Home Team Disadvantage

Delaney

 

 

 

OH YES. THERE WAS definitely a thing between Brooks and me. The man was kind, generous . . . and an absolute stud when it came to sex. Sizzling with testosterone. A gentleman when it counted, too.

He’d taken me home and even cooked for me before hustling me to the bedroom. Purely so I could keep my energy up for the night ahead, he said.

He hadn’t been wrong on that point. Several hours later I lay panting, half on and half off the bed, until he arranged my trembling limbs next to him.

“Y’okay?” He squinted at me, his eyes finally lightening to a caramel color from dark desirous brown.

I panted some more.

Kissing my lips, he’d smoothed his hand down my belly. “You in there?”

“I’m not sure.” I shivered when his fingers lightly brushed my clit. “I think that was some kind of out-of-body experience.”

“I can make it another in your body experience if you want.” His calloused fingertip slipped through my folds then into me.

My back arched, and I moaned against his neck. I reached between his thighs to find his cock deliciously hard again. When I brushed my thumb over the slick head, he groaned, sliding his finger deeper.

“You’ll have to go gentle this time,” I whispered, on the verge of orgasm already.

“Mmm,” his low addictive voice rumbled out. “I can do gentle. Long and slow.”

Positioning himself between my legs, he hooked my thigh out. The sexy hair on his chest rubbed sensuously against my aroused nipples. That first thrust felt infinite as he speared into me, molding my flesh to his amazing cock.

“Long and slow, baby.” He licked and kissed up my neck to my ear, and I rocked against him, breathless.

In fact, my legs were still shaking, my knees still weak, a few mornings later when he dropped me off at my apartment after hard days of practice and longer nights filled with lovemaking. He rushed around the hood of the truck, a definite strut in his step, a grin on his suckable lips. Opening my door, he planted a smoldering kiss—deep and long—on my mouth. I couldn’t get over how passionate he was, how touchy-feely as he pulled away, taking my hand in his.

Propelling me from the truck, he kissed the top of my head. “So I’ll see you at the game later, right?”

“Of course you will. It’s my game too.” I squeezed his hand that totally engulfed mine.

He walked me up the steps and started backing me against the wall when I spotted a package wedged between the outer and storm doors of my apartment.

I opened the door, and the padded envelope dropped to the floor. Unexpected package . . . familiar handwriting.

“Expecting a delivery?” Brooklyn asked when I loosened my grip from his.

“No.” I swallowed through a dry throat, instant cold terror blooming.

Quickly retrieving the envelope, I shoved it into my bag.

“Y’okay?” Brooklyn took my keys and opened the inner door for me. His fingers brushed against my cheek.

I braved a smile that felt hollow on my lips. “Perfect. So I’ll see you later.”

Pushing up, I gave him a small kiss then hurried inside. As soon as he stepped off the little porch, I shut the door and hit all the locks.

Rushing through my one-bedroom place, I quickly checked all the windows and the back door. No signs of forced entry, and all the windows and doors bolted.

Trembling again, for an entirely different reason, I threw my bag on the sofa, glaring as the envelope tumbled from inside. I waged a silent standoff with the damn thing, pacing back and forth. I refused to let him get to me again.

Jaw set, I ripped the package open. A prepaid cell phone fell into my hands with a note in Eric’s recognizable scrawl:

I’ll be in touch.

With a murderous scream, I smashed the phone beneath my boot, stomping it again and again until the plastic surrounding it crackled then the cell phone turned into nothing more than broken bits and wires.

I slipped down to the floor, head cradled in my hands. I wouldn’t fall apart. I would not let the damn tears flood my eyes again.

And I flat out refused to run from the life I’d worked so hard creating.

No matter how determined I was to stay strong, I spent the rest of the day looking over my shoulder. During the drive to Crush stadium, I checked the rearview mirror constantly. I was extra vigilant, walking from my car into the complex of buildings.

Suited up and on the sidelines where we’d watch the first half of Carolina Crush vs. New York Dragons before our turn at halftime, the only thing that had taken my mind off the lurking sensation of being watched was Brooklyn. By losing the throwing competition during practice his punishment was the ultimate in humiliation.

