Chapter Four - Jack
I didn’t think a fake relationship would be hard. Pick Leah up at seven. Let the media see me playing the gentleman. Make sure she didn’t storm out on me during dinner.
Except I forgot the most important thing.
Jesus fuck, this woman was absolutely gorgeous.
Leah had hips that shimmied, curves that bumped, tits that plumped, and eyes that would scold a man for ogling the most beautiful creature in the world.
She gave me the address to her apartment, and I offered to pick her up. Originally, I meant to take her out and let the public know I was spoken for. After I took her home, I’d planned to meet up with Bryon and the guys. They had a bead on a new bar stocked with craft beers and co-eds.
Not anymore. Bryon and his sluts be damned. One look at Leah and the only thing I wanted was her.
With me at dinner.
Coming home with me.
Sleeping in my bed.
Waking inside of her.
Worst part was, I knew it’d never fucking happen.
I thought I’d be cute and buy her a single red rose. The flower crushed in my fist when she opened the door, and I was just lucky my jaw hadn’t unhinged like some teenage idiot.
“Jack.” She clutched a little purse, matching the black dress clinging to her perfectly mocha skin. A crimson sash draped over her arms, a shimmering silk that hugged where I longed to touch. “You’re late.”
And we’d be late for dinner too if my cock didn’t settle the fuck down. I hardened immediately, studying her curves. Everything—her exotic complexion, her delicate ebony curls, the tips of her French tipped toenails—was meant to turn my cock into cement. Great. Even my most faithful partner-in-crime was punishing me for agreeing to this fake relationship.
I just wanted to use her as a momentary distraction to the league. Leah thought otherwise. I had nearly split when she dropped the ground rules. No partying. No girls. Nothing fun. I would have taken my chances with the league had it not been for her kiss.
A kiss that nearly had me come right there in the tunnel.
Hell if I could focus on the rest of practice. And I was pretty sure I’d fucked up the speech Leah forwarded to me, some sort of remark on how sorry I was for my behavior and the car crash or something. It was all bullshit anyway. What happened off the field should have been my business. And yet, here I was. Spending thousands of dollars on a publicist to make me appear like a man who wouldn’t rip off her crimson sash, lift that little black dress, and plow my way to a better reputation.
“Ready to go?” I found my tongue somewhere in my dried mouth. Apparently Leah found my head somewhere up my own ass.
“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, I won’t help you.”
She didn’t invite me in. The door slammed behind her and she walked to the elevator without me.
How did I piss her off? I just got to her apartment.
“What the hell did I do now?” I asked.
Leah shook her head. The dress was low cut and everything else good and holy in this world shimmied too. “You didn’t even try.”
“Try what?”
“The apology?” She whipped around, and her hair caressed her cheek. I tried to focus on her scowl, but, God…even mad she was beautiful. “I spent an hour crafting you five sentences to express your remorse for what happened, and you couldn’t even make it sound genuine?”
What did I do wrong? “I read what you gave me.”
“Exactly. You read it like a PR person gave you a statement.”
“Do you want me to take acting classes now? I’m a football player, not Chris Pratt.”
“Yeah, as if I could get that lucky.”
“Fine…” I shrugged. “I’ll do better next time.”
That pissed her off more. “Jack, there better not be a next time. That was your last public apology. No one will listen to you next time.”
Touché.
The elevator delivered us to the lobby. She brushed a cautious hand over her dress, like she didn’t trust that the skirt wouldn’t ride up and show a scandalous amount of leg. I was praying it would.
“Why are we so formal?” she asked.
I was a jock, but even I appreciated a good meal. “I’m taking you to Le Meilleur.”
She stiffened, staring at me with widening eyes. “That’s the best restaurant in the city.”
I smirked, offering her my elbow as we walked to my car. “Now that sounded genuine.”
I helped her into the Porsche, hating the brand new car because it wasn’t my classic Camaro. Leah liked it. She stared at the interior, the navigation system, the luxury. She was probably a girl who didn’t mind a little class.
Well, there was nothing classier than getting fucked in the back seat of a sports car that cost more than her yearly salary, but Leah didn’t seem the type. That didn’t stop me from imagining it. Wanting it. I adjusted my trousers as my dick swelled thinking about her skirt riding up and my cock sliding in.
