Chapter One #2
"Shit, you ain't wrong about that." Killian laughs quietly, his blue eyes shining in amusement as he jerks his chin toward a group of models whispering back and forth a few feet away. "They've been staring you up and down all night."
"They're looking at you, too, motherfucker," I remind him. Like me, Killian is on the team, a running back. He's also single. If we get placed on one more Most Eligible Player list together, I'm not sure which of us will snap first.
"Don't remind me," he growls, scowling at the group. "Don't even know why the fuck we have to come to these things."
"We're building team morale," I say, deadpan.
He snorts in response, motioning for Lucas Acorn, Jasper Werth, and Dace Helliker to join us where we're leaning against the wall. They stride over, beers in hand.
"Sup, fuckers?" Dace grins wide enough to flash his dimples, holding his fist out for us to bump. "Why do you both look so pissed?"
"It's Killian's natural state," Lucas says, one brow cocked at me in question. "Don't know what's up with him, though. Pretty Boy is usually all smiles."
"Fuck off with that nickname, Lucas." I discreetly flip him off, earning chuckles in response.
"We're trying to figure out why we have to do this shit every year," Killian mutters. "It's bullshit."
"Stu likes to start the season with these parties." Dace shrugs. "Who cares why? We get to eat the owner's food and drink his booze for the night."
"I'd rather drink my own booze."
Jasper shakes his head at me, chuckling. "You and Killian are two fucking peas in a pod, brother. He's been bitching about this shit since he joined the roster three seasons ago."
"Yeah, well, I just got my name out of the papers," I remind him. "I'd rather not land right back in them because I was photographed with some model whose name I don't even know."
Dace snorts with laughter. "Good luck with that. They'll find a reason to splash your pretty face all over the papers at every available opportunity."
I shoot him a dark scowl, but it's not like he's wrong.
I spend more time in the news than out of it, and I don't even do anything newsworthy off the field.
Right after I was traded, I was literally walking down the street after meeting my publicist, and a girl bumped into me.
Next thing I know, the whole world thinks I'm fucking a hockey player's girlfriend.
He wanted to kick my ass for it. That was fun times.
My gaze drifts to the group of models just in time to see one of them step forward like she's about to walk over here, her eyes locked on me.
"I'm going to take a piss," I mutter, taking off in the opposite direction before I have to be rude to her.
When they've got that look in their eyes, they don't understand anything but asshole, and I've been trying hard not to build that kind of reputation here.
It was bad enough in LA, where the only way to survive the constant offers to fuck was by being an asshole.
I just want to play football and live my life. Is that too much to ask?
Dace says something behind me, but I ignore him, making a beeline for the stairs.
I take them two at a time, emerging onto the landing above with a sigh of relief.
It's quieter up here, less crowded. Until I spot a photographer standing on the opposite side, looking down at the crowd below with his camera in hand.
I quickly slip down a hallway, trying to avoid being seen. Ma is already on my ass about the Celebrity Teatime article. The last thing I need is to step into another impromptu interview right now. She'll fly out here and kick my ass if I publicly swear off love again.
Instead, I saunter down the hall, admiring Stu's artwork.
I know fuck-all about it, but it looks great.
All except the sculpture that looks like Medusa holding someone's balls in her hand, anyway.
That one is…interesting. Honestly, who can blame her if it is someone's sack, though?
She got the short end of a shitty stick.
I wait until I'm sure the coast is clear, and then turn to make my way back down to the party. At least, that's the plan until a streak of red comes bolting out of the bathroom across from me like her hair is on fire and her ass is catching.
Jesus Christ. She's fast.
She damn near tackles me, knocking me back like I'm a rookie linebacker.
"Oh, shit!" One hand grabs my tie, hauling me forward.
The other is all over my lower abdomen, creeping closer to my balls by the second.
I'm not sure if she's trying to cop a feel or save herself.
She's squirming too much for her goal to be obvious, but my junk is seconds from getting some serious action.
"Stay still!" she cries, practically choking me with my own damn tie, only to stumble in her heels again. She loses her grip on the tie, smacking me in the chest as her hand slips.
Fucking hell. She's a walking disaster, a goddamn tornado with great tits.
This would be funny if it weren't so fucking ridiculous.
I grab the hand perilously close to my balls, trying to stop her before she sends us plummeting to the ground, but there is no stopping a force of nature. She jerks backward, sending the glass in my hand toppling.
"Oh, no," she whispers, blinking in shock as wine spills down my pants, soaking through the fabric right over my crotch.
It's a problem.
Mostly because she's a bombshell with the prettiest gray eyes I've ever seen, and her hands are all over my body.
She's fucking stunning, with curves my hands itch to sink into and gorgeous olive skin.
My dick appreciates the action as much as the view, and there's no hiding him.
He's standing at attention like he just heard the national anthem.
"I'm so sorry!" she gasps, sinking to her knees in front of me.
Fuck me.
"Sto—"
Too late.
Her hands are over my cock, patting at the damp fabric like she can sop up the wine with nothing but her embarrassment.
And I'm so goddamn hard it's ridiculous. Like, could-hammer-nails hard.
She notices. Of course she notices. It's literally impossible not to notice the goddamn tent-situation in my pants with the fabric soaked to my skin.
Her shocked gaze flies to mine, her full lips parted. Her hands still on my cock. "Are you…? Is that…?"
"My cock? Afraid so." I glance down at the hard bastard. "He says hello, by the way."