Shameless Game (Shameless Sport #1)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Paint LOSER on my forehead. He’s going to win our bet.

BLAIR

After a water taxi takes Coach back to his beach hotel, I listen to him. I get busy unpacking. I can’t live out of suitcases. I need a clean room to write dirty smut.

“You feeling better?”

Beau leans in the bathroom doorway connecting our rooms.

“Yeah.” I unzip the last hard case resting on my bed of white linens and throw pillows. “Barfing my guts out really made my day. Time to take a shower and call it a night.”

“Thanks for this.” Humbly, he shoves his hands in his pockets. But he’s still shirtless, teasing me with his gazillion pack of steel abs, a dark, thin, happy trail, and soft blue puppy dog eyes. “I mean it. I really appreciate this, Blair.”

Sexy asshole.

He’s such a pro.

Beau can be serious, sweet, and seductive at the same time. I suspect Vegas and my vagina favor him to win our tempting bet.

So I stay strong. I start unpacking my weapons hidden in black silk DELTA’S bags.

“Whatcha got there?” And Beau grins, spotting their obvious eggplant shape.

“My real boyfriends.”

“Really?” He smirks. “Care to introduce me?”

I have manners. I take a few out, presenting them like a royal receiving line.

“If you please.” I wave the dual-ended dildo. “Meet Mr. Glass. He dates my pussy and ass.” I take out the lifelike one with a wide suction base. “And this is Sir Sticky. But I believe you’ve already met at The Mercier.” The memory ignites Beau’s eyes. “And this is Master Moan. He speaks six vibrating languages.” I hold the purple and white most expensive dildo for Beau to admire before I unveil one more. “And this is Mr. Bronson. I save him for special occasions.”

The dildo I named after Beau is a King Cock Girthy Ultra with a realistic curve and seven and a half inches of insertable heaven.

Beau licks his lips at it. “And on what special occasions do you date big Mr. Bronson?”

“When he spoils me, inviting me on a relaxing, tropical writing vacation.”

The sudden thrill fades from his eyes. “I’m glad you’ll be happy. That’s all that matters because it’s not a vacation for me.” He mutters, asking, “Is it obvious? The shit between us?”

He knows we’re good. We’re safe. I’m armed with dildos, and we’re never fucking again, so he’s worried about his war with Colton.

“Yes,” I’m honest, putting my toys back in their bags. “It’s obvious to me and your coach. There’s so much tension between you two that you won’t make it through training camp or the pre-season until you fix it. But don’t worry. It’s not obvious why.”

He glances down, toeing the floor, so I ask, “Beau, what happened? You know this Dr. Gary guru is going to ask.”

“I’ll never tell him. Neither will Colt. It’s career suicide.”

“But you have doctor-patient confidentiality.”

He scoffs, “It’s the NFL. Even my stool sample isn’t confidential. I signed the right to privacy away a long time ago.”

I put my boyfriends in the nightstand and plop down on the bed. “So, will you at least tell me? I sorta know what happened in college. But tell me more. Tell me what happened before the Super Bowl, too.”

Beau trudges over and falls on the bed beside me. He stares at the ceiling fan whirling above. “I’m afraid to tell you.”

“Why?” I sit beside him, my leg touching his thigh. “You know I’ll never judge. I’ll put fake cockroaches in your gym bag, but I’ll never hurt you.”

He grins. “Remember when I filled your dorm room with ten dozen dick balloons?”

“Asshole.” I chuckle. “You know I love big dicks but have a globophobia. Popping balloons freak me out.”

“I know.” He starts laughing. “Like you know I have a phobia for fucking bugs.”

“Didn’t stop you from freeing crickets in my car.”

“I paid a buddy to do that.”

I nudge his leg. “Then tell this buddy the truth. What happened between you and Colton?”

He sighs, regret and more twisting his handsome face.

“We hadn’t spoken since high school,” he explains. “In college, we were true rivals. We hated each other. Alabama won three Iron Bowls in a row until we lost to Auburn our senior year. And the truth is, I was mindfucked in that last game, too. I could feel Colt’s eyes burning into me from across the field. I let Auburn take us into a tie game, and our kicker couldn’t make the fifty-seven-yard field goal, so Auburn caught the ball in the end zone and ran it one hundred and nine yards for the win. And it was my fault, and I know it.”

I nudge his thigh. “So what happened next?”