“Oh hell yeah!” Raquel jumped to her feet when Brooks popped his hips to and fro, sashaying into the arena . . . in the middle of the Crush cheerleaders.

“Let’s just hope his balls don’t fall out of his spangly booty shorts,” Lourdes exclaimed.

I nearly choked, laughing so hard when he got into position nearly in front of us. They had to have tailored the scanty uniform to fit his huge frame. His cut abs clearly delineated beneath the crop top, his thick muscular thighs bulking from the short shorts, his swelling shoulders and mountainous biceps strained the seams of the top.

He wore red lipstick, fake eyelashes, and black streaks on his cheeks. So, so wrong. And so, so funny.

He looked completely out of place, but as “My House” by Flo Rida blasted from the speakers, he’d clearly boned up on the moves.

He shook his hips in perfect time. Performed high kicks, his arms strung through the other cheerleaders with him in the center of the line. He pumped his booty all the way down to a deep squat when the drumbeat intensified.

I was impressed, laughing hysterically until my tummy hurt.

I whistled, winking at him as he got his cheerleader groove on, shaking his pom poms and playing up the crowd. He shimmied, shook, strutted his sexy stuff.

“Bring it, Brooks!” Sammy hooted.

Fans stomped to their feet, “Baller! Baller! Baller!”

“Baller’s damn right.” Raquel leered, her gaze roaming to my man’s groin.

With a last swivel of his hips, he blew a kiss at me then attempted a split. He was probably incapable of spreading his legs all the way to the ground because of the size of his package. The uniform stretched to the limits, and thank God for his jockstrap, or he’d really be giving everyone the show of the century.

Swanning off the field, he tossed his head. More peals of laughter exploded from me.

His teammates—especially Rafe from what I knew about their friendship—were bound to razz him so hard when they caught the replay action of Brooks doing his groove thing with the Crush cheerleaders.

I didn’t feel so lighthearted after his performance. When the game began, the Dragons winning the coin toss, tension sneaked along my shoulders and settled at the nape of my neck like a hundred needles pricking my skin. So distracted, I spent the first two quarters scanning the thousands of faces. I didn’t even realize Carolina Crush was losing by seven points until the shrill whistle signaled halftime.

I guzzled water, buckled my helmet, and watched Brooklyn run off field. He shook his head, listening to something Rafe said to him.

“Something wrong with su novio tonight?” Lourdes queried.

“Huh? No.” I flexed my fingers, waiting for the refs to give us the go ahead to take the field for our own brand of badass football.

“Did you even see his plays?” Sammy huddled up next to me.

“Did I miss something?”

“Yeah. You missed Brooklyn missing two passes. First time all season.”

Great. Another thing to worry about.

After we were announced, we strode onto the turf. Roars shuddered down my spine from our own fans showing up in force for a mere twelve-minute exhibition.

The thrill shot through my extremities, but the thought lingered—Eric could be in the stands, too.

I was off the mark from my first shot drilled down the field toward Lourdes. Intercepted by the Nashville Naiads, I cursed at myself. Eric was digging inside my head again already.

The next minutes passed in a blur. I fucked up throw after throw. Finally rushing yards because I couldn’t trust my hands or my concentration anymore.

We walked to the sidelines, dejected. We’d scored only one touchdown against Nashville’s three during the fast-action show.

“Hey.” Raquel shouldered up to me and patted my ass. “It was just a friendly, right?”

“This time.” I slammed my helmet onto a bench and plunked down.

Carolina Cougars was on the way to taking the Artemis League Cup, but not if I couldn’t keep my head together. Not if I couldn’t get Eric completely out of my life.

“Looks like Brooks isn’t the only one off his game tonight.” Sammy frowned.

“You catch something sleeping with him?” Lourdes asked.

“And she ain’t talking about an STD.” Sammy sandwiched between Raquel and me.

“But he’s wrapping it, si? Because you know his reputation.” Lourdes butted in right where she wasn’t welcome.

“Stop!” I stormed to my feet, my temper frazzled to the last little bit. “You’re the ones who pushed me at Brooklyn in the first place.” All the anger inside seethed to the surface, and I rounded on my girls. “Just . . . shut up!”