Let’s see her write a spin piece on the best sex of her goddamned life.
The restaurant needed reservations a month ahead of time. I called two hours before we arrived, and a private table waited for the Rivets’ star near the dance floor. It was a perfectly romantic location for a man taking his longterm girlfriend on a date. Low lights, expensive food, and insufferable waiters. Every girl’s dream before slipping into bed with me.
But Leah didn’t seem the bed slipping type.
She folded her napkin neatly in her lap, sipped her wine, and looked positively humbled that I would bring her somewhere nice.
“Thinking you were getting a strip club breakfast buffet?” I asked.
She took a deep breath, meeting my gaze with those big, mocha eyes, as rich as the chocolate complexion of her skin. She turned my cock to stone, and she didn’t have a fucking clue.
“I didn’t know what to expect.” At least she was honest. Her voice shifted, taking on that professional, impersonal tone. “I’ve posted on social media about tonight. I have boxed seats for a baseball game and an event with one of the Rivets’ charities we can attend. But, for now? We should probably take a selfie together a little later, to pass around a picture of you that doesn’t include three drunken women and a totaled car.”
“Thanks.”
Her hands trembled. “I don’t know how to handle this from here. How to…make it seem like we’re an actual couple.”
Fucking her would convince me. “We’ll start by ordering an appetizer. I think a salad after that.” I leaned closer, voice low. “Then we’ll get real crazy and grab and entre.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I called over the waiter. “People eat on dates. You and I will eat on our date.”
I tucked a hundred dollar bill in the waiter’s suit. Leah hissed at me. I ignored her.
“Make sure the lady’s wine glass doesn’t go empty tonight.” I pointed to a variety of foods on the menu—not like I could read the French anyway. “That’ll be good for appetizers.”
The waiter nodded and scurried to the kitchen. Leah glared.
“Please. Thank you. You’re welcome. Ever hear of those words?” She couldn’t look angry sipping a glass of hundred dollar wine. “You have to be courteous, Jack. You’re a public figure.”
Since when did throwing a ball and dodging rabid linebackers mean I was a public figure? “Hey, I’m being a perfect fucking gentleman while you bill me for taking you out on the town.”
“You make me sound like an escort.”
“I wouldn’t know.” I winked. “Never needed one.”
Leah acted like she’d either let her guard down or dump the wine over my head. I liked the indecision. Made her feisty.
“I don’t understand you,” she said. “You’re the star quarterback of a professional football team. You have the money and the power and the opportunity to become the best of all time. Not one of the best, but the best. Why would you throw it away for a threesome with questionable women?”
“You’re missing the big picture. It would have been a foursome.”
“Oh, whatever.” She crossed her arms.
“Give me my moment of glory.”
“Was that what it was? Glory?”
“It was fun, Kiss. You know. What people do when they yank the sticks out of their asses?”
“I can have fun.” The shawl covering her bare shoulders said otherwise. “But I also know when it’s time to be responsible. You have to plan for your future.” She glanced at me, eyes big and beautiful and more distracting than the swell of her tits. “Have you thought about your future at all?”
“I have a plan for my future.” Two, if I counted getting her in bed. “Winning.”
“Winning?”
“Gotta win the first game. Gotta win the next. Gotta win the playoffs. Gotta win the championship.”
She waited, as if I had more to say. “That’s…it? That’s your goal in life?”
“Yeah.”
“What happens when you get the championship?”
That was the kind of dirty talk that got me harder than a lucky girl calling me Daddy. “You think I’ll win it this year?”
“Yes…You’re Jack Carson.” She picked at a piece of bread. “Of course you will.”
“I didn’t know you were that confident in me.”
She perked an eyebrow as she tasted the freshly baked bread. “You never asked what I thought, just kept banging random women on your way to glory.”
“What could have been.”
“I can’t imagine a foursome being a life goal.”
What was with her? “I don’t have any other goals. I told you. I want my championship ring.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.” I frowned. “Why? What the hell are you planning?”
