Scoring Chance (The Comebacks #2)

Chapter 1

DES

When I have sex with someone, I always put my phone on Do Not Disturb. It's a polite thing to do. I may be an animal in the sack, but I'm also a gentleman. However, there's one person in my life whose texts and calls I allow to come through.

I pick up my phone, and my eyes bulge at the text from Tanner:

Tanner: Crap, I just got fired.

“Oh shit.”

Maya, the woman currently on all fours on my California king bed getting rammed by yours truly, looks back over her shoulder.

"Oh my God, are you coming?" she asks.

"No, no. My friend just got fired,” I inform her while continuing to thrust inside her.

"That’s awful. I’m sorry. Fuck!” She drops her head and moans into my comforter.

My phone buzzes again from Tanner.

Tanner: I thought I was going into a weekly check-in with my manager. I was ambushed.

Des: Those fuckers. Screw them.

“He thought he was going into a regular meeting with his boss, and they canned him right then and there,” I tell Maya as I fist her hair.

“Yes!” she gasps out. “I mean, that’s horrible. Why are you answering your phone right now? I thought it was on Do Not Disturb."

"It is, but Tanner’s my best friend and emergency contact."

Tanner sends through another message: five crying emojis.

I know that Tanner isn't actually crying. It can take a lot to make him turn on the waterworks. Tanner was born with an even keel. He isn’t prone to emotional outbursts unless absolutely warranted.

I remember holding him at his wife's funeral, feeling his sobs vibrate through his body.

Seeing your friend cry unlocks a new level of friendship.

“He’d just gotten promoted six months ago.”

“That made him more expensive to keep,” Maya says over the sound of our most sensitive areas slapping against each other.

“Damn it. You’re right.” I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Not even the gorgeous view from my condo can mask the anger I feel on his behalf.

While one hand rests on Maya’s back as I pound into her, I text him back.

Des: Hey buddy, that fucking sucks. You're allowed to say “fuck” in this instance.

As it hit send, the phone flips out of my hand and hits her in the back.

“Ow!” she yells.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I’m being really fucking rude. I should stop."

"No, don't stop," she yells louder. “We’re working professionals.”

In the corner of the bed sits Maya’s phone; her two dogs gawk at me from her lockscreen. Who says business and pleasure can’t mix?

She thrusts back against my dick. “Stop texting but don’t stop fucking me!”

God, she's so hot. Tight brown curls on creamy mocha skin. I don't want to stop. I can multitask. I am a highly paid professional. I have very strong executive function.

I pick up the phone from where it fell and read Tanner's reply.

Tanner: They're doing layoffs. I couldn’t even go back to my desk. They said they’ll box up and ship all personal items to me.

I grumble, pounding into Maya with my seething frustration. Corporate America will fuck you as hard as I'm fucking her.

"What's wrong, baby?" She looks back over her shoulder again. “Are we still dealing with your friend?”

"This is cruel. That’s what it is. Tanner worked so hard for that company.

I told him that he should have been looking for a job once that merger was announced because he's in HR, and they don't need duplicate HR teams. But Tanner and his fucking optimism.

'No, it'll all work out. They really like me there. It'll be fine.'"

“Can we switch positions? I’m starting to get a crick in my neck.”

“Yeah. Sure thing.” I pull out and flip her onto her back. I throw her legs over my shoulder and slide back into her. She unleashes a loud moan that echoes through my very large apartment.

“Fuck me, Des. Just like that.”

Maya is getting close. And I’m…checking my phone again for updates.

It’s going to be an uphill battle for Tanner to find another HR job.

Guys in their forties have to deal with ageism.

Luckily, I’ve avoided it by working my ass off for my company, but I also don’t have a family pulling away my attention.

"Hey, do you need to stop?" Maya raises her eyebrows, losing some of the flush on her face. "Do you need to call him?"

I look at my phone. “Fuck, I am such an asshole, Maya. If it was anyone else…but we're always there for each other, no matter what.”

