Chapter 17 Hollis #2
“We’ll see,” I say, glancing over, catching Fletch mid-bite, whose eyes are closed as though he’s having some kind of religious experience. Dramatic much? “So,” I carry on, still stalling. “What happens if I don’t like it?” I ask, lifting the burrito. “Would that make you like me any less?”
He swallows and grins. “No. Nothing could ever stop me from liking you. And you know I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass, because I saw you last night with a dress stuck halfway up your body. If that didn’t scare me off, nothing will.”
“Stop,” I whine, swatting his arm. “And come on, we both know you enjoyed that, if only because it gave you a front-row seat to my ass—and well, whatever else you got an eyeful of last night.”
“Hey now, I was a complete gentleman. A deeply appreciative one, but a gentleman nonetheless.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, and then, if only to end my misery with this conversation I lean forward, bring the burrito up to my mouth, and take my first bite.
A low, involuntary hum escapes past my lips the moment the flavors hit my taste buds, eyes fluttering closed. Not only is the tortilla perfectly soft, but the potatoes are cooked to perfection, the eggs are fluffy, and the bacon, well, don’t even get me started on the bacon.
“Okay,” I mumble around the mouthful. “You may be onto something. I might have to admit that this is one of the best burritos I’ve ever had.”
“Since we're being honest here, then maybe I’ll also admit that I hadn’t totally hated the view you provided last night. But, I promise, as tempting as it was, I did force myself to look away.”
“Aw, look at you doing the bare minimum," I tease, even if a small part of me is relieved.
It should be obvious that no man should be taking advantage of an inebriated woman while in such a vulnerable state, but unfortunately, not all men seem to understand that.
Well, I’m sure they do, they just don’t care.
In fact, I can count on one hand the number of guys I’d fully trust in that situation, and it’s a nice reminder that Fletcher is now one of them.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agrees, a small frown tugging at his practically perfect face. “But moving forward, I hope you know that I’d never, ever do anything to purposely hurt you.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, placing a reassuring hand on his arm.
“I know we gave you a hard time about it, but I’m actually glad it was you who drove us home last night.
While I maybe wish I hadn’t also provided you with some bonus entertainment, I’m genuinely grateful for all you did, including this,” I add, nodding toward our food.
“Now if only your magical burrito and the pills I took earlier would fully kick in,” I sigh, because so far, the headache is still headaching. While it’s not as extreme as it once was, it’s still there, lingering—kind of like my ex who missed the memo he’s no longer wanted.
“You still feel that shitty?” he asks, his brows furrowing.
“Unfortunately,” I admit, pushing my burrito away. I rest my elbows on the now-empty space and press my fingers into my temples, rubbing slow, gentle circles.
“You know what they say helps with that?” he asks, his tone playful.
I tilt my head in my hands and shoot him a look. Given the devious smirk he's wearing, I'm not sure I want to know.
“An orgasm."
“What?” I laugh, or at least attempt to, as my brain performs a fun little drum solo behind my eyes. Apparently I’ve angered the hangover gods yet again, and this burrito trick of his, did not, in fact, work as promised.
“No, it’s true. An orgasm releases endorphins, which help ease the pain,” he explains.
My eyes narrow. “Is this your way of offering?”
He casually shrugs. “We can’t have you in pain. If it’s what’s needed of me, then I’ll take one for the team. You know I’m always down to do whatever it takes to get you feeling better.”
I should be annoyed. I should kick him out for even suggesting such a thing when I feel like I do, but instead, I play along. Let’s see how far he’ll take this.
I turn slowly in my stool and face him, my knees brushing against the side of his thigh.
“Fine. Make me orgasm.”
His eyes widen and his pupils dilate. “Wait, what?”
“We both know how much you care about nursing me back to health, and since you already tried the pills and the greasy food and that didn’t work... why not? I mean, doctor’s orders, right?”
“Okay, but come on.” He swallows, a trace of insecurity flickering across his features. “If that’s actually what you wanted, then sure, I’d do it, but we both know you’re only messing with me. I mean, you have to be.”
I need to shut this down, but the soft pulsing between my thighs spurs me forward as I decide to finally be honest with both him and myself.
“Maybe it is something I want, and have quite possibly wanted for awhile now...”
His eyes search mine, practically holding them hostage. “Don’t tease me, Holls. I’m not sure I could handle it right now.”
“And right now, I’m telling you, this is exactly what I want,” I admit, once again surprising us both with my confession.
“But,” I start up again, needing him to hear this too.
“Just because I’m finally admitting to wanting this, doesn’t mean I want anything more.
It would just be the two of us having a little fun. That’s it.”
I’ve rendered the man speechless, and I can’t say I blame him. I’m aware of the mixed signals I’ve been sending, but I’m doing my best to be clear now. I wasn’t looking for anything serious when I first got here, and I’m not looking for anything serious now.
“So,” he starts, nodding as he seems to mull it over. “What you’re saying is you want a friends-with-benefits kind of situation?”
“More or less,” I shrug. “But I serious, Fletch. This can’t get out. Anything that happens between us, stays between us. You can’t tell anybody on the team, and we keep things strictly professional at work.”
Being a woman in a male-dominated workplace, it already feels like I’m fighting to be taken seriously, and I have to imagine that if any of them knew I was sleeping with one of the players they’d all look at me differently.
Sure, I love all the men I’ve gotten to know on both teams, and all the staff too, but still.
The last thing I’d want or need is another reason for anyone to think I’m not qualified for this job.
It wouldn’t matter the results I got or how well I did.
All they’d see is someone who was handed the job by her father while she screwed around with the players.
“Yeah, of course. I promise.”
He could be saying all the typical man bullshit just to lure me into a false sense of security so he can screw me, but for some strange reason, I trust him.
Plus, I’m tired. It’s exhausting pretending like I don’t have feelings for this man.
So why the hell not? If he’s offering, why can’t I give in and let him make me feel good?
I’ve seen this man in action on the field, performing all his little tricks, and something tells me he’s equally skilled in the bedroom as well.
Yes, there are still some things I’m worried about. The most important being that we work together and he plays for my dad’s league, but you know what? I’m tired of always being so damn good.
It’s time I finally do what I want as I say ‘fuck you’ to the consequences, and ‘fuck me’ to Fletcher. I deserve this, and since he’s been such a good boy, so does he.
“Okay, well, then I guess we’re both in agreement here. Make me orgasm, Fletch.”