She sucked in a deep breath and downed the rest of her wine. “I planned to be engaged while in college at twenty years old. I wanted my first job at twenty-two. Married by twenty-three. First child by twenty-five. Six figure salary by twenty-seven. Second child by twenty-eight. Vacation in Paris by thirty. Rome by thirty-one. Vienna at thirty-two. I’d have my last child when I was thirty-three. That’s as far as I’ve planned for now since I’m certain the best school districts will change by the time I’m ready to sell my starter home and move into a thirty-year house.”
Holy fuck, she was a freak.
Who the hell choreographed their life like that? She raised her chin, looking proud and beautiful and as if she expected me to challenge her. She was right.
“Aren’t you my age?” I asked. “Twenty-four?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t look pregnant. She didn’t have a ring on her finger. I could read more than blitzes.
“So what happened?” I laughed. “Where’s the lucky man you’ve shackled to a life of no surprises?”
“Sleeping with my best friend.”
Shit. I didn’t expect her to be so honest. Neither did she. She couldn’t hide the shame and picked at the bread again.
Who was stupid enough to cheat on her?
“What a prick,” I said.
She shrugged. The shawl fell from her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. “Ironically, his wasn’t that impressive.”
“Well, that’s the real tragedy.”
Her wine refilled. She drank half right away. “It did the job before it wandered. I think.”
“You think?”
Leah caught herself, sighing as I stared in confusion. “That was just a joke.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “Did he fuck you good or not?”
Her eyes widened. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
“It shouldn’t ever just do the job. His should be the only goddamned cock you can think about.”
“You would know.”
“Damn right. Life is too short for bad fucking.”
She was embarrassed. Leah hid it by picking over the served appetizer. “It didn’t bother me. Passion wasn’t as much a deal-breaker as the marriage. I wanted the husband and the kids. The career was important too. Really important. I expected a good salary that could help me travel…” She sighed. “I wanted it all.”
She spoke an entirely different language from me. “What about that big cock and the great fucking?”
“That was always just part of the marriage.”
“Was it?” I asked.
She fiddled with her napkin. Didn’t like talking about sex, probably because she never had it good. I changed the subject.
“So now your grand plan is…?”
She nodded. “Ruined.”
“That’s easy enough to fix,” I said. “Change it. Live for the moment. Get fucked, have some fun, you’ll find there’s more to life than structuring it.”
“Oddly sensible coming from a man whose only goal is to win a game and have a foursome.”
“I don’t want a foursome anymore.” I stole the appetizer if only to brush her delicate fingers. “There’s only one woman I’d take to bed now.”
“And as exhilarating as becoming one of your sexual conquests would be…” Leah rolled her eyes. “I’ll pass.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I think pretending to be your girlfriend is adventure enough for now.”
“I think you’re afraid.”
“Don’t tell me you were a psychology major in college?”
I was. Didn’t go to any of the classes, but I won the college four bowl games. “You were hurt by the prick who cheated on you. Your plan is ruined. You think you have no time for fun, especially if you need to catch up on that big fancy wedding, the nice career, and make all those little babies.”
“Fooling around with you won’t get me any closer to my goal.”
“Who needs goals when you can have fun?”
“There’s more to life than sex.”
I grinned. “You’re right. There’s kissing. Foreplay. Blow jobs. Blow jobs are my favorite.”
“One of these days, Jack, you’re going to meet a girl and fall so desperately and idiotically in love that you won’t recognize yourself.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. Do me a favor and call me on that day. Tell me what you think life is about then.” Leah thanked the waiter as he delivered our food. “I won’t even bill you for those hours.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Your biggest party will be the reception after the wedding.” She winked. “Guarantee it.”
She was delusional but pretty. Good company over dinner too, better than half the guys I usually went out with. No spilled beer or cat calls or molested wait staff.
I didn’t remember what the soup tasted like or what the hell I even ordered. Leah sipped her wine and giggled. I didn’t know if it was an act for those who recognized us, or if she was actually having fun.
Only one way to find out.
The live music strummed some soft melody that I figured she liked. I much preferred the bumping R&B at the strip clubs or the bars, but I offered my hand to lead her to the dance floor.
She accepted without checking the surroundings or ensuring anyone saw us.
The music wasn’t bad. She didn’t grind against me, but her body fit perfectly against mine as I wrapped her in a solid embrace. My hand drifted low, against her curves, feeling her heat through the dress.