“A few months after the bowl game, I ran into Colt over spring break at a bar in Gulf Shores, and it’s like our fight was over. We’d finally grown up some. We did some shots, and shit was good. So good that he showed up at my apartment later that March to talk more, but Reese was there, so we couldn’t. We played beer pong instead. He got chummy with Reese, too, and we got hammered and passed out.

“Then Colt showed up again a month later.” Beau sighs. “That’s not true. I invited him over when I knew Reese went home for the weekend. I don’t know what I thought would happen… ”

He squirms like something’s scratching inside him.

“Fuck, that’s not true, either. I missed him. A lot,” he confesses. “My roommates were at a party. It was just us, and we caught up about our families and the coming draft. He was hoping for Arizona. I knew I was gonna get Atlanta. It’s like we were so good again; we found ourselves kissing.”

I watch Beau’s body, his face too. He’s tense, but I swear he’s getting hard remembering.

“It’s like we need each other so much,” he says, “we kinda go crazy whenever we’re alone. So, we did our thing like we did in high school—frotting.” He glances at me. “You know what that is?”

I nod, aroused by the image of him rubbing his hard cock against Colton’s until they come.

“Well, Colt wanted more. He wanted us to be each other’s firsts, and fuck, I wanted it, too, but I knew there’d be no going back. I love him too much. I can’t be with him once and then not have him again.”

My heart wrenches.

It hurts.

I understand.

It’s exactly how I feel about what happened between Beau and me on Valentine’s Night. It hurts too much to have love for a night and never again.

“So,” Beau mutters, “I turned him down again. He knows it’s us or football, so we got in a big fight. That’s what brought me to your door.”

“Why me?” I ask. “Why did you know you could come to me?”

Beau’s deep blue eyes with those thick black lashes study me for a long, aching beat. They make my heart feel like cracking glass when he tenderly answers, “I can’t explain it, Blair. I’ve always felt like I belong with you, too. Like you’re the other one I can’t have. Like I have to pick between having you or him or my dream.” He’s so honest and hurting. “Am I wrong?”

“No.” I want to hold his hand, but there’d be no going back for us either. I can’t touch him and not get lost in him. “I feel it, too. But I understand. I’m a distraction.”

My honesty silences him, but Beau won’t look away. So, I let him see how much the truth hurts, how much that one word hurts me—distraction.

It reduces the tears we’ve shed when he was last inside me to an annoying gnat.

Yeah, it really fucking hurts.

And when Beau mumbles, “Blair, I’m sorry. It’s just with you? Or with him? I’m not a perfect football machine. I’m a really fucking flawed human who feels a lot, and I don’t work.”

See? I understand that, too.

We share a look so heavy with passion, honesty, and pain that it’s hard to breathe. The future can’t be ours, so I ask about the past. “But the Iron Bowl was eight years ago. What happened before the Super Bowl this year?”

His lip curls. “Hurricane Amber.”

I nod. “That woman is pure destruction.”

“In a way, she cost us the game.”

“How?”

He studies the ceiling again.

“I can’t blame her.” He sighs, “Me and Colt and our… whatever… it goes way back. But three years ago, he got traded to Atlanta, and it was weird. It was as if we never fought, we never kissed. We just started playing like we were eighteen again, and it was fucking magic. Coach was ecstatic. Our owner, too. It’s like they found lightning in a bottle, putting us back together, and we were. We were perfect and best friends again til the night before the Super Bowl.”

“So where’s Amber in this?”

“Colt started dating her during the pre-season. The press loves it. She’s some influencer from hell. But what they don’t see on socials is how those two fight, and it’s toxic. She’s toxic. She doesn’t give a shit about Colt or his game. She only cares about his clout. And I don’t like her, and she knows it because she fucks with his head.”

I shake mine. “She fucks with yours, too.”

“No, Colt fucks with my head. Because the night before the game, it was after curfew in our hotel. I’d just taken my shower and settled into bed to start my good night jerk-off and?—”

The image of Beau’s fist pumping his thick, hard cock, his lips parted, his chin tossed up in ecstasy—I know what he looks like when he comes, and it electrifies my lonely clit.

Go ahead.

Paint LOSER on my forehead. He’s going to win our bet.

Any minute, I’ll be so fucked.

By him.

“And then Colt was banging on my hotel door,” he says. “He and Amber were fighting like usual. She wasn’t even supposed to be in his room, so he needed a place to crash. It was past curfew. We’re supposed to stay on our floor, in our rooms, so I let him in, hard dick in my boxers and all, and we?—”

Shouts grab our attention.

