by Jamie Knight
Suddenly, I begin to get a little worried that I’m hugging her. I know she was under attack and that I was trying to prevent it, but it could definitely look bad.
Would she use even this gesture of kindness as fodder for an article?
I mean, it’s certainly newsworthy, and I can’t fault her if she wants to go public with the grave injustice that was taking place before I stopped it. But will she include the fact that I’m looking down at her with admiration and respect in my eyes, at the very thought of having Stacy fucking Allen in my arms?
And what about the fact that I’m looking at her not only in admiration, but lust? And that it’s making me get a hard-on as she’s pressed up against me, her belly up against my cock, because she’s rather short and I’m tall, and her head lying right under my pecs?
It’s inappropriate to be so turned on by someone whose life I just saved. Even if she is the hottest woman I’ve ever seen, who is so great at her job that everyone, including me, has no choice to take notice.
Chapter 4 - Elias
I step back and Stacy looks up into my eyes, her own dark brown lashes blinking once, twice, three innocent, yet almost teasing, times at me.
“Hi,” she says, finally answering me. “You know my name.”
Of course I know your name, I want to say, but I don’t.
“Yes. And I’m sure you already knew mine, too,” I tell her.
She nods and even manages to get a smile out, because obviously she does know that.
“I’m so sorry that that just happened in our locker room,” I tell her. “Should I call the cops?”
She shakes her head and bites her lip.
“Nah,” she says. “I doubt they’d be able to find him, and it would just create bad press for the Leviathans at a very vulnerable time. We both know how Coach Kramer would hate that.”
“Yeah, but anything that needs to be done in the name of justice is more important than worrying about what Coach Kramer says,” I insist.
“We both know he’ll be so mad, which is kind of funny, because this is a big deal and some of the other stuff he’s gotten mad about being leaked to the press has been so silly.”
I look at her without saying anything, because I’ve thought the same thing myself.
“I mean, he was always on Marvin Ward’s case, but who doesn’t scrutinize the quarterback, right?” she asks me. “Yet then there was the whole thing with Bryan Anderson for allegedly partying too hard and enjoying one too many cocktails, and then Jameson Kendrick having to clean up his act to the extent that he was parading around a fake fiancée, even though no one really believed that shit.”
“Fuckin’ A,” I agree. “And then, of course, knowing Jameson, he had to go and actually propose and turn it into the real deal.”
“Probably just to get back at Coach K!” Stacy laughs.
Now I’m even more impressed. She’s rattled off the history of scandals on our team faster than some of my fellow teammates would be able to do, and some of this happened before her time, while she was undoubtedly still in college.
It feels like I’m laughing around with one of the guys. I have to remind myself that I’m not supposed to be this friendly with her. Not only did she just get attacked, which is very serious business, but the sad fact of the matter is that any reporter is practically the enemy.
At least, Coach Kramer says to view them that way at all times, because you never know when they’ll pretend to get on your good side just to get dirt on you and smear your team’s reputation.
Don’t be ridiculous, the practical part of my brain is screaming.
But I stand up straighter and back away slightly, and put on a sterner tone when I say, “Well, I’m glad you’re alright,” anyway, just to safe.
It’s not as if Stacy staged being attacked just to try to get me to talk to her and get a good scoop. There’s no way she would have known I or anyone else would be coming back to the locker room.
If I’d have been just another couple minutes later…
I hate to even think of what could have happened. She shudders some, as if she’s thinking the same, now that I’ve backed off our chummy chatter and forced us both to focus on reality again. Or maybe she’s just bristling at the fact that I stepped away.
Stacy also has the reputation for being rather uppity, but I’ve always thought she was just stand-offish and shy. Some of the guys say she’s had a privileged upbringing, with well to do, over protective parents, and that she wouldn’t hesitate to drop a story about a relationship gone badly, a secret baby mama, or a wild party, because she’s never had to see what life is like when you have achieved a dream and have it taken from you.
“I appreciate you caring about the team’s media blackout rule,” I tell her, trying to get back to business. “But I promise you I’ll do everything I can to find out who tried to hurt you. I swear I’ve never seen him around here before. I have no idea how he even got in.”
“I don’t know who he is, either,” she says, “and I know all the players’ names and stats like the back of my hand.”
There’s that haughty attitude she’s famous for showing. But I can’t help but think it’s a defense mechanism.
After all, she was just in a really bad situation. And she’s probably feeling very vulnerable, especially since I had her wrapped up in my arms but pushed her away, as my own defense mechanism of sorts.
“There has definitely been a lot of drama in this locker room and on the team in general in the past, but none of us would want to let anyone hurt you,” I continue to reassure her.
“I know,” she says. “I already said I know it wasn’t a player for the Leviathans.”
I can’t help but cringe at the tone of her voice, but she notices and softens.
