because they couldn’t ever catch me in the act. Actually, I’m surprised they decided to have another kid after the shit I pulled.”
“And now you’re a professional football player living on a boat. You didn’t turn out so bad.”
“I’m sure my parents are just as surprised as I am. If or when I retire or quit, they expect me to move back home and join the force. I mean, Summerville has six deputies, so you would think seven would be pushing it, but I’m sure Dad can rearrange the budget to make room for me.”
“You sound excited about the prospect,” Roxanne jokes.
“Never gonna happen. I’ll figure something else out when the time comes.”
As soon as I say the words, I realize that the time could be coming sooner rather than later thanks to the woman in front of me. I’ll do whatever it takes to get back on the field and stay there, but Jon’s words remind me that now that the damage to my knee has been done it can happen again. Next time could be worse.
Roxy
Kohen’s houseboat is a freaking floating mansion. Back home, the few friends I had in high school were all from one-level brick houses like ours. And in college, most of the students were living on scholarships and student loans too. Never before have I ever seen this sort of extravagance before.
The cherry wood floors and matching tables glisten throughout the place, and the white curvy leather sofas in front of a wall-mounted flat screen look comfy and inviting for taking a load off after a long, hard day. I think my favorite place, though, would be the seating area on the deck, looking out over the water.
“You want to take a tour and come grab some clothes?” Kohen asks.
“Nah, can you just throw a few tees and shorts in a bag? I want to go check out the deck.”
Kohen’s shoulder’s slump, and his dark eyes lower either in annoyance or disappointment, I’m not sure.
“Ah, sure,” he says before hobbling off down a hallway.
I would love to see the bedrooms, but I’m afraid I would fall even more in love with this place than I already am. It’s beautiful, and I can’t imagine how fun it must be to sail out onto the ocean, to watch the sunrise or sunset over the water. I’m seriously jealous of this place because, while I love the water, there are not many large bodies of it in Tennessee. There’s also guilt gnawing on my gut after what Kohen said about his family. If he loses his career in football because of my Jeep crashing into his knee, then what will he do?
I’m not delusional. Careers in professional football are short, and the most I can probably expect is ten years if I’m lucky. After that, it would be nice if I would be able to save enough money to live off of, but that’s doubtful. I want to get married and have kids, so a steady income is sort of important for the future.
My bachelor’s degree is in communications, pretty much like every other athlete in college, but I really would like to be a sports reporter once it all ends. I don’t mind speaking in front of crowds or being on camera except for when I’m being badmouthed. As the preseason progresses, I should toughen my skin, because everyone will be waiting for the first woman to play professional football to fail. Or to screw all my teammates.
Leaning my forearms against the rail and looking out over the Atlantic, I remind myself that I have to do whatever it takes to avoid either of those options. I’ll succeed, and I won’t let there be even a hint of a rumor that I’m having any sort of physical relationship with one of the players. Or their vibrating cell phones. I made it all this way, and now it’s time to get serious. This is my dream come true. So why is there a nagging doubt in my chest when I think about staying away from Kohen?
It’s more than his handsome face and muscular physique. He’s also funny and nice to be around when he isn’t calling me a manipulative bitch. More than that, the way he looks at me and talks to me sets my soul on fire, which is pretty damn hard to ignore. Maybe I’m just emotional. It has been a crazy, hectic, whirlwind of a day. One of the most important days of my life. Doing this all alone is scary. At college, I was
one freshman among thousands, a new player among hundreds trying out for the football team.
Here, I’m a one woman island. Literally. There’s only gonna be a handful of rookies joining the Wildcats this season, all men, who will have it easy fitting in. Sure, some of my teammates will become my friends, but to most, if not all of the guys, I’ll never really earn their respect. Physically, although I’m tall for a woman, I’m nowhere near as strong as the other kickers in the league. I’ll never set any records for longest field goals or anything else other than being the first woman to step out onto the field in a team’s jersey. And if I suck or mess this chance up by becoming the floozy of football, I’ll be solely responsible for holding back other women from getting signed.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m in over my head, but then I remember the reason I play football in the first place.
I love it.
The rivalries, the excitement in never knowing what will happen in a game, the best, most athletic players in the world…Yeah, I want to be a part of that, and Lord have mercy on anyone who tries to get in my way.
Chapter Eight
Kohen
Roxanne barely spoke a word after we got on the road heading for PU. Yeah, that’s an unfortunate abbreviation for Pender University. I eventually gave up trying to talk to her. Between the ache in my balls and the throbbing pain in my knee, I wasn’t in the best mood myself. My leg felt tight and swollen, so I knew it would be time to ice it as soon as we got to campus.
The campus parking lot is packed full since all of our teammates had a few hours head start. Also present is Roxanne’s Jeep, the glass on the windshield already repaired, which improved Roxanne’s mood since she was able to grab her bag out of it. I was sort of disappointed that she wouldn’t be wearing my clothes or sleeping in them this week.