Chapter 7 #2
I don’t like lying in Iris’s earnest, sweet face, but I’d hate giving up my anonymity with her even more.
If this conversation eventually migrates into the bedroom like I’m hoping it will, I don’t want to have to pull out my standard NDA and ruin the sexy, easy, flirty vibe.
True, if Iris somehow finds out later on she slept with Roman Maguire without there being an NDA in place, she’d have a juicy story to tell her circle of friends.
But that’s a risk I’m willing to take, since the odds are low a preschool teacher would want to widely broadcast her sex life beyond that.
Whenever I’ve pulled out an NDA in the past, it’s definitely not been a sexy moment.
But at least, in those prior instances, whatever woman I’d been seducing already knew my identity, so the NDA didn’t feel like a bombshell the way it likely would for Iris.
Iris blissfully takes a bite of fruit. “It makes sense you own a gym. You look like a guy who knows a lot about working out.”
I sip my drink. “Thanks. Yeah, I played football in college.”
“That’s so cool. Where?”
Fuck. “UT Austin.” It’s yet another lie.
A necessary one, though. I’m not planning to tell Iris my last name before sending her packing tomorrow morning.
So, with this clever red herring, I’m hoping I’ve now ensured that if Iris were to search the internet using the clues she’s gathered about me thus far—Roman, college football player, gym owner, Delaware, and now, UT Austin—she won’t be able to find me.
Instead, she’ll almost certainly get bombarded with a decade’s worth of news about the amazing Chad Roman, the famed tight end who was a star for UT Austin before going on to have a stellar professional career in Minnesota.
Either that, or the internet will lead Iris to some random gym owner in Delaware who happens to have Roman as his first or last name.
Either way, she won’t find me, and that’s all that matters.
Iris cocks her head. “UT stands for University of Texas, right?”
“Correct.” I hold up my index finger and pinky—the hand signal every Longhorn fan from UT Austin makes at every football game—and murmur, “Go Longhorns.”
Iris laughs. “I went to UCLA, but sadly, we didn’t have a cute little hand signal like that. I’m jealous.” She giggles at her own comment, and I chuckle along with her, simply because she’s so damned cute.
“The years you were there, you had a pretty good football team, though.”
“Did we?”
“You don’t know?”
Iris shrugs. “I only went to one football game in four years.”
“What?”
“And that was only because one of my best friends was dating the star quarterback at the time.”
“Who?”
“My friend Kaylee. She has a thing for athletes, and they love her in return.”
I shake my head, amused. “No, who was the star quarterback your friend dated?”
“Oh.” Iris giggles again before telling me the guy’s name.
“I think I remember him,” I say. “Vaguely, anyway.” The guy wasn’t a “star,” as Iris just now called him.
In fact, he was mediocre at best. But I guess everything’s relative when you’re a guy who’s won the Heisman.
I dig deep into the recesses of my mind.
“As I recall, he did an okay job for UCLA, but he sucked ass at the NFL Combine, so his stock plummeted after that.”
“What’s the NFL Combine?”
“It’s a yearly event where scouts from each team come to evaluate eligible college players for the upcoming draft.
Players are judged based on a variety of different criteria—speed, running routes, throwing, tackling, et cetera.
Whatever’s relevant to their particular position.
After that, all the teams decide who they want to try to draft a few weeks later. ”
Iris’s eyes light up. “I think our quarterback got drafted!”
I can’t help grinning at her exuberance. “He did, yeah. In the sixth round, I believe.”
“Is that good?”
“I mean, statistically, it’s amazing for a player to get drafted at all.
” I briefly think about my own brother, Luca, going in the sixth round during his year in the draft, and how relieved he was to make it at all.
“But it’s the last possible round of the draft,” I add, “so in that sense, it’s not great.
It’s not fatal to a guy having a successful career.
Not at all. But it’s also not an early vote of confidence, you know? ”
Iris looks genuinely interested. “Did UCLA’s quarterback do pretty well after he got drafted?”
I shake my head. “Sorry, no. I’m pretty sure he got cut before playing a single down in a regular season game. He might be on a practice squad somewhere at this point, if he’s lucky, but I doubt it.”
