by Teagan Kade
You know damn well what to do with them…
Quiet, head. We had more than enough excitement last time.
I take a deep breath and wait for the line, the witty repartee to come, but it doesn’t. Chance lets himself lie back down and closes his eyes once more. As best I can, I have to ignore the rather erect elephant in the room.
I’m distracted. I mean, who works like this? It’s not how I pictured this job at all.
Like that Vegas parlor was more what you pictured?
I decide to cut the session short, finishing off with a light tapotement to stimulate the muscle.
That ain’t the only thing being stimulated by the looks of it.
God, what’s happening to me? I’m a schoolgirl again, half giddy at the sight of a penis.
More like a baseball bat…
“You’re good to go.” With it, I give him a tap on the leg, exactly the way you’d touch the roof of a car to signal the driver to take off. It’s the weirdest thing I think I’ve ever done.
He swivels up into a sitting position, legs either side of me, the offending member thankfully deciding to behave. He looks down at his crotch. “Sorry about him. He gets a little too excited sometimes.”
“You can’t… control it?” I cannot believe those words just came out of my mouth.
He laughs at the roof, holding his chest. “Fuck me. ‘Control it?’ I’m guessing you’ve never owned a penis?”
The idea of ‘owning’ a penis plays out in my hand. I picture a shop with rows and rows of dicks every shape and color, price tags swinging off them, a friendly salesman asking what size I’m after.
I shake my head, snapping out of it. Why can’t I stop blushing? “Can’t say I have.”
He runs his fingers through his hair. I notice he does that a lot. “How do I put this?” He touches the side of his head. “This has no control,” pointing to his crotch, “over this. In fact, I often think that,” he nods to his dick again, “this guy controls everything.”
You’re not wrong about that.
For a moment I catch him looking at my chest before his eyes finally decide to climb upwards. “Look, Sam. I want to start over. How about lunch, on me? I really do want to apologize, you know.”
I get another vision of Chance Adams spread out on a table like a body-sushi model, myself with chopsticks in hand looking to pluck a sliver of sashimi off those diamond-cut abs.
Calm yourself, woman!
I swallow again. “Lunch? I don’t know what to say.”
His jade eyes sparkle. “‘Yes’ would be the appropriate answer.”
And therein lies the problem. Chance thinks he can wine and dine me like his usual girls, that I’ll suddenly strip naked after a good steak and pinot noir. He’s wrong. I’m not one of his starry-eyed, silicone-infested playboy bunny wannabes. I’m not easy… so why I agree comes as a complete mystery. “Yes.”
“Good,” he nods, already thinking he’s got me in the bag, or sack, rather.
“What do you like?”
“Sorry?”
“Food.”
It clicks. “Oh, right. Um, I don’t mind. Whatever you think is best.”
He licks his lips. “I know somewhere. I’ve got training tomorrow, but how about Wednesday, twelve o’clock?”
I nod, unable to add anything vocally and still cursing myself for falling so easily into his trap.
It’s those damn eyes, damn their greeny gold super sexiness.
He pushes himself off the table, gathering his clothes from the chair behind the screen and looking down at his crotch one final time. “We’ll see you then.”
When he’s gone I press myself up against the back of the door shaking my head at my stupidity. “We’ll see you later?” I say aloud. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Samantha?”
Trouble, my head answers. Big, big trouble.
*
I’m still shaking my head back at the apartment, trying to fish for my keys while holding a week’s worth of groceries bundled up in my arms.
I take the keys out but manage to drop them, the bags not allowing me sufficient leverage to pick them back up.
“Shit,” I mutter, the swearing uncharacteristic, but hey, it’s been a long day.
“Need some help?”
I look sideways to find a skinny blonde making her way over. She bends down, legs sideways to keep her miniskirt in place, and swipes the keys off the floor.
“Let me,” she smiles, opening the door with efficiency.
“Thanks.”
She points behind herself, extending her hand towards me. “I’m Amy. I live next door.”
I manage to get my hand out from behind one of the bags. “Sam.”
“You need some help getting those inside, Sam?”
Normally I’d be suspicious of strangers, but given Amy’s build I doubt she could take me if it came down to a street fight, as ludicrous as the idea is.
I pass a bag over and we both head inside. I flip the lights on, dumping the groceries on the kitchen bench. She does the same and looks around, no doubt a little surprised at how spartan the place is given I’ve already been here a week.
“It’s very… minimalist,” she remarks.
I laugh, starting to unpack. “That’s one way to put it. Have you been here long, Amy. In the complex, that is?”
She leans against the kitchen bench admiring her nails. They’re colored the same cerulean as her skirt. “About a year.”
“You’re an actor?” It’s a stab in the dark, but ninety percent of the beautiful people in this town are, and Amy is beautiful in a Bachelor kind of way—save for the red and blue streaks I notice in her hair. Holy shit. I live next to Harley Quinn.
“A model, actually.”
I stop what I’m doing. “Wow. I’ve never met a model before.”
She spots a bag of Twinkies I just unpacked. “Oh. My. God. I love Twinkies.”
