Winning Streak

by Alice Ward

  “I thought you were the pizza guy,” she said quickly, her expression fading to confusion, embarrassment, irritation. I couldn’t tell.

  “What’s all that?” I asked, nodding toward the papers strewn all over the coffee table, the couch, and flowing onto the floor.

  “Rhett asked me to interview each of the players. Help the fans see them in a more personal light. I’ve been googling everyone, making notes, thinking of questions.” She clamped her lips closed to stop the words from bursting from her mouth.

  “Have you googled me yet?” I asked, curious if she had.

  “No.”

  I felt a little hurt. I would’ve thought she’d be more interested. “You should.”

  She lifted her chin. “I plan to.”

  “You won’t find the good stuff though,” I teased, hoping to spark her curiosity.

  “I’m sure there’s plenty of good stuff on there about you. Like your skydiving adventures, your motorcycle accident,” she paused, looking into my eyes with an unexpected kindness and possibly remorse for her teasing.

  “So, you have googled me.” I leaned against the door frame, finding a comfortable spot to continue my flirting. It was obvious she wasn’t going to let me inside. I didn’t blame her for that. I knew what I wanted to do to her. I knew she wanted it too.

  Her cheeks blushed to a light pink. Her eyes narrowed as they glanced away from mine. Yes, she was still interested.

  “There’s some rides I’d like to check out on the Boardwalk. I’d love it if you came with me.”

  She seemed to hesitate.

  “We could have some fun while you interview me. So you’d still be working,” I said, trying to sound convincing.

  I thought her lips parted to say yes, but then the pizza man showed up, interrupting our conversation. She handed him the twenty and took the pizza. She held it in her hands, shifting from foot to foot in her doorway. Did she want me to leave?

  “I can’t picture Todd Morris at an amusement park,” she said with a soft laugh.

  “Hey, I’m not allowed to chase an adrenaline rush any way else. Roller coasters are allowed. I checked.”

  Her smile displayed an amusement for not only the thought of me on a kiddie ride but also for my charm. I watched her lips carefully as they parted once again. My chest tightened as I anticipated her response, hoping it to be a yes.

  “I just ordered this pizza,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the work she had spread out all over the room.

  “Put it in the fridge. You’ll be up late working it looks like. You’ll need a snack. There are amazing corn dogs down on the pier.” I smiled and winked, hoping that would push her over the edge of her reluctance.

  “Okay.” She turned, walked the pizza to the fridge, slid it inside, and then met me back at the door.

  “You don’t want to change?” I asked, checking out her high heels and business suit.

  “Oh.” She quickly turned back, stepping toward her work. I watched her grab a notepad and a pen, and stuff it in her purse before meeting me at the door once again.

  “No, this is fine,” she said.

  Okay, I get it. Keep it professional. Damn, she turned me on.

  I followed her to the elevator, leaned in to push the button and got a whiff of her sweet perfume. She seemed nervous as we waited for the doors to open, and even more so once we were inside, alone. “This is strictly professional,” she insisted.

  “Of course,” I agreed, fighting back my smile. In the lobby, I called a cab and then led her into the small lounge past the front desk. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thank you,” she replied, her professional air firmly in place.

  The bartender was a tall man. He had thick blond curls and an out-of-date mustache under a large pimpled nose. His skin was leathered, most likely from the hot Florida sun. “What can I get ya?” he asked.

  “Yuengling draft.”

  “And for the lady?” He shifted his attention to Katrina.

  I was hoping she’d change her mind, but “nothing for me, thanks” was all she said.

  He gave me a look of condolence and turned to get my beer. “The cab company said it’d be a few minutes,” I explained, taking my beer from the bartender and slipping him a twenty-dollar bill.

  He returned with my change, slapping it on the bar in front of me. I smiled, nodded, and took a long sip. “So, what can you tell me about Todd Morris that the fans would love to know?” she asked.

  “The fans? How about what you’d love to know?” I answered her question with a question.

  She smiled, shifted in her seat, and cleared her throat. I couldn’t believe I made her nervous. After last night. After what we’d done together. I figured she’d be as cool as a cucumber around me.

  “What about family?” she asked.

  “A brother, a sister, a mother, no dad.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  I chugged a large slug of my beer and the bartender nodded toward the door. I looked over her shoulder the parking lot. “The cab’s here.”

  “Your change,” she said, motioning to the money I’d left sitting on the bar.

  “That’s his.”

  I offered my hand to help her down from the tall stool. Her skin was warm to the touch, delicate and soft, just as I remembered. My cock twitched at the memory of her taste, of how she felt, of how her skin reddened when smacked with the leather flogger.

  In the cab, Katrina immediately continued her questioning. “So what happened to your dad?”

  “He was never around much. He took off when I was young. I barely remember him.”

  “You ever thought of looking him up now that you're…” she paused.

  “A baseball star?” I asked.

  “An adult,” she clarified.

  “He passed away ten years ago. I looked him up. Just a little too late, I guess.”