“Shoot. I’m so sad his big dreams didn’t come true. When I was at that game—”
“That one game.”
“Yes, during which I drank beer and didn’t understand a single thing happening on the field.”
“You’re a monster.”
She snickers. “During that one game, everyone around me kept saying our quarterback was going to be a superstar in the NFL one day.”
“That’s a tall order. It’s insanely hard to get drafted at all.
Even harder to nab a spot on a roster, let alone a starting spot.
Even if a guy gets that far, it’s hard to keep a spot for too long, because there’s always someone younger, faster, and hungrier breathing down your neck.
If not that, then injuries can be a major factor, so you really never know who’s going to be successful and for how long.
” Luca pops into my head again. Man, my brother’s hung in there, admirably, through all the ups and downs the League has thrown at him over the past five years.
“Wow, that all sounds really stressful,” Iris says.
You have no idea.
Iris takes a sip of her drink. “I can’t believe you remember so much stuff about UCLA’s quarterback without needing to look it up. Do you follow UCLA football for some reason, or are you this knowledgeable about every college team?”
Panic flashes inside me. I need to be much more careful here if I want to preserve my anonymity with Iris.
Clearly, I’m being way too obvious. “I follow college and pro football, pretty religiously, and I’m totally obsessed with the draft every year.
My whole family has always loved the game—I’ve got two brothers and lots of friends who also played in college—so I’m kind of a football junkie.
” Shit. I shouldn’t have mentioned my two brothers. Does Chad Roman have two brothers?
“My brother is obsessed with football, too,” Iris says breezily. “He watches every Seagulls game on TV and attends every game at his school.”
“Where does he go?”
“University of Washington. He’s in his last year there.”
“They’ve got a great football program there. Especially lately, they’ve been killing it.”
“That’s what Atlas keeps telling me.” She snorts. “All. The. Freaking. Time.” Iris rolls her eyes. “Whenever his Huskies play my Bruins, my brother talks so much smack, you’d think he was one of the players on the field.”
“Those are the best kinds of fans—the ones who talk smack like they’re on the roster.”
“Well, if that’s something you like, then you’d love my little brother.” Iris pops a piece of fruit into her mouth. “Did you ever think about trying to get drafted? Did you go to that Combine thingy?”
My stomach tightens. It was one thing to lie about what I do for a living, but I’m not willing to construct an entirely false, detailed persona to get laid, even if I’ll never see this woman again after tonight.
“I know people who got drafted,” I say lamely, trying to find something truthful to say that feels semirelevant to the question. “A lot of them are still playing today.”
Obviously, I can’t tell her about my experience at the Combine.
Not when I’ve already dug myself this hole.
In actuality, yes, of course, I went to the Combine.
But I didn’t do much there, since we all knew I’d get selected as the overall first pick of the draft a few weeks later.
The team positioned to select first—the Crusaders, who ultimately drafted me first—desperately needed a quarterback, and there was no indication they’d trade their top spot away.
And so, given the situation, I merely networked and marketed myself at the Combine, rather than participating in any of the evaluations.
I caught some flak from some people who don’t understand football for not taking part in the dog and pony show like everyone else.
But Cameron, my parents, and Coach Hardy all agreed there was zero upside to me doing a damned thing at the Combine, other than being my charming self.
We all felt, and rightly so, that my back-to-back national championships and Heisman Trophy had already proved my value far better than any throwing exhibition ever could.
“Do you train any of your old friends from college?” Iris asks.
“Hmm?”
She repeats the question, and I nod, not wanting to give voice to yet another falsehood.
“That’s wonderful, Roman. It must be so fun to train athletes who are longtime friends.”
“Mm-hmm.” I take a long sip of my drink, eager to change the subject. “So, tell me, Iris—”
“What position did you play in college?”
Fuck. Now that I’ve already lied and said I went to Chad Roman’s college rather than my own, I guess I should tell her Chad Roman’s position, too. “Tight end.”
“What’s that, exactly?” Iris asks with a laugh. “Sorry. I know what the quarterback does, but that’s about it.”
At her mention of my actual position, I have a near heart attack—but, somehow, I smile through it and then proceed to calmly explain the basics of the tight end position.