“Sorry,” she apologizes. “I’m really grateful to you for saving me. I don’t mean to be snippy.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “You’ve been through a lot. Do you want me to drive you somewhere? Are you headed home?”
“There’s no need for that,” she says. “I wasn’t that hurt. I can easily take care of myself.”
“Okay, if you insist.”
I’m honestly kind of glad she turned me down, because I worry that I’ll make a move on her that I’ll regret, even though now is not the time, even if she wasn’t a reporter.
I can’t help but feel attracted to her. What red-blooded male could, with those wide hips and small waist in front of him, that big butt and those full breasts to match?
“There’s one thing you can do for me, though, that might make me feel better,” she says.
“What is that?”
“Just answer one question for me. Are you going to be in the starting lineup for the Superbowl?”
That’s an easy question. I’m always in the starting lineup. But I can’t even give her that much or else I know Coach K will want to bench me.
It would be a really dumb move, during the Superbowl. But he’s known to value loyalty more than he’s known to make smart moves.
“Look,” I tell her, “you know as well as I do that I can’t answer that. But what I can do is let you be the one to ask that question at the press conference we’re having tomorrow night,” I tell her.
“Really?” she asks, looking as if I just told her she’d won a million dollars.
“Really.”
Official press conferences are the only times we’re allowed to talk to anyone from the media from now until the Superbowl. They’re very orchestrated events that Coach K makes sure to have completely under his control.
Usually, the most experienced reporters are the ones who get questions fielded from them. But I can pull some strings and make sure it can be her.
“Thank you so much,” she says, practically skipping towards the door, as if almost forgetting what had just happened to her. In that sense, my mission is complete. I want her to rest easy tonight knowing that everything is going to be okay. And not just okay, but good, even, beca
use she’ll have tomorrow to look forward to.
Whether or not I’ll get any rest myself remains to be seen, since this little interruption has thrown me completely off schedule. Still, at least I did my good deed for the day.
Now I just have to find out who would want to hurt her, I think. And, as we say goodbye to each other and I watch her fine ass walk out the door of the locker room, I admit to myself that I also have to figure out how to keep my hands off her while I do that.
Chapter 5 - Elias
I get to the press conference early because I’m determined to get more one on one time with Stacy. I’ve been telling myself to only think of her as the victim of an attack who I rescued and am trying to help find justice for. Or, even better, as the reporter I can’t get close to, lest she turn on me and leak any possibly negative information she can find out about me – and, fuck, is there a lot of it, in my past – all over her news outlet.
I’ve even been reminding myself of her haughty reputation and how she thinks – or more like, anyone with her job seems to think – that they have the right to ruin peoples’ lives for money. In short, I’ve been telling myself to think of her as anything but what I really think of her as, which is a person who is not only funny and smart but also drop-dead gorgeous.
I’m not one to talk myself out of doing what I really want to do, though. And what I really want to do is fuck Stacy’s brains out. I know she wants me to do that, too, from the way she looks at me with her innocent yet teasing eyes. The way she was eager to stay in my arms a bit longer than was necessary after I rescued her. The way her voice kind of “purred” when she talked to me.
At some point, and I can’t even pinpoint when it was, I decided to stop pretending I didn’t want what I know I really do want, and start going after it, just like I always go after what I want. I know Coach K would be so mad at me, but I justify it to myself by saying it’s for the good of my health and for the good of my performance for the team. I’ll never be able to get to sleep again – fuck, I’ll never be able to concentrate enough to play well in the Superbowl – if I don’t get this out of my system.
I know exactly where I’ll find Stacy: in the prepping room for reporters from her news outlet. If I knew her as well as I think I do, she’ll be the only one there, since it’s earlier than anything is supposed to get started, and she is nothing if not impeccably ready at all times.
Sure enough, as I knock on the door, it’s Stacy who lets me in. She’s alone, just as I was hoping.
She opens the door absentmindedly, while looking down at the little notebook she always carries with her, lost in thought. She obviously assumes I’m another reporter and is too immersed in what she’s doing to look up at me right away.
But I’m looking at her, alright.
How could I not?
She looks sexier than I’ve ever seen her, and that’s saying a lot, because she always looks sexy.
She’s wearing a black skirt suit with a white button-down silk shirt underneath. The top button reaches just above her breasts, providing me a lovely view of her just a small amount of cleavage that is peeking out from underneath. The skirt falls perfectly over the curves of her hips and reaches to her thighs, giving me a pleasant view of her toned legs.
Sometime in between my glances on the way down and then back up her body, she must have finally decided to look in my direction.
“Elias!” she says, sounding shocked.
She clears her throat, as if trying to indicate that she’s busy.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you just yet.”
Clearly, I want to say.
That was supposed to be the whole point. And I can’t help but feel a bit insulted. She’s the one who wanted to question me, and I told her I’d give her the first opportunity and yet now she doesn’t want me around?
But I decide not to be deterred.
