A long week of practice and a game-free weekend had come and gone.
Now rested and rejuvenated from a few days off, we were deep in the trenches of a Monday afternoon practice.
From where we were huddled up on the forty-yard line, Quinn called the play.
“Sweep and switch,” he instructed. “Ready! Break!”
One loud cohesive clap and we separated, lining up against the practice squad.
This weekend we’d be playing Pittsburgh, on their turf.
They were just behind us in the league standings, and no doubt, they would step onto the field Sunday with every intention of ruining our winning streak.
They could aim for the win all they wanted. I called bullshit.
Even though Pittsburgh was a powerhouse of brutes and savages, they were no competition for us. We’d outplay them. We’d outsmart them. And we wouldn’t allow their overaggressive defense to stop us from shoving touchdowns down their fucking throats.
But in reality, my brain wasn’t one hundred percent on our opponent—or this practice, for that matter. Six had gone back to California the day after we’d had sex, and I hadn’t heard from her since.
We hadn’t exchanged numbers, she hadn’t attempted to hunt me down online, and I absolutely had not watched six hours’ worth of old YouCam videos of her to pass the time.
Toes on the line, I searched the sidelines for the vlogger. She was due back today, I knew, thanks to the scheduled question-and-answer session Georgia had told me about two days ago. And as much as I knew searching Six out wouldn’t make her get there any faster, I couldn’t help it.
It’d been a week since I’d found out what it felt like to be inside Six Malone, and I couldn’t get her out of my fucking head. The undeniably gorgeous, pint-sized woman with the mane of black curls and eyes that drove me wild was a manipulator and a con artist.
Saying I was unexceptional in bed? Please.
Just pretty good? Give me a fucking break.
I had the experience to know that wasn’t the case. I was a gracious lover, attuned to the needs and signals of a woman’s body. I knew they weren’t all the same, and I listened.
I fucking dared her to find a man more perceptive of her needs than I was.
My skin pulled at my cheeks as my face dropped into a scowl.
She’d begged me to fuck her. She’d come on my mouth. On my cock. And at one point, I’d seen those gorgeous eyes of hers damn near roll in the back of her head.
She’d caught on fire when I’d slid inside of her. Her hands had clawed at my chest, her lips moaning words of insistence.
More. More. More, she’d begged.
I was a sex expert, for fuck’s sake. A sexpert.
Quinn shouted the signal, and the ball was snapped into his hands. Action sped into motion, and I had to get my mind right, and quick.
Get your head out of your ass and fucking run your route.
I locked eyes with my opponent, Billy Willis on our practice squad, and prepared to outmaneuver him until I found nothing but open field and free hands ready to catch Bailey’s rocket of a pass.
Forward and to the right, I sprinted over the line of scrimmage and ran parallel to the sideline for ten yards, all the while Billy stayed beside me, shoulder-to-shoulder.
He was quick on his feet, but he wasn’t quick enough. For as good I was in bed, I was even better on the field, and that was saying something.
With a stutter step and a turn, I switched up my route and sprinted diagonally across the field, and my opponent couldn’t keep up.
I was just a few feet out of his reach, but he couldn’t stop my forward progress, and the instant Quinn saw the opening, he sent the ball soaring into the air.
Five yards.
Eight yards.
Ten yards.
I followed the ball’s lead until it dropped from my sky and straight into my hands on the twenty-yard line.
I felt the defense’s presence behind my back, but they were no match. I was just too fucking fast. Twenty yards flew beneath my feet, and I came to an unscathed stop just inside the end zone, the ball still cradled like a baby in my arms.
Coach blew his whistle, and I jogged toward the bench with the rest of the team, offering QB a modest celebratory high-five just before we crossed the sidelines.
“Your routes are on fire,” he said, and I smirked, lifting a water bottle to my lips and taking a long swig.
“My routes are always on fire.”
“Not like this.” Quinn chuckled, and his assessing blue eyes locked with mine. “Something’s different. But I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Don’t be so fucking dramatic, QB,” I retorted, focusing on him intently to avoid letting my gaze stray into searching for someone again. “I’m just playing the way I always play, which, let’s face it, is always fan-fucking-tastic.”
He shook his head, not impressed. “Nah, not like this. Something’s different…”
I started to tell him to stop being such a mother hen and mind his own fucking business, but that retort stalled before it even got going. My gaze was a traitor.
She was petite, gorgeous, and fucking beautiful, and I couldn’t have missed the woman walking out of the tunnel and onto the field if I’d been blindfolded.
Her hair was as wild as ever and her clothes relaxed, but the way she held herself was so different from every woman I’d ever encountered.
Coach Bennett started rambling about something, but for once in my life, I couldn’t hear a fucking word he was saying.
I was too busy watching her walk toward us.
The way the curve of her hips moved subtly with each step. The way her toned legs looked beneath her tight jeans. The soft little bounce of her breasts.
Fuck. I wanted another taste.
And even then, I wasn’t sure just one taste would suffice.