"God, are you two sleeping together?" she asks.

"Me and Tanner?" I laugh. I push her knees to her chest and thrust deeper inside her. She squeals with delight.

“I know you’re bi. You’ll stick it in anyone.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Your words, not mine.”

I’m an equal opportunity hole destroyer. But there are some people that are off limits; Tanner being number one on that list. "Tanner’s been my best friend since forever. Please. The man has a million kids. I wouldn't want anything to do with that. I'll call him when we're done."

"He sounds cute. Is he single?" she asks.

I shoot her a look.

“What? It’s not like you and I are exclusive.” Maya cocks an eyebrow.

I don't do exclusivity at all. My bedroom is like summer camp. We’re here to have fun and enjoy ourselves.

“Can you go a little to the left?” Maya asks. A benefit of a fuckbuddy is honesty in the bedroom. We’re two professionals on a time crunch in the middle of a busy day. “Fuck yes!” She throws her head back as I shift my position.

"He’s single. He never dates. He's still getting over his wife."

"Did she leave?"

"No, she died. It's a sad story I don't want to get into. That's the real boner killer."

"Poor guy. Well, you can call him in a minute," she says.

"A minute?” I scoff. I toss my phone on the floor. “You’re wildly underestimating me.”

After we both get our cookies in the end, Maya puts on her clothes, and I chill in my boxers.

I met with a client this morning, and I’m working from home for the rest of the day.

Maya, however, has to get back to the office.

She checks herself in the full-length mirror, smoothing out her skirt and cream-colored blazer.

The only doors in my apartment are for the bathrooms. The kitchen, living room, and dining room are all one big space, currently glowing with sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

A sliding door separates the open space from my bedroom.

I stare out on the gorgeous mountains and rivers that make up the Hudson Valley.

The first leaves are beginning to turn for fall, and soon, I’ll basically be living in the middle of a postcard.

I waltz into the living room and make myself a post-coital, afternoon martini. “Do you want one?” I yell back into the bedroom.

“No. I have a meeting at four.” She joins me in the living area, sinking into a plush black leather couch. “We’re brainstorming on a pitch for our client. They’re coming out with a new wart remover. Sexy.”

She snorts a laugh. The thing about working in advertising is that not every account you work on is an iPhone or Coca Cola. Even the boring things we use every day need to be marketed and sold. I spent last weekend perfecting taglines for mustard.

“Silq Cosmetics is looking for a new ad agency,” she says while putting on her pearl necklace.

“Oh?” My ears immediately perk up, which makes her smile. People love the power that comes with knowing something others don’t.

“I might’ve whispered your name in their ear.” She slides bracelets down her hands onto her wrists. We learned from trial and error not to fuck while wearing jewelry. They have sharp edges where you least expect them.

“You’re not going after this?”

“We work with a competitor, so we can’t.”

Maya and I met at an advertising conference where our companies each had a booth. Over the course of networking mixers and cocktails, we discovered that we both had a love of modernist art and no-strings-attached sex. When our schedules align, we treat ourselves to a midday fuck.

“You look stunned,” she says.

“Silq is one of the fastest growing companies in the country.”

“And they could be yours.” She shoots me a wink, aware that the only thing that gets me turned on besides sex is work.

“Sex and business opportunities. What an afternoon.” I pour her a glass of sparkling water. I sit on the couch arm and flash her a winning smile. She openly checks me out. Will there be a round two?

“Don’t you need to check on your friend?” she asks.

“I’ve already interrupted our time together once. I’ll call him in a few. Thanks for understanding.”

“Hey, I’m impressed that you managed to stay hard while texting.” Maya hands me her business card. "I think my company might be hiring. Your friend is welcome to get in touch with me."

I lean down and kiss her lips.

"We had a great time this afternoon. I love when you work from home, Des," she tells me, nibbling my ear. "We should do it again soon."