As I talk, Iris listens intently, her blue eyes trained on my face like there’s going to be a pop quiz about the information later on. Jesus, she’s a cutie.
“I love hearing you talk about football,” Iris gushes. “You’re so passionate about it. Isn’t it wonderful to get to do something for work that’s related to something you’re so passionate about?”
“It sure is.” I raise my glass. “To passion.”
She blushes. “To passion.” She clinks my glass with hers.
“I’m having such a nice time chatting with you, Roman.
After the horrible day I had yesterday .
. .” She pauses. “You know, with my friend unexpectedly backing out of our vacation at the last minute, I’m really grateful you’re letting me hang out and relax with you. ”
“I’m glad you’re here, Iris. I’m having a great time with you.”
“You are?” She looks genuinely surprised.
I grin. “Very much so. You can’t tell?”
“Honestly, I find you kind of unreadable. A bit mysterious.” She waggles her eyebrows, making me chuckle.
“Well, I assure you: I’m having a blast.”
Her chest heaves. “I’m so glad. So am I. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such an easy, comfortable conversation with someone new like this. You’re very easy to talk to, Roman.”
“Back at you, Iris.”
She bites her lip adorably. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome, though, so let me know whenever you want me to leave or get out of your hair.”
I hold her gaze. “I’d honestly be deeply disappointed if you left before the morning.”
Her breathing halts. Her nostrils flare.
“I’d very much like you stay the whole night here with me,” I add, just in case my meaning is unclear. “I mean, I’d be happy to sleep on the couch, if you want. Like I said. Whatever you want to do, Iris.”
Iris shifts her position on the couch and swallows hard, her face bursting with excitement. “I’d never let you sleep on the couch. The bungalow is yours, fair and square.”
I smirk, but I don’t say a word. If she’s game to fuck me tonight, then she’s going to have to be a big girl and put herself out there a bit more than that. The last thing I want is to make her feel like sex is the going rate for a free place to sleep tonight.
The silence between us becomes thick with sexual tension and words left unspoken. Finally, with Iris’s eyes locked with mine, she chokes out, “Maybe we could both sleep in the bed. Or not sleep. If you . . . know what I mean.”
Oh my fucking God. She’s adorable.
“I’d like that, but I don’t want you thinking you need to share a bed with me as a requirement to stay here. Like I said, I’m more than happy to sleep on the couch.”
“No, I . . . I wouldn’t want you to do that.”
“You wouldn’t, or you don’t?”
“I don’t.”
I lean in and hold her gaze. “What do you want, Iris? Tell me clearly.”
Her cheeks burst with color. Her chest rises and falls. “You.”
With a satisfied grin, I take Iris’s pretty face in my palms and wordlessly do the thing I’ve been dying to do for quite some time now—ever since I saw her naked thighs spread wide and her head slung back: I press my lips to hers.
When Iris responds enthusiastically, I open her lips with mine and gently swirl my tongue with hers, making her softly moan.
In short order, our kissing ramps up into a full-blown make-out session.
Until soon, I’ve got Iris on her back on the couch and she’s got her thighs around my hips.
As we kiss, we urgently grind against each other.
Run greedy fingers through hair. Moan softly with arousal and anticipation.
I’m sure we’re both a bit tipsy by now, but I don’t think that’s the source of the electricity coursing between us.
Rather, I think the wild, crackling chemistry I’m feeling with Iris is nothing but good, old-fashioned lust.
“Do you want to move this into the bedroom?” I gasp out hoarsely, feeling overcome by my scorching attraction.
“Yes,” Iris blurts. “I need to take a shower, though. I’m covered in airplane air.”
I nuzzle her nose with mine. “Take your time, sweetheart. I’ll wait for you in bed.”
“Naked?”
“If that’s okay with you.”
“It’s all I want.”
I chuckle. “Then that’s what you’ll get.” I brush my lips against her ear, making her shudder. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, Iris. Just you wait.”
A soft moan escapes her mouth. “Do you have a condom?”
“I do.”
Breathing hard, Iris chokes out, “But do you have a lot of them, Roman? Because, honestly, I want to have as much sex as humanly possible with you tonight.”