“What can I help you with?” she asks me.
“With this,” I say, pulling her close to me and giving her a kiss on the lips.
Luckily, she kisses me back, just a bit, at first, and then a bit harder, giving into my tongue in between her lips and even sucking back a little, but with enough push and pull to let me know she’s conflicted.
She doesn’t think we should be doing this, but she likes it, I conclude.
I can work with that.
In fact, I feel pretty much the exact same way.
Suddenly, though, she pulls away, and looks like she wants to slap me, but thinks better of it.
“Elias. That’s not acceptable.”
“But it’s fun, right?” I tease.
“Hey. Seriously,” she insists.
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it, or at least meaning it for right now.
If she had let the kiss linger longer, I wouldn’t be sorry for it at all. In fact, I have every intention of trying again. I’ve never had a woman occupy my brain, my heart, my cock to this extent.
Even though we only had our first encounter yesterday, and even though it was under less than ideal circumstances, to say the least, I’m determined to keep pursuing her.
Until I make her mine.
Chapter 6 - Elias
“That’s okay,” Stacy says, quickly accepting my apology.
“I forgot you were just… traumatized by that asshole,” I tell her, suddenly feeling actually very sorry as I realize that it might be kind of scary for her to have a guy walk into her space after what happened to her yesterday.
“You think that’s the only reason I wouldn’t want to kiss you?” she asks, her pretty, dark brown eyebrows scrunching together in annoyance.
“No, I didn’t mean that,” I quickly tell her, even though I guess I did.
I just don’t know how to win with her. And I’m used to winning in everything I do. To me, though, it just means I need to keep trying.
“Look, you and I… this could never work out,” she says.
“Don’t be so sure about that,” I tell her. “Stranger things have happened. Look at Marvin and Olivia. At Bryan and Scout. At Jameson and Jenny.”
I’m rattling off all the same names she bought up yesterday as being overblown scandals, and also the names of their significant others that were involved in those alleged scandals with them, and all of whom are still happily together to this day, to get her to see that even when the whole world thinks you won’t work out, sometimes, you just do.
I’d say I’m doing a pretty good job of making an argument that could impress anyone. I might as well sign myself up for law school right now.
But she doesn’t seem to appreciate it.
She crinkles her nose together and shakes her head.
“Look, we’re not them,” she says. “I’m happy for them, and I’m glad it all worked out, but that kind of life isn’t for me. You might be want to be in the middle of all of this drama I’m always having to report about, but I just want…”
“A nice, calm, happy life?” I guess. I think of what the guys on the team say about her upbringing, her super clean-cut parents. “A white picket fence? A house, a dog, and 2.5 kids? I could make that happen.”
Fuck, look at me pulling out the big guns, I think.
This isn’t like me at all. I’m usually the one shying away from commitment, if not outright running from it while some woman tries her best to drag me into it. And here I am pitching every woman’s fantasy to this woman I’ve only just now kissed for our very first time. That’s how much I need to get into her pants. And, if I’m being honest with myself about exactly how honest I’m being with her right now, into her life.
“No,” she says, making a face that only be described as pure “cringe.” “I was going to say that I just want to be able to prepare for this interview and go out there and do my job without being distracted.”
Fuck.
I try to think fast on my feet, but I’m not used to being shot down like this.
“Of course,” I tell her. “But maybe afterwards you’ll be up for a
celebration of your first big press conference interview?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, frowning as if she really is sorry that she’s stomping on my heart right in front of my face, while I have to stand here and pretend it doesn’t really bother me, because cocky sports athletes aren’t bothered by such things. “I’m just not interested. Not now, and not ever.”
This woman really knows how to break a man’s heart. I’m starting to see why they say she can be so stuck up. But somehow, it’s only just making me want her more.
Why the fuck does my cock want something my head knows it shouldn’t?
Is it possibly because my heart wants it, too?
Get out of here with those sappy thoughts, I tell myself.
“What was it that you wanted?” Stacy asks, walking over to the door and opening it again, as if to show me the way out.
Of course, I already know the way out. But the whole point behind it is just to add insult to injury, I suppose.
“Just that,” I tell her, shrugging and smirking and do my best to get in the last word. I make sure I’m all the way out of the room before I add the next part, because I know what’s coming next. “I just wanted to steal that kiss from you. And I’m happy to see you gave it to me so readily.”
Sure enough, she slams the door hard, and I barely have time to yank my hand off the door frame before it shuts.
Damn.
They say you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, to borrow from a different sport’s analogy. I tried to shoot that one out of the park, and but it was definitely more of a swing and a miss than a homerun.
Still, I thought, to cheer myself up and shoo away the barrage of bad sports metaphors that were clamoring around inside my head, at least I went out swinging.
I tried to think of the positives.
She had kissed me back.
She had said she didn’t want to be distracted, which implied that I had had an effect on her.