I hardened before we even began to dance.
It was a goddamned crime that a woman like her didn’t want a fling. Somebody needed to drop her on the bed and give her the night of her life if only so she wouldn’t move stiffly, awkwardly, like she was afraid to get too close.
I knew why she was so resistant. It was the same reason my cock hardened for her.
I whispered in her ear. “Why won’t you admit you’re attracted to me, Kiss?”
Her nails jabbed me through the suit coat. “I’m not attracted to you.”
“Liar.”
“You’re not my type.”
“What? Successful, sexy men aren’t your type?”
“Maybe I like my guys with a little humility?”
The music swayed, and I spun her so I could check out her ass. “Humility’s boring. Especially when you have reason to be confident.”
“Cocky.”
“Nine inches of it, Kiss.” I didn’t let her pull from my arms. “What if I said that you were my type?”
“Is it supposed to be a compliment?”
“Well…yeah.”
Leah smirked. My cock twisted.
And she called me trouble.
Her hands grazed over my chest, as if poking me would shame the hardness away. “You’re attracted to anything walking on two legs.”
I spun her again, this time observing everything from her strapping black heels to the hemline of her skirt. “Your legs are some of the best I’ve ever seen.”
“I should be insulted.”
“But you’re not.”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t, because I was right, and she fucking knew it.
“Kiss, you are an amazingly beautiful woman.” I let my touch drift low, brushing her arms, her waist, and hips as I tugged her closer with the music. She let me. What a tease. “I promised you the full Jack Carson experience. We ate dinner. We’re dancing. Now there’s only one thing left to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“My favorite part of the evening.”
“Dream on, loverboy.”
“Oh, believe me, Kiss. After tonight, that’s all I’ll be dreaming about.”
She would too. The little hitch in her breath gave her away. She wanted to know what it’d be like too. She could find out. I’d drag her from the restaurant, toss her in my car, and deliver her to my bed. I doubted she ever spent a night with her legs in the air and her inhibitions tossed on the floor beside her panties. I’d have her screaming my name and praising my cock before we were done.
And then I’d do it again in the morning.
Just how Jack Carson pleased the women lucky enough to attract him.
Fuck the music. I lifted her chin, staring at her full, parting lips. I only had to convince her.
I took another kiss. Not like the one at the practice facility. This wasn’t some juvenile posturing—overwhelming her just to crack that holier-than-thou façade. This was a kiss meant to promise everything she never planned to experience.
Passion.
Lust.
Excitement.
Raw, carnal fucking.
Her lips tasted sweet like wine. I never kissed a girl with lips as soft as hers. Then again, I hardly ever kissed women. Usually their puffy lips wrapped over my cock.
Just the thought of Leah on her knees, opening her mouth, worshiping me between the silky caress of her lips nearly had me explode.
Fuck.
Who the hell gave this woman such power over me?
And why hadn’t I tried to fuck it out of her before?
Her tongue darted over mine. I pulled her tighter, harder.
Then…a flash.
A quick, intrusive camera flash.
I knew the type. Heard the shutter before. I ripped away from Leah as the jackass with the camera stormed the dance floor.
A waiter and server pulled him back, but not before the asshole grinned at Leah.
“How ‘bout a picture for the Ironfield Almanac, baby? Jack Carson’s newest slut? Were you one of the whores from the accident?”
I saw red. Rage. The kind of aggression I only felt when the game clock ticked the seconds down after the championship game and my opponents celebrated in the end zone off my intercepted pass.
The bastard insulted Leah.
She shouted as I lunged for him, but I wasn’t aiming for his neck. That was the only reason he survived.
I grabbed the camera and spiked it onto the dance floor. The lenses shattered, but the equipment didn’t smash until I drove my foot into it. The photographer swore. I took Leah’s arm and hauled her away as the man broke down in ragged profanity.
“What the hell are you doing?” She hissed.
“Getting you out of here.” I nodded to the maître d'. He’d know where to send the bill for dinner. “No one talks to you like that.”
And no one would again.
Even if it was a fake relationship. Even if we were pretending.
Leah Williams was a goddamned lady who deserved better than a label of a slut.
She deserved better than me.