I take the hint, smiling as I reach for the bag. “You want one?”
“Hell yes!”
I’ve never seen anyone so excited over a high-fructose snack cake.
I open the bag and pass one across. She doesn’t eat it. She inhales it, licking her fingers and looking about one morsel away from orgasm.
“You weren’t kidding, huh?”
She goes to take another, looking to me for permission.
I nod, smiling.
Amy’s so caught up in her sugar-fest she doesn’t even notice Chuckles rubbing up against her leg. “So,” she says, mouth full of Twinkie, “what do you do?”
I realize this is the first time I’ve been asked since arriving in LA. “I’m a massage therapist.” I say it proudly until I figure how it must sound.
“Oh,” she replies.
“No, not like that. I work for the LA Wildcats, the football team?”
She points at me, does a little dance backwards. “Yes, cool. Very cool. So you totally know all the players and everything?”
It’s like this poor girl has stepped out of Legally Blonde. All she’s missing is a pocket-sized Chihuahua.
“I’ve only been on the job a couple of days, but I have met most of the players, yeah.”
Her eyes grow wide. “Chance Adams? Have you met Chance Adams?”
I almost burst out in laughter. Have I met Chance Adams… “Yes.”
“And?”
“He’s…” All manner of adjectives fill my head. “interesting”.
Amy won’t let it drop. “Like Aurora Borealis interesting or David Boreanaz interesting?”
“A bit of both. He’s… easy on the eye. I’ll give him that.”
“And you’re his masseuse, like hands on and everything?”
Understatement of the century. “I guess you could say that.”
“Have you seen his,” she does a little whistle, “you know?”
Ha. “Unfortunately, I have.”
She throws her arms up, wild. “Holy shit! The girls are going to love thi
s!”
Chuckles purrs from the floor between us, still unnoticed.
“The girls?” I query.
“All the girls in the complex hold a little get-together once a week at my place. You’ve got to come.”
Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.
Something beeps. Amy withdraws a bedazzled cell from her cleavage, which, of course, makes me wonder what else she’s hiding in there. Car keys, a change of underwear, the Ark of the Covenant? “Shit. I’ve got to go, but you’ll be there, won’t you? My place next door, eight o’clock.” She snags another Twinkie before she leaves. “And bring more of these. Bye.” She waves, running back out through the front door to who knows what critical appointment.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say to myself.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHANCE
“You invited her to lunch? Ballsy.”
David’s leaning up against his Tesla in the players’ parking lot. I’d give him shit for buying an electric car if the thing wasn’t so damn fast. Leaves my Mustang for dead.
I grab my balls. “Hey, it’s not like I was asking her to a gang bang.”
“The bigger question is how you got her to say yes.”
I extend my hands. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”
“Or irritating. Same-same.”
I shake my head at him. “You’re a fucking douche.”
He smiles back. “And you’re going nowhere with Sam unless…”
“I’m listening.”
He pushes himself off the Tesla and comes closer, scouting to make sure we’re alone. He points to his head. “You’re going to have to work out what’s going on up here with her if you want to have any chance of…” He make an ‘o’ with his forefinger and thumb and slides the finger from his other hand in and out, his point crystal clear. “Getting here.”
“And what does the almighty David Tarryton suggest? Hate to tell you, but psychology isn’t my strong suit.”
David acts shocked. “No.”
“Stop fucking around. What’s the sit?”
David cocks an eyebrow at me. “The situation? Jesus, we’re not in Afghanistan any more, though I could go some of that Tandoori chicken from Kunar. You try that shit? Change your life, pal.”
“Come on. What do I do? How do I attack this one?”
I don’t know quite how it happened, but David’s become something of a father figure to me. I value his advice, not that I’d ever admit to it.
He crosses his arms. “Well, given you’re still talking military to me, I’ll reply in turn by saying this Sam is no shack rat. She’s a respectable girl, which means you’re going to have to drop the dick-swinging if you ever want your Papa into her Victor.”
“Message received.”
David looks dubious. “Is it? Reel it back. That’s all I’m saying.” He opens his car door. “Oh, and more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Try to keep it in your pants for at least half the date, will you?”
I wink. “It’s not a date, dumbass. It’s lunch.”
He slides inside laughing to himself.
As he drives away silently I think over his guidance. If there’s one thing I learned in in the Corps it’s to always go into a mission prepared, so that’s precisely what I’m going to do.
Brace yourself, Sam Carter. Chance Motherfucking Adams is coming.
*
Training is brutal. The heatwave has continued to push on. I swear to god I can see the stands bending.
“I want blood, sweat and tears, gentlemen, and not necessarily in that order.”
Fucking Head Coach Davis. I thought my drill sergeant was bad, but this guy’s a sadist. Back-to-back wind sprints in this heat? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Alas, he is not. “Adams? You done with your crochet over there? Get fucking moving.”
“Yes, Coach,” I get out between clenched teeth, running to reset on the ten-yard line.”
“Let’s get physical, boys,” the bastard bellows. “Tackling is allowed.” He blows the whistle and we’re back on.
