Chapter 2

 Chris

 

I can’t keep my eyes off Janelle’s ass as she walks away and heads out back. I haven’t seen an ass like that in a long time, and from what I can tell, she doesn’t even have a clue what she’s working with. If she did, I’m sure she’d have herself all done up like the rest of the women who work waitress jobs in this town.

Also, she doesn’t have the personality of some of the women who work these jobs by using their feminine wiles and charms on lonely, unsuspecting men and luring them into big tips by pumping their tits up and shaking their ass as they walk. She just has natural beauty, and a rather laid-back air about her.

Most chicks recognize me everywhere I go. She says she doesn’t know who I am, but I think she’s full of shit. Even if she didn’t recognize me when I walked in, my name is on TV every day. Unless she rides a horse to work and lives in a shack in the middle of the woods, I know she knows who Chris Mitchell is and is just playing coy.

Two-time professional football MVP, rookie of the year, and proud owner of two championship rings. That’s right, baby. And all before the age of thirty. It’s an unprecedented career. Hell, even those morning talk shows hosts are raving about me.

She doesn’t know who Chris Mitchell is? Bullshit. I don’t buy it.

I caught a whiff of her scent as she stepped up to the table, and now it’s all I can think about. It was some sort of perfume, but not the skank kind. It filled my nose and lungs and I can still smell it even though she’s vanished into the kitchen. Nothing sticks with you more than the smell of a woman.

“You see the peach on that chick?” Bill chimes in. “I wouldn’t mind having a bite of that fruit, if you know what I mean.”

He chuckles like he’s some kind of standup comedian and I feel my fist ball up under the table.

“Hey, shut the fuck up, Bill.” The words are out of my mouth before I even realize I was going to say. Bill looks at me like I’ve lost my mind and I start to think I may have.

I’ve known this chick for two minutes and I’m already territorial? What the Hell is wrong with me?

The half-wood in my pants is one thing – I mean, Bill isn’t wrong about her ass, but this jealous rage is fucked up. Girls throw themselves at me. Let’s be honest here. I’m a football star and practically a celebrity. I’ve had models, actresses, strippers that put centerfolds to shame. I’ve had it all. So why the Hell am I getting all worked up at Bill commenting on a random girl’s ass at the diner?

“Geez. Sorry, bro,” Bill scoffs, taking a swig of his Mohawked Pig. “Didn’t know you were married.”

It takes everything I have in me not to smack him over the head.

What the fuck is wrong with me!?

It’s been years since I’ve been twisted up by a girl, let alone one I just laid eyes on. Maybe it’s the fact that the douche on the other end of the diner was fucking with her and now I’m feeling protective of her.

Yeah, that must be it. I mean, you can’t fall for a chick you just saw. Love at first sight? Give me a break. Now lust…that’s different. I would definitely call this lust at first sight.

“Chris Mitchell getting married,” Steve laughs from beside me. “That’ll be the fucking day.”

Steve is massive and takes up the entire seat across the booth from Bill and me.

I’m the team’s star linebacker. No one’s stopping me. I’ve had opposing teams put four guys on me and get nowhere. At six foot four with a body made at the gym, you’d have to be insane or an idiot to think you’d be able to get in my way.

But I’m not your average linebacker. Nothing about me is average. Nothing.

“She’s had a shit night already, Bill,” I growl. “With that dickhead down there trying to cop a feel on her. She doesn’t need you talking shit behind her back.”

“Talking shit? I said she had a nice ass. She does. You saying she doesn’t?”

I can feel my temperature rising. What’s wrong with me? Bill’s got every right to comment on her ass. I’m not with her. I don’t own her. He’s not wrong, but I’m feeling jealous like a high schooler.

“I’m saying you should shut the fuck up, man,” I snap back with a look that ends the conversation. Both of them roll their eyes but don’t pursue it. I realize I’m being a bit of an asshole and change the topic.

“So, how about those Elks today?” I say with a chuckle, referring of course to the Alabama Elks that just had their asses handed to them by us at today’s game.

I caught two passes for two touchdowns and Sam ran forty yards for the last one that really sealed the deal. There’s a rivalry between our two teams, so kicking their asses like that was just sweet.

“Pffft,” Steve chuckles, taking a big swig of his beer. “They should just retire now and save themselves the embarrassment.”

“Yo, we should throw a victory party,” Bill chimes in. “The night’s young, man. I don’t wanna go home and go to bed.”

“Shit, yeah,” Steve replies. “What’s that club they got around here? The Golden Pony or something—?”

“Platinum Pony,” Bill corrects him.

“Yeah! Platinum Pony. Call some of those girls and get ‘em over. I’ll hit up some of the boys.”

They both grab their phones and start contacting people. “Get ‘em over” of course means bring them over to my place. I grew up around here and bought a pad just outside of town after I cashed my first check, the one that made me a millionaire overnight.

Ever since then, the place has been ground zero for all the parties, the decadence and depravity. The boys from the team come over to crash as much as possible. Thankfully my room is up on the back corner, basically on its own wing so I can keep some semblance of privacy when the guys are asleep downstairs.

Normally I’d be more than pumped for Bill’s plan. The Platinum Pony girls love us football jocks. We love throwing our money around like a bunch of dickheads. Most of us grew up with nothing and have more money than we know what to do with now, and those girls know it.

They’re great at pretending to like you, or love you, at least for the night. And it usually works out well for us, too. You have your fun, then wake up in the morning and go your separate ways. But for some reason, tonight, I’m just not that down with the idea of getting a dance from some random bimbo with bleached blonde hair and fake tits.