She puts her hand into my boxers, gives my cock a stroke. Her hand sinks lower and pauses. I can feel the slight tensing in her touch, the signals she’s sending to her brain about why this guy’s sack feels off.

I pull her hand back gently.

"Sorry," she says. “I still forget sometimes. You fuck better than guys with two balls.”

I take a pretend bow from my sitting position.

“Does it feel any different for you?” she asks.

“Nope.” I don’t like to talk about having one testicle. It’s a memory that doesn’t need to be resurfaced. “It’s better to be down one nut than to have cancer all over my body.”

“That’s true.” Maya gazes into my eyes for a beat longer than we usually do. “Maybe next time, we’ll have a meal together and then have sex."

I wag my finger. "That would be a date, Maya. And we know what dating leads to..."

"Oh yes, it'd be horrible. Love. Wedding. Marriage. Sounds brutal." She's being sarcastic, but I nod my head in agreement.

We walk through my beautifully appointed apartment as I escort her to the door.

I paid an interior decorator a fortune to help me design this place.

It’s beautiful—upholstered couches, vibrant art on the walls, a sculpture in the corner.

One of the benefits of being a wealthy bachelor is having a very nice bachelor pad.

I tip her chin up. "Thanks for understanding about..." I hold up my phone. "Next time, I’m locking my phone away in my safe.”

Maya nods, not falling for my bullshit. "Yeah. Well, tell your friend to call me if he's still single."

"Will do," I say.

I give her a peck on the cheek, and she leaves.

I stroll back to my martini waiting patiently on the coffee table. I grab my phone from my bed, put it on speaker, and pace in front of the gorgeous view.

"Dude. What happened?" I ask when he answers.

"It wasn’t my favorite day," Tanner says in his sweet voice. He doesn't sound sad, just tired. Or more tired than usual. "Last week, my manager and I were talking about back-to-school shopping, and today, he could barely look at me. He read off a script."

"God, I hate this," I say. “Don’t they know you have, like, a zillion kids," I say.

"I have four children."

"It feels like a zillion. I mean, how are you gonna afford diapers?"

"None of my kids are in diapers anymore." He chuckles.

“I was talking about you.”

That gets a full-fledged snort. I believe that if someone is able to laugh, then all hope isn’t lost. During the darkest days of my chemotherapy, if I could crack a joke, it meant I still had hope.

"What does the severance package look like?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks? That's it? That's nothing. Fuck those fucking pricks.” Since he won’t curse, I’m spewing f-bombs to cover the both of us.

"They said they loved me at my last quarterly review. I guess they didn't love me enough."

"Let me guess. They used to call the office a ‘family,’ right? ‘We’re one big family at Fuck Off Corp.’ I’ve been telling you, man. When companies merge, HR is hit. Accounting is hit. All these services where they don't need duplicates. But it's okay. We're gonna find you a new job."

I wish I could give him a hug over the phone. I'd pull him tight.

"Des, I'm scared," he says.

"Don't be," I tell him. "It'll be okay. I got you covered. I know a lot of people at a lot of different companies. We'll find you something really soon. Think of this as a two-week vacation. And you know, if you ever need a loan or anything..."

"Hopefully it won't come to that," he says.

Our financial situations are very different. I don’t know how Tanner affords four kids, but he makes it work. There are no priceless works of art in his house, just lots of crayon on the walls.

"Look, we've been through worse.” A loaded silence hangs between us. "But no matter what, we got each other's backs. This sucks, but you're gonna get through it. It's gonna be okay. We're gonna help you through it. Do you still want to come to hockey tonight?" I ask.

"I should be with the kids.”

“Have you told them yet?”

“No. Crap. How am I going to tell them?”

“We can tell them together, if you want. Come to practice. The guys will cheer you up, and you can let out your frustration on the ice.”

He heaves out a sigh. “Okay.”

"Good. I'll see you there tonight. And buddy, look up. It's gonna be okay."