2. Nash
TWO
Nash
“ Y ou coming up?” Coach asked, holding the door to the elevator open with one hand.
“You go ahead.” I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my sweats, trying to appear casual, but Coach still frowned at me. “I’ll be up soon.”
“Practice is at nine sharp,” he called from inside the elevator, his bushy white mustache making him look just a little like a walrus. “Curfew is in an hour.”
“Sure thing, coach.” I nodded, waving him off as the doors closed and carried him up to his room.
As soon as he was out of sight, I breathed out a sigh of relief, letting the dutiful athlete mask I wore more often than not fall away and sliding back into my real self.
I’d never missed curfew in my entire career, but for some reason, Coach Conway always felt the need to remind me of exactly when my bedtime was.
I didn’t mind; I was typically in my room long before lights out, anyway, reviewing game footage and studying the playbook so that I was always sharp and ready for game day. If someone was looking for me, there was a significantly good chance they’d find me in my room.
But tonight, I needed a drink.
Turning from the bank of elevators, I rolled my neck, trying to erase the tension I had been carrying since that disaster of a press conference.
Avery freaking Peel.
The woman had balls, that was for sure. Bigger balls than any of the other reporters who groveled and fawned over me every week during the regular season.
None of them would have dared ask me about my salary. But Avery hadn’t ever met a line she wouldn’t cross.
I had to admit—even if it was only to myself—I enjoyed pushing her buttons. I could tell just from looking at her that she worked hard to appear professional. She showed up every week, her hair pinned up, her starched white button-up shirt completely buttoned up, looking like every librarian fantasy I’d ever had. The way she filled out those tight little pencil skirts made it very difficult to sit comfortably in a room full of people, that was for damn sure.
She was a curvy little smoke show all wrapped up in a pristine polyester package and I had been fantasizing about her for years.
Too bad she hated my guts.
Stepping into the lobby bar, I looked around, hoping that there weren’t going to be any crazy fans hanging around at this time of night. I loved my fans, but tonight I was feeling the need to be alone.
Well, maybe not too alone, I amended to myself as I caught sight of a woman sitting at the bar.
Her back was to me, but damn—she had curves that could stop traffic.
Her rounded ass looked like a delicious peach where she sat perfect on that barstool, juicy and ripe for the picking. Her waist nipped in just right, offering the perfect place for my hands to hold onto. Licking my lips, I let my gaze roam higher, taking in the shiny golden waterfall of hair that tumbled halfway down her back, my fingers just itching to thread into it and hold on tight while I made her scream my name.
Groaning under my breath, I shifted awkwardly, hoping that no one noticed the semi I was suddenly sporting in my sweats. Pasting a smirk on my face, I sauntered up to the bar, positioning myself behind her, close enough that I could smell her orange blossom scent, but not close enough to earn myself an elbow to the ribs if my advance was unwanted.
As I stood there, admiring her from behind, the woman reached for her drink, picking up the martini glass, and I took that as my opening.
“If you’re interested, I could give you a really dirty martini up in my room,” I drawled, letting all my southern boy charm hang out.
The woman froze, her glass halfway to her mouth, and I realized I may have miscalculated.
Rejection wasn’t something I was familiar with—in fact, there was only one time in recent memory where I had propositioned a woman and she hadn’t accepted.
And that woman had been?—
“I know you aren’t trying to hit on me right now, Holloway.”
Avery .
Her voice dripped with derision, and as she slowly turned on the stool, I took an involuntary step back, taking in how incredible she looked. Hair down, the top two buttons on her shirt undone, Avery looked wild, and I had to swallow against a suddenly dry throat at how fucking sexy she was.
Angry, too.
I faced down three-hundred-pound linebackers on a weekly basis, but those guys were nothing compared to the weight of Avery’s furious stare as she glared at me from over the rim of her martini.
“Because if you are, I’ll have to remind you of what happened the last time you tried one of your bullshit lines on me.”
I winced, remembering that night vividly.
It had been the night of the league’s awards banquet. I’d been nominated for Offensive Rookie of the Year and was riding high. My best friend Hunter and I had hit the bar pretty hard, and that was when I’d seen her. Sitting at the table for Sports America Network, she looked nervous and shy, her pretty blue eyes wide as she stared around at all the famous athletes. Her male colleagues were ignoring her as they talked amongst themselves, loud and obnoxious, and I could see that she was uncomfortable. Something about that made me want to talk to her. To make it better in whatever way I could.
My mistake had been ordering another drink before I approached her.
“That was a long time ago,” I replied casually, sliding onto the stool next to her. Flagging down the bartender, I ordered an IPA, my gaze on the TV above the bar as I waited for my drink. The commentators were debating the prospects for tomorrow’s game, their animated discussion looking ridiculous with the sound off, but I could catch the basic drift.
They were talking about me.
It seemed that everyone was these days; the end of a multi-million-dollar contract would do that to a guy.
I just wished I could tell them the truth.
“Not long enough,” Avery muttered into her glass, and I finally turned to look at her.
Fuck, she was pretty. Her cheeks were rosy, warm and flushed from her drink. But it was her hair that really struck me. It was the first time I’d ever seen it down. Normally, she had it tied up, slicked back and sprayed into submission.
But tonight it was down, wavy and a bit chaotic, as though she’d been running her fingers through it, and I shifted on my seat at the thought. In my mind, I could see her, the way she’d look riding me, her hair dancing around her face as she bounced on my cock, head thrown back in ecstasy.
Yeah, thoughts like that were not helping the situation in my pants.
“How about we put the claws away for now?” I suggested, suddenly tired. “Let’s forget the past. I don’t have the energy to fight with you tonight, babe.”
I knew I’d fucked up as soon as the words were out, but there was no going back.
Sucking in a shocked breath, Avery’s eyes went even wider, her sweet little mouth popping open indignantly.
“ Babe? ” Her chest heaved, the breaths she was taking causing her tits to strain against the buttons of her blouse. “I am not your babe.”
No , I thought, my eyes on those perfect tits. Not yet, you’re not.