We fall silent, our ears straining to hear.

“Goddammit, Amber!” That’s Colt across the breezeway. “Coach told you no posts!”

I stare at Beau. He stares back, but we’re hooked. We’re eavesdropping.

“He’s not the boss of me!” Amber shrieks back. “I’m Amber Kostas, and I have an image to keep. My people expect perfection!”

Her people? What is she? A filtered dictator saving the world with a ring light and make-up tutorials?

I fall back, laughing on the bed. Beau laughs, too. “See what I mean,” he mutters.

“She’s as smooth as lactose intolerance,” I mutter, too, and he laughs harder.

“You’ll get kicked off!” Colton booms. “You said you were creating content, not posting it. Keep it up, and Coach will send you packing.”

“Fine!” She shrieks again. “I don’t want to be stuck here with you and no Prosecco while I suffer your asshole teammate and his weird girlfriend. She’s fluffy. Like Jessica Rabbit in black and white. Someone please tell her it’s the twentieth century!”

“It’s the twenty-first century, Amber!” Colton shouts back.

And I want to laugh even harder, but why did that hurt? Why do I care what a woman like that thinks about me?

I fall silent while their immature shouts continue until Beau suddenly crawls over me.

“Hey,” he eases, the back of his fingers gently brushing my cheek. “Don’t listen to her. You’re fucking breathtaking, Blair. I love your look. I always have. It’s unique. It’s sexy as hell. It takes zero intelligence and no beauty to look like her, like everyone else. But you?” I gaze up at him. “Everything about you has me in awe.”

He’s so sweet; he takes the sting away.

I grin. “You’re just trying to get laid again.”

He doesn’t smile. “No, I’m trying to make you realize how special you are. I’d rather have one beautiful, raven-haired, bookish beauty in glasses with killer curves than a dozen made-up fake blondes sporting trendy shades any day. And why Colt suffers a fool like her, that’s his problem because you’re my panacea.”

A laugh bursts from my mouth. “Panacea? When did you learn Latin?”

“I didn’t.” He grins, lowering his lush mouth to mine. “I read it on a jar of vegan protein powder.”

I smile when his whiskers brush my lips. “Beau,” I lie, “this isn’t remotely tempting.”

“Really?” He lowers his body, too, his hard warmth blanketing mine. It’s so natural how his knees spread my thighs open, and I let him. It wedges my skirt up to my hips, and he rolls his, finding the spot crying out for him. “If I don’t tempt you, Blair, then tell that to the sweet, hard pink nipples I can see through your top. They want me to suck them while I fuck you again. Don’t they?”

He grinds his thick erection against my thin lace panties, rubbing against my lonely clit, and I gasp, “Beau.”

“See? You’re tempted,” he teases. “You’re lying, Kitten. My cock can feel your heat. I can feel your pretty pussy getting so wet for me.”

“No, I’m not,” I lie. “Finish your Super Bowl story.”

Beau gazes down. He and his one-eyed monster can see right through me.

“You want to know what Colt and I did in bed together?” He keeps grinding his granite cock against my soft pussy, and I moan. Beau’s found my poison, our poison, because he confesses, lowering his lips to my ear, “Do you want to know how I get so hard for him? The same way I get so hard for you? The same way I want inside him, I want inside you? Do you want to hear how I want to fuck him,” he thrusts hard, “and fuck you, Blair?”

“Beau,” I gasp again.

I’m going to lose on the first night because, with me, Beau’s not ashamed of his dual desires. He’s safe, he’s free. He wants me, and he wants Colton. It burns in his eyes, trapping me beneath him, and I can’t resist his lust, his hard pressing need wanting inside me right now.

I need him, too. I reach to stroke him and…

SLAM!

Colton’s bedroom door shakes the house. Seconds later, he’s standing by the pool.

My bedroom lights are on. A wall of my bedroom, like all bedrooms, has sliding glass doors to the outside, and he can see in.

Colton’s staring right at Beau on top of me. At how Beau’s one zipper yanked down and one pair of soaked panties ripped aside from fucking me.

“Shit,” Beau mutters, spotting him. “This is like the night before the Super Bowl. He needs help. He has nowhere to go where Amber won’t make his life hell.”

And I see it, too, how Colton looks like a caged and lonely, miserable animal.

“Let me,” I ease, pushing Beau back. “Let me talk to him.”