  The cab pulled up in front of the large hotel that offered a quick entrance to the boardwalk. “You ready for some fun?” I asked, opening the door, and sliding out of the backseat. I extended my hand. She grasped it, smiled, and slid out into my arms.

  “I didn’t mean to bring up your dad,” she whispered.

  She was so close. Her body was pressing against mine. The urge I had to kiss her, to stroke her hair from her face, to tell her how beautiful she was in the sunlight was almost too much to control. “It’s okay. But, I’m sure that’s not the stuff the fans want to know.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she said.

  I pulled away. I didn’t like the idea of being placed in the spotlight for something that didn’t define me. I wasn’t an amazing baseball player because my dad left when I was a kid. I wasn’t anything because of that fact. It was useless information. Next question.

  “What else do you want to know?” I asked, changing the subject quickly.

  It was obvious she was reluctant to ask anything after her first bomb. “You tell me something you want me to know,” she said. Nice save.

  “I’ll tell ya what. You ride a ride with me, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  Her eyes widened. “Anything?”

  “The bigger the ride, the bigger the information,” I clarified.

  We walked out onto the Boardwalk. The shops lined the concrete path with neon colored shirts, plastic sunglasses by the droves, and sunscreen displayed neatly on spinning racks. The smell of fried food took over the ocean’s salty air as we neared a small restaurant with café style tables out front and arcade machines blasting inside. “You still hungry?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  I gripped her hand, pulled her toward the counter, and stared up at the menu. “I heard they have the best corn dogs on the beach.”

  She grinned. “Well, then I have to try one.”

  “You heard the lady,” I told the aging man wearing a colorful hat and pink-rimmed sunglasses behind the counter. He smiled, showing every single one of his yellowed teeth.

&nbs
p; “And make me four,” I added.

  Katrina’s eyes went wide. “Four?”

  “I’m a big boy.”

  “Yes, you are,” she half mumbled, half laughed.

  My cheeks hurt as they pressed upward into a broad smile. “Easy now, Kitty-Kat. We’re supposed to be keeping it professional.”

  “My dad called me Kitty-Kat,” she said softly, the smile fading into oblivion.

  I looked for that sadness, but it wasn’t there. She rallied and smiled, took the corndog from the man behind the counter, and laughed as I reached with both hands to grab mine. “Ketchup or mustard?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Mustard of course.”

  “My kinda girl.” I gripped the mustard from the small counter along the wall, and she held her dog out for me as I squirted the yellow goo onto the top, then down the side.

  “Do me?” I asked, moving two of my dogs to my free hand.

  She blushed as she lined my fried dogs with mustard.

  I motioned for her to follow me to an open table. As we sat down, a man came up, immediately wanting an autograph. Some of the other players hated when fans approached them, but not me. I loved it. They were the reason I played. I used to be one of them. I handed Katrina two of my corn dogs and took the pen the man handed me. I wrote a quick note to his son as he requested on the back of a brown bag from the store next door and then scribbled my name. “Good luck this season,” he said, continuing his journey down the Boardwalk.

  “That was sweet,” she said, her eyes flickering with a hint of admiration.

  “What? It’s just an autograph.”

  “Yeah. But to him, it’s so much more. And his son, when he takes that home to him. You just made his day.”

  I took a large bite of my dog, reached to grab the other two from her, and ignored the compliment.

  Katrina Delaney took tiny bites of her corn dog. Her perfect white teeth barely grazed the breading as she nipped away to the inner meat. I watched with delight as I remembered how she guzzled my cock down her throat the night before. Damn, this woman was driving me wild.

  I’d finished two of mine and was working on the third when a little black kitten with long frizzy hair rubbed against my leg. Katrina squealed, reaching down to pick it up.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “It’s all alone. Oh my God, it’s so little,” she cooed, nestling the small creature against her cheek.

  “Someone probably dropped it off here. They figured some sap would feel sorry for it and take it home,” I said, realizing I wasn’t being as sweet as she would’ve liked me to be.

  “But what if no one does? It could drown in the ocean.”

  “Cats don’t get near water.”

  “It’s probably scared,” she insisted.

  “Does it look scared?” I asked, watching as the furry kitten snuggled into her neck.

  It was purring so loudly, I could hear it from across the table, even over the loud arcade games blasting just feet away.

  “It’ll starve,” she gasped.

  My heart suddenly ached for this kitten. Not because I thought any of the things she said were true. But because she loved it so deeply, so quickly. It was just a little kitten, but she immediately felt a sense of responsibility for it. Katrina Delaney had a very soft side to her. She did indeed.

  “Give her your corndog,” she said, eyeing my last one.

  These were the best corndogs I’d ever eaten. This kitten had probably already had ten meals today by the looks of the fat belly Katrina’s fingers were rubbing. I really didn’t want to give up my meal.

  Her large eyes widened, her lips pouted. I was doomed. I handed her the corndog, smiled as if I didn’t care to lose it, then watched her feed the little furry creature from her hand.

  “Is that your kitten?” a little girl asked.