Six was self-assured and outspoken, and she didn’t make decisions based on other people. She was authentic to herself instead of deferential to anyone else, but the truth was, I couldn’t think of anything that would draw people to her more.
She was unlike any woman I’d ever met.
She fucking challenged me. Made me work for every little inch.
The fight turned me on.
“All right!” Coach B shouted. “Everyone head inside and hit the showers. Meet me in the conference room in an hour.”
Our team started to disperse, but I remained on the field, watching Six talk to one of the camera guys on her crew that had been filming snippets from today’s practice.
“Now, it’s starting to make sense,” Bailey whispered into my ear. “She’s the something that’s different.”
I turned to meet his eyes, heart kicking up in my chest that he knew about us sleeping together, but his face was amused.
And I doubted very much he’d find anything enjoyable about me potentially breaking the heart of someone professionally involved with the team.
“What do you mean?” I asked cautiously.
“I’m sure this is a difficult situation for you,” he said, and his fucking smirk grew wider. “You’re used to always getting what you want. Until her.”
Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell my best friend to fuck off and provide the actual facts, the ones that included me fucking Six’s brains out at Martinez’s house last week, but this wasn’t normal.
She was a professional contact, sure, but it was more than that.
I just wasn’t quite sure what it was.
Regardless, I’d continue to keep the secrets of our sexy fucking rendezvous to myself, even if it meant getting razzed by my teammates.
“Quinn Bailey, quarterback of the New York Mavericks and professional gossip queen,” I retorted through a soft chuckle.
“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.” He grinned and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, boo, I’ll take you out for some ice cream once we finish up here. Cat tells me chocolate chip cookie dough makes everything better when you get rejected. I, of course, wouldn’t know.”
I shrugged him off with a laugh, and together, we walked off the field and through the tunnel, until we reached the inside of the stadium.
Before I headed into the locker room, I made a pit stop in Matt’s office, our personal trainer on staff, and gave him a quick update on my ankle.
“How’d it feel during scrimmage?” he asked as I stepped into the small space of his office.
“Felt a lot better. More stable. No discomfort.”
Injuries were common in football. Hell, my list of battle wounds was a fucking mile long. But when you played at the professional level, when football became your livelihood and career, you had to take each injury, no matter how minor, seriously.
And I’d sustained a minor right ankle strain at the start of the preseason.
I could definitely play without problems, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you didn’t monitor.
The biggest concern was doing something in practice or in a game that would change its status from minor to something much worse.
“Good to hear,” Matt responded with a grin. “Let’s keep the training sessions and massage schedule the way we’ve got them, then. Sounds like it’s helping. And next week, we’ll have Dr. Winslow evaluate you again and possibly grab an MRI.”
“Okay.” I nodded and patted the palm of my hand against the doorframe. “See ya around.”
The locker room and a shower calling my name, I wasn’t expecting to run into Six as soon as I stepped out the door.
Walking straight toward me, she smiled, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the kind of knowing, secret smile I’d expect to receive from a woman whom, just a week ago, I’d had my cock inside. It wasn’t teasing or inviting, and it didn’t beg me to do it again.
I frowned.
Her big brown eyes flared as she noticed.
“Hey, Sean,” she greeted despite the tiny hint of emotion, and I started to wonder if I’d imagined it. Her cheeks weren’t rosied with a hint of a blush, and her lips were sealed tight. The amber flecks in her eyes didn’t sparkle with erotic memories, and her legs didn’t churn with unspent arousal.
She was flawlessly affable, and I was officially fucking mystified.
What the fuck?
My cock was half hard, and I could taste the sweetness of her honey as though I’d just licked it. The feel of her skin on mine, the rasp of her moan as I’d slipped inside her—I was tortured by all of it.
Either she was made of steel, or I really was a second-rate asshole.
Neither option sounded exceptionally appealing.
“How’s it going?” I asked, leaning forward and brushing a finger along her arm to try to stir some hormones into awareness. Friendly and mocking, her smile remained unchanged.
“Pretty good.”
Pretty good.
Jesus Christ. I’ve completely lost my touch.
“Pretty sure I’ve heard those words before,” I said, bitterness coloring the edges of my tone. She laughed. Satisfied and rich, she was enjoying my misery.
“Yep. Me too.” She dropped her voice to a whisper as she stood up on her tiptoes and added, “Thanks again for the pretty good night at Martinez’s house.”
And then, with another fucking pat to my goddamn shoulder, she resumed her walking path toward the conference room, only offering a simple, “See ya around, Sean,” over her shoulder.
I stood frozen in my spot, watching her ass sashay as she disappeared into the conference room at the other end of the hall.
My blood surged, and my cock saluted me as I ordered the mission.
If I had been determined to make her mine before, I’d reached a whole new level after hearing the words pretty good for what felt like the one hundredth time.
Pretty good? Yeah, I’d blow her pretty good right out of the fucking water.
The next time I slid my cock inside Six Malone, she wouldn’t be saying the words pretty good. She was going to lose her fucking mind. Words wouldn’t be possible. Just moans. And orgasms. And her incoherently begging for more.
Game on, Six.