Actually, that’s not true. I know the reason, and I’m looking right at her.

Janelle— that’s what she said her name was. She’s standing in the back talking to someone. I can see her through the circular window in the chrome doors leading from the front of the diner to the kitchen. It looks like another waitress has just come in or something and they’re obviously talking about me.

Janelle sends a look my way out of the corner of her eye, hoping I won’t notice. But when our eyes lock, I toss her a wink that makes her cheek red. I can feel a pulsing down in my jeans as my cock shifts into first gear. As sexy as this girl is, there’s an innocence to her, like royalty – a princess that’s been forced to slave away as a waitress working the night shift dealing with all the dickheads wanting coffee and beer and a nice feel of her plump ass.

She looks away quickly and steps out of my view. Her face is quickly replaced by that of her friend, a blonde that’s much more typical of this town. She looks like she’s had a few runs around the block and has a few threesomes under her belt. She’s got highlights and a few piercings and is rocking a pushup bra that’s got her boobs up at about chin level.

When she sees me, she makes no attempt to hide her reaction. Her eyes go wide, and her jaw drops as she reaches out and grabs Janelle by the arms. I can read her lips.

What the fuck!? She mouths. I can’t help but smile.

She says a few more things before the door opens and Janelle steps back out. I give her the full once-over as she walks toward me. I can feel my cock stir again under my jeans, pressing against the buttons of my fly. I want a fistful of her hair while I kiss her neck and bury my dick inside her. I want to see the look on this princess’s face when she cums on my cock.

“You guys know what you want?” She stammers, clearing her throat.

“Oh, I know what I want,” I say. I’m not talking about food and she knows it. It takes her a minute to answer.

“And what’s that?”

“I’m looking at it,” I tell her.

“Jesus,” she says. “That line work on all the ladies?”

I shrug. “The boys and I are throwing a little shindig over at my place tonight. Why don’t you join us?”

I can see a puzzled look come over her face as she tries to figure out if I’m serious and what exactly my intentions are. But she’s stubborn. Feisty. I can tell. And to be honest, I kind of like that. It wouldn’t be any fun if she made it too easy on me.

“Join you?” She says indignantly. “You must really think I’m like all the other girls, don’t you?”

“Actually, no,” I admit to her. “And that’s why I’m asking you.”

That one confuses her even more than my invitation and she doesn’t respond immediately. I take the moment to give her body another once-over. Her skirt isn’t too short, and she’s wearing an apron, so I can’t get a good look at her thighs, but from the looks of the rest of her legs, she’s in pretty good shape.

She’s got a perfect hourglass figure and my eyes linger on her waist where she’s tied her apron. It looks like my hands could wrap around it perfectly, while I’m fucking her.

The top of her apron is pissing me off though, because with it and whatever frilly stupid blouse she’s wearing up top, I can’t get a good look at her breasts. But just from guessing, I’d say she probably doesn’t have much going on. But hey, with an ass like that, who gives a shit? And I don’t mind a little mystery either— it will just be that much more exciting when I get her clothes off.

“Okay, I don’t even know why I’m asking this,” Janelle says. “But what kind of shindig?”

I suppress my smile.

“Oh, you know. Boys, beers, music—"

“Strippers,” Bill chimes in.

I slam an elbow into his ribs, but the damage is already done. Janelle’s face twists into a sneer.

“Listen, are you guys gonna order anything or not?”

I glare at Bill, feeling the sudden urge to rip his arms off. Steve obviously finds this funny. I bite the inside of my cheek as I feel the anger rising inside me. I realize just how badly I want this girl, and if these guys screw it up for me…

“Tell you what, princess,” I say. “What’s your usual tip here?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your usual tip per table,” I repeat. “What is it? Five or six bucks?”

Janelle laughs. “I wish! Try three.”

“Okay,” I continue. “Tell you what. You bring us the check, come back to the house and dance for us, and I’ll tip you more tonight than you’ll make in a month.”

I don’t know what’s gotten into me but it’s like this girl’s sunk her fangs into me and won’t let me go. I can feel the boys shifting in our booth, obviously wondering what the hell is going on with me. We could buy out the whole Platinum Pony and every girl on staff and not even sweat it.

But I don’t want every girl at the Pony. I want the one standing in front of me.

She tries to hide her reaction, but I can see the excitement in her eyes. And it’s not just from the offer of the money. She’s turned on.

She’s turned on by me and the fact that I’m paying this much attention to her. And why wouldn’t she be? I’m fucking Chris Mitchell! Every girl in this town would be thrilled to throw themselves into my lap.

And she’s turned on by the fact that not only am I paying her attention, I’m offering to pay for her. Money can be very enticing, and I know from the fact that she’s working here that she doesn’t have a lot of it.

But, as I realized before, she’s stubborn.

“I’m not a whore,” she says firmly.

“I never said you were,” I reply with the same tone.

And then I just look at her, letting that sink in. I can see the wheels turning as she mulls it over. Her eyes move from my face to my arms and then back again.

It was quick. So quick that she hopes I didn’t notice. But I did. She’s checking me out. She wants me too. She wants to say yes.

I know she wants my big cock deep inside her wet pussy,  just as much as I want to be in there. She wants my hands playing with her nipples, then sucking on them while I play with her clit. She wants me to bend her over and take her from behind.

But she still wants to play hard to get. Right when I think she’s about to give in and say yes, she raises her eyebrows in that way she has, like she’s giving me a real challenge.

“No,” she says. “Find someone else.”