  Her mother stood at the counter ordering their food, looking back at her to make sure she was safe talking to strangers. Katrina moved the kitten toward the little girl’s open hand, letting her pet it, and creating a wide smile on the little one's face. “I just found her. I think she’s lost.”

  “Mommy, Mommy, can we keep her?” the little girl whined to her mother, who looked exhausted.

  “Please, Mommy!” the little girl continued as the mother handed her a corndog.

  “Is this your cat?” she asked Katrina.

  “No. I’m afraid someone just left it here.”

  The mother looked worn down by the child’s pleas, and the story of the abandoned cat. It was amusing to watch the women all fawn over the animal, unable to walk away from its plight for a home. “You sure you don’t want it?” the mother asked, obviously hoping for Katrina to say yes, she was taking it home, naming it Fluffy, and loving it forever, and ever, and ever.

  “I’m only here for a few more weeks,” Katrina explained.

  “Aren’t you Todd Morris?” the mother asked, suddenly no longer interested in the kitten.

  “Yes,” I replied with a smile.

  Her entire demeanor changed. “You can have the cat, baby. On one condition,” the mother said, her eyes still on me.

  “Anything,” the little girl squealed with delight.

  Her mother smiled. “You have to name it Morris.”

  Katrina laughed, handed the kitten to the little girl, and waved as they walked away.

  “I think that mother liked you,” she said, bobbing her eyebrows up and down.

  “That was very sweet of you to find the kitten a home,” I said, ignoring her last comment.

  “Me? I’m pretty sure the only reason that kitty has a home is because the mother wants to sleep with Todd Morris every night,” she said with a laugh.

  The sun was going down, and the lights from the rides just past the boardwalk all lit up the sky. “Ready to ride?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “I don’t ride rides,” she insisted.

  “Ever?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, how are you going to learn anything about me?” I teased.

  “I’ll just have to ask you, I suppose.”

  “Ask away. But like I said, anything good is gonna require a ride.”

  She asked about my mother, I told her I had one. “Brothers, sisters?” she asked.

  “One of each,” I responded.

  “Are you the oldest?”

  “Nope.”

  I was loving this game. I wasn’t giving her anything, not really. My answers were so short, so meaningless, that she was asking question after question and coming no closer to getting to know me than the man who fried my corndog.

  “What was it like growing up in your family?” she asked, trying to push for more personal details.

  “Typical,” I smirked.

  “C'mon. You’ve gotta give me something,” she pleaded.

  “Then give me something.”

  Her cheeks reddened. I wondered if she was thinking about what she’d already given me. I was.

  Her eyes moved to my lips. I could see the desire forming in her eyes, the lust growing in her breathing, and the inability to refuse me in her demeanor.

  “Slingshot?” I asked, pointing to the large ball hooked to what looked to be a giant rubber band.

  Her eyes widened as it was released high into the sky. The people inside screamed out into the night as the ball whipped back and forth until finally lowering back to the ground.

  “There’s no way in hell you’re ever getting me in that deathtrap,” she declared.

  “You scared?”

  “No.” I knew that was a lie.

  “Okay. We can start out small. How about the Ferris wheel?”

  I couldn’t believe she was still displaying panic. The Ferris wheel wasn’t scary, was it?

  She shook her head.

  “I’m trying here. But you’re gonna have to work with me,” I explained patiently.

  “I told you I don’t ride rides.”

  “And, I told you, I don’t talk unless you
do.” I smiled, my lips firmly closed. “I mean, if you want to start out super slow, we could do the fun slide. I could tell you the name of the girl I had my first crush on in third grade.” I leaned back in the metal chair, watching her eyes shift with panic, excitement, curiosity, and desire.

  I knew she wanted to let loose. Just like she had last night in that club. She wanted to be pulled from her comfort zone, shaken up, and made to feel alive. We all had that craving somewhere. Some of us held it deeper than others, pushing it down every time it reared its hungry head. Others, like me, we fed that hungry beast, giving it every last drop of adrenaline we could muster up.

  “You weren’t exactly in your comfort zone last night,” I brought up carefully.

  Her cheeks brightened, and her eyes glistened against the shimmering moonlight. She nodded in agreement.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” I asked.

  It was obvious she didn’t want to respond. But just as obvious she wanted desperately to respond. That war inside of her was so evident, so fucking exciting to watch.

  “Yes,” she finally answered in a whisper.

  “Do you trust me?” I asked.

  Her eyes glazed over with desire as her lips pursed tightly together. Yes, she trusted me. She let me handcuff her in a strange room, whip her with leathers, tease her body into submission, and fuck her delicious pussy while she moaned out my name. That wasn’t what you did with someone you didn’t trust.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  I stood from my chair, extended my hand, and waited for her to accept. When her fingers stretched out, touched mine, and gripped onto me, I knew she was ready to feed her hungry beast. It had gotten a taste, and a taste was never enough.

  I knew that from experience.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Katrina

  Why did I agree to this?

  My heels were sticking into the metal stairs, which were growing higher and higher with each step. My stomach twisted and turned, the corn dog that I'd once loved was now a hated burning in my gut I feared I might spew out all over my Louis Vuittons.