It’s then I notice Sam standing near the water table on the sidelines. She’s wearing a skirt today—short and flowy, not nearly short or tight enough. She needs to flaunt that body, not hide it.
I’m picturing my hands running up those legs, fingers hooking around the waistband of her panties, my face between her legs. She tastes so fucking good.
I’m blindsided from the left, one of our outside linebackers-slash-human Mack trucks, mowing me down into the grass, his weight crushing me into the ground.
“Adams!” shouts Coach. “You ready to come back to earth? I swear to the Lord almighty if you don’t stop your damn daydreaming I’m going to ram my foot up your ass and wear you ’round like a fucking flip flop. You hearing me?”
I manage to get up. “Loud and clear, Coach.”
I see Sam. She’s laughing. It’s a beautiful fucking sight. If that’s what it takes to get her to smile, fuck it, the whole team can use me as their tackle bag for all I care. Anything to be with her, her body under mine, her lips wrapped around my cock.
David swings past and taps me on the helmet. “A smile, hey? That’s a start, cowboy, and all you had to do was get turned into turf by the heaviest linebacker in the league.”
He’s still laughing as he runs off.
“Adams!” comes the cry again. “My dead grandmother has better hearing than you. Get back to it.”
But I no longer care. Sam is smiling and the world at that moment is completely right. Even my dick agrees, doing its best to break through my jockstrap. If I keep staring at her like this, it just might.
I make my way over to the water table when we break. She has her arms crossed.
“You on the clock?” I ask, pulling off my helmet.
“Why, you need some work?”
Is she flirting with me right now? “And if I do?”
She shrugs. “I’m at lunch, sorry. Thought I’d get some fresh air. That massage room is a bit of a bunker.”
“I’ll talk to Morgan, find you somewhere better.”
She puts her hand out. “No, please don’t. I mean, thanks, but it’s fine.” She reaches for a cup and fills it. “How about a drink?”
I look down into the water. “The hard stuff.”
“You’re turning down a drink? I thought only girls did that.”
I take it and slug it back in one go. “Not the girls I meet.”
Tone it down, Chance. Tone it the fuck down.
Mercifully, she laughs a little. “You really think you’re something, don’t you?
Easy. “The stats do the talking, but it’s research that makes me the best.” I take a step closer, can smell the sweet vanilla her body’s giving off out here in the heat. “I like to know my opponents, all their intricacies and secrets, all their ins and outs. You’ve always got to be one step ahead.”
I see her swallow and all I want to do is kiss the side of her throat, feel that nipple I know is rock hard beneath her blouse against my palm. “Is that a fact?”
“I’ve done my research on you too.”
I want it to sound sexy, but I sound like a stalker. I can see her grow physically uncomfortable, arms re-folding across her chest. “What do you mean?”
I’ve got to play this carefully. “I mean I’m looking into you and I’m coming up blank.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“Is it? I want to know everything about you, so sue me. You’re intriguing.”
“I’ve heard better pick-up lines.”
Where’s this sass coming from? “You’ll spill everything at lunch tomorrow.”
“You really think so? Like I said, I’m not easy. I’m not even in the market.”
“For a car, a handbag? Because that’s no problem. I know…”
She’s smiling again. “You know very well what I mean, but that’s not going to stop you, is it?”
> “No, ma’am.”
“You think calling me ‘ma’am’ is going to win my affection? Because that is what you want, isn’t it?”
I look over her, sweep her from head to toe, and undress her with my eyes until she’s naked and ready. “I want it all.”
“Tomorrow,” she says, starting to walk away.
“Tomorrow,” I repeat to myself, my cock doing its best impression of a tire iron against my pants.
*
In the showers I talk it over with David through the steam. “You should have seen her, man. She was giving it back to me.”
He starts building up a lather in his hair. “So she should. It’s probably a refreshing change for you—a girl who can put two sentences together.”
I splash water at him. “Fuck you, but I don’t know. You should have seen the way she closed up when I said I’d done my research on her. I mean, she looked scared—really scared.”
“Wouldn’t you be if you were you approaching by a six-two stalk-a-tron 5000?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. I’m telling you, she’s hiding from something.”
He wipes shampoo from his eyes. “And you want to find out what. Am I right?”
“You are.”
“And you want me to help?”
“I do.”
He lifts his face up into the stream of water. “Why do I get myself involved in your crazy schemes? You’ve got a plan, no doubt.”
I shut the water off. It continues to run down my body. “We go to Morgan and have him look into her a bit. You know, under the pretense of concerned citizens and shit.”
“Why can’t you go by yourself?
I reach for a towel. “Morgan loves me, true, but I don’t think my word’s enough. If you’re there too, echoing my concerns, there’s no way he will say no.”
“Why not just hire someone yourself?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Come on. How does it look if I’m the one doing the snooping?”
“You kind of are.”
I put my hands on my head. David’s probably getting a nice eyeful of my old man, but it isn’t a sight he hasn’t seen a thousand times already. “Enough with the questions. Is it a solid plan? Probably not, but it’s all I’ve got. Are you in?”
“You sound like my wife.”
“Well?” I press.