I don’t see Brynn until after Sunday’s game.

I try calling her. I try texting. She just never answers.

I don’t know what happened. One second, she’s fucking riding my cock like there’s nothing else in the world, and the next she’s not talking to me at all. I mean, I know she thinks I’m an asshole, but fucking hell.

I hate these stupid fucking games. It pisses me off that she’s playing them. I really thought she was better than that.

All week I look for her during media sessions, but I never spot her. I want to ask around about her, but I know that would only look bad. I know people are talking about what’s happening between the two of us, or at least the fake version that’s actually now kind of true.

Shit. It’s all so fucking complicated.

Sunday comes and we win. I play like a fucking madman. I throw for three hundred yards and my shoulder doesn’t bother me once, much to the chagrin of the Philadelphia Eagles.

We blow them out of the water. And after the game, I dive into press bullshit like a shark in water.

And that’s when I spot her again. As the field fills up with people, there’s Brynn, standing off to the side, closer to the tunnel. I move in her direction, but as soon as she spots me, she hurries away.

I follow her inside, shrugging off interview requests. Microphones get shoved in my face but I push them aside.

I have one thing on my mind, and it’s the girl running from me.

I hurry after her. We step into the back halls, turn a few corners, and I suddenly jog to catch her.

“Brynn, wait,” I say.

She whirls on me. We’re alone, back in the labyrinth of the stadium. I think there’s a janitor’s closet up ahead.

“Why are you following me?”

“I want to talk.”

“Please, just leave me alone.”

I shake my head. “What the hell is the matter?”

She looks around, and I can see a little panic in her eyes. “I can’t talk to you.”

I stare at her for a second. “What happened?” I ask, stepping closer.

She bites her lip. She looks so fucking sexy like this, trapped with me in some back hallway.

“Wood talked to me. We made a deal.”

I frown. “A deal?”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you anymore. And in exchange, he lets me keep my job.” She sounds resentful.

“How could he fire you?”

“If he revoked my press pass, that’d basically ruin me.”

I take a breath. “So he threatened you.”

“He said I can’t talk to you anymore.”

“He can’t enforce that. We’re fucking adults.” Rage tears through me.

“He said… I could see you outside of the stadium,” she says softly, looking away. “But that I can’t interview you anymore. No more football.”

I stand there for a second, staring at her. Some of the anger starts to leak away.

“So you stop talking to me altogether?”

She looks up. “It’s not what I wanted.”

“I get it. I’m just a fucking jock to you, huh? I’m just a guy to fuck and use?”

“No, it’s not—”

I step closer. She stumbles back against the wall. I pin her there, grab her hair, and kiss her.

She’s clearly surprised, but she kisses me back. I can taste her, really taste her, and it’s fucking good. I grab her ass with my other hand, move it up to tease her breasts, pull her hair tighter.

I kiss her neck as she lets out a soft moan. “You want to fucking use me?” I whisper. “Go ahead. You’re my little slut, remember?”

“Fuck, Sean,” she says. “We can’t. Not here.”

I laugh softly. I pull her from the hallway, pushing open the door up ahead. What I thought was a janitor’s closet is actually a storage room for extra balls, grass lining, and other field maintenance stuff.

There’s a big metal rack, and I drag her over to it, turning her around. I put her hands flat on a shelf and spread her legs before tipping her head back. I kiss her lips and love the way she moans into it.

“Fuck what you want,” I whisper. “I’m not playing games.”

“If we get caught—”

I kiss her and bite her lower lip. She gasps as I slide a hand down the front of her slacks.

She’s wet, just like I knew she’d be. I could see it in her eyes the moment I caught her back here, the moment I cornered her.

It’s desire, pure and simple.

I kiss her again as I start to tease her pussy. She groans and I work her clit, sliding in and out.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “We can’t.”

I grab her hair. “You can do whatever I tell you to do.”

“Fuck,” she moans as I slide my fingers inside of her. She looks over her shoulder, eyes hungry, and kisses me.

I pull her from the rack over to a folding table set up against the far wall. I shove a bunch of air pumps onto the floor and lift her up. I tug down her slacks and panties, spreading her legs as wide as I can with them around her ankles, and press my fingers back inside.

She gasps. I bite her lower lip and start to fuck her pussy with my fingers.

It’s hot and frenzied. I work her clit, fuck her pussy, pull her hair. She wraps her arms around my neck and moans into my ear, her breath hot and warm. I pull her close, make her body work, make her muscles tense.

I fuck her pussy nice and deep with my fingers, sliding along, soaking them. I can feel her juices running down onto the top of table.

I drop between her legs and suck her clit, lapping her juice up, loving the taste. She grabs my hair, rolls her hips. I fuck her pussy faster, fingers sliding in and out as my tongue works her clit faster and faster.

“Fuck, you asshole,” she groans. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Come for me, little slut.” I push my fingers deeper, fucking her faster, licking her clit harder.

She comes seconds later in a burst of moans and tight muscles. It’s so fucking sexy to watch as her whole body spasms, tensing and shaking. She gets off and I slowly pull back, leaving her panting, her pussy dripping, her legs spread.

I clean my fingers off while she watches.

“I’ll call you,” I say. “And you’ll answer.”

She doesn’t say anything. I leave the room, my cock hard as fucking hell.

But there’s a smile on my face. She’s not going to forget that.

The next time I call, she’